Arya was missing lessons with Septa Mordane. She knew she'd get in trouble with the Septa and quite possibly Mother for missing her lesson, but Arya had a goal. It was only a few days until the king was expected to arrive with his retinue and would decide whether the Visitors got to stay or had to leave. This could be one of Arya's last chances. She wanted to talk to Brunhild, the Red Woman, and she would brave any number of punishments from the Septa or Mother to meet the warrioress.
Arya found her in the training yard, observing the men going through drills. The men had gotten used to the Visitor paying them regular visits, and memories of her display at the feast that first day kept them from their usual antics regarding women who watched them. Nymeria at Arya's heels, Arya braced herself and walked up to Brunhild. The abnormally tall woman, her every curve revealed by her skintight bodysuit, looked down at Arya as she approached. "Little Arya. What brings you here? If memory serves, you belong in your lesson with the Septa right now."
Arya gulped. "Prophet said if we wanted something from you, all we had to do is ask, right?"
Brunhild shrugged. "Basically, yes. Ask and ye shall receive, unless it involves weaponry and warfare."
Arya gulped, and took the leap. "I want you to teach me how to fight."
Brunhild looked Arya in the eye. "Ah, you're more a fighter than a lady, I can tell. You've been thinking about my fight with Set since you saw it. You wish you could be that strong and graceful and deadly."
"Yes!" Arya agreed emphatically. Nymeria barked as if echoing her mistress's enthusiasm.
"Well, sadly, I may only be here a few more days. I can't teach you to fight in that short a time," Brunhild shrugged.
Arya's mind desperately looked for an answer to the problem. "You could give me a mind-link! Then I could learn just like that, right?" she pleaded.
Brunhild frowned. "On my world, we only give those to children with their parents' permission."
"But we're not on your world, we're on my world. And we grow up fast here. I want to learn to fight, and you said you don't have time to teach me! So give me a mind-link and you can pour the information right into my head. Please! I don't care about how straight my stitches are and I hate poetry and singing and dancing and all the things a girl is supposed to be able to do. Let me be able to fight, I'm begging you!" Arya pleaded passionately.
Brunhild closed her eyes, though Arya could see them still moving beneath the lids. Guessing she was talking to other members of her crew, Arya waited as patiently as she could. Brunhild opened her eyes and sighed. "We will not keep this secret, Arya Stark. You have until tomorrow to tell your parents what you had us do before the Captain tells your father himself."
Arya gulped. But she figured it was worth getting yelled at already having a mind-link than to not get one in the first place. "Okay."
"Follow me," Brunhild said. She walked into the castle of Winterfell, taking each turn like someone raised her whole life there. Arya followed the Red Woman until they were in an out-of-the-way hallway mostly used by servants. Vivaan and Prophet, the Green Man and Captain, were waiting there for them.
"Arya Stark. You wish us to give you a mind-link for the purposes of you learning self-defense, both with and without a weapon. Am I correct?" Prophet asked in his unusual accent.
Arya nodded. "I mostly just want to know how to handle a sword, but I'll take as many ways to fight as you have to teach," she said eagerly.
"You should be aware that we are giving you a limited form of mind-link. We will maintain control of what knowledge is transferred to your brain. If you ever want to learn something else in the same manner as you learned fighting, you will have to ask myself or one of my crew. Is this acceptable to you?" Prophet asked her with utmost severity.
Arya nodded. "I just want to learn to fight before you have to leave. I can learn anything else the old-fashioned way. Just please let me have the mind-link so I can be like Brunhild when I grow up!"
Brunhild snorted. "What do you know? I'm a role model."
"And you will tell your parents what you have done by the evening meal tomorrow?" Prophet asked Arya.
"Yes, I promise," Arya swore.
Prophet nodded. "We have her consent. Vivaan, you know what to do."
The shortest of the Visitors reached into the belt of his bodysuit and pulled out a long, thin tube with a needle at the end. "This may sting just a little. Please show me your neck," he asked Arya. The girl obediently craned her neck to show it off to Vivaan. With unerring precision, the Visitor pushed the needle into Arya's carotid artery. The contents of the syringe were swiftly injected, and Vivaan pulled back the device and tucked it back in his belt.
Arya felt tingly all over for a few minutes before she felt normal again. "So? Did it work?"
'You tell me, little wolf,' Arya heard Brunhild say, even though the woman hadn't moved her lips or made a sound.
Arya's eyes widened. "It worked!" she cheered.
Prophet nodded. "Yes. Now, uploading the relevant files. You might want to sit down, it can be disorienting to new users."
Arya took the Captain's advice and sat down on the stone floor. Nymeria padded into her lap and Arya idly stroked her fur. She waited, wondering what it would feel like.
Then there was a mind-numbing surge of pure information into her brain, like a pot filled so full that it was in danger of spilling over the rim. Arya clutched her head as the mother of all headaches hit her. Yet even as she sat in quiet agony, she felt new information, new memories, new skills settling into place inside her mind. She suddenly knew how to ripost. She knew how to get out of a man's arms if she were grabbed from behind. She knew the name of every bone and how to break them. That and a million different data points found their relevant place as her brain desperately processed what the mind-link had so clinically injected straight into her skull. When she felt normal again and the headache faded, Arya opened her eyes.
"Bite off more than you could chew, Arya?" Brunhild asked, before turning to Prophet. "An exabyte was too much for a first-timer, you could have staggered it."
"The child wanted to learn how to fight in one lesson. I obliged her. She suffered no permanent harm," Prophet dismissed his crewmate's concerns.
"Are you okay, Arya?" Vivaan asked with genuine concern.
Arya got to her feet. "I feel great! I know so much now! This is how you learned your lessons growing up?"
"We picked and chose what subjects interested us but generally, yes," Brunhild answered. "Now, just because you know how to fight doesn't mean your body can keep up with what your mind wants to do. You need to get stronger and faster and, well, older for you to be a real threat."
Arya nodded. "Prophet included a self-training module. I know how to exercise now, too. I may never be as big and strong as you, but I'll show people that a girl can still fight!"
Brunhild barked out a laugh. "I like you, Arya Stark. You remind me of myself when I was your age."
Arya bowed in respect and thanks to the three Visitors. Then she went for her room, knowing that's where the Septa or her Mother would be waiting to berate her. When she reached her room, Arya groaned. The Septa AND Mother were there.
Arya endured an hour-long lecture on the importance of her lessons and how she was a young lady of House Stark and couldn't afford to be so negligent and on and on. When the two older women were done, Arya spoke up. "I don't suppose either of you care what I was doing instead of going to lessons?"
Septa Mordane scoffed but Mother gathered herself. "Very well. Arya, what were you doing?"
"I asked the Visitors to give me a mind-link, like they have. I can learn things without having to go to lessons now!" Arya cheered, as if this were a major triumph.
Both women got expressions of shock and, in the Septa's case, horror. "You let those strangers put one of their unholy machines inside your head?" Septa Mordane demanded. "You foolish idiot!"
"Septa Mordane! You will not speak to my daughter like that!" Lady Stark said imperiously.
The Septa threw up her hands and left the room. Mother took a few minutes to breath and think. "Arya, why did you ask them to give you a mind-link?"
"So I can learn things right away instead of having to do boring lessons. Besides, they might be leaving in a few days so what's it matter?" Arya pointed out.
Mother sighed. "I see. You wanted a shortcut."
"Aren't shortcuts a good thing?" Arya asked, confused.
"Depends on why one uses them," Mother said mysteriously. "Have you asked them to teach you anything already?"
"A few things," Arya confessed, but not willing to say she'd learned the art of combat. Mother would never approve of a girl taking up arms. Not for the first time, Arya wished she'd been born a boy.
Mother sighed. "Come with me, you can tell your father and me exactly what you've done. And Prophet, I know you're listening. Please come to my husband's solar now."
That had been an uncomfortable fact to accept, that with their sensing machines the Visitors were basically spying on everyone in Westeros and the rest of the Known World at all times. One could only hope they didn't pay close attention to when you were going to the water closet or using the chamber pot. Arya trailed obediently behind Mother with Nymeria until they reached Father's solar. Prophet was already there, and Father was waiting patiently for his wife and daughter.
"Now, Arya. Please tell us exactly why you asked the Visitors for a mind-link. And what you've already used it for," Father asked with his eyes that seemed to see right through you.
Arya bit her lip, nervous, but she wasn't going to lie to Father's face. "I asked for the mind-link so I could learn how to fight like Brunhild. Prophet already gave me the knowledge."
Father sighed. He turned to Prophet. "You didn't see the foolishness in this?"
"Someone came to my crew asking for help. We provided it. Her age and sex is of no concern to me or my crew. Arya wanted to be trained in combat. She didn't have time to learn in the next few days before our potential departure. So she found a way around the problem. Quite clever, actually," Prophet shrugged.
Mother grit her teeth. "Arya, you're a young lady-"
Hearing that phrase was enough to make Arya snap. "But I don't WANT to be a young lady! I wish I was a boy! I'm good at all the boy things! I like wrestling and archery and if I were allowed to hold a sword I'd be good at it! I HATE all the girl things! I don't like sewing or singing or dancing and I don't want to be married off to some stranger to have his babies and turn into YOU! Let Sansa do all that! I want to be like Brunhild! Like Nymeria! Like Visenya Targaryen! I want to FIGHT!"
Mother's jaw dropped. Father had gone pale. Prophet alone seemed unaffected by Arya's outburst. Arya realized she was crying and wiped her eyes with her sleeve. "And now I know how. Prophet taught me. No matter what you do to me, I'll still know how to fight. You can't make me forget."
Father walked around his desk and knelt to hug Arya. He rubbed her back as she sobbed into his shoulder. "Have you truly been this miserable, my child?" he asked her gently as a feather.
"You, Mother, the Septa, you all want me to be this 'young lady'. But that's not me. It just isn't," Arya said wearily, exhausted by the outpouring of emotion.
"Darling, we only do it because that's what the world expects. The world is not kind to those who break the mold," Mother said gently, coming down to join the hug.
"I can handle not having a place in the world. Just let me be me. Please. I'm begging you," Arya said tiredly.
"If I may offer my opinion, why choose between the two? Have Arya continue to train in the womanly arts and also in combat. She's still young, her feelings may change over time. In either case, better to have the option to go both ways than be forced down one path by necessity," Prophet spoke up.
Arya rubbed her eyes and detached from her parents' embrace. "Can you teach me how to do girl things, too? Please."
"One noblewoman's training, ready to upload… now," Prophet said.
Arya didn't get a headache like last time, as if her brain had gotten accustomed to learning things through mind-link. In the length of a few long breaths, Arya learnt everything there was to know about sewing, embroidery, and the songs and dances and instruments of Westeros. "Thank you, Prophet," Arya curtseyed perfectly.
"You're very welcome, Arya," the Visitor wished her.
"So she just… knows everything about being a lady, just like that?" Mother asked incredulously.
"Ask me a figures question. Or ask me to recite a song, I know them all by heart. Or to tell you the difference between a pick stitch and a backstitch," Arya said confidently.
Mother gaped at her daughter. Father had a considerate look on his face. "How many mind-links do you have on hand?"
"Vivaan and Harriett each came equipped with four, one of which was used on Arya. We can easily have more sent from our ship," Prophet answered readily.
"And this information is for free, like all your gifts?" Father asked dubiously.
"Certain topics are prohibited to share with an alien species by law of my home planet. But for what knowledge is available, the price is nothing but an honest desire to learn," Prophet replied with his usual upfront honesty.
"Arya, go fetch your brothers and sister, Jon too. I believe we all should share in this gift," Father ordered.
Arya eagerly went searching through Winterfell. She found and rounded up Rickon, Bran, Sansa, and Robb and led them to Father's solar. When they got there, Prophet, Father, and Arya explained how Arya had gotten a mind-link and how phenomenally useful it was already proving to be. Then Father announced "I think we all should get a mind-link. But I won't decide for you. If any of you wish to abstain, you will suffer no consequence."
Sansa begged off having a machine go into her brain, and Rickon was deemed too young to safely give a mind-link to. Vivaan and Harriett came into the solar and injected Father, Mother, Robb, Jon, and Bran with the mind-links they kept on their belts. The Green Man and Green Woman both left before the Starks had finished tingling.
"What shall be the first lesson?" Prophet asked once the mind-link had fully settled into the brains of the male Starks and Mother.
"First, teach us what you taught Arya. Everything you know about combat that's suitable for our world," Father requested.
"Even for me?" Mother asked Father.
"Never know when knowing how to handle a knife in a fight could save your life, Cat," he said gently.
Prophet nodded. Arya spoke up. "Fair warning, it feels like your brain is swelling inside your skull." A few moments later, all the Stark men and Mother clutched their heads in pain. A few minutes later, the older Starks all looked practically giddy.
"I never even imagined some of these forms and combos," Robb marveled.
"Who knew there were so many ways to kill a man using your bare hands?" Jon muttered.
Father had a gleam in his eye. "Wait until I challenge the men in the yard," he grinned wolfishly.
Prophet spoke up. "Keep in mind, your bodies might not be capable of doing the tasks you have been taught. Hence I included a small module on improving fitness to maximize the capabilities of your bodies."
"Can a man really stand on just one hand?" Bran asked, reviewing all the exercises that now filled his brain.
"With enough training and proper technique, yes," Prophet answered.
The sky was starting to change color.
"One last thing before you may leave, Prophet. Are we capable of using telepathy like you and your crew now?" Father asked.
"Yes, but only with each other. No offense, but I don't want you privy to my crew's private conversations. Merely think the words and picture them going to the target person. It's fairly simple, but difficult to get the first try. Only practice will perfect it. I shall see you again at dinner." With that Prophet bowed and left the room.
The Starks spent the time until the evening meal practicing speaking with their minds and not their mouths. They kept it up at dinner, having whole conversations that no one but they were privy to. Arya went to bed that night, dreaming of growing up to be the first woman knight in the Seven Kingdoms.
The next few days passed as usual, or as usual as it got with the Visitors around. Before anyone knew it, the king was expected to arrive the very next day. At breakfast, Prophet cleared his throat. "Lord Stark. As a gesture of good will and to show our gratitude for your hospitality, my crew and I would like to feast you this evening and present all of Winterfell with gifts. Is this acceptable to you?"
Father blinked. "Your gesture is appreciated but hardly necessary. Still, I'll never deny my men a chance to feast. Do you require any aid from us?"
"No, thank you. We'll manage just fine. Just be aware we'll be making numerous trips using the Orb as you all have come to call it. We'll land outside Winterfell to the north, but I felt you all should have fair warning."
"Very well. I'll be sure to warn the smallfolk," Father said.
Arya could barely concentrate on her lessons, not just because they were gratuitous but because she was full of anticipation for the feast tonight. How would the Visitors bring all the food and drink necessary? Granted, the Orb was enormous but still. And gifts? What would Arya get? She was antsy the entire day of lessons, which she was now good as Sansa at, much to Septa Mordane's shock and obvious fear. Apparently the religious woman had some objection to the Visitors.
Finally, after hours of waiting, Arya was dressed in her second-best dress (the first-best was reserved for tomorrow and the king's feast) and walked into the feast hall. Arya noticed the first touch of the Visitors right away; rather than candlelight, the room was lit by floating LED lamps spaced evenly across the air at roughly the height of the chandelier. They were probably kept up by the gravity technology that allowed the Orb to fly. Arya walked up to her normal seat at the high table and waited for everyone else to arrive.
Soon enough, but not fast enough for the impatient Arya, everyone but the Visitors were in the massive room. The majority of Winterfell waited with bated breath for what the Visitors would pull out of their hats. The month the aliens had spent with them had been, for the most part, pleasant. Everyone had talked to the Visitors at least once and found them to be good people. If King Robert bid they had to leave, it would feel like a loss.
Then Prophet entered the room, trailed by the eight members of his crew in a single-file line. They reached the high table and fanned out so that Prophet stood in the middle and the eight formed a straight line. The eight crew turned to face the rest of the hall while Prophet kept his gaze on Father and Mother at the high table.
"Let the feast… begin," Prophet said clearly.
The doors to the feast hall seemed to open of their own accord. Plates and platters and trays of delicious looking food came floating in as if carried by ghosts. Huge suckling pigs, flanks of beef glistening with sauce, buttery turkeys, whole fish stuffed with herbs, loaves of bread looking fresh from the oven and every kind of vegetable imaginable. Once all the food was settled on the tables, pitchers of ale and all different varieties of wine flew in a similar fashion to rest at equal spacing along the tables.
"If anyone has a specific request for food or drink, simply ask one of us and we'll see it provided with all due haste," Prophet spoke clearly so that the whole hall could hear. Then his crew spread out to put themselves in easy reach of the men and women seated at the tables. "And save room, dessert comes before the gift-giving. Fear not, the food won't go to waste."
Father looked rather overwhelmed. "This is… beyond anything I expected, Prophet. You truly didn't have trouble yourselves this much on our account."
"With our tools and resources, the so-called 'trouble' we had to go to was negligible. We may not be gods, as the smallfolk fear, but we do possess god-level technology. There is very little we cannot do when we set our minds to it. This feast and the gifts to come after required less than a tenth of our collective power to create. Please, merely fill your plate and enjoy, Ned, my friend," Prophet said, spreading his arms wide as he bowed.
Upon seeing Lord Stark take the first bite, the rest of the hall dug into the sumptuous feast laid out for them. When someone made a request for a specific kind of dish or different kind of ale or wine, the Visitor merely nodded and had it to the one who made the request within five minutes. The Stark children, with the obvious exception of Rickon, were allowed to drink one glass of wine. The knights and staff of Winterfell had no such limitation, and soon the tables were alive with the laughter of drunken men. After an hour when men were merely picking at their plates, the serving dishes all floated up and left the room.
They returned minutes later loaded with fruit and a great variety of cakes and pies, as well as some frozen concoction that proved deliciously creamy as it melted on the tongue. "This is ice cream, a very popular sweet treat on our world. The three flavors available are Vanilla, Chocolate, and Strawberry," Prophet explained when Bran asked what the strange white lump on the serving tray was. Of course, no one knew what vanilla or chocolate were, and most had only ever heard of strawberries. They all agreed that all three flavors were delicious.
When the dessert was similarly devoured, Prophet clapped his hands. "And now, the gifts." The eight members of his crew left the room and came back carrying stacks of folded black pieces of clothing. "For the people of Winterfell, a bodysuit, similar in make to those my crew wears. It will never require washing, will never tear, and will mold itself to fit you perfectly. It will adjust temperature to ensure you are always in a state of comfort, whether in the heat of the desert or north of the Wall. Quite simply, it is the only thing you ever have to wear for the rest of your lives. Feel free to wear your regular clothes on top, but these bodysuits will serve every function of clothing without requiring any maintenance."
The people of Winterfell gaped as they processed the wondrous quality of these bodysuits. The stark family were offered their own, even little Rickon. They all expressed thanks to the Visitors for the gift.
"And now, for the Stark family," Prophet declared. "First, for Lord Stark." The doors opened and more than a few screamed.
A full-grown direwolf, larger than a horse, walked through the doors and up the aisle to stand at Prophet's side, facing Father. Then, miracle of miracles, the direwolf spoke. "My name is Winter. If you will have me, I will serve House Stark to the end of my days."
"How… how is this possible?" Father gaped.
"We made him. Well, more accurately we grew him. We gave him human-level intelligence and taught him all about your family. Now he's here, ready to serve," Prophet said nonchalantly.
Father looked form the Visitor to his 'gift'. "Very well, Winter. I accept you."
The direwolf bowed and plaid down across the steps so he was parallel to the table.
The other Visitors lined up behind Prophet, most bearing a gift. "For Lady Stark, a calculator and a sewing machine to aid you in your duties as Lady Stark." Mother accepted the two devices hesitantly. "For Robb Stark, a full set of armor, made of titanium, a stronger and lighter metal than steel." Robb admired the suit appreciatively. "For Sansa Stark, a dress made of diamond thread." Sansa gaped as the glittering, iridescent dress was handed to her. "For Arya Stark, a bow that will never miss." Arya accepted the bow and accompanying quiver with delight. "For Bran Stark, a set of climbing gloves. With these you can climb any surface. And there's an emergency function to save you if you ever fall." Bran grinned while he accepted the gift. "For Rickon Stark, a storybook loaded with every story in Westeros." Prophet handed that one to Father. "And last but not least, Jon Snow. For you, we have this." Jon gaped as Prophet handed him a bastard sword with a wolf's head on the pommel. "We lack the magic or knowledge of Old Valyria, so we cannot provide Valyrian Steel. Hopefully, carbon nanotubes will suffice." Jon just nodded at Prophet, still marveling at his sword.
"The feast is over," Prophet declared before leaving with his crew.
Most needed help standing after their gluttony. The Starks, including the new addition Winter, all went for their rooms carrying their respective gifts.
Arya tucked herself into bed and wondered how the King would react to the Visitors.