A:N: My first of hopefully many updates of 2019. Thanks for all the support.

Our Blades Are Sharp

By Spectre4hire

46: Arya

Nothing.

Arya blinked from her kneeling position within the Godswood of the Winterfell. She had hoped the familiar surroundings would ease the burden of her task, but it hadn't. She still strained pulling at the tether that connected her to Nymeria.

However, this time there was no fresh rebuke from Alysane. She had stayed at Bear Island to shore its defenses and rule while her mother and sisters were away. That meant it fell on Arya to continue her lessons alone.

Lessons I've ignored, she thought sheepishly. Since returning to Winterfell she hadn't spent any time in practicing. She spent it with Rickon and Bran or Jory and Lyanna, and even now as she tried, she only found herself out here because she had little else to do. The Mormont sisters had been invited to House Cerwyn for a few days, Jory to better get to know her future husband, the heir to Castle Cerwyn, Cley. Lyanna joined them to defend her sister's virtue. That had been how the youngest Mormont sister described her role, smiling when she did.

So Arya had gone to the Godswood. Her skin changing hadn't improved. She struggled with it when it was her choice. However, when Arya slept it was so easy to be one with her direwolf. Her wolf dreams came to her every night.

When I'm awake it's useless. Arya lost track of time at how long she had been out here. Her knees were damp from the ground and there was slight chill in the air that rustled the red leaves of the ancient heart tree of Winterfell's Godswood. The urge to give up grew, but she didn't stand up. She could hear Alysane's scolding tone play out in her head:

Stopping your training won't stop you from being one, it'll just hurt you.

She was right, and Arya knew it. So she remained where she knelt beneath the weirwood tree. She took a breath, as if preparing to take a plunge in the dark pool of the Godswood, closed her eyes and –

"Hodor!"

Startled, she spun around to see the giant but simple stable boy, Hodor. He wasn't alone. Bran was with him, in the basket fastened to Hodor's back that Maester Luwin had designed. Arya hastened to get up, helping Hodor with Bran who remained quiet as they helped him to a place to sit under the weirwood tree, his back resting against the pale bark. When they were done, he nodded his thanks.

"Hodor," Hodor replied in kind before going off deeper into the Godswood.

"Finish your lessons with Maester Luwin?" Arya moved to sit across from her younger brother.

"Yes."

"Where's Osha?" She was the wildling had threatened Bran's life, wanting to capture him and use him as a ransom him for Mance Rayder. She heard the wildling could fight, calling herself a spearwife, but Arya didn't care.

"Tending to her duties," Bran sensed her dislike for the wildling, "You don't like her do you?"

"No, I don't," Arya answered bluntly. "Why would I?"

"She isn't bad."

"She wanted to use you, Bran!" She growled, "She was going to steal you and hold you for ransom."

"If I can mind her presence shouldn't you be able to?"

"No," Arya answered quickly. She wouldn't forget what the wildling tried to do to her brother. What she would've done had they not been stopped. She corrected herself, and for that Arya didn't think chains were enough punishment for the spearwife.

A flicker of emotions passed over Bran's face in a matter of heartbeats but it was the small smile that remained, "Always my older sister."

Arya returned his smile, proudly, "Always."

"I didn't mean to disturb your prayers," Bran apologized once the moment of levity left the siblings.

I wasn't praying, was what Arya wanted to say, but she stopped herself. She wasn't sure how her brother would react if she told him she discovered that she was a warg. Like the villain in so many of those stories Old Nan use to tell them when they were younger.

I knew you were a warg the moment I saw you with your direwolf, Alysane's words echoed in her head. If only she was here now to tell Arya what about her siblings.

"Osha said the old gods answer our prayers," Bran said softly, "We just have to listen."

Arya looked over her brother's shoulder to see the carved face of the weirwood looking back at her. She found its melancholy expression and crimson gaze comforting. The pale branches and red leaves above, swayed gently in the breeze. Despite her feelings for the wildling, Arya couldn't deny the wisdom in Osha's words.

She closed her eyes, seeking the guidance of the old gods to help her in her attempts at skin changing. In silence, she struggled to wait patiently, and when she wanted to let out a groan of frustration, she felt it. It called to her, reaching deep within her as if seeping into her blood. Arya answered the call, and found herself in a dark pool, similar to the ones in Winterfell's Godswood. These were dark waters she swam, with only the light ahead to guide her. She was eager to reach it. She pushed and pushed herself through the darkness until she was so close she could touch the light. That was when it enveloped her, and she found herself on the Kingsroad.

The senses of smell and sound were overwhelming, but she forced herself to concentrate. She picked up the scents of her brothers, Summer and Shaggydog were near, and she could hear them getting closer, running through the woods to reach her. She let out an excited yip when Summer came into view, and Shaggydog followed, and the trio of direwolves exchanged greetings. In looking into Summer's eyes, Arya felt as if she was staring into Bran's.

A familiar scent carried on the wind caught her attention. She knew it. In her happiness, she threw back her head and howled, her littermates joining her.

Mother had returned.

Arya hovered in the doorway. Peering into her parents' room it felt strange to see mother there, sitting by the fire and stitching. It made her think of the time before the King's arrival, she was tempted to believe that Robb and Jon would be in the training yard with Domeric and Theon, sparring and laughing. Sansa with the Septa and Jeyne, Rickon and Bran with Maester Luwin.

For Father, she was almost hoping for him to sneak up behind her like he used to do. To pick her up with a growl that made hers always shriek, before laughing, and afterwards she'd always claim -I was never scared.

Father would just laugh, and nod, of course, not, he'd say, What could frighten a she-wolf?

"Arya?" Her mother's voice punctured through her memory.

She blinked back into the present, trying to push down the pang in her heart at the reminder that her father wasn't here at Winterfell. He was a prisoner, She scowled.

"Come in here, dear."

Arya walked in to see what it was her mother was working on. It was a long, white ermine cloak with a fierce direwolf embroidered upon it in silver thread. It looked old, and faded, and Arya could see that was what her mother was touching up on as well as the pearls that were stitched into it. She then looked past the cloak to her mother's hands which remained heavily bandaged. Arya remembered the letter Robb had sent her about the catspaw and how it was thwarted by Summer and Mother, but her brother had been vague with the details and seeing her mother's hands.

"Does it still hurt?"

"Only a little," Her mother assured her, before gesturing for her to take the seat beside her.

"Were you scared?" Her eyes lingered on her mother's hands.

Catelyn put down her needles. She pursed her lips, her eyes shone in contemplation on what to say, "I should've been, but I wasn't," she answered, "I was so concerned for Bran, fear, pain, I could not feel any of it. In that moment, all I cared about what protecting Bran," She looked down at her hands, "The pain that came with it I'd endure hundred fold if it meant keeping my children safe."

Arya smiled, admiring her mother's strength, We are a pack, father's words came to her, and Arya knew it to be true. Her mother may have been born a trout, but she could be a wolf too.

"I've noticed a few scrapes and bruises on you, young lady."

Arya's eyes darted up, fearing a reprimand, her mother had an eyebrow arched, but the corner of her lips tugged upwards. She looked more amused and exasperated. "It's from my sparring."

"Ah, and here I thought it was from your needlework," Catelyn said dryly.

A different sort of needle, she wanted to say, but Arya didn't want to press her mother's patience. "Lady Mormont has made me practice that too."

"I'm glad to hear it," She nodded, before returning to work on the cloak that was resting on her lap, "How was your time at Bear Island?"

"It was wonderful!" Arya blurted out.

Her mother smiled, "Yes, your letters mentioned that," she sounded genuinely pleased. "As are these new friends of yours."

"Lyanna and Jorelle," Arya finished for her, thankful for these friendships she found during her fostering with the Mormonts. They're like me, and she relished that. She had to grow up to listen to her sister and then Jeyne try to make her sound like a strange savage for preferring swords to silks.

I'm not alone, she thought proudly, Lady Mormont, Dacey, Alysane, Lyanna, Jorelle, she listed them off, each one of them helping her along the way. To show her she didn't have to be ashamed or afraid of knowing how to use a sword because she was a woman. I can be a warrior too, and she would never forget it.

"I was against it," Her mother's voice puncturing her thoughts, "But seeing you now, I'm happy your father persuaded me." She choked out the word.

"They'll get father back!" Arya said quickly, trying to make her feel better.

Her eyes glistened. "I know," she dabbed at her eyes, "I've cleaned and mended this cloak only to stain it with my tears." She let out a weak laugh. "A mother never stops worrying," She told Arya. "You'll understand that truth when its your turn."

I don't want to be a wife, Arya wanted to say, I don't want to be a mother. She stopped herself, knowing it would only further upset her, and that was the last thing Arya wanted to do.

"This will be your sister's maiden cloak," Her bandaged hands ran over the material, "It was used by your father to cloak me on our wedding day." Her blue eyes shone before they turned back to the cloak in her lap.

"Are they getting married?" That hadn't come up in the latest letters from Robb and Sansa before they departed south of the Neck.

"They should've been wedded by now, but the unforeseen troubles in the south have prevented that," her mother answered. "It is important that it not be delayed further."

Arya detected the urgency in her mother's voice, causing her to frown. She knew how excited Sansa had been about the prospect of marrying Domeric, and how she had glowed when it was revealed she was betrothed to him. The year that followed did nothing to dampen her happiness or his as the two looked forward to their wedding.

So why was mother tense? Arya wondered. "What do you mean?"

"An agreement between our houses were made, and Lord Bolton would prefer it was honored sooner rather than later," She informed her, "Domeric is his only living son and heir. He wants the betrothal consummated to to secure his family's future and its new ties to our family." Her fingers touching the direwolf stitched upon the cloak, "If Lord Bolton isn't satisfied, I fear he may threaten to withdraw some of his forces, and houses Ryswell and Dustin may follow his lead."

"Domeric would never abandon Robb!" Arya protested, pushing down the bubbling fear at the thought of Robb losing a portion of his men. How could he fight the Lannisters? She chewed on her lip. How would he free Father?

"No, you're right, darling," Her mother said soothingly, "But Domeric isn't the Lord of the Dreadfort. His father is, and he is the one that commands his men."

"But he has to stay!" Arya found herself arguing, "He swore fealty to our family."

"And Lord Bolton has proven loyal," She put a calming hand on Arya's shoulder, "But it is also our family's duty to reward our bannermen and honor our word."

Family, Duty, Honor, the words of her mother's house came to her.

"You mustn't worry," She assured her, "Lord Bolton would be a fool to abandon Robb and risk losing that betrothal." She let out a humorless laugh, "He will test Robb. And it will not just be Lord Bolton, but the other northern lords too. Your brother must be ready for it."

"He is."

Her mother smiled, "I know." Her attention was on the pearls in the cloak she was mending, "Do you remember the rest of the arrangement?"

"I do," Arya tried not to sound too sullen.

She noticed, but she didn't comment, instead she asked, "And it is?"

"I was to go south," she tried not to grimace, "and learn how to be a lady." She ducked her head to hide the way her mouth twisted at the last part.

"That's right," she replied, "And with the same interest as your time on Bear Island."

Arya hadn't forgotten, she had just been distracted. Not to mention, it seemed so far away then and she hadn't felt like she needed to worry about it.

Does this mean her time at Bear Island was finished? She felt fear pricking inside her at the thought.

"You still have time fostering with the Mormonts," she correctly guessed Arya's concern, "This will do with after your time at Bear Island is done. However, with the troubles in the south, I've thought about our previous arrangement," her mother remarked, "And then I realized we know the perfect tutor to help you in learning your manners and the expectations that befall on us," She remained mysterious in her tone.

"Who?"

"The future Lady of the Dreadfort," she smiled, "Your sister, Sansa."

Sansa, Arya still couldn't believe it as she was walking down the corridor and back to her chamber. Before if she had been told that Sansa would act as her tutor, Arya would've hated it and tried to fight it with every ounce of strength she had. The thought of having to take her sister's orders would've been infuriating for Arya especially when it was on a matter she detested.

But now, I'm happy, she admitted to herself, and relieved. She found herself smiling at how her relationship with her sister continued to change, and all for the better. Arya had feared what southern family she'd be forced to stay with, who'd make her do needlework and dance, and practicing her curtseys and courtesies. It made her nauseous just thinking about it.

Instead of going south, I'll stay in the north, where I belong.

A loud thud broke her from her thoughts. Blinking back into the present, she looked around to see where she was near her brother's room. Fearing it was coming from his room, she sprinted towards his chamber, and she couldn't help but fear if another catspaw had been sent.

I'll kill them! Arya growled, just as she reached Bran's chambers. "Bran!"

He was lying on the floor, shaking, his eyes were open, but only the white of them could be seen. She rushed to him, grabbing him and putting his head in her lap. "Bran!" She tried to wake him from whatever it was that had him. "Bran!"

He muttered and murmured, but none of it was coherent. The sight of the whites of his eyes staring up at her made her tummy clench.

A shriek tore her attention away from her brother to see a servant was standing in the doorway.

"Get maester Luwin!" She ordered in a voice that surprised her.

The servant didn't waste time on a reply or manners, and went off hopefully to find the maester.

Tears swelled in her eyes, "Bran!" She held him close, but he didn't answer her.

Summer was near. The direwolf looked on at her brother before turning his intelligent gaze onto her.

She felt something cold in her when their eyes met.

"T-th," Bran half coughed, half sobbed.

"Bran!" The tears trickled down her face.

"I-I."

"C-ca s-s m-me."

Arya's head hurt just tried to figure out what it was her brother was stammering. "I don't understand!" Her voice hitched in her pleas. "Bran!"

"Lady Arya," Maester Luwin had arrived, "What happened?"

"I found my brother here," She hiccuped, "What's wrong with him?"

Luwin remained calm as he looked her brother over. A frown eventually settled on his lips after a silent inspection, "I do not know," He then turned to her, "But that does not mean I cannot help him." He raised his hand and two guards came into view. "We need to take Bran to my turret. I'll have a better chance treating him there."

The guards nodded an bowed, understanding their directions. One moved forward, bent over to carefully lift Bran off the ground.

Arya was hesitant when releasing her grip on her brother. Watching helplessly the guard struggle a bit with her brother's dead weight before he steadied himself.

"Go to Lady Stark and inform her of what happened," Maester Luwin told the other guard, "And have her meet me there." He was already on his feet, monitoring Bran while the remaining guard gingerly moved forward holding Bran, Summer at his heels.

She stayed on the ground. Arya scrubbed away the tears that stained her cheeks. She felt her heart drumming against her chest, her stomach twisted in worry, as the icy grip of fear found it ways to her.

What happened? She tried to make sense of what it was her brother was saying, but it sounded like rubbish to her ears. All of it. The more she thought about it, the more it hurt her head. Giving up with a frustrated sigh, she pushed herself to her feet. She needed to help her brother.

Arya was about to leave until she noticed something. Standing where she was in her brother's chambers, she looked around and her confusion only grew. How did Bran get here? She didn't spot any sort of clue that would help show how he was able to successfully leave his bed and reach this spot in his room.

She first wanted to say he crawled, but she dismissed it. There was no sign of dirt or dust on the front of his clothes which would've been apparent had he dragged himself out of his bed, across the floor to reach the spot where she found him.

Did someone move him? He was alone when she found him. She had a view of her brother's chambers the whole time after hearing the thud, and when she rushed to get to him she never saw anyone leaving the room.

So how? The answer came to her from the start, but she didn't want to believe in it, didn't want to hope for it. Not after everything Maester Luwin had told her, but what else could explain it?

Bran had walked.