Inside one of Winterfell's tower rooms, Sansa and Princess Myrcella were both knitting happily together, overseen by Myrcella's ladies-in-waiting, and Sansa's tutor, Septa Mordane. For Arya, she was sitting near the door where her needlework is as grim as Sansa's is perfect, her face as plain as Sansa's is beautiful. She doesn't want to be here. While the Septa fawns over the princess, Arya quietly lays down her knitting and sneaks away.

Bran and Prince Tommen drill in the yard with padded wooden swords. The children are so heavily padded themselves that they look like they've been wrapped in featherbeds. Huffing and puffing, they thump each other under the watchful eye of Ser Rodrik Cassel. A dozen spectators call out encouragements, in which Robb was the loudest among them. Jeren Hill was present as well, but he didn't seem to happy at all. Theon Greyjoy watches with his characteristic wry contempt.

Twenty yards from the others, Jon Snow watches as well, seated alone on a rough wooden bench. Absorbed in the action, he is unaware of Arya's approach until she jumps on his back.

"Shouldn't you be working on your stitches?" Jon asked.

Arya makes a face at him. "I wanted to see them fight. Why aren't you with them?"

"Bastards aren't allowed to damage young princes," Jon said.

Arya watches her little brother Bran whack at Tommen, almost toppling over himself in the process.

"I could do better than Bran," Arya joked. "I'd knock the prince's fat head off."

Jon looks at her with mock shock. Then he takes her arm and examines it, feeling her muscle. He shakes his head. "Too skinny."

She snatches back her arm and glares at him. He messes up her hair. A cheer goes up from the drilling field. Bran has managed to knock Tommen over, in which the prince is rolling in the dust, trying to get up and failing, like a padded turtle. Bran stands at the ready with upraised wooden sword, ready to whack him again once he regains his feet. The spectators laugh until Ser Rodrik ends it. He yanks the prince to his feet.

"Well fought," Ser Rodrik said and then turns to Prince Joffrey and Robb Stark. "Will you go another round?"

"Gladly," Robb nodded in satisfaction.

Joffrey, however, looks bored; he remains among his men. "This is a child's game."

"That's because you're children," Theon corrected.

"Robb may be a child, but I'm a prince," Joffrey spat in utter disgust. "And I'm tired of swatting at Starks with a play sword."

"Joffrey, this is something you need to do," Jeren said giving him a gateful stare. "If you want to be king, you need to learn more on how to fight with a sword if your ever going to be in a battle."

"Who said you can speak?" Joffrey scoffed

"My own, actually," Jeren glared at him.

"Well, as your prince, I order you to be silent," Joffrey said in command. "Speak one more word, and I'll have your tongue ripped out."

"Is that a threat Joffrey?" Jeren asked, not sounding too afraid of his cousin. "You should be careful what you say to others when you meet them. That act of behavior could get you into a lot of trouble. Besides, you don't want to embarrass yourself to your future wife."

"You really have a big mouth," Joffrey spat. "No wonder why your still a bastard. A bastard born to a dwarf."

Jeren was very irritated for what Joffrey had just said to him. He never likes being called that or even hearing others calling his father a dwarf which is out of line.

Robb didn't like the way Joffrey was talking to his cousin, so he decided to back him up and giving the prince a very hateful stare. "You got more swats than you gave. Afraid?"

"Oh, terrified," Joffrey pretended to be scared. "I might get a splinter."

The Lannister men all laugh while Jon and Arya watch with contempt. Jon overheard everything on what Joffrey said to Jeren. He can see why Jeren never like going back south since he couldn't stand his cousin's childish behavior.

"What a ruthless piece of carcass," Jon spat in utter disgust.

"What do you suggest?" Ser Rodrik asked.

"Live steel," Joffrey suggested.

"Done," Robb agreed.

Ser Rodrik puts a hand on Robb's shoulder. "Too dangerous. I'll let you go with tourney swords with blunted edges."

That was when a muscled knight with dark brown hair and terrible burn scars on his face pushes forward. The man's name was Sandor Clegane, who was also called the "The Hound" and Joffrey's bodyguard.

"This is your prince," Sandor said. "Who are you to tell him he can't have an edge on his sword?"

"He thinks he can fight me with a weapon of match," Robb grinned.

"I killed a man at twelve," Sandor recalled of a story. "And not with a blunt sword."

Arya watches with worry as Robb bristles, his pride wounded.

"Let me do it," Robb spoke to Ser Rodrik. "I can beat him."

"Beat him with a tourney blade, then," Rodrik sighed.

Joffrey shrugs and starts to turn away. "Come and see me, north boy, once your balls thaw."

Jeren was very displeased by this and couldn't stand all the laughing from a number of Lannister soldiers. He could see that Robb was now losing his temper for the insults he got from the prince.

"I'll cut yours off, you little piss-haired," Robb threatened him.

Arya's and Jon's eyes widen in surprise. That was when Theon seizes Robb's arm to keep him away from the prince. Joffrey feigns a yawn and turns to his younger brother.

"Come, Tommen," Joffrey chuckled cruelty. "Playtime is over. Leave the children to their games."

More laughter from the Lannisters, more curses from Robb. Theon continues to hold Robb back, now aided by Ser Rodrik, until the Lannister party is safely away. Far from being frightened, Arya was thrilled. This is where she wants to be, among the rough and brawling boys.

"You'd better get back," Jon suggested.

"I hate needlework!" Arya loudly complained. "It's not fair!"

"Nothing is fair," Jon sighed, messing her hair again and walks away, forcing Ghost to follow his master silently.

Reluctantly, Arya turns in the other direction. In the distance, she sees Septa Mordane waiting for her, along with Lady Catelyn herself. Neither looks pleased. Arya sighs and goes to take what she's got coming.