Author's Note: This is the first one-shot I've ever attempted. I blame the writer's block I'm suffering with another story for the creation of this one. Hopefully it isn't horrible.

Russell Craig

R-C

A Request

She went to them with a plan. She'd written out and memorized exactly what she intended to say. She had even practiced in front of one of Sansa's big mirrors, although she'd rather be bitten by a direwolf than admit such a thing. She had spent weeks crafting her case and perfecting her every argument. She had wanted to have this conversation with her parents ages ago, but she knew that unless she chose the perfect moment it would all be for not. She knew she would only get one chance at this and she was intent on making the most of it. Patience was not something she was blessed with and yet she managed. For months, she said nothing while she silently prepared, ensuring everything was in place for the moment the proper opportunity presented itself.

That time was now. She'd just celebrated her tenth name-day and Arya knew she was an adult now. This was the age when Robb and Jon got to train with real steel, Bran too and it was also the year that Sansa began to be treated like a real Lady around Winterfell and not same girl pretending to be older.

Knowing all this she was certain that tonight was her night. After dinner, she hurried to her room to work on some of those stupid math problems the Maester had given her to learn. She worked without complaint until the problems were done and then she went to take a bath.

A short time later she was standing before her parents with her hair still wet, wearing her finest clothes. After her bath, she'd taken the time to properly comb and style her hair in a more feminine manner, in a way she knew her mother approved of. "May we speak for a moment?" she asked formally.

The married couple were sitting together, talking as they watched the flickering firelight. When their daughter joined them they smiled and shared an indulgent look before her mother sat up, putting space between her and her husband. "Arya what's the matter?" she asked her youngest girl with no small amount of concern. It hadn't escaped her notice that her typically dirty daughter was wearing fresh clothes, with her hair combed and clean and even her hands were free of dirt and or blood. Immediately she could tell that whatever this was, it was important to Arya.

"Father," she said turning to the one who would ultimately make the decision and folding her hands in prayer. "I would like to learn the sword." Once those words were out it was as if all the air in her lungs went with them. After she'd regulated her breath she hurried to make up for lost time, cramming as many of her points into a short speech as she could manage. "Jon and Robb got to learn, and Sansa probably could if she wasn't so interested in sewing and dresses and other stupid things."

The amused expression her father wore vanished and he leaned forward in his seat. "Mind your manners. Just because you and Sansa don't enjoy the same things doesn't make her interests foolish."

Internally she cursed herself. She was going to use logical, sound arguments to prove her point, not petty and childish name calling. If she didn't do something quickly she was going to ruin everything. She hurried to get the conversation back on track. "You're right," she agreed, surprising the adults. "I need to learn to give Sansa's interests more respect and I promise I will, if we can agree that maybe spending all day learning with Sansa and the Septa might not be the best way to further my education."

Arya was proud of herself. She could feel the wide grin stretching the limits of her face. She'd managed to get it all out without stuttering or stopping like a fool. She looked to her father and then her mother. Surely, they had to consider her request now, after all that, right?

"A Lady has no use for such knowledge…" her mother was beginning to say; an argument Arya had heard plenty of times before.

Her father raised one of his large hands and silenced his wife. "Now Cat, Arya obviously has some ideas, we should hear her out."

From a few feet away she resisted the urge to squeal. A chance to be heard out, that was exactly what she had been hoping for. She felt a little dizzy as she listened.

"Now what sort of things would you want to learn Arya?"

"To use a sword," she replied quickly, as though the answer had been on the tip of her tongue, and it had been, for years. "I'd like to better myself at riding horses as well, perhaps even gain the skills to survive in the woods. Those are things you've taught Robb and Jon, the things you're teaching Bran and will someday teach Rickon too."

Ned nodded, leaning forward and putting his elbows on his knees. "Our way is the old way and it's a father's responsibility to teach his sons to defend themselves."

Her stormy grey eyes lit up. She'd not only been expecting that argument, she had actually been waiting for it. Tilting back on her heels to keep from leaning into her father's space she challenged him. "So you are not interested in protecting your daughters?"

Her father threw his hands up, clearly realizing the trap he'd fallen into. "Now Arya you know that's not what I said." Beside him his wife was doing her best to remain expressionless but years together made it very obvious to him that she was struggling not to laugh at his predicament.

After a deep breath her father tried again. "Your brothers need to protect themselves and others. It's possible that when Robb is Lord of Winterfell he may be called to battle, and he may require his brothers to fight with him, Rickon and Bran if they are old enough and Jon if he isn't at the Wall."

Arya noticed the way her mother tensed at Jon's name. Normally that would make her uncomfortable and eager to leave but she'd come with a purpose and she wasn't going to let her mother's dislike for her brother stand in her way. "Allow me to learn and Robb will have one more skilled blade to help the Realm and Winterfell should the time come." When she didn't get an immediate response, she pushed another button. "What if I, a woman, on my own find myself in a dangerous situation? Wouldn't you as my father wish me to have the skills and tools to protect myself."

She felt another surge of pride when her father's calm expression faded to one stunned speechless. She watched his mouth open and close wordlessly more than once. "We will protect you here in Winterfell, and when the time comes for you to marry, your husband and his House will join us to protect you as well," he finally said.

"I don't want to get married," she admitted with confidence. "I want to do something important, be a soldier, or a protector, a Lord, like you."

Sensing that her husband was growing frustrated with their stubborn and intelligent girl his wife took a turn speaking for the couple. "Arya, you are a Lady like me, and you'll grow up to be a Lady, be it of Winterfell or any of the other kingdoms."

Her carefully practiced demeanour and all her preparations crumbled. Her mother's words cut right to her core. She took a few moments and composed herself as she let the words sink in. Once they had, in an admittedly petty gesture she crossed her arms over her chest and stared straight at her mother. "Sansa can do that, I want to do something different."

She cringed when she heard her own thoughts voiced so bluntly and she cringed again when she watched her mother's reaction to them. "Both of my daughters will grow up to be proper ladies."

Having engaged in this conversation hundreds of time in the privacy of her own mind Arya noticed the opening her mother unknowingly provided. "That's fine. I can still be the Lady you want me to be, all I'm asking is for the chance, to learn. You know, when I'm not doing all that knitting and embroidering and Lady-like stuff."

This was her compromise. For hours, she sat alone in her room planning this moment, considering just how far she'd be willing to bend to get what she wanted. While she had little use for anything taught by the Septa Arya knew she needed to give a little. When her parents hadn't responded to her latest offer she pounced on them, going in for the kill. "I'll still do all the stuff you want me to learn with the Septa," Arya promised quickly, "but can I learn the things I want too?"

At the end of her plea she expected an outright refusal. When it didn't come she looked to her mother who was carrying on a silent conversation with her father as only married couples could. She seemed to be adamantly making a point while her husband disagreed. For three minutes nobody spoke but when the decision was made her father stood, reaching out and taking Arya's hand. "Oh my little wolf," he said, ruffling her still-wet hair. "I see so much of myself in you and that terrifies me. I had little use for books at your age myself, it's natural." He paused and shared another loaded look with his wife but Arya's eyes never left her father, afraid all of this would disappear if she blinked. "The work you do with the Septa, your work to become a Lady is important Arya, it is, even if you don't realize that now. Completing your lessons is something that is important to both your mother and I."

Feeling like this was a good time to rejoin the conversation, Arya tried again. "I know and I understand. I'm not asking to pick one over the other, I want to do both." That she knew, was a partial lie but she felt it was a good lie, a lie with purpose. Arya would gladly stop doing all that stupid sewing the Septa insisted she learn, but her parents would never agree to such a bargain, so she was willing to suffer through it if she could learn the things that interested her too.

She was lost in her own thoughts until her father touched her hair again. "You sure have grown up Arya and I'm proud of you. Coming to us like this, it shows you're mature and brave. If you want to learn as your brothers have I will allow it," he decreed, "but only after all your work from the Septa is finished and your chores completed. I will not allow you to neglect your responsibilities for tasks you consider more fun."

And there it was, the counter-offer. Only in her wildest dreams had she expected she'd receive a counter-offer. Her adrenaline surged as she prepared to accept it, but she held her tongue so she wouldn't appear too eager. She knew what was required, she had to be patient again, had to act like an adult. "Of course," she promised, resisting the urge to shout. "I won't, I promise. Thank you, thank you, I won't let you down."

All the sudden it was as if everything she ever wanted was within reach. She was overrun with feelings she didn't have names for, or room to store inside her small body. After a giggling, shy laugh of disbelief she backed out of the room and headed straight for the stairs, before her father could change his mind.

Her parents stayed where she left them but she still heard their laughter as she escaped. "You'll start with the wood swords!" her father yelled, before she could get too far away.

Her mood couldn't be dampened by anything. "That's fine!" she called back, a smile obvious in her voice. "I don't mind!"