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, Master of Dragons God, Greywing101, JediMasterDraco, 'Guest', 'birdy,' Weyland Corp 4, Xbolt51, WaterRK9, El Chacal, Machoking, thepkrmgc, Axular, Hiei-Uchiha, tfranco9, Zip001, X59, ptl4ever419, Ari989, Fejstroll, 'lily,' just , and shadespace for taking the time to review. It means a lot to me.

Our Blades Are Sharp

By Spectre4hire

15: Arya

Winterfell was all she knew.

Now, looking around her home it never felt so empty. So many familiar faces were gone.

When Father had left for the south he had taken much of the household of Winterfell with him including Vayon Poole, the steward, Jory Cassel, captain of the guard, Septa Mordane, and Hullen, the master of horse.

It was not just the loss of servants and guards that weighed on her mind, but those of her family that had departed. Her father had gone to the capital with Sansa, and Domeric. Mother left too shortly after to speak with father in the capital.

She missed them all terribly.

However, the one that hurt the most was Jon. He had left to go to the Wall and to take the Black.

Why did he have to be stupid? Why did he have to be so stubborn!

He could've stayed. He didn't have to go so far away.

She blinked away tears.

Wanting a distraction, she went to where she kept Needle. It was one of the few things she had yet to pack. The sword had been a gift from Jon before he left. When she closed her eyes she could still see his smiling face when he gave her some encouraging words on how to use it.

She put it on the top of pile of clothes in her last remaining opened trunk.

The only good news they had since her family departed Winterfell had been that her brother, Bran had woken up. Unfortunately, he couldn't remember what had happened in the immediate events that led to how he fell.

She tried to visit him as often as she could. It was difficult for her though: to see him lying in bed, so thin and sad.

It wasn't fair!

Her brother didn't deserve this. They had often played their games in the training yard, chasing each other, and laughing.

Now, when she visited he was a shadow of his former self. He barely talked. His eyes were distant, his face sad, and his temper short. On more than one occasion they had gotten into a heated argument.

They never use to fight, she sniffed at the change between them, but now it seemed all they did was argue.

He wasn't the only one who had changed. Robb too had transformed in the past week since father and the others left Winterfell. He carried real steel now. He rarely smiled or laughed. He had his lord face almost always on. That's what Bran called it, and Arya couldn't agree more.

"Are you ready, Nymeria?" Arya turned to her direwolf.

Nymeria flicked her golden eyes at Arya, tongue lulling to the side. Arya knew that she had been out with the others. She could see the flecks of dirt still coated on her paws.

Her direwolf never had a chance to answer since at the moment, a knock came to her door, followed by her brother's voice, "Arya?"

"Come in."

Robb did. His sword dangled from its sheath by his side. His face solemn, but his eyes looked at her with a softness she had rarely seen since father left. He took a breath. "I've received word from the Mormonts' party."

Arya stayed silent.

"They'll be here by nightfall," he told her. "They will be here just long enough for some rest and fresh supplies before you all set out for Bear Island."

In that moment, Arya got up from her seat and ran over to her brother, overwhelmed by so many different emotions. He picked her up and held her close. She could feel tears leaking out, but she only buried her head deeper into her brother's shoulder.

It had hit her all so suddenly. She was leaving.

"There, there," Robb whispered in her ear, rocking her in his arms before slowly putting her back down. "You're going to have a lot of fun." Her feet touched the floor. "I'm quite jealous actually."

"You are?" Arya rubbed at her eyes to see her brother wasn't wearing his lord's face.

"I am," he affirmed. "The Mormonts are ferocious fighters." He rested his hand on her shoulder. "Our family should be honored to count them as one of our most loyal bannermen."

"What about you?" she sniffed. She hated leaving him here, and Bran and Rickon. She couldn't stamp out the guilt that she was abandoning them by going off to Bear Island and leaving them behind.

"I'll be alright," he soothed her concern. "And I'll write to you every day to complain about Theon."

She laughed. "You promise?"

"Yes," He brought his hand to her cheeks to gently wipe away the lingering tears she had missed. "You'll write to me too?"

"Yes," she realized she would be writing many letters that would be traveling across Westeros: Her letters to Jon on the Wall, to Sansa and Domeric in the capital, and now to Robb and Bran in Winterfell.

Robb smiled, "Good, because I want to hear all about your adventures in Bear Island." He guided her over to where her opened trunk was. "I want to know what style of fighting Dacey is training you in so that I can prepare for next time we meet."

"You'll spar with me?" She brightened at that.

"Only if you promise to go easy on me," Robb replied.

"I'll try to," she promised.

Robb laughed. "That's my sister," his face sobered. "My sweet, mischievous sister," he shook his head, "Oh I will miss you terribly."

He wrapped his arms around her in another hug which Arya didn't fight. She returned the embrace in equal fervor. There were no tears this time. She was too tired for them. When they pulled away, she watched as his eyes settled on something behind her, before she could say or do anything he went to her trunk and pulled out Needle.

"It seems you've begun your lessons early," Robb said dryly. He made a few careful flicks with it, before his eyes fell on the mark. "This is from Mikken." His eyes went to hers. "Who gave you this?"

"Jon," she looked down at her shoes. She wasn't sure what to expect from her brother at the news that Jon had given her a sword. She knew he wouldn't have reacted like father would've, but she didn't expect the chuckle that came out of him.

"He dotes on you," Robb was smiling, "As well he should."

Arya returned his smile.

"Tell me, has Jon told you much about how to use one of these?"

"It's not a toy," Arya said seriously, pleased at the approving nod her brother sent her way, "And to stick them with the pointy end."

Robb snorted at that, "Yes, that sounds like Jon." He handed her the sword. "Be careful with this Arya."

"I will," Arya bit down the annoyance that threatened to seep into her tone. She had it for weeks without hurting her or anyone else.

Robb seemed to sense her annoyance. "It's not quite fair." His tone tinged in amusement. "Jon gets to give you a sword while I'm the one who has to lecture you on how to use it." He let out a dramatic sigh. "Jon's the fun brother, and I'm the nagging, responsible one." He plopped down onto her bed.

"Don't worry you don't nag as well as Old Nan or Septa Mordane," Arya comforted him with a grin that had the two soon laughing.

"That's a relief," Robb declared when the laughter had subsided between them.

"Have you heard from mother or father?" Arya had settled herself next to him on the bed.

"No," he answered, "I've heard from Sansa."

"How is she?"

Robb sent her a curious look. "You miss her, don't you?"

Arya shot him a frown. "She's my sister of course I miss her!" It was a strange sort of declaration. She did miss Sansa. They had grown closer the few months before the king and his royal party arrived. Arya didn't like how she had to go south. She had only sent one letter to Sansa and Domeric, and was still working on a new one she wanted to send them. She had been hoping to have it done before she left for Bear Island. Now, that the Mormonts were near she wasn't sure if she'd finish in time.

Robb smiled. He looked proud at her words before he went back to answer her question.

"She and Domeric are well." He divulged the information of her latest letter. Most of it was boring, and made Arya thankful that she didn't have to go south. The only thing of interest had been of Domeric's intent to ride in the Tourney that was being thrown to honor Father's appointment as Hand of the King.

"Do you think Dom will win?" She hoped he'd wipe the floor with those spoiled, frilly southern knights. She met a few who had come to Winterfell with the king. They were unbearably smug and annoying.

"Aye," Robb seemed to be thinking similar thoughts. "Father and Ser Rodrik spoke well of his skills on horse and with lance." He turned to her, "I'm sure the next letter we'll get from them will be telling of how Domeric won and named Sansa, the Queen of Love and Beauty."

"Sansa would love that."

Robb gave her a look that conveyed he didn't need to be told the obvious.

She swatted his arm in protest, and he simply chuckled.

"What about mother?" Arya asked, "Did she find father?"

"That's not important, Arya." He had slipped on his lord's face

"What is it?" Arya knew he wasn't telling her something. She knew it when mother left so urgently after the fire in the library. It didn't make sense, and she knew mother had been talking to Robb, Maester Luwin, Ser Rodrik, and even Theon often enough before she left. Arya didn't like how Theon knew and not her. His smirks had only become more annoying.

"I don't want to trouble you with the headaches of ruling."

Arya frowned, but seeing the tired look etched on her brother's face, quieted her protests. She didn't want to fight with him before she left for Bear Island. She didn't want one of her last times with her brother to be with Robb the lord instead of Robb, her brother.

She nodded, knowing she made the right decision when she saw relief come to his expression. "So how goes your correspondence with the princess?" She was unable to fight the grin that came to her when her brother rolled his eyes.

"You're worse than Sansa," He sighed.

Before any comparison to her sister would've made her angry; now, it only made her laugh especially seeing how her words had affected him. He looked annoyed, but the tired smile on his face showed he knew she was joking.

"I've just finished a letter for the princess," Robb admitted, and didn't look willing to divulge any further on the matter.

"Does it contain poetry?" Arya snickered.

Robb rolled his eyes, but before he could respond a new voice broke into the room.

"Robb?" Rickon's head poked inside the room, "You said you'd play with me."

"Aye," Robb looked thankful at the distraction of no longer needing to discuss his letters with the princess. "And what game shall we play?" He moved to scoop up Rickon in his arms.

"The one with the knight and the dragon," Rickon answered in between his bouts of giggling as he squirmed in Robb's arms.

Seeing her two brothers together, Arya felt a cold pang go through her; knowing that this would be one of her last times with them before she went to Bear Island. She felt the knots in her tummy realizing that she wouldn't be with her brothers and the rest of her family again for months, maybe even a year...

"Want to play, Arya?"

Rickon's words interrupted her anxious thoughts, she blinked to see his hopeful expression, Robb too was looking at her with an amused smile, an eyebrow raised in question.

Arya smiled at her youngest brother, "Only if I get to be the dragon!"

The day had finally come.

This was the day she left Winterfell.

It wasn't excitement that filled her at the journey she was about to embark on but anxiety. It felt like worms wiggling around in her tummy.

"Rickon, please," she pleaded for the umpteenth time as she stood outside his bedroom door. She found her patience wearing thin with him. She tried to keep her voice in check. Arya wanted to say goodbye to her brother, but she couldn't stand out here all day waiting for him.

The only response she got from him was a muffled sob as he refused to open the door for her to say goodbye. He was already upset that father, mother, Sansa, Jon, and even Dom had left. Watching her leave seemed to push him over the edge.

She didn't know how to handle his tantrum. She wasn't good at soothing him. It was always mother and Sansa who were able to calm him with a gentle touch or sweet words. Arya wasn't good at those things.

"I'm about to leave," she told him, "You're not going to see me for months." That admission brought an unexpected sniff from Arya. She was still trying to come to grips with leaving.

Her words seemed to have worked since she heard his door unlock. She saw a blur of her brother before he was on her, hugging her tight while his face buried into her shirt. She quickly put her arms around him to meet his emotional embrace.

"Don't leave," he mumbled into her shirt.

Arya didn't respond.

Realizing the delicate balance she had to maintain with her emotional, younger brother. She didn't want to push him away. She knew if she chose her words wrong that he would run back into his room in a fit. So instead, she just silently hugged him. She ignored the tears that were swelling in her eyes.

He looked up, red eyes, puffy cheeks stained with tears. Seeing how much her brother was reacting to her leaving had been surprising. Arya hadn't expected such a response from him. She loved Rickon and loved to play with him especially invoking his wild, playful side but because of his age she wasn't as close to him as she was with her other siblings.

She felt an uncomfortable lurch in her chest, a lump forming in her throat at the outpouring of affection that Rickon had for her. Arya tousled his hair the way she saw Sansa and mother do it a hundred times before which always seemed to elicit a giggle out of him. This time Rickon looked up, eyes brimming with tears, but his lips quivered before forming a small smile. He let out a shaky breath before finally dropping his arms to end the hug, a few sniffs followed as he scrubbed his eyes with the back of his arm.

Arya hesitantly pulled him in for one last hug which he didn't fight. She awkwardly patted his back. She inwardly chided herself at her inability to better comfort her youngest brother who was clearly hurting. She wasn't as affectionate as her mother or Sansa. Arya never had to. They were always there to tend to Rickon when he needed them. Now, they were both gone and she was leaving too.

"I'll bring you back something from Bear Island," she promised unable to take the silence that lingered over them any longer.

That got his attention. His eyes wet with tears, but there was light in them at the promise of getting a gift, "Really?"

Arya couldn't help but smile at her brother's reaction.

"Really," she confirmed. She then did something she never did before with him. She bent down and gently, but quickly kissed the top of his head. She hoped it wasn't too clumsy or poorly done, but when she stood back up to see Rickon's bright smile, she knew she did the right thing.

Bran was staring up at the ceiling with a blank stare. His lips pressed in a firm line. He didn't look mad or annoyed. His attention seemed to be elsewhere.

There, Arya stood in his doorway. She didn't want to disturb him, but she was leaving shortly, and couldn't leave Winterfell without saying goodbye to Bran. What kept her from speaking was her uncertainty at how he would react to her leaving.

They had been fighting a lot and it was terrible. Arya didn't want her goodbye with Bran to end up in an argument. He meant too much for her to leave like that. If she was honest with herself, she found herself closest to Bran out of all of her other siblings outside of Jon. They weren't far apart in age. They use to always play with their wooden swords, running and chasing each other through the Godswood while they pretended to be famous legends from the Age of Heroes.

It was only till they were older when Arya was getting separated from Bran did she realize how much she missed him and how much she had relied on his presence growing up. She had been tasked with taking up needlework and being taught the ways of being a genteel southern lady. While she watched Bran learn sword play and the skills needed to be a great knight. She had been envious at how their roles had altered so quickly and of the new paths they were forced to take.

Bran, like her refused to accept the separation. She could remember him coming to her room after her first week of needlework. She had been miserable. When she saw him, she was angry, lashing out at him that he got to train with swords and armor while she sewed. That it wasn't fair. She was older, and that she had to do needlework and he didn't.

He had taken her outburst with a smile before telling her to follow him to the Godswood. Confused, and still angry, she did watching as he led her to one of the great trunks of an iron sentinel. Its base was hollowed out, he pulled out a cloak that had blended in with the trunk of the tree to see two practice swords. Still smiling, he quickly handed her one of them.

She had taken the sword with a surprised expression which only made him laugh, he then had answered the question she had wanted to ask.

I need to train with someone, he told her.

She could've pointed out the number of boys he could've trained with, but she didn't. Arya had understood the meaning behind his gesture and she would always be thankful for it.

Now, here she stood in his room.

He would never be a knight. He wouldn't be able to wield a sword the way he wanted to. He wouldn't be able to ride a horse. In going to Bear Island to foster with the Mormonts, she realized that she was living out Bran's dreams. She was doing the things he had wanted to do, but now because of his fall would never be able to.

And it wasn't fair! She thought, they should be going together! She couldn't deny the appeal of that. They had always done it together, and she felt guilty that she was able to continue, but he wasn't. She got to leave while he had to stay.

The guilt she felt made her tummy churn violently.

"Bran," she called out.

He blinked. He then turned his head to meet her. "You're leaving."

It wasn't a question. "Yeah, I am."

He nodded, his blue eyes looked distant. His lips pursed together as if he wanted to say something, but couldn't or wouldn't.

"I'll write to you," she promised.

"I know," His voice sounded wooden.

She had made it to the side of his bed. Her hands hung awkwardly to her side as she bit her lip not knowing what else to do or say to him. She couldn't understand the pain he was in. She felt her throat tighten.

Believing, their conversation was over; Bran turned his head and resumed staring up at the ceiling.

"I know it's not the same," she started, her voice wavering as if she wasn't sure if she should continue or not. Plucking up her courage, and not wanting to leave Bran in his current mood, she continued. "But I was told I would never be able to use a sword or learn how to fight because I'm a girl." She made a face to express what she thought about that opinion.

Arya could see Bran's face had hardened to the topic she was alluding to-his fall. She pressed on regardless, "But you always encouraged me," she sniffed, "You always let me practice with you even though I wasn't supposed to." She hesitantly reached for his hand which was lying limp at his side.

"Now, I'm going to Bear Island to foster with the Mormonts and continue my training and it's because of you," she squeezed his hand. "Thank you, Bran, for playing with me all these times and never forgetting about me even when we were supposed to learn different things." She rubbed at her eye when she felt tears prickling.

"You deserve it," Bran's voice was as soft as a whisper, as he turned his head to look at her. "You deserve to train with the Mormonts." His lips trembled, but a smile was pushed through, "I-I know you're going to do great."

"Thank you!" Arya didn't know how much she needed to hear those words from him until he said them. It felt as if a weight was lifted off her shoulders. She moved to him before she could lose her courage so that she could hug him. Arya could tell how surprised he was by how he was slow to react, but she soon felt them around her, as he awkwardly patted her back.

"You should go," he was smiling still, but there was no uncertainty this time in it. "Or the Mormonts may decide you're not worth the hassle."

Arya gingerly punched his shoulder as she laughed. She stuck her tongue out at him and he joined in on the laughter.

That was how she left him, with the both of them laughing.

The road to Bear Island was long and uneventful.

She wasn't sure what to expect of Bear Island.

Arya knew from her lessons from Maester Luwin that most of the inhabitants of the island lived along the coasts. From listening to Old Nan, she remembered the story of how one of her ancestors, Rodrik Stark had gotten the island from one of the weak Ironborn kings. It was said he won it in a wrestling match. He then bestowed the newly won island to House Mormont.

At that description of how the island was won, Arya couldn't help but have a thought of her brother, Robb and Theon wrestling for it. The image made her laugh.

The Mormont party that had come to take Arya to Bear Island was made up of men and women. They were led by the Heir to Bear Island, Dacey Mormont. She was tall and fierce. She wore leather armor with the Mormont sigil stitched into it: a black bear over a green wood. An axe hung loosely at her side while a wooden shield was resting on her back. The shield too had the Mormont sigil emblazoned on it.

Show me what you know, those were her words to Arya their first night away from Winterfell. Arya had proudly pulled out Needle, ignoring the looks and sniggers it got from some of the others and displayed the few techniques she had been able to pick up from overseeing Ser Rodrik's lessons. When she finished, she had turned to see the critical eye of Dacey Mormont appraising her.

You're a fighter, she had declared. You have some potential.

Arya had beamed at that.

The days blurred together for Arya Stark.

She lost track after the first week of traveling. The Mormont party mostly camped out once the day's ride was over. There were few inns this far north and castles for them to stay in. When they did come to one, they didn't pass the opportunity to stay somewhere with a roof over their heads and a warm fire in their rooms.

But soon, they left the mainland to sail to Bear Island. Arya had never traveled by boat before. It wasn't a fun part of the journey. Her stomach churning constantly as the boat beneath her glided over the waters. Nymeria seemed to like it more. Sitting out on the deck of the boat, eyes looking into the water, curious of the fish that swam below.

When Bear Island came into view it was a welcomed sight to Arya. She braved the cold, salty air and was thankful for the warm light of the sun that shined down on them. Looking out at Bear Island even from a distance she could tell it was a beautiful and harsh place.

From the shores of Bear Island, they then took their horses and rode to Mormont Keep. During that ride, Arya was able to see the towering pines, old gnarled oaks, rolling hills that had clear water steams slicing through them. She knew her brothers would've enjoyed it here. It was only after a short ride they reached their destination.

On one of those hills, she spotted Mormont Keep.

"Welcome, Arya," Dacey exclaimed with pride in her voice, "To my family's seat."

Servants had arrived to help them with the horses and unload Arya's things. They looked at Nymeria with awe and fear. At seeing Arya, they were quick to bow and curtsey, speaking about how honored they were to have a Stark with them.

Arya took their words with a nervous smile. This was something Sansa would know what to do or say. Thankfully, it seemed she didn't botch it. The people seemed pleased with her and had taken her things for her to the Keep. She kept her hand on Nymeria as she walked with Dacey up towards the Keep.

The castle seemed to be built mostly by earth and wood. It was surrounded by an earthen palisade. Smoke wafted from the hall of the keep. It was at the gate of the keep that had Arya staring. There was a carving of a woman in a bearskin. In one arm she held a babe tightly to her chest, and with the other, a battleaxe.

Here we stand, the words of House Mormont came to Arya in that moment. She found them fitting as she turned her gaze away from the carving on the gate.

Here I stand, she thought, ready to seize this opportunity that had been given to her.

A/N: So the timeline will be slightly altered to fit Arya's arc of being in Bear Island instead of the capital.