A/N: Thanks for all the feedback :-) I hope you enjoy the chapter.

ARYA

She watched them shrewdly at breakfast. Sansa with her perfect courtesy and delicate grace. The Hound with his brutish manner and quiet disposition. Complete opposites to one another, and yet they moved with seamless harmony. He was more attentive towards her than she had witnessed before. Maybe their time together outside of Winterfell had allowed her to gentle him somehow? Arya did not know, or really care much; she just knew she was unbearably jealous.

She had envied Sansa when they were growing up. She was always prettier in everything they did, more perfect than Arya could ever hope to be. When her condition had been revealed Arya had, quite shamefully, taken a secret pleasure in it. At last, something she could do – as a lady – which Sansa could not! It was short lived. Once she saw how miserable her sister became she no longer wanted to have this over her. In fact, when her own moon blood came, she did her best to hide it. She succeeded for a few months before their mother had found her out.

And yet, here she was married to a lord – of her choosing no less – and living the kind of life she had always wanted. The lady of a Keep, adored by all who set eyes on her. And here was Arya, once again set to live in the ways of a 'proper' lady simply because that was the way it was done. Scowling down at her bacon she pushed it around her plate.

"What is it, little bird?" she heard the Hound rasp in his ruined voice. He was staring at Sansa with worry in his eyes.

Little bird. She wolf. He certainly has a thing for pet names, doesn't he? Maybe he named himself the Hound.

Arya trained her eyes on her sister. She was paler than normal and had her hands over her stomach. Afraid she was about to retched on, Arya leaned away slightly. Sansa looked as ill as she'd ever seen her.

"Seven hells," she muttered.

"Arya, do not use that language." She sounded so much like their mother that Arya had to smirk. Even in her discomfort she was bloody perfect. After a moment though she sat up fully and brightened a little.

"I am fine, really. Just feeling a little off today. I am sure it will pass," she tried to assure them. Arya merely shrugged, but Sandor still eyed her warily.

"If you're feeling up for it later I thought we could go for a ride to Long Lake," Arya suggested. Sansa had made it quite plain that she was not to harass Gendry while he was working, which meant keeping herself busy during the day. Once he was finished working, all bets were off. He owed her some answers.

"That would be lovely." She seemed genuinely pleased by the idea. Sansa never had been much of a rider as a young girl, but had improved somewhat in the past year or so. Bran had a lot to do with it, she supposed. He always was the patient one of the lot.

"Take the wolves with you," the Hound grunted around his cup.

"Of course," Sansa agreed readily, as if this was a given.

"I think they're already off hunting," Arya told them before tearing off a great chunk of brown bread and dipping it into her soft yolks.

"What do you mean?" Sansa asked as she dabbed her mouth with a cloth.

"I released them at dawn. They seemed to have something scented before I even opened the side gate," Arya said through a mouthful of food.

Sansa frowned, either at her lacking table manners or her news. She didn't know which. She didn't care much either.

"You're not to set foot outside the walls without a guard," Clegane growled, pointing his finger at the both of them. Arya scowled at his orders, but Sansa smiled before snapping her teeth near his finger. His scarred mouth twitched into what Arya imagined was his hideous version of a smile.

"I promise to take at least two capable men with us on our ventures," she vowed solemnly. Arya could tell she was trying to restrain her grin. She had not seen her sister be this playful in quite some time. It brought her an unexpected joy.

"My lord, the men are assembled and awaiting instruction," a man wearing a surcoat with the Clegane banner sewn onto the breast said from near the end of the table. He stood there waiting expectantly. Arya could see that he did not look nervous or resentful to be commanded by the Hound. In fact, she had seen how much his men seemed to respect him and work well with him. It had baffled her at first, but after seeing the change to his behavior towards her sister she had to wonder if his mood had improved towards people in general.

Sandor rose, guzzling down what remained of his wine before wiping his mouth on the sleeve. He turned to Sansa with a last look that she supposed could resemble affection before grabbing his sword and marching out of the hall, the other man at his heels.

"Where is he going?" Arya asked as she pushed her empty plate away.

"He is overseeing the construction of our granary, assisting in the harvesting of timber for the new storehouse, and then will spend some time instructing the new soldiers in ways of combat." She could see the pride shine in Sansa's eyes as she spoke.

Arya rose with her, both ladies donning warm cloaks over their woolen gowns. Arya's was too long for her, but only just. Sansa said it belonged to her handmaiden, but the girl would not mind her borrowing it. She had not thought to bring any of her own things when she had fled after Gendry. The only possession she never was without was Needle.

They strolled out into the blazing sunshine and she followed her sister to the stables. It took them past the forge where Gendry was manfully pounding out a new piece of armor with his smith's hammer. Arya managed to catch his eye as they walked by and was more than a little relieved when he stopped briefly and offered her a small smile and a nod. She was surprised he was still being so civil with her, especially after her display yesterday. She was more than a little embarrassed about the way she had behaved now. Her careless words could have cost him greatly.

Sansa greeted the horse master, an old stooped man named Leif, and asked that their horses be made ready. Then she turned and headed off towards the training ground. It was back by the forge again, but around the far side. She could not see Gendry from this angle. As soon as they stepped into a muddy clearing the lounging lads in armor and cloaks scrambled to attention. Arya snorted a laugh as one of them nearly face planted in the slush.

"Mornin', miladies," the oldest of the group said with a dip of his head.

"Good morning, Wyler. My sister and I are going to ride out to Long Lake. I need a few capable swords to accompany us. My lord husband's orders," she added the last part in a false whisper and gave a wink. The man named Wyler grinned. A few of his teeth were broken, but his face was rugged and merry anyway.

"Aye, milady. Take Arron and Gareth. Strapping young lads with quick feet and steady hands." As he said the names two men stepped forward and nodded, smiling at her sister. One was tall and thin, much like Bran, with the look of a northerner about him. The other was shorted and broad shouldered with a baby face, dimples and all. Both were already armored in boiled leather and wore sword belts.

"That will do nicely, thank you Wyler. Please tell Sandor I will return before our midday meal," she politely requested.

"Of course, milady. I will relay your message as soon as I see him," he assured her with a nod.

"You sure seem to have them well trained," Arya jested as they walked back to the stables. Sansa frowned over her shoulder.

"They are not dogs, Arya, they are men. And yes, they are very respectful towards Sandor and me," she corrected.

"Of course," Arron piped up from behind Arya. She turned to see him nodding with his comrade. "Lady Clegane is the kindest mistress one could ask for. Very generous to everyone. Very kind, as well. She is well loved here."

Arya saw Sansa blush before pulling up her hood and murmuring a quiet thanks to her guard for his kind words. She could tell that the man had been sincere, not just paying service to his lady in an effort to please her.

"Good." It was all she could think to say. She had always seen men respect their mother in Winterfell; she just never drew the parallel between what she grew up seeing and what she might expect for herself if and when she was ever married to a lord who commanded his own men. Sansa seemed to enjoy being lady the castle, so to speak.

They rode out of the main gate slowly, but once out in the open took it to a canter. Sansa's hood fell off as they rode through the trees, her fiery tresses loose and wildly whipping around her face. The wind was harsher outside the tall stone walls that surrounded her home, but Arya relished the smell of the snow and the scent of the lake carried on the air. She soon found herself trying to outrun her sister's spotted horse with her own brown mare. Their whoops of laughter and girlish giggles bounced off weirwoods, ash, and oak as they played like children.

"Thank the Gods you didn't want to spend the day indoors embroidering," Arya said after they slowed to walk along the frozen edge of the lake.

Sansa laughed. "I had no desire to torture you with something you are so awful at."

The boy soldiers had stayed a few lengths back to offer the ladies some privacy, but were close enough to hear Arya's voice as it carried loudly. Their guffaws echoing around them. Arya turned and scowled at them.

"Let's see you stitch something then!" she challenged. They sniggered and shook their heads.

"Leave them be, Arya," Sansa scolded, but her smile took all seriousness away.

"Your riding has improved," she complimented Sansa. It was the truth, after all. Before she had left Winterfell Arya could hardly remember Sansa riding at all, and then only when she must.

"I have taken the time to learn," she said simply, but smiled widely as her mare leapt gracefully over a fallen branch. Her musical laugh swirled around them and brought a full smile to Arya's face.

"You seem happy," Arya replied bluntly.

"I suppose I am happy," her sister replied as the horses stopped to drink from a small stream.

"You love him, don't you?" It was less a question and more an accusation. Sansa's deep blush was all the answer she required, but moved her mare closer to hear her quiet confession all the same.

"I do, yes. I think I have for some time now, although I have only just realized it."

"Does he love you?" It was hard to tell with a man like the Hound. He was gentler with her sister than with anyone else she had seen him with, but his manner could never be described as loving or affectionate.

Sansa's smile fell somewhat and she fiddled with the reigns. "I believe he has come to care for me in his own way."

Arya rolled her eyes. "Is that a yes or a no?"

Sansa lifted her clear blue eyes, their mother's eyes, to meet Arya's. They were wide and uncertain. "I do not know. He has never said."

"Have you?" She asked, genuinely curious. Sansa's blush deepened.

"Only once . . . when he was sleeping," she added almost reluctantly.

"Well that hardly counts!" Arya laughed. Sansa grimaced at her before nudging her horse forward.

"Have you told Gendry?" she asked carefully.

"I don't love Gendry," Arya answered automatically. Her sister's pitying gaze annoyed her, so she chose to look at the lake instead.

She did not know what she felt for Gendry, not truly. She had only known him a short time. She did know that he made her laugh and never made her feel inferior for being herself. Was that love? She did not think so. She liked him, that much she was sure of. But love? She did not think that's what her feelings were. The thought of him did not make her heart pound or her cheeks flush, as she had heard from many silly girls professing to be in love. No, she more respected him and saw him as a friend. Someone she could count on and trust. She likened it more to what Sansa told her she had with the Imp rather than what she felt for her husband.

She was just about to tell all this to Sansa when something whistled past her ear, ruffling the cloak and catching a few hairs. She turned in that direction, startled by the sudden movement. It was then that she saw the arrow sticking out of Arron's neck. His blood came out in thin ribbons as he choked and pink spittle dribbled down his chin. Her sister's screams rang through the stillness of the winter woods. Knowing his fellow was beyond saving, Gareth charged forward, sword drawn.

"My lady," he yelled, "ride for the gates! Ride now!"

Sansa and Arya put heels to their horses, spurring them into action as more bolts tore through the air around them. It was difficult to force a gallop with the woods so dense and the ground uneven, but they did what they could. Arya had begun to feel hope that they would make it back to the safety of the Keep when Sansa's horse stumbled, pitching her rider off her saddle and into the frozen ground. Her sister landed with a muffled cry before almost immediately pulling herself back to her feet, but the beast had fled from her reach, leaving her stranded in the snow. Arya wheeled her mare around and rode back to her sister's side, extending her arm with a thought to pull her up on the saddle with her. That was when the forest erupted around them.

Men shouted and whooped as they converge d on the ladies from all sides. At Arya's count there were ten. All were clad in black. All faces were hidden by cowls. Some carried crossbows while others carried swords of all lengths. Arya slid from her saddle, forced her sister behind her, and drew Needle from her belt. She would be thrice damned if they took her or Sansa alive. Loud harsh laughter rippled around them. When she heard more steel being drawn she saw Gareth from the corner of her eye. He remained on horseback, moving in front of them.

"These are Lord Clegane's lands. You would do well to bugger off!" he shouted in warning. There were a few derisive scoffs about the word 'lord' bantered about the group.

"We know who your master is," a cold voice rang out from within the trees.

A wordless cry fell from Sansa's lips and she locked onto Arya's arm in a grip so tight she began to immediately loose feeling. At least it was not her sword arm. She tightened her hold on the hilt and angled her body so that Sansa was between her and the horse.

A shadowy figure emerged from behind a massive pine, pulling his hood off and slowly unwrapping his face. Arya felt her blood begin to boil as his features became clear. The Bastard of Bolton stood smug only feet from her, grinning proudly up at Gareth. She could feel dread building in her gut along with her fury. This was not going to end well for any of them.

If only I could call to Nymeria. She could not risk it. It took too much concentration to connect to her direwolf, a secret she had long kept from her family. There were many names for what she believed she was. The old ones of the North would say 'warg' while Wildlings would call her 'skinchanger'. Whatever it was, it would not help her now. She was not that skilled at it.

"We can't have you running off to warn him now, can we?" The bastard tapped his lips with his finger thoughtfully. Before anyone could more or breathe he snapped his fingers and an arrow pierced right through his eye and poked out the back of his skull. Sansa did not scream this time, but tightened her grip on Arya's arm. Gareth was dead before he hit the ground, his blood spreading a red stain through the snow beneath him.

The men converged on them like a pack of dogs. The horses were pulled away as they were encircled by sneering men, weapons pointed at the two women standing at the center. Arya noted how Sansa's back straightened, her chin lifted defiantly as Ramsay made his way to them with practiced nonchalance. When his eyes fell upon Arya he laughed uproariously.

"Well, well, well. What have we got here? Two wolves for the price of one!" He clapped his hands with glee. "But of course, your presence is not really a surprise. Not like it was for your sister and her hideous husband."

Out from behind him stepped a comely knight still dressed in Clegane colors. Sansa stiffened and her eyes narrowed. Clearly she knew the man as he was obviously in her husband's guard. But there was something else, something personal about the offense her sister seemed to take by his presence.

"Ser Darren," she said icily.

The men around them laughed as he joined them, his handsome face twisting cruelly.

"Not really a ser, my lady," he said with mock courtesy. "Neither was my brother, Wex. Remember him? No? Maybe that is because your husband slaughtered him like a fucking deer," he spat angrily. She saw her sister's eyes widen slightly.

"He was one of the men who attacked me." It was not a question, but the man named Darren nodded once anyway.

"Then he got what he deserved," Sansa replied lowly.

Fury lit Darren's eyes as he made move to strike Sansa. It was his last mistake. Once he moved within her reach, Arya lashed out with Needle, plunging it into the flesh of his belly before withdrawing it just as quickly. A river of blood flowed from the narrow wound as he clutched as his side, screaming in pain and rage. He staggered back as he tried to staunch the flow with a gloved hand. It did little, but Arya knew he would not survive the wound. She hoped he would suffer greatly.

Ramsay clicked his tongue in mock pity. "If you are going to arm yourself, you should know how to use the blade, my lady."

"Come a little closer and we'll see how much I know, you cockles bastard," she taunted.

"Arya, no," Sansa whispered desperately. She tried to ignore her sister. She could not kill all of them; she was not that skilled. She could, however, take as many with her as possible.

"Ask your sweet sister about my cock. She got a very close look at it, didn't you, my lady?" He grinned malevolently as Arya felt her sister shudder against her back. "You'll get reacquainted with it again very soon, don't you fret."

"Is that before or after I slice it off and feed it to you?" Arya challenged with a raised brow. If only she could keep his attention on her, maybe he would torment her sister less. Maybe she could steer his wrath in her direction. She could take it. She could take anything. She was stronger than Sansa. She would do that for her.

Ramsay sneered at her, opening his mouth to speak when he was cut off by a deep snarl that echoed through the dense trees. Hope filled her as she grinned wickedly at the men surrounding them.

"You hear that? That's your death coming for you, all sharp claws and pointy teeth," she shouted. Her wolf was coming after all, and it did not sound as if she was alone.

A cry of outrage stormed around them and Arya readied herself for a fight to their deaths. Men loaded crossbows and turned their backs to the two women while others drew closer.

"No, Lady!" Sansa called, the fear in her voice causing it to shake. "Stay away!"

She was so distracted by the sound of howls closing in that never saw the hilt of the sword that landed on the back of her head.

A/N: Don't kill me ;-)