Ned led Azula toward the courtyard where his boys were practicing, the heavy stones of Winterfell beneath their feet. He could practically feel the intense glare coming from Catelyn as Arya skipped beside them, her dark hair bouncing with each step. His girl was full of energy, her excitement spilling over as she chattered away with the common girl, Kenna.

Though a stranger, Kenna quickly adapted and was very sweet to his little Arya. There was a spark in Kenna, a certain fire that had been ignited by the formidable princess from a distant land, and Arya was completely enamored by her catlike walk trying to imitate it.

"Mother," Sansa said quietly, "why aren't we in our septa lessons?"

Catelyn's frown deepened. "You should be, Sansa. This isn't a place for ladies," she replied, her voice tinged with a mixture of reprimand and concern, but she didn't push the matter further, not in front of the guest who was now leading them through the cold halls of Winterfell.

Azula's presence was something that had unsettled Catelyn from the start. There was something about the girl, something almost unnatural, though Ned couldn't quite put his finger on it.

She had arrived at Winterfell not long ago, a foreigner with piercing golden eyes and a commanding presence that belied her youth.

.

Despite the few days she had been in her home, the foreign girl had quickly made herself at home, the arrogance.

Originally, the princess had been curious about their military training and what style of fighting they practiced in the North. She had watched the men train, her eyes sharp and calculating.

Her sweet Ned had been amused by the brazen, informal way Azula spoke towards him. The customs of the North were strict and rooted deeply in tradition, but Azula wasn't one to be swayed by tradition. She questioned everything and pushed against the boundaries, and it was clear she was teaching Kenna to do the same.

"What is the difference between the Bear Island women and your daughter?" Azula had asked him one evening, her tone as sharp as the dagger she twirled in her hand.

"They don't have to go into the front lines, but being able to push off a man trying to take them-" She had paused, her eyes flicking to Arya and Sansa, then back to him, and yes, they got the image she wanted them to see, even if it made him want to slaughter a whole army just thinking of someone trying that on his girls.

It was an uncomfortable truth, one that he couldn't ignore, though he wished he could.

"Here we are," Ned said lamely as they entered the courtyard.

The boys were already at it, the clash of steel ringing through the air. He could see Robb and Theon sparring, their movements quick and practiced.

Jon stood off to the side, his eyes studying their techniques intently. His nephew was like him in some ways, a hidden wolf whose hackles only rose when his den was threatened.

Catelyn sniffed beside him, her disapproval palpable. "I still disapprove of this," she said, her voice low but firm. "No lady should hold a weapon."

Ned opened his mouth to respond, but Azula scoffed before he could speak, and he could feel the onset of a headache. "And they shouldn't be raped, but they still are," she retorted, her tone cold and unyielding.

His wife inhaled sharply at the bluntness of the statement, and Ned knew he had to rectify the situation.

"That's not appropriate to discuss, especially not around my children," he said sternly, though he understood the point she was making, even if the language was too vulgar for his liking.

Azula flicked a loose strand of hair out of her face, her expression unimpressed. "You're the lord," she said with a haughty huff as if that was the end of the discussion.

But it wasn't the end, not by a long shot.

The tension between Azula and Catelyn had been simmering since the day the princess had arrived, and it had only grown worse with each passing day. Catelyn saw her as a bad influence, someone who was leading Arya down a dangerous path.

Ned wasn't so sure.

There was something about Azula, something that he couldn't quite shake. She was dangerous, yes, but there was a strength in her, a fierce determination that he couldn't help, but admire. As they watched the boys spar, Arya's eyes lit up with excitement.

"Father, can I try?" she asked, her voice full of eagerness.

Catelyn shot Ned a warning look, but before he could respond,

Azula spoke up. "Let her," she said, a challenging gleam in her eyes. "What's the harm in letting her try?"

Ned hesitated, caught between the stern look of his wife and the eager eyes of his daughter. He glanced at Azula, who was watching him with an almost predatory gaze, and then at Kenna, who was standing quietly beside Arya, his daughter's hands clenched at her sides.

Seeing the heartbreak in his daughter's eyes caves him, he nods. "All right, Arya. You can try."

Arya's face broke into a wide grin, and she rushed forward, grabbing a wooden practice sword from the rack.

Catelyn made a sound of protest, but Ned held up a hand, stopping her. "Let her try," he repeated, more firmly this time.

Robb and Theon paused in their sparring to watch as Arya took her place in the courtyard, her small frame dwarfed by the large sword. Jon stepped forward, offering to help her, but Arya shook her head, determined to do it on her own.

Azula watched with a critical eye as Arya struggled to lift the sword, her movements clumsy and uncoordinated. There was a wildness in the girl's eyes, a determination that reminded Ned of someone else.

He glanced at Azula, wondering if she saw it too, though for different reasons.

"Hold it like this," Kenna said suddenly, stepping forward to adjust Arya's grip on the sword. Azula had taught her well; Kenna's movements were fluid and confident.

Arya followed Kenna's instructions, and though her movements were still awkward, there was a noticeable improvement. She swung the sword, and though it was far from perfect, the effort she put into it was undeniable.

Catelyn watched with a tight expression, her lips pressed into a thin line. She wasn't happy, that much was clear, but for now, she held her tongue.

Ned knew she wouldn't stay silent for long, though. The moment they were alone, he would hear her full thoughts on the matter, but for now, he focused on Arya, who was laughing as she swung the sword again, the joy evident on her face.

It was a rare sight, to see her so happy, and despite the tension it caused, Ned couldn't bring himself to stop her.

Azula steps forward, her movements are as smooth and deadly as a hunting cat. "You're holding back," she said, her voice low but firm. "Don't be afraid to use your strength."

Arya looks up at her, wide-eyed, and nods. She adjusted her stance, gripping the sword tighter, and swung again. This time, there was more force behind it, and the wooden blade connected with the practice dummy with a satisfying thud.

"Well done," Azula said, a small smile playing on her lips. "But you can do better."

Arya beamed at the praise, her face flushed with exertion and excitement.

"I'll keep practicing," she promised, her voice filled with determination.

Azula nodded approvingly. "Good. You'll need it."

The words were simple, but there was an underlying weight to them, like an omen, a warning of the dangers that lay ahead. Ned felt a chill run down his spine, though he wasn't sure if it was from the cold wind that blew through the courtyard or from Azula's words. The sun began to dip below the horizon, casting long shadows across the courtyard, Ned knew that this was only the beginning.

Azula had brought change with her, and whether that change would be for the better or worse, only time would tell.

Azula stands before the godswood of Winterfell. Its blood-red leaves towering above her as she glares at the grotesque face carved into the weirwood. The twisted, ancient wood seemed to mock her, its gnarled features etched with an expression she could only interpret as disdain.

The pool beside it lay still, undisturbed, an irritating contrast to the turmoil within her.

"So, you're the old gods," she said, her voice dripping with contempt.

A harsh laugh escaped her lips. "I don't care if you're gods or not."

"If you think I'll dance to your tune simply because you demand it, you're sorely mistaken." Sparks crackled from her fingertips, blue flames flickering to life.

Yet, she held back, resisting the urge to incinerate the tree. As much as she loathed the idea, she wasn't foolish enough to destroy something so sacred to the people of this wretched place.

Not when she still needed them.

"I don't think the gods care whether we wish to dance or not," a voice interrupted from behind her. Azula spun around, the fire in her hands dissipating as quickly as it had appeared.

Jon Snow stood at the edge of the clearing, his dark eyes locked onto hers, wary but steady. He watched her with a caution she appreciated.

If only because it reminds her that she still held power, even here.

Old Azula would have sneered at her present situation, consorting with savages, dirtying herself with commoners. The thought would have been laughable, beneath her, but she had changed.

She had learned that these people had their uses, that bloodlines and noble titles meant little in the grand scheme of things.

A bridge to gold should never be burned.

"And I don't care what the gods think," she replied coldly, the edge in her voice sharp as steel. "I am beyond their whims." Jon nodded, shifting his weight like a child caught doing something wrong.

"Aye, it's not my place to speak on a princess's destiny," he murmured, his tone almost deferential.

She nearly rolled her eyes.

Submissiveness, how predictable.

Where was his backbone?

He had the makings of a warrior, she could see it in the way he carried himself, the quiet strength in his stance, but he lacked the ruthlessness, the fire that would make him truly formidable.

Once he got his blade bloody, though… he might become a force to reckon with.

A fine commander, perhaps, perhaps someone she could mold to suit her needs. His desire for praise, for a place in this world, would be easy to exploit.

Azula cocked her hip, dismissing the fleeting thought that she might envy Ty Lee's effortless charm. She was the most beautiful woman in the world, there was nothing to envy.

"Relax, I'm not as terrible as they say, am I?" she teased, raising her hands in mock surrender, relishing the way his pale face flushed with embarrassment.

Jon shook his head, struggling for words. "No, it's just improper for a ba-" He cut himself off, eyes darting away.

"A bastard?" Azula finished for him, her tone laced with dry amusement. She watched as he flinched, stricken by the word, and couldn't help but scoff.

"So what? You can't control how you were born, but you can control what you do with the life you have."

She shook her head, the bitterness in her voice surprising even herself.

"A bastard… If only my mother had been so kind as to call me that." She looked up at him, a bitter smile twisting her lips.

"You should be grateful you have a good father," she continued, her throat tightening as emotions she had long buried began to rise.

The truth of her father's cruelty, the way he had twisted and used her, was a wound that still festered, one she wasn't sure would ever heal.

"You had a father who took a blow to his honor, something he prides himself on, just to give you a place in this world. You have a father who loves you enough to…" Her voice faltered, and she had to take a breath to steady herself. She has struggled with her emotions ever since the Agni Kai, and now, they threatened to overwhelm her.

"Make sure you were raised in this castle and treated like the son you are to him," she added, her voice calmer but still tinged with sorrow.

"Catelyn?" She looked him dead in the eyes. "That's nothing compared to my mother, my own father."

"My father used me as a tool for his ambitions, and my mother abandoned me after declaring I was a monster." The words were bitter on her tongue, the pain of that abandonment still fresh, still raw.

"A few snide words from a woman who holds no power over you are nothing," she said, her tone dismissive as she turned away from him. Her blood was boiling, her hands itching to burn something, to unleash the fire that raged within her.

She didn't wait for a reply, the anger in her chest driving her away from the godswood, the urge to destroy simmering beneath the surface.

A/n:

Arya gets to train, and Jon gets trauma dumped and ditched.

Jon/Azula isn't set in stone or anything, at this point her goal is to make him loyal to her.

I figured she noticed the way Robb simply adores Jon and knows Catelyn would not allow her the time to get close enough to him to get that loyalty, so she goes to the next best thing, his brother who he loves and has more freedom as a bastard.

I'm of the opinion that she cares more for prowess than prestige. The guy on the beach seemed pretty beefy and must have been formidable if anything to catch her attention.

Did Azula sorta steal Tyrions thunder yes, am I ashamed to say I did it. No.