It felt like no time at all had passed when she was woken by a knock on the door of her bedchambers. The echo of flesh on finished hardwood was so unusual it sent her sitting up with her dagger immediately in hand, confused fog lifting quickly despite her lingering tiredness. She pushed herself up with a sigh and shuffled across the room, pausing to pull her boots on from sheer habit.

She opened the door to find her sister and two unfamiliar women waiting. "Oh! You're already dressed!" Her sister exclaimed, brow furrowed the slightest bit like she couldn't decide if she approved of her wardrobe or not.

Arya glanced down at herself in turn, noting that the thick fabric of her tunic hadn't wrinkled from her sleep and still looked fresh and new. "So I am." She agreed, still a hundred times cleaner than she'd been in some time.

Red hair swayed with the shaking of her head. "No matter. Allow me to introduce my companions. This is Jaida Purell, our Seamstress who will begin sewing your gown for the celebration tonight and any you need in the future. And this is Mariela Wyne, she's to be your Handmaiden."

"I don't need a Handmaiden." Arya replied bluntly, not yet feeling up to dealing with others so early in the day.

"Every Lady needs a Handmaiden, Arya." Sansa replied, it sounding almost like a reprimand. "It's proper and it's expected for a woman in your station."

"Okay, then I don't want a Handmaiden."

Her sister glared down at her, seeming just as frustrated as she in turn. "You haven't even done your hair. At least let her tend to that, if you can't be bothered yourself."

It was Arya's turn to glare and she did so openly. "I haven't yet been awake long. I can manage my hair on my own, as I've been doing nearly half my life now."

"Arya, please. This is Mother's insistence- I've no more choice in the matter than you. You must simply accept it. Let Mariela brush your hair."

The younger of the two took a deep breath, centering herself into a better state of self-control. "Fine. Ladies, please, be welcome." She opened the door further so that the two strangers could enter. "You, I will see in the dining hall. Good morn, sister." She dismissed the taller woman and shut the door in her face before she could retort. She could practically feel Sansa's silent outrage at the uncouth action from the other side of the thick wood and it did nothing but cause satisfaction to swell for a moment.

She turned her attention away from Sansa and to the two women standing before her. "What exactly are your instructions here?" She questioned, tone perfectly civil, looking to the Maid first.

"To serve you in whatever way you require, Princess."

Arya's façade broke in disgust at the term. "We'll start by my requiring you to not ever call me 'Princess' again." She ordered immediately, lip curling.

"Yes, My Lady." The young woman stuttered as she dropped to curtsy.

Arya eyed the timid doe in annoyance and pulled her eyes to look at the decade-older seamstress. "And you?" She demanded.

"To take your measurements and have a gown ready for you to wear at the feast this night."

"That's it?" The woman dipped her head. "And have you been given any instructions on what type of gown I should wear?"

"Only that it be 'appropriate,' My Lady. And that it bares the insignia of your house, of course, but that goes without saying."

"Of course. Alright, let's get this over with so I can get on with my day."

Near an hour passed before she was able to escape the two women. More annoyed than she was willing to show, she bypassed the dining hall completely and escaped into the training yard, hoping she might find someone to spar with and work off some aggression.

Her silent prayers were answered, but not by her two brothers, who moved around each other off to one side. Instead her eyes remained on the very last man she might have expected to see in the keep but who could definitely hold his own against her. She saw a beast of a man fighting two younger warriors, scared side of his face mostly hidden by a fall of hair and annoyance on his own face as he took one the first and then the second of his opponents in quick order. "What fucking good are you to practice with it you can't keep your blade more than a minute?" He growled at the sprawled bodies in disgust.

She wandered closer, moving into place and drawing Needle before he noticed her there. His eyes widened, but only slightly. He'd clearly heard of her homecoming, even if she hadn't heard of his own presence in the keep. She took her starting stance, sword vertical behind her back and completely invisible in one didn't already know it was there.

He scoffed at her, squaring up against her. "Well if it isn't the little wolf bitch." He greeted as roughly as ever. "Back from her self-imposed exile at last." She could see her brothers stop and turn at the loud words, but she paid them no mind.

"Dog." She responded, lips curling in a challenging smile. She glanced as his defeated opponents again, seeing that they'd moved clear and joined the quickly growing ring of people watching them. She could see Prince Trystane, who'd accepted a room within the keep, standing to the side mummering to a Lannister man as he observed the scene. The soldier left quickly towards the camp and she had a feeling they would soon have an even larger audience. No matter.

She darted in quicker than most men could move and tapped him on the side of his thigh with the flat of her blade, quickly spinning out of his reach and resuming her stance, practically swaying back and forth as she moved like liquid in human shape. "See you still haven't learned to keep your fucking blade up." He commented as he attacked with his broadsword that was nearly as long as she was tall. She knew she was still almost comically small compared to him, but she'd gotten much better in the years since she'd last see him- a fact that was quickly noticed.

Any time she had tried to stand against him in her youth, he'd taken her down with hardly an effort. That she was even standing against him for the handful of seconds that had passed was likely more than she'd ever been able to do before. She ducked under his swings, dodged around his advances, and swept aside his blade when it did come too close. He got past her guard and she had to block him- causing her arm to reverberate painfully from the sheer strength behind his own arm. He pressed her back one step, two, three before she managed to twist away and break to re-center herself.

She twisted her sword around once to loosen her wrist and then raised it behind herself in preparation for his next move. "You gonna quit noncin' around and stand your ground anytime today?"

"And try to match you strength for strength?" She laughed incredulously, not yet winded. "You wish."

She dared back in and dipped around his back before he could turn to face her, kicking his knee out from under him and dropping him, though it still left them more or less at even height. She stepped forward to bring her blade to his throat, but he twisted his torso and brought his elbow up viciously to knock her back. Still, she could tell he pulled the blow for the fact that she remained more or less standing. Even despite the lack of full strength, she felt her lip split and an ache in her cheekbone that she knew from experience would quickly bloom into a vivid bruise.

Expressions of anger could be heard in the background, but she ignored them all as she grinned and then fruitlessly licked her lip to try and slow the dribble of blood forming a trail the side of her chin that had quickened when her smile pulled at the tear in the flesh. He'd risen to his feet already and then met again, just as viciously. Their blows began to meet more often as the speed of their exchange quickened and she soon passed her blade to her right hand to give her left a break.

Her shifted stance threw him, but only for a moment before he adjusted to the new angle. She was nearly as good with her right hand but nearly as good wasn't quite good enough when against a man as renowned a fighter as Sandor Clegane. She realized she wouldn't be able to match his blows with her less dominant hand and so switched back to her left after only a minute or so.

Her simple single plated hair had come loose when she'd been struck and had continued to unravel as they danced. It blew into her eye and she missed his booted foot come out to trip her as she attempted to spin past him as she'd done a dozen times by now. He was clearly waiting for his chance because his blade caught hers as she stumbled, and he ripped it from her hand with a firm and sudden twist of his wrist.

She allowed her buckling leg to collapse but used the shift in her weight to spin into a crouch facing him, small dagger held at the ready in her hand. "The fuck are you gonna do with that?" He goaded her, stepping closer and kicking her sword further away as he passed where it had landed.

Her free hand pressed flat against the cold ground as her leg came up to connect with the inner side of his knee. It was his turn to stumble with another curse and she lunged into the opening he left. She started to bring her dagger up but his left hand came up to catch her wrist and he squeezed it viciously, forcing her to drop it as her fingers went temporarily numb. He shoved her backwards and away from both blades, cocking his head. "Surrender yet, girl?" He asked, stepping closer.

"Not really my style." She commented, still in a fighting stance despite her lack of weapons.

He cocked his undamaged brow as if to ask 'really?' but raised his arm anyway. He swung at her almost lazily, aiming his armored sword hand to deliver a backhand to her abdomen rather than intending to hit her with his blade. She dodged easily and scoffed at the pathetic attempt, dancing around him in an attempt to exchange their positions so that he was no longer between her and her own steel.

She managed to get a quarter of the way around before he realized what she was doing. She tensed to drop into a roll that would bring her closer to them more quickly, but he reached out as she moved and grabbed a fistful of her hair, intending himself to bring the edge of his blade to her throat to force her surrender. She cursed silently in her head as she realized she wouldn't be able to make him release his hold without losing a significant amount of hair from her scalp.

Thinking quickly, she reached her left arm behind herself to his hip and lifted her right up to wrap around behind his neck. It left her front open to attack, but she defended herself by using her hold on his neck to lift her weight from the ground and use her booted feet to keep his sword arm at bay. She used the added leverage to kick off of and flipped her slight frame clear over his head. He still had a fistful of her hair, but he hadn't been expecting the move and she was able catch herself as gravity grabbed hold of her once again by griping his waist with her knees.

The dagger she held in her hand came to press against the soft skin beneath his jaw and the courtyard was silent save for their heavy breathing. A single drop of blood dripped from the point before she pulled the blade away and dropped back to her feet as he released his hold on her.

He turned to face her, bringing his hand up to wipe the blood from his skin as it tickled his beard. "You've gotten better." He acknowledged, sounding almost impressed.

"Or you've gotten old." She rebutted wickedly.

"Cheeky shit." He said, shaking his head. "Where'd you get the second knife?"

She smiled at him, eyes gleaming. "From you, of course." She twirled it around her hand as she held it out to him.

He looked at it in surprise and reached down, huffing what was almost a laugh as he felt empty sheath. "Crazy bitch." He muttered quietly as he tucked it back into place.

"Arya!" Her mothers shrill voice came from the direction of the keep, sounding absolutely scandalized. "What on earth-!" She couldn't even finish her sentence, so great was her ire. Her cheeks were flushed with her temper and she was eyeing her competitor with almost as dangerous an air as her children often carried, family resemblance obvious in that moment. Her sister and youngest brother stood with her, Sansa watching her with an expression similar to her mother.

Rickon, on the other hand, was looking at her as though she was suddenly much more interesting to him. His eyes were darting between her and the Hound as she moved to retrieve her own weapons. She wiped them both on her pants to clear them of the ice crystals before she tucked them both back into their place on her person. Only then did she approach her family, spying both the Lannister men and Bronn now standing beside the Prince, along with the soldier who had obviously gone to retrieve them and a couple more besides.

Her elder brothers approached from their own spot, Jon hanging back a couple of steps behind Robb, though his own expression was just as dark as the eldest's. "Mother?" She enquired calmly as she came within range to do so without needing raise her voice. "You shrieked?" She pressed at the woman's continued outraged silence.

"Arya!" Sansa scolded her with a frown.

"This is hardly becoming of a Lady of your station." Catelyn finally spoke up, voice tight. She'd always been the disapproving one of her parents when she'd been a girl doing something meant for 'the boys.' Her father would turn the other cheek if he caught her, but her mother could get furious depending on the situation.

Arya had never heard her yell as loudly as she did the time she'd snuck from her chambers when she was supposed to have been practicing her writing to climb the towers with Bran. They'd made it nearly to the highest point when their mother had come upon them and Arya was sure all the keep heard that bellow. "You will come and get cleaned up, right now." She ordered hotly, keeping her voice under control after her daughters' comment.

"Why for?" Arya questioned in turn, frankly unwilling to do so quite so soon after escaping the walls. The elder woman seemed to swell, edging closer again to rage. Her flush darkened and lips paled as she pressed them together, seeming to hope her sheer presence would be enough to cow her daughter into doing what she was told as she would have in her youth. Her mother was one of the least threatening people she'd met in the last eight years, however, and the play no longer worked. She shook her head, continuing herself. "I'm no longer a child in need of being watched over by a septon, Mother. I am a woman grown and I will spend my days as I please. I will return in time for my welcome home feast, I assure you."

She spun on her heal and strode the other direction, not looking back at the angry stuttering she could hear along with the hushed whispers of her siblings. She stopped before the Lannister party, who watched her approach curiously. "I hear there is to be a hunt in preparation of the feast tonight. Would any of you care accompany me?"

Jaime and Bronn spoke in favor immediately, as did Trystane. The others declined, though wished them good fortune. The foursome started to leave the area when they were interrupted quite suddenly. Arya startled as a blur approached quickly from behind her. She turned to see her youngest brother and glanced up at him curiously. His bright blue eyes were watching her keenly. "Can I come hunting?" He asked in his accented voice.

She cocked her head at him and then looked to her companions curiously before turning back to the redheaded boy. "Can you stay quiet?" He nodded. "Can you shoot a bow?" He nodded again, smiling. "Alright." She finally agreed, unable to turn him away and not really wanting to.

"Rickon!" Catelyn shouted from behind them. "Where on earth do you think you're going?!"

The boy shook his head in annoyance as he ignored his mother, muttering something under his breath. "Is that the old tongue?" She asked curiously. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye and nodded slowly. "Where did you learn it?"

He didn't answer immediately, even as he spoke up. "You've been gone a long time." He remarked instead. "No one knew where you were."

"That's true." She agreed with a nod.

"Where were you?" He asked bluntly.

She glanced at him first in surprise, and then to those who stood around them. Thankfully, they hadn't been followed out of the courtyard and they were nearly back to the Lannister camp and so not in hearing range of anyone else. Jaime knew where she'd been, and she thought Bronn might have known or suspected. Trystane didn't, but he was technically Jaime's nephew and so could be considered trustworthy to some extent. And really, did it really matter if others knew she'd in in Braavos? Robb and Jon already did and so increased the possibility of other's finding out despite her. It wasn't like she would admit to what she'd been doing there, but there was nothing unusual about fleeing to Essos. Some people must have considered it as a possibility, at least, considering how long she'd gone unseen on Westerosi soil. "I went to Braavos."

"Braavos?" He asked, sounding confused. "Where's that?"

She glanced over at him, wondering again where he'd been. She'd been forced to learn world geography when she was far younger than him. It hit her suddenly how differently her brothers had spent their young childhoods than she and her older siblings. Did Rickon even remember their father? Did Bran? Did they remember what it was like to have a rare family meal when someone wasn't fighting with someone else? Did they have any pleasant memories at all of the time before the war? "It's in Essos." She answered softly. "To the South-East of here, across the Narrow Sea."

"Oh." He answered, rolling his lips thoughtfully. "What were you doing there?"

"I was with a .. friend. He taught me how to fight, how to survive this world."

"You're a good fighter." He complemented.

"Thank you. Do you know how to fight?"

He nodded. "Not as well as you."

"I'm older than you are." She reminded him with a small smile.

He nodded again, still looking thoughtful as they reached the camp and waited for their mounts to be retrieved along with one for her brother to borrow. "Osha took me to Skagos when Bran went beyond the wall." The boy told her after she was sure the conversation at an end.

"Skagos? Beyond the wall? That's where the two of you went when Theon attacked Winterfell?"

Another nod. "There's a lot of fighting on Skagos, but I think it's because people are bored." He confided.

"Is it boring there?" She asked, honestly curious. There were so few stories of the Northern Island, said to be home to giant unicorn riding cannibals. The Maesters denied such stories of course, but they weren't willing to travel to the island for proof and so many still questioned what bizarre beasts might inhabit the rocky frozen hunk of land jutting from the Bay of Seals.

He shrugged slightly. "Not much to do."

"I suppose not." She agreed. "Did you like it there at least?"

Another shrug. "I miss it, sometimes." He told her.

"I miss Braavos sometimes, too." She whispered back to him with a secretive smile.

She looked away from her brother as the horses were led up to them. As her eyes scanned around them, she caught green eyes watching her fondly. He kept her gaze once he had it and didn't look away again until his squire came to a stop at his side.

The group of five mounted easily and were soon riding away. Rickon had been distracted by a tale Bronn had begun telling him and Jaime fell back beside Arya while the others pulled slightly ahead. He had a square of cloth and held it out to her with a small pile of snow melting from within. "For your lip." He explained lightly.

So used to pain was she that the discomfort had already faded into the background and she had nearly forgot about the blood now nearly dried on her skin. "Thank you." She murmured, bringing it to the tenderest spot first and then working her way down until she thought she'd gotten it all off.

"You missed a spot." He murmured when she dropped her hand.

"Oh? Where?"

Still not looking away, he reached out to take the cloth gently from her hand and then reached up to run it softly over the flesh beneath her jawline where the blood had run sideways at some point.

"Thank you." She nearly whispered, feeling his finger brush just slightly across her flesh without a barrier between them. He saw her shiver lightly and he couldn't help but run his eyes over her. She was still watching him with her own expressive grey eyes, and they looked almost as conflicted as he felt. He'd never been so drawn to another as he'd become to her, even only knowing her in truth for less than a moons turn.

Her cheekbone had already turned blue and purple from the elbow she'd taken and her lip had swollen quite far. It didn't make her any attractive to him- if anything it made his blood more heated to know that such a deceivingly tiny and innocent looking woman could be so very lethal as to take down one of the best swordsmen in the Seven Kingdoms. The thought of it alone was enough to stir his loins despite his rigid self-control. It was only fortunate that the way he sat hid any movement that may have occurred.

His mind naturally turned to his conversation with Bronn. He was right in thinking Arya wasn't a typical Lady of high birth. Hell, Jaime himself knew that her life experiences already outweighed what most people knew in their entire lifetime, despite her young age. He even considered that she may already have lain with a man, Essos being much freer in such matters and even more so considering the associations she kept while living there.

Her eyes were searching his face and he realized he'd been silent far too long. A throat clearing before them stopped him from rectifying his mistake and he looked ahead to see her tall, wild looking brother shooting him a dangerous look of his own, despite his still somewhat childish features. Arya too saw the look and nudged her mount forward to catch up with the boy, shooting Jaime one last searching glance before she turned away.

He ended up riding beside Bronn, watching the two in front. They'd left behind the noise of the camp and so needed to be quiet now so as to not scare off any game. It was time to find some game lingering in the barren frozen wasteland, they needed every advantage they could get.

The day ended up a pleasant experience all around. They'd managed to get a stag, a boar, seven rabbits, three pigeons and be back in the keep by mid-afternoon. Someone must have had people waiting for their arrival because she was besieged by her newly required Handmaiden before she could even help hand their catch off to those preparing the feast.

She sighed in agitation, good mood fading almost immediately. "What happened to choosing your battles?" The blond man beside her questioned lowly, looking between the two and inferring from there.

She glanced over at him in slightly surprise, not having realized he was watching her. She was becoming less and less aware of it, actually. She should be more concerned at the loss of her instincts, but as it only seemed to be around a few select people and so she didn't worry overly much. She might regret that thought if they were to betray her in some way, but she didn't really think they would. "Is that your less than subtle way of telling me I've rocked the boat enough for one day?"

"Never." He assured her. "I'm simply reminding you of your own words."

She frowned at him lightly but had to admit he was right. She was sure the feast itself would draw enough ire her way, no need to add to it before the festivities ever even started. She rolled her eyes before she gave in and walked toward the nervous looking woman. "I assume my mother asks for me?"

"Yes, My Lady. Without delay."

"She's in her solar, I presume?"

"Yes, My Lady."

"I know the way. You're dismissed." Arya started to walk away but stopped when the woman followed closely behind. "I said you're dismissed." She repeated, slower.

"I'm sorry, My Lady, but the Lady Stark insisted I accompany you the whole way."

Arya bit her tongue out of sight and pressed on without another word. It was going to be a long night.

It was an hour before she was free of her family, and only then after allowing the seamstress and handmaiden both back into her chambers to help her ready herself for the feast. Her mood improved slightly once she was dressed and she reminded herself that she was in control of herself, no matter how helpless her mother still had the ability to make her feel. She wasn't a dainty or perfect little Lady who would go quietly into married life. She'd shown that earlier by defeating the Hound, and she would show it with the dress she had chosen to wear.

It was more Essosi in design than Westerosi, but the seamstress had done a good job despite her unfamiliarity with the pattern. The fabric was a deep charcoal grey, with the nearly invisible silver swirls stitched into it. The top was a tie around her neck that widened down into the front of the gown. It dipped deeply between her breasts, reaching almost to her belly button. The fabric pulled around her waist, leaving the expanse of her back bare, though a thick belt around the narrowest part of her waist served to both hold the dress in place and emphasize her slenderness. The skirts fell in layers to her ankles, hiding her feet and the fact that she wore her boots beneath rather than the slippers she'd been given. They also hid the dagger strapped higher up on her thigh and the ease with which she could retrieve it through the overlapping layers.

She allowed her hair to be pulled up into an elaborate braid that cascaded from the corner of one temple, across the back of her head, and resting down the front of her right shoulder until it ended soon after. More important to making her statement, it left most of her scars and her bruised face all on blatant display, further emphasizing her undesirableness as a Lady Wife, should any of the other Lords catch any ideas after the events to come.

True to form, a couple of small strands of hair had already escaped and were pushed behind her ears, leaving her large eyes and shapely brows on display. She once again refused any powers be applied to her skin, save for the small amount of oil on her brows and a tiny amount more on the tips of her lashes, making them stand more prominently from her face and drawing even more attention to the uniqueness of her stormy grey eyes, already highlighted by the colors of the gown.

Mariela had been trying to get her out the door for nearly ten minutes, but she didn't give in until a knock came accompanied by her sisters call. She finally left the room and joined Sansa as they made their way to the Great Hall, though she'd had to wait for her modestly clad sister get over her shock at the sight of her. The redhead had tried to convince her to at least dawn a cover or cloak, but she had refused.

She'd worn such clothing before and had long been accustomed to keeping her poise despite the feeling of exposure, and so she walked confidently with her back straight, shoulders back, and head held high. All eyes were immediately on them when they entered the already full room. Sansa kept her eyes straight ahead while leading her across to where their family waited buy Arya glanced around curiously at all the faces. She recognized some of the people in the crowd but the majority seemed to be strangers.

Her Mother and elder brothers looked as scandalized as her sister had, but neither Bran nor Rickon seemed bothered. The reaction from the crowd was varied, but she was pleased to see many of the Northers looking disapproving and whispering amongst themselves. She was led to her seat and pressed firmly down, warning looks shot her way. She smiled innocently, seeming ignorant of the uproar she had caused already.

The meal itself passed mostly in silence at their table and she spent the majority of it listening on the conversations nearby. It wasn't until the food was cleared that things got interesting. She had left the table once people began to mingle, not wanting to get caught in conversation with her mother just then, now that there was much more noise to cover their words.

She found herself drawn towards a particular group as had become familiar to her, both because she felt comfortable in their company but also because they served as a natural buffer to most others. Tywin seemed to take the gathering and her attention as an opportunity to quiz her on the names of those present and the houses behind their names.

Jaime and Bronn had long since gotten bored and had wandered off to find ale, so the two of them stood alone when they were interrupted in a most unpleasant way. The sensation of a gnarled hand squeezing her arse was almost enough for her to draw steel, despite the location in which she stood. She might have regardless if she didn't already suspect who it was. Tywin obviously caught the tensing of her frame and looked past her to see what had caused it. "Lord Frey." He drawled in distaste, eyeing him with his icy blue gaze.

"Lord Lannister." The greasy man replied. "I've come to have a dance with my new good-daughter. Pardon. Come, girl."

Tywin's eyes practically frosted over in their intensity, though his face remained still. "She's not your good-daughter yet." He reminded the other man.

"Bah, semantics. A few days will make no matter." He laughed, wrapping his hand around her wrist and almost deliberately squeezing over the hand-shaped bruise she'd received from her spar that morning. He used the firm grip to pull her away from the other Lord and to join with the other couples already on the floor.

She allowed the motion, feeling almost gleeful to get her opportunity so quickly in the night. A small bit had been worried she wouldn't get the chance at all, and she had to resist the urge to smirk. She shot a quelling look across at the still rigidly standing lord, who was watching them with such a cold expression it caused those surrounding him to give him an even larger berth than usual. He must have caught the flash of mischief in her eyes, because his own expression eased slightly and became tinted with curiosity.

The first minutes of the dance passed easily enough. He made a few little comments to her that she answered easily enough. She ignored his dipping hands and the lustful gleam in his eyes as she took in the full scope of his disgusting personality at length for the first time. She'd wanted to see if he were truly as despicable as she had heard, and it seemed he was all that and more. She shuddered as he pulled her close enough that she could feel his manhood press into her belly. "Perhaps I'll marry you myself. Bout time I got a new wife anyway. Don't know that my sons would know how to handle a woman like you." His breath was sour and she could smell it even as he breathed the words into her ear.

"And what type of woman is that, Lord Frey?" She questioned lightly.

His eyes dropped briefly to her split lip and colorful cheek and his own lips twisted. He leaned in close and could feel him inhale against her ear. "I like a woman who's not afraid to get a little marked up." He whispered, it sounding almost like a threat.

She smiled up at him, twirling in time with the rest of the dancers and moving easily back into his arms, despite the nausea that had crept up her throat at the very thought. "I wish you would." She responded, causing him to pull back in startlement at her words, not having expected her to agree to his perverted musings.

"Know the value of a strong man already, girl?" He sneered. "You're worth less if you're not pure."

"Humm, no. It would make my job quite a bit easier, you see." She continued pleasantly as she continued to move faultlessly.

"What job would that be?" He demanded, frowning suspiciously.

She smiled at him her sweetest yet as she leaned closer to whisper slowly in his ear in turn. "You see, my dear Lord Walder, I have something of a problem with betrothals. I have a problem with disgusting old perverts who get off on the pain of others. Even moreso, I have a problem with people who have betrayed my family, no matter if it took place in the past… Perhaps you can see why we might have something a conflict here? Differing in our positions as we clearly are?"

"I don't care for your 'conflicts,' girl. You've already been bought and paid for, and you'll damned well do as you're told." He rumbled back at her with a scowl.

"Oh, I'll do as I'm told." She agreed with a soft nod, still speaking quietly and for his ear alone, lips almost brushing against his skin sensually and distracting him from her actual words at first. "Have no fear about that.. I'll marry whichever of your despicable spawns you pair me with. I'll say my vows, and I'll accept their cloak, and I'll call them my husband, and I will do my duty as expected. I'll be the perfect bride and I'll preform every obligation faultlessly… It'll be so very tragic though, when they don't even make it to their own bedding ceremony to meet Death. Rotten meat, you see, or perhaps tainted wine… Don't worry, I'll make it good, whichever method I choose."

She paused slightly for effect but continued before he could gather himself to reply, still holding him close. "I know in those sad times, it's common enough to marry the unconsummated widow off to another in the family- a brother, perhaps, or a cousin. I understand you have several to choose from. The first won't make it to the bedding, the second won't make it through the night. Oh, I'll make sure to kill them in some other way- a drunken tumble down the steps, perhaps, or un unfortunate riding accident, so as not to make it too suspicious." She admitted blatantly, enjoying the play of emotions across his withered face. "As I will the next, and the next, and the next, until there's not a single living Frey left for you to try and pair me with."

Her voice was a deadly threat and he clearly picked up on her seriousness for the ways his pupils dilated and sweat began to bead his forehead. "Right now, you're probably thinking my sister would make a much more manageable bride than myself, but know this: If you try to trade me for her, the only thing you will accomplish is allowing me to destroy your family without the eyes watching me- I'll be able to get much more creative. If you speak of this conversation to anyone, I will destroy everything you hold dear and then I come for you. It won't be a nice death; it won't be painless, and it won't be quick. And if you use this little conversation to try and break faith with my family or betray them in any way, I want you to know that there are not enough miles on this earth you could put between us that would save you from my wrath."

"If you do anything beyond being showing how pleased you already are to have my uncle as a member of your family I promise you that you won't see me coming."

"Now, do we have an understanding, or do you need a demonstration of how firm I am in keeping my word?"

To be continued

Notes:

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