A/N: I want to thank everyone for reading, alerting, and favoring this story.

I also want to extend my appreciation to Queen of Ice and Winter, Ironman088, Garm88, Fejstroll, thepkrmgc, The Ghost Who Walks1, WeylandCorp 4, Mikle Silver, WaterRK9, Ari989, Master of Dragons God (10), Hiei-Uchiha, Zip00, Nox Descious, X59, Malyx Blackfyre, El Chacal, Axular, JediMasterDraco, 'birdy,' 'XBolt51,' and to the guests and anon for taking the time to review. It means a lot to me. Your incredible support keeps the muse happy. And a happy muse is a busy muse.

The tremendous feedback from the last chapter was humbling. So thank you.

Our Blades Are Sharp

By Spectre4hire

11: Arya

Arya wasn't sure what to make of the news.

It had been announced that morning that a betrothal had been agreed between her brother, Robb and the Princess Myrcella Baratheon. Upon the condition that the Princess spends at least one year in Winterfell as a ward before their wedding was to take place. The time for the wedding would be agreed by the two families at a later date as would an agreed time to begin the fostering of the Princess.

Robb had taken the news calmly. He had given a smile when applause met the announcement. He didn't seem surprised by the news which made Arya suspect that their parents had already told him about the betrothal before it was announced.

The Princess meanwhile had looked nervous and uncertain when the attention of the great hall had turned to her. She squirmed in her seat, eyes darting across the room. It was Robb who had come to her rescue. He had taken her hand in his and whispered something into her ear that seemed to have calmed her. After that, the Princess smiled easily at the attention.

"Arya," Septa Mordane's cold voice broke Arya out of her thoughts. She looked down to see her stitches were crooked again.

"Let me see your progress, Arya?" Septa Mordane held out her hand.

Reluctantly, Arya handed her work over to the Septa. She looked to see Jeyne smirking from where she sat. Beside her, Sansa had put her needlework on her lap. She looked at her with sympathetic eyes.

"Arya," The Septa was shaking her head in dismay. "This will not do at all."

She felt tightness in her tummy at the Septa's reprimanding.

"Let me see," Sansa stepped out of her seat and all but glided over to the Septa.

Surprised at Sansa's words and sudden presence, the Septa recovered to hand it over to Sansa.

"I'm not sure even your skilled hands can fix this, Sansa."

Sansa examined the stitch work in the light. Her lips pressed together as her fingers ran over the material.

"Nothing as exquisite as what you've done." The Septa continued in her endless showering of compliments towards Sansa.

It was enough to make Arya roll her eyes and stick out her tongue. She was careful not to do either of those. She'd probably be scolded by the Septa of how it wasn't lady like. Or worse a lecture at how she didn't roll her eyes as well as Sansa. That absurd thought was enough for Arya to crack a smile.

"Perhaps not," Sansa reluctantly admitted before handing it over to the Septa, but her eyes were on Arya. "However, my sister thrives in other areas." At those words she gave Arya an encouraging smile. "She far exceeds my skill in numbers." She took a seat beside Arya. "Maester Luwin says she's quite talented."

"Be that as it will," the Septa sniffed, unwilling to acknowledge Arya was good at hadn't surprised Arya since the Septa seemed allergic to giving her any sort of compliment. "It is still important that Arya learns and masters her needlework."

"And she will," Sansa's tone was confident, "but in her own time." She laid a comforting hand on Arya's arm.

Before the Septa could respond to Sansa, the door opened and a servant came in making his way to the Septa where he whispered something to her.

Arya watched the Septa's lips form a frown at what she was being told, whatever it was it didn't look like good news.

"There is something I must take care of," the Septa announced. "Continue with your needlework, I'll be back shortly." The Septa's eyes landed on each one of them but stayed on Arya the longest before she swept out of the room with the servant trailing behind, closing the door after them.

"Did you mean it?" Arya asked her sister as soon as the Septa had left.

"Every word," Sansa confirmed.

"Thanks," Arya muttered giving her older, prettier sister a smile of her own.

"Here," Sansa had given her some new cloth. "Watch me."

Arya never had the chance to watch Sansa because in that moment the door opened once more, but it wasn't the servant or the Septa returning. It was Lady; Sansa's direwolf padded into the room with an air of elegance.

"They're not suppose to be out," Jeyne had a nervous look, her eyes bugging out at the sight of the dire wolf who had grown considerably like the rest of her littermates since they had been rescued.

Arya wasn't sure what was more satisfying seeing Jeyne so terrified of Lady or how Lady had all but ignored her and made her way over to Sansa, who was beaming at the sight of her beloved direwolf.

It was when Lady moved closer did Arya notice a blue rose was loosely tied to Lady's collar and a folded parchment rested beneath it.

Sansa saw this as well. Her smile only widened when she took the rose. She gave it a slight sniff and Arya could smell the sweet scent that the flower emitted. It was then that her older sister opened up the folded note and Arya saw her blush while her eyes scanned the contents of the note.

From her angle, Arya couldn't read it, but she knew it was from Domeric. The flower, the note, the presentation of it all, it hadn't been the first time he had made such a gesture to Sansa since they had become betrothed.

"Oh Dom," Sansa whispered in an amused tone.

"What?" Arya found herself asking.

"Come on," Sansa stood up gracefully.

"Where are we going?" Arya followed her sister's lead.

"You can't leave," Jeyne hissed. "The Septa said we couldn't leave."

Sansa regarded her friend for a moment, "Tell her something came up." Without another word, Sansa left the room with Lady at her heels, and Arya followed close behind knowing she wasn't moving with the same grace or confidence that her sister seemed to carry effortlessly.

It wasn't until they were out of the corridor that Arya confronted her sister. "Sansa?" She moved to step in front of her, "What's going on?"

Arya was surprised by the mischievous glint that seemed to shimmer in Sansa's eyes. Her lips curved upwards before she spoke, "I thought we could use a break from needlework."

"Where are we going?"

"Don't you want to see our brother putting the Prince in his place?"

The thought of Robb beating Joffrey was enough to make Arya chuckle and nod her head in agreement. She remembered that the boys were supposed to be in the practice yard at this hour.

"I thought so," Sansa sounded pleased that Arya had agreed with her.

"What about the note?"

"That had something else," Sansa blushed prettily looking down at her hands that were holding the letter and the rose.

Arya decided not to comment. "Can I get Nymeria?"

Sansa nodded, "Of course." She affectionately patted the top of Lady's head when she spoke. "They're meant to be with us."

Arya grinned at that and the two Stark sisters went to get Nymeria who eagerly greeted Arya when she untied her. Arya hugged her tightly. She missed her greatly. She didn't like that she had to be separated with her during the day. Nymeria responded to her hug by licking her ear and Arya giggled.

Nymeria and Lady sniffed each other before Nymeria gave her littermate an affectionate nip on the ear. With Nymeria free, Arya followed Sansa who led her towards the covered bridge that connected the armory to the Great Keep. It would be the perfect place for them to see the whole yard and hopefully allow them to view their brother beating the Prince soundly.

When they arrived, Arya spotted there were others who were already there.

Jon was sitting on the sill, and looked to be in deep conversation with the other person he was with. It was Domeric he was leaning against the sill, his back to the whole yard; a serious look covered his face. The two were so engrossed in their conversation that they didn't notice Arya and Sansa's arrival until Ghost, Jon's direwolf who was already larger than his littermates moved to meet them.

Jon sent them a curious look, lingering on Arya, but his expression remained impassive. Domeric was the opposite upon seeing Sansa; he gave her a smile before moving to meet her.

Arya noticed the happy smile that Sansa was quick to return. He kissed her cheek, before giving Lady a soft pat on the head, Sansa's direwolf responded by licking his outstretched fingers. "So you got my letter?"

"We did," Sansa held up the letter before gesturing to the rose with the other hand, "Thank you for this."

Domeric grinned. "I couldn't help myself. You inspire me. " He leaned in and pressed a kiss to her lips.

Arya looked away meeting Jon's eyes. She stuck out her tongue and he rolled his eyes. They had grown use to these displays between Sansa and Domeric. And they enjoyed playfully ribbing the pair of them on it whenever they got a chance.

"Where's Robb?" Arya badly wanted to see her brother beat the Prince.

"Robb's down there," Jon pointed to the yard below. Arya followed his finger to see her brother; Bran heavily padded trading hits with the plump Prince Tommen, who was equally padded. Ser Rodrik looked on to make sure no harm came to the boys even with all the protective gear being used.

There were more than a dozen spectators. The loudest among them was Robb, Arya spotted him easily, and Theon was beside him. On the other side of the yard she spotted the other Prince, surrounded by men dressed in Lannister red.

"The prince is a little shit," Jon observed bitterly.

"You may be on to something, Jon." Domeric chuckled. "Lords and Ladies, we present to you, His Shittiness, Joffrey Baratheon."

The words coupled by Domeric's dramatically exaggerated delivery had them all laughing. Even Sansa had joined them and Arya had never thought to see or hear her sister laughing at something so crude and inappropriate.

"What about the Princess?" Arya couldn't see her anywhere. "Where is she?"

"She was outside," Domeric answered, "but the Queen summoned her back inside."

"I don't like her," Arya decided, "she's stupid."

Jon chuckled at that. "You hardly know her."

"Still," Arya wasn't convinced there was much substance to the older Princess.

"She's no Joffrey," Sansa pointed out.

"Thank the gods for that," Domeric added, "For Robb's sake."

"She's like you," Arya immediately regretted it.

"Like me?" Sansa furrowed her brows. Her eyes were looking at Arya closely. "So you think I'm stupid?"

Arya squirmed under her sister's stare. It seemed more intimidating then she remembered. "I used to." She admitted quietly, "but not anymore," she was quick to amend.

"The Princess is like the old you," Arya wanted to keep talking because she didn't like the way her sister was staring at her. "But you're different now, you've changed." Arya looked down at her shoes. "You're nicer to me," she sniffed, not knowing why she felt tears in her eyes, "You stick up for me."

Whether it was from this morning when Sansa defended her from the Septa's scolding or how she now stopped Jeyne from calling her horse face. Sansa had looked out for her more in the past few months.

"And you like to spend time with me," Arya finished. "I like that."

Before she could say or do anything she felt Sansa's arms wrap around her and Arya welcomed her sister's embrace. She returned it with equal fervor, burying her face in her sister's dress, feeling tears beginning to leak out of her eyes, but she didn't care.

"I'm sorry," Sansa whispered into her ear, "that I wasn't a better sister to you then." She squeezed Arya tightly.

They stayed like that for a few minutes. Eventually, they pulled away, Arya scrubbed her eyes with the back of her arm. She stopped when she felt her sister's hand under her chin guiding her to look up and meet her eyes. Arya could see Sansa's eyes shimmering with unshed tears and she gave Arya a watery smile which Arya returned.

"I'm sorry about your dress," Arya's tears had left their mark on Sansa's pretty dress.

Sansa laughed it off. "It's quite alright," she assured her. "I have other dresses."

"A lot more," Domeric chimed in, earning a chuckle from Jon and a stare from Sansa that caused Domeric's smile to falter before disappearing.

Arya laughed. Domeric looked at her and his smile returned before sending her a wink.

She then turned to Jon who looked at her fondly before messing up her hair. Arya pouted which had Jon smiling.

"We should be going, Dom." Sansa reminded him. She had her arm tucked into his. Lady was beside her.

He nodded, "of course." He then turned to Jon. "Will you consider my offer, Jon?"

"I will," Jon said stiffly.

"It's a good alternative."

Arya couldn't miss the pleased looks from Domeric and Sansa at Jon's words. Before she could ask them where they were going or what they were talking about. The two said their goodbyes and left with Lady following.

"What's going on?" Arya turned to Jon.

"It's nothing," Jon told her in a tone that conveyed he wanted the subject dropped.

"It is something," Arya wasn't fooled.

"Don't worry about it."

"I'm not a child!" she protested, "you can tell me."

He didn't look at her when he spoke, "I'm taking the Black."

"You wanted to see me?" Arya stepped into her father's study to see she hadn't been the only one summoned. She spotted Sansa sitting on one of the sofas, Domeric was with her.

"I did, child." Father gave her an encouraging smile. He was standing in front of the fireplace; Mother was sitting in a chair near him. Maester Luwin was off to the side.

Arya took a seat.

"As you know, your father has accepted the King's offer to make him Hand of the King," her mother started. "Which means he will be riding south to King's Landing."

"Sansa," Father said, "The Queen has requested your presence."

"My presence?" Sansa repeated, blinking owlishly at this revelation.

"Yes," Father confirmed grimly.

"The Queen hopes for a friendship to form between you and the Princess," Mother spoke up, "To help make it easier for the Princess when she returns north to serve as a ward before she is to marry Robb."

Arya noticed father's expression remained stoic and it looked like he didn't quite believe what mother was saying about the Queen's justification of having Sansa come to the capital.

"Do I have to go?" Sansa whispered, with a worried look in her eyes.

"Aye," Father said, looking at her with a look of pity and understanding. "It is unwise to refuse a Queen's request."

"I'll go to then," Domeric volunteered, holding Sansa's hand in his.

Father smiled at that. "That'll be up to your father, Domeric."

Domeric didn't seem put off by that. "I'll speak with him."

"I'd be honored to have you accompany me south, Domeric," he said sincerely. "You would stay at the Tower of the Hand with my household if your father consents."

"Thank you, Lord Stark," Domeric replied.

Sansa looked thankful at the thought that she wouldn't be going to the capital alone.

"What about me?" Arya had no desire to go to the capital. She hated the Queen, the Prince, and the royal family and pretty much everyone who traveled with them.

"Originally, we would have you go south with your Father, Sansa, and Bran," Mother began before sending Father a look. "But we've decided something different for you."

"Yes," he picked up where she left off. "I've written to Maege Mormont and she has agreed to let you foster at Bear Island."

"Really?" That wasn't what Arya was expecting it all.

She couldn't believe it. It was well known in the north of the martial skills that the Mormont women and all the women of Bear Island picked up. The defenses of their villages and holdfasts fell on the women when the men went fishing. Even when the men were there, many women took up sword and shield and fought for their families and for House Mormont to defend themselves from Ironborn and Wildling attacks.

"Really," Father confirmed with a warm smile. "Dacey Mormont will be handling your training and to make sure you are more than capable of defending yourself. She will help train you to take care of and use armor, and weapons."

"Thank you!" Arya was beaming when she shot out of her seat to her father where he laughed as he picked her up and hugged her tight.

"You're welcome, child." He said in her ear. He put her down after a moment, still smiling warmly at her.

"However," Mother's voice brought Arya to look back at her mother to see her eyes shone with happiness that Arya was pleased at their decision, but it was clear more needed to be said. "It is still expected of you to continue and improve your needle work."

"I will," Arya affirmed quickly, not missing the smile on mother's face.

"Once your fostering at Bear Island is complete," Father went on, "You will return to Winterfell for a short time before going south to learn the ways of a Southron court. We are expecting you to take these lessons of the south if not with the same enthusiasm then with the same effort as your martial lessons."

"I will," Arya swore. The idea of her going south having only been delayed was a bit disappointing for her. She had no interest in the south. No desire to be a noble, genteel lady. However, she wasn't about to complain. It would be years before she'd have to go anyways. By then, she'd be a trained warrior. She'd be able to handle any spoiled southerners who would try to bother her.

Yes, she could make that small sacrifice. If it meant she was allowed to go to Bear Island to train under Dacey Mormont then she could go south too. Arya understood the compromise her parents were making for her. They were willing to encourage her interests when other families wouldn't. She wasn't about to jeopardize that.

"I promise."

Arya wouldn't let them down. She was going to do her best to make her family proud.