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Our Blades Are Sharp

By Spectre4hire

20: Arya

Bear Island was no Winterfell.

In the two plus weeks since Arya arrived to Mormont Keep, she still found herself missing her family and her home. That is not to say that she wasn't enjoying her time with the Mormonts because she was, but she couldn't ignore the twinge of pain that coiled itself around her tummy whenever she let her thoughts drift to those she missed.

I'm not alone. She had Nymeria, her loyal and beloved direwolf, who was constantly by her side. As well as Lady Maege's daughters who treated her well and were friendly. Though, there was some awkwardness too. It was clear her family was highly regarded by House Mormont, causing Lady Maege's daughters to be more cordial than Arya would have liked.

Arya felt pressured to live up to the lofty expectations House Mormont had on her family. She found herself having to use her courtesies more then she would have liked. She even curtsied! Arya didn't come to Bear Island to do that. She came to fight.

Sometimes she felt more like Sansa than herself. She loved her sister dearly. Arya found herself missing her as much as her brothers, but she wasn't Sansa. She was Arya. She was her own person and she felt like she was disappearing at times in trying to be so polite and polished while she stayed at Mormont Keep.

It was very frustrating for Arya, but somehow she knew if her father was here and she told her these concerns, he would chuckle. That's a part of growing up; he would tell her with a smile.

"Are you bored, Pup?"

Arya blinked.

Pup, that's what Lady Mormont and her daughter Alysane had called Arya since she arrived. A pup amongst bear cubs, Maege Mormont had declared. Arya liked the name. She was a direwolf, a pup now but soon she'd be grown and she'd show her teeth to any enemy of her family.

"No," Arya answered quickly, but yes I am.

She would not tell her the truth. Arya had made a promise to her parents to do her best in all of her lessons when they agreed for her to foster here and that sadly included needlework. She looked down at said needlework to see it was crooked. She suppressed a frown that she wanted to level at it and instead moved her attention to her teacher, Lady Maege Mormont herself.

It had been odd at first to see the fierce warrior and Lady of Bear Island sitting in a chair and nimbly working on needlework. Even inside the Keep, she often chose armor. There she sat across from Arya, in patched ringmail, her spiked mace dangled loosely from its holster.

She wasn't alone. Sitting to Maege's left was her youngest daughter, Lyanna. She was about a year younger than Arya. She was named after Arya's Aunt who had died in Robert's Rebellion. Father didn't speak about her and he always seemed sad when her name was brought up.

Arya had often heard similarities between herself and her famous aunt. She wanted to believe them, but in those stories, her aunt Lyanna was described as beautiful. So beautiful that it started a war that would end up ending the Targaryen dynasty. And Arya wasn't beautiful. She was just Arya horseface remembering the name that Jeyne Poole had given her. She didn't hear it as often since her sister Sansa had scolded Jeyne for the name, but it still stung when she thought about it.

Lyanna Mormont's hair was long and dark, carefully braided so that it wouldn't fall over her equally dark eyes. She had put her needlework in her lap and looked at Arya inquisitively. She wasn't wearing a dress, but dark breeches and a green tunic which had a black Mormont bear stitched into the front.

To Maege's right was her second youngest daughter, Jorelle, affectionately called Jory by her sisters and mother. She was younger than Sansa, but older then Arya. She was tall for her age and slender, her hair light brown was cut short to fall just over her shoulders. She was wearing a green dress with fur trimmings with the Mormont bear being proudly emblazoned.

To Arya's surprise, Maege's daughters excelled in needlework. She felt like she found herself back in her lessons with Septa Mordane, Jeyne Poole, and her sister. She had hated those lessons, the Septa, Jeyne, and even her sister for a time. That had been before she and Sansa had grown closer.

Maege Mormont hadn't been fooled by Arya's answer. A toothy grin slowly spread across her weathered face. "You don't understand, pup."

"I'm not surprised," Maege put down her work. "You were taught by a Septa?"

"I was," Arya did her best to hide her distaste for Septa Mordane. There were no Septs on Bear Island which meant there were no Septas. Something that Arya had been thankful for.

"Who wanted you be a lady of the south?" A mocking edge tinted her tone.

"She did," Arya answered, "But I'm not." She declared proudly.

"No, you're not," Maege Mormont agreed happily. "Yet, in the north we have use for needles." She stood from her seat with ease.

Or needle, Arya wanted to point out, referring to the gift her brother, Jon had given her before he left for the Wall, but she remained quiet. Confused and curious with what Lady Maege Mormont was planning. She turned to Lady Mormont's daughters, Lyanna and Jory, but neither girl spoke, they too were looking at their mother with interest.

Maege Mormont then carefully removed her patched ringmail to show she was wearing a simply wooly tunic. "Stitches aren't just for cloth." She then rolled up her sleeve to reveal tan skin marred by a number of scars and bruises in different states of healing.

Arya couldn't look away. She found herself transfixed upon seeing small and large bruises of varying colors that were splotched up and down Lady Mormont's arm. Or the long, twisted scars that slithered and twined from her hand to her forearm and even some reaching her shoulder.

"This!" Maege pointed to one said scar. A small, curving wound that was halfway between her hand and her forearm. "Do you see?"

Arya frowned. Unsure what the Lady of Bear Island was referring to. Looking closer at the scar, she noticed that it seemed an older one, having healed and faded, but that was then she noticed it. "Stitches," she murmured.

"That's right." Maege Mormont nodded, "Sewing cloth isn't the same as flesh, but the skills are similar and when properly taught can save yours or a friend's life when you're out there." Her gaze hardened, deep in thought. "I got this one in one of the many skirmishes with some particularly nasty wildlings, five years back."

"Or this one," She was now pointing to a scar that started at her elbow and nearly slithered up to her shoulder. "This one bled quite a bit." A snort of amusement escaped her, "bloody difficult it was." She slapped the scar with her calloused hand, "but the stitches saved me from bleeding out."

Her dark eyes then found Arya's. "You get it now, pup?"

"I do," Arya looked down at her crooked stitches.

"When you're better with those needles," she pointed to Arya's embroidery, "I'll show you that they can do more than sew pretty southern dresses of silk and lace."

"I'll do better," Arya picked up her needles with renewed interest, and went to work. She didn't notice the proud smile that came to Maege Mormont's face.

"That's a good, pup."

"Nice strike, Lyanna."

Arya hissed in pain from said hit.

"You almost had me."

"Thanks," Arya muttered turning to her sparring partner, Lyanna Mormont. She was dressed in battle leathers with the Mormont sigil emblazoned on the chest: a black bear over a green wood. In one hand she held a blunted sword and in the other, she carried a shield that too was stamped with House Mormont's sigil. Lyanna may have been younger in Arya but she was well trained. She had told Arya that she had started training when she was old enough to hold a toy axe.

Arya was sorer from losing then the bruise that was forming on her arm. She was certain she had Lyanna that time, but the youngest daughter of Lady Maege Mormont had bested her once more. She let loose a tired breath and used the brief break in their training to scan around the crowded training yard of Mormont Keep.

Arya looked around to see the Mormont guards, men and women were going through their training routine being watched closely by Dacey's younger sister, Alysane. She was a short, stout woman with muscled arms and heavily calloused hands, her hair dark and kept short. She was younger then Dacey but already a mother of two, a daughter of nine and a son of two who were both currently within the Keep with Lady Maege Mormont.

Lyra Mormont, the next oldest daughter of Lady Maege Mormont who was of age between Robb and Sansa, was training alongside her other sister, Alysane. She was short and quick on her feet as she moved deftly against her opponents with her two axes. She had squired with Dacey when she was younger, but now served the family as a scout. Lyra helped to patrol the nearby woods and coast on the lookout for any signs of Iron Born or wildlings threats.

Away from the scouts and guards was Jorelle Mormont. And unlike her older sisters, she favored the bow over axe. She had plaited her hair to allow it to fall over her shoulder. In one fluid motion, she put an arrow to her bow, aimed, and let it loose. It sailed across the yard before finding its mark near dead center, where the arrow had joined several other arrows already embedded around and on the center.

Not to be outdone, Arya spotted her direwolf, Nymeria. When Arya first started her practicing in the training yard, her direwolf would sit and watch, but Nymeria grew bored and restless quickly. Wanting to join Arya in her lessons and trying to playfully fight with her and the others. Amused by the direwolf's antics, Lady Mormont had instructed some practice dummies be made so that the direwolf too could sharpen her skills. Nymeria took to them effortlessly, pouncing and attacking them, tearing apart their straw stuffed limbs or gnawing on the wooden poles that made up the dummies' arms and legs.

It was a sight to see. A fearsome direwolf such as Nymeria, who was only growing to see what it was capable of as it attacked those dummies. On more than one occasion it had distracted the guards from their training. Several had even questioned the wisdom in letting Nymeria loose even if it was on practice dummies. Lady Mormont had told them simply that a content direwolf was safer than a wary one, and better to try to train it then letting its wild instincts assert full control.

"Arya," Dacey's voice cut through her thoughts.

She turned to the Heir of Bear Island, "Are you ready to go again?"

"I am," Arya straightened up, raising her sword and then her shield towards her opponent.

"Good," a ghost of a smile appeared on Dacey's lips before she turned to her youngest sister, "Lyanna?"

"Ready," Lyanna told her sister.

"Then begin."

Arya was ready this time. Blocking Lyanna's first strike with her shield, she then moved in with her blunted sword for a swift jab, but Lyanna brought her shield to down to deflect the hit. Lyanna moved forward, sword poised and thrust towards Arya's weak side, but she saw the move coming and nimbly avoided the hit by sidestepping it. She then brought her shield down on the exposed sword, slamming it down as Lyanna grunted in pain from the hit.

Arya moved forward with her sword to finish the fight, but Lyanna recovered and was quick enough to raise her shield to absorb the hit. Bringing her sword back up, for a low cutting swipe to force Arya to back up which she did begrudgingly. Seizing the momentum, Lyanna moved forward and let loose a series of thrusts and stabs that had Arya reeling backwards, swatting them away with either sword or shield, careful to keep her balance even though she was unable to see where her feet were taking her.

When Lyanna lunged with her sword hoping to catch her unaware Arya spun away from her. Seeing Lyanna's awkward footing, Arya slammed forward with her shield, barreling into Lyanna's side and bringing the girl down to the ground in a heap and a grunt.

"Nice move, Arya." Dacey called from her position.

Instead of responding to that hard earned praise, Arya was quick to crouch down to check on Lyanna. "Are you hurt?" Arya bit her lip. She hadn't meant to hit her so hard. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Lyanna got to her knees. "That was a good hit!"

"Thanks," Arya held out her hand for her.

Lyanna took the offered hand getting back to her feet. "But next time I'll have you."

"We'll see," Arya smiled.

"You two ready?" Dacey called their attention to her.

Arya turned to Lyanna to see her smiling back at her before nodding, "We are."

"Good," Dacey smiled at them, "Then go again."

The high table in Mormont's Keep often sat empty on its raised dais. Lady Mormont had introduced having her and her family often take their meals with their scouts and guards at the other tables. There wasn't much on Bear Island, but what they had, they shared equally. The hall was much smaller than Winterfell's. Hearths were carved into the wooden walls, while a few standing braziers offered more warmth and light to combat the cold, coastal winds.

Arya spotted Maege Mormont sitting with two of her guards; the Lady of Bear Island had slapped one of them on the back, laughing at the jape he had just told her. The maester of Bear Island, a thin, pale man sat awkwardly a few seats away from Lady Mormont, nursing his drink. Sitting near the Bear Island maester was Dacey. The heir to Bear Island looked solemn focusing on her food while two of her guards were conversing back and forth between her.

Lyra Mormont was sitting at a different table with the rest of her scouts. They were talking and eating their food while Lyra polished her axes. She would occasionally raise her head and say something, the last time she did it, it must've been a joke since a ripple of laughter came from it up and down the table. Arya remembered Lyanna telling her that Lyra and the others were going on a long patrol and were leaving in the morning.

Alysane Mormont was arm wrestling a large burly man at her table with her two year old son sitting on her lap, while she was holding her own against the bigger man. She was laughing and seemed more amused than concerned with the contest. A small crowd had gathered around, conversing and placing bets. When she slammed her opponent's arm down, a loud cheer went up from the onlookers. Holding onto her son with one arm, she used her now free hand to finish her tankard of ale before slamming it down and asking for another while the crowd congratulated her.

Arya found her seat at a small table by one of the hearths. Lyanna was already sitting there as was Jory. They both smiled and welcomed her. She slid into her seat while Nymeria curled up beneath her feet. Arya had found herself closest to the two youngest Mormont daughters. She would usually take her meals with them.

She liked Lyanna because she too enjoyed fighting and didn't like wearing dresses, preferred boots and breeches and playing in the mud then stitches. She wasn't impressed with southern songs or styles and was proud to be a Mormont and a fighter.

Jory, who was softer then her other sisters, and did not mind wearing dresses, was still equally fierce. Arya knew what a great marksman she was, and had also seen the knife, Jory kept strapped to her leg that was concealed by the dresses she usually wore.

Even though it was smaller than Winterfell's great hall, Arya liked the Mormont's because of the elaborate carvings etched into the wooden walls. On the wall directly across from Arya was of a large bear wrestling and winning against a kraken, a reminder of the constant struggle between Bear Island and the Iron Islands.

To the wall to her left was that of a wolf sitting alone atop a hill, to signal House Stark's dominion over the north, below the wolf, Arya spotted several different sigils, including a bear with its head bowed for House Mormont, a mermen for house Manderly, a giant for House Umber, a moose for House Hornwood, a horse for House Ryswell, a lizard lion for House Reed, among others.

Above the main hearth of the great hall, etched into the wall were House Mormont's words, Here we Stand. Above the words was of a proud bear standing tall.

"Thank you," Arya smiled to the servant who brought her dinner, the young man bowed before heading back to the kitchens. She looked down at her plate to see baked venison seasoned with salt and pepper. It was served with a bowl of hot broth, freshly caught and cut up fish, and a side roll.

Arya had learned quickly in her stay the limited variety of food offered at Bear Island. The land was rocky and wasn't ideal for farming. Much of the diet on the Island came from game and fishing with additional soups and broths that helped to stem off the cold climate. As well as the rare vegetables that could grow and survive in the harsh lands on the island. Or what they could get in trade when merchants braved the Bay where they had to be careful for not just the weather but raiding Iron Born or fleeing Wildlings.

Taking a bite of venison, and liking the taste, Arya noticed Dacey remained sour while the men and women around her talked animatedly. "What's wrong with Dacey?"

"The maester," Lyanna hissed.

Arya frowned. She scanned further down Dacey's table to see Maester Mathis taking small bites of his fish. "What do ya mean?"

"He thinks it's his duty to make sure all us Mormont women are properly married," Jorelle rolled her eyes at the explanation.

"All he does is feed his ravens and propose betrothals to Ma," Lyanna observed bitterly.

"Remember when he tried to arrange one between Dacey and one of the Iron Born houses?" Jory grinned.

Lyanna giggled, bobbing her head up and down. "Ma nearly introduced Mathis to her mace." That sent both girls into further giggling at their mother's outrage at the maester's foolish suggestion.

"Iron Born?" Arya didn't get it. "Like Theon?"

"That's who he suggested," Jorelle had stopped giggling. She then straightened up, her eyes squinting and her brows furrowed as if trying to mimic Maester Mathis, "Since he was fostered by Lord Stark it could be a good match for our houses and bring peace to the Bay of Seals."

"Couldn't it be?" Arya asked tentatively. She knew Theon could be annoying and often was especially with those stupid smirks, but still, he was good sort, she thought. When he wasn't whoring or being a right prick.

"Theon's not that bad." Arya found herself saying in a poor attempt to defend her brother's friend and father's ward. She only hoped Theon never found out that she defended him. She'd never hear the end of it, or the smirks.

In that minute, she found herself missing the heir of the Iron Islands who was back at Winterfell with her brothers, Robb, Rickon, and Bran. She took a big sip of her warm cider hoping it would dull the ache that seemed to have stirred in her tummy.

"Iron Born," Lyanna spat, "Have raided and reaved our lands for centuries." The girl who was only a year younger looked furious at the idea of one of her older sisters having to marry an Iron Born.

"Some memories aren't easily forgotten, Lady Arya." Jorelle put a calming hand on her sister's arm to smother her outrage, "Some scars won't heal."

"Oh," Arya looked down at her venison, and went about cutting up another piece, "I'm sorry," she still didn't look up at the Mormont sisters, hoping they'd understand her confusion and weren't mad that she may have accidentally insulted them.

"You didn't know Lady Arya," Jorelle gently said.

"It's just Arya," she looked up, "Please?"

"Okay," Lyanna relented, her lips then tugged into a smirk, "just Arya."

This sent all three of the girls into a fit of laughing as Arya rolled her eyes, but silently thankful for the change in tone after her accidentally darkening the mood by bringing up the sore subject of the Iron Born.

"That reminds me, Ma agreed to a match for me," Jorelle's words were spoken once the laughter had subsided.

"What?" Lyanna spun around in her seat to face her older sister. "Why didn't you tell me, Jory?"

"I just found out this morning," Jorelle held up her hands in a placating gesture.

Lyanna looked put out by this. "Oh Jory," she sniffed, quickly rubbing her eyes with the back of her arm.

"It'll be alright, Lyanna," Jorelle took her younger sister's hands in hers. "It won't be for some time."

"Who?" Lyanna asked softly.

"Cley Cerwyn," Jorelle answered.

Arya perked up at the name. "You'll be close to Winterfell." Cerwyn's Castle was only half a day's ride from Winterfell. Father always had nice things to say about Lord Cerwyn and according to Maester Luwin, House Cerwyn was one of the stronger northern houses.

"You won't always be at Winterfell, Arya," Jorelle delicately pointed out.

Arya didn't need that reminder. She knew once she returned from Bear Island that her parents had plans on sending her south to be a lady. Arya wanted to roll her eyes and gag at the idea, but she wouldn't. She had made a promise to her parents, and she'd do it. All be it reluctantly, and she was certainly not going to enjoy it!

"And Lyra?" Lyanna's voice wavered. She looked on the verge of tears.

Jorelle shook her head. "There have been no arrangements." She took a sip of her broth before answering, "But Maester Mathis has sent ravens to White Harbor and Karhold."

Lyanna sagged in her seat at the idea of having another one of her sisters being sent so far away from Bear Island. "I'll never see you."

"Of course you will," Jorelle cupped her youngest sister's face. "Who else will train my sons and daughters to fight then their Aunt Lyanna?"

"I'd like that," Lyanna admitted through a sniffle.

Arya turned back towards her food. Feeling as if she was intruding on a private family moment, she finished off her venison in two bites, savoring the lean, seasoned taste. It wasn't until she swallowed the last bite that they brought her back into the conversation.

"What about you, Arya?"

"What about me?" Arya feigned confusion. She didn't want to meet their inquisitive stares so she settled her attention on her supper, taking a bite of her cut up fish.

"Hasn't your maester and Lord Father discussed any potential marital arrangements with you?" Jorelle sounded confused. "Now that your brother and future Warden of the North, Lord of Winterfell is betrothed to the Princess Myrcella Baratheon and your sister who will soon marry, Lord Domeric and become Lady of the Dreadfort," Jorelle continued in her explanation. "Haven't they tried to set a match for you?"

No, she wanted to blurt out.

Arya wanted to travel, to fight, and it was just stupid that all she was expected to do was marry and have children. She wanted to scream at the unfairness of it all. Why couldn't she fight for her home, for her family like her brothers were expected to do when they reached adulthood?

It wasn't fair and she hated it.

"No," Arya answered politely, remembering she was representing her family, and that she promised her parents she would behave. "But I trust in the wisdom of my Lord Father in securing a match for me." She recited the words while trying to summon her best Sansa impersonation. She wanted to roll her eyes as she said, stick out her tongue when she finished, but she didn't.

She smiled graciously at the kind word and the encouragements that Lyanna and Jorelle gave her. A smile that she was certain would make her sister proud. They didn't need to know her true intentions.

I'll never marry.

That had been the vow she had made. The only vow she'll ever make.