A/N: This chapter will be the first of the chapters in which the lead POV is not Stafford. This was supposed to go up Friday as part of the special double upload on that day, but we decided against it to polish the story a bit more. Friday is also the day I post two chapters instead of one to try to get you guys more content before the weekend. The first part of the Chapter has parts heavily borrowed from the book, the second part has much less of that, so be aware. I only post Monday, Wednesday and Friday. Thank you all the support and I'd like to thank my editor and collaborator DeusVultInf1del. I kinda wanted to put Arya's relationship with Stafford kind of like how her relationship was with Gendry in the show. Arya has a slight crush on him, but she is not head over heels in love with him. I tried writing that, but I am not a eleven year old girl, so I would not know what her perspective on this is. Please give me feedback on how well I did.
mpowers25: I wish I could do that, but I don't think either of their characters would allow for that situation to happen. Good suggestion though.
birdy: As I had posted above, I update a chapter only Mondays, Wednesday, and Friday (2ch). I will try to update using this schedule to give people more consistency.
And also please try to vote on my profile on who will be paired with Stafford. Please vote on it, so I can get your guy's opinions as I am still undecided. Also for those who watch the TV series and would like to see what Stafford would look like if he was on the television series or had an actor portraying him, there is a link to a picture in my profile.
Anyway enjoy!
Arya
Arya's stitches were crooked again. She frowned down at them with dismay and glanced over to where her sister Sansa sat among the other girls. Sansa's needlework was exquisite. Everyone said so. "Sansa's work is as pretty as she is," Septa Mordane told their lady mother once. "She has such fine, delicate hands." When Lady Catelyn had asked about Arya, the septa had sniffed. "Arya has the hands of a blacksmith."
She studied her own work again, looking for some way to salvage it, then sighed and put down the needle. She looked glumly at her sister. Sansa was chatting away happily as she worked. Beth Cassel, Ser Rodrik's little girl, was sitting by her feet, listening to every word she said, and Jeyne Poole was leaning over to whisper something in her ear.
"What are you talking about?" Arya asked suddenly. Jeyne gave her a startled look, then giggled. Sansa looked abashed. Beth blushed. No one answered.
"Tell me," Arya asked suddenly.
"We're talking about the prince," Sansa said her voice soft as a kiss. There were two princes, but Arya clearly knew she was talking about Joffrey not Stafford. Arya had to sit with him during the feast and contrary to what she thought the prince would be like, he actually seemed hospitable. Of course he had a short temper after he struck down his own brother during the feast. Joffrey seemed like he was asking for it though.
"Joffrey likes your sister," Jeyne whispered, proud as if she had something to do with it. She was the daughter of Winterfell's steward and Sansa's dearest friend. "He told her she was very beautiful."
"He's going to marry her," little Beth said dreamily, hugging herself. "Then Sansa will be queen of all the realm." Sansa had the grace to blush. She blushed prettily. She did everything prettily, Arya thought with dull resentment.
"Beth, you shouldn't make up stories," Sansa corrected them, "What do you think of the prince? He's very gallant, don't you think?" Gallant enough to get knocked down after single blow.
"Stafford and Jon both told me he hit and looked like a little girl," Arya stated. Sansa sighed while she stitched.
"Poor Jon, he gets jealous, because he's a bastard. As for his brother he seemed like he didn't get along well," she stated. Arya didn't know how to feel about Stafford, but he seemed nice to her. Nicer than Joffrey or Sansa for that matter.
"Stafford's charming too, but not as charming as the prince in my opinion. He looks too much like his father and doesn't have that individuality to him you know? Plus, he's got that temper of his too,"
"At least Stafford's genuine, and doesn't try to charm maidens with tall tales of his chivalry. And Sansa, Jon's our brother," Arya said, much too loudly. Her voice cut through the afternoon quiet of the tower Room.
Septa Mordane raised her eyes. She had a bony face, sharp eyes, and a thin lipless mouth made for frowning. "What are you talking about, children?"
"Our half brother," Sansa corrected, soft and precise. She smiled for the septa. "Arya and I were remarking on how pleased we were to have the princess with us today," she said. Septa Mordane nodded.
"Arya, why aren't you at work?" the septa asked. She rose to her feet, starched skirts rustling as she started across the room. "Let me see your stitches."
The septa examined the fabric. "Arya, Arya, Arya," she said. "This will not do. This will not do at all."
Everyone was looking at her. It was too much. Sansa was too well bred to smile at her sister's disgrace, but Jeyne was smirking on her behalf. Even Princess Myrcella looked sorry for her. Arya felt tears filling her eyes. She pushed herself out of her chair and bolted for the door. She didn't even wait for what Septa Mordane would say.
It wasn't fair. Sansa had everything. Sansa was two years older; maybe by the time Arya had been born, there had been nothing left. Often it felt that way. Sansa could sew and dance and sing. She wrote poetry. She knew how to dress. She played the high harp and the bells. Worse, she was beautiful.
Jeyne used to call her Arya Horseface, and neigh whenever she came near. It hurt that the one thing Arya could do better than her sister was ride a horse. Well, that and manage a household. Sansa had never had much of a head for figures.
Arya thought about how similar the situation Stafford seemed to be in. He was the only one of his highborn siblings that took after King Robert. Many believed Stafford to look more Baratheon especially with his black hair and broad shoulders. He did have an uncanny resemblance to his father. They shared that with one another, they were both the ones, who inherited their father's looks. But everyone agreed that Stafford was charming and handsome in his own way. The girls in Winterfell actually debated, who looked better him or Joffrey, but with her and Sansa, Arya felt like everyone universally thought Sansa looked prettier than her.
Nymeria was waiting for her in the guardroom at the base of the stairs. She bounded to her feet as soon as she caught sight of Arya. Arya grinned. The wolf pup loved her, even if no one else did.
She had a better notion. The boys were at practice in the yard. She wanted to see Robb put gallant Prince Joffrey flat on his back. "Come," she whispered to Nymeria. She got up and ran, the wolf coming hard at her heels.
Arya's steps fell on the hard stone floors lightly as droplets of rain, with her cheerful pup bounding after her, the size of an overgrown northern wolf despite being barely a few months old. She strode down one of the many spiral staircases of Winterfell. After a few flights of stairs and increasingly sore feet, her mind was racing, filled with a strange hybrid of anticipation and dread.
Whenever she was around Stafford, she felt like she was falling and flying at the same time. But something kept her from truly knowing what she was feeling. She just knew that she felt it, and whatever she felt was was the strongest she's ever had. Nevermind, she argued. A bond with Stafford filled with such confusing feelings was the last thing she wanted. But the more she thought of him, the more she questioned the strength of such a conviction.
Arya, however, was so deep in thought that the stony corridors and long, winding stairways she ran blurred into nothing, leaving her with only the freshest memory of marching through the high, arched doors of the great hall and into the wintery chill of the courtyard.
As she surveyed the grand training yard, she noticed her two brothers Robb and Jon standing side by side, arms crossed. Dressed in white gambesons with the grey direwolf of Stark sewn over their breasts, they were taking in the two best things Arya Stark witnessed all day: Stafford and Stafford beating down his brother Joffrey. Stafford had landed a clean blows on his brother, while Joffrey had not even so much as hit him.
Jon gave her a curious look. "Shouldn't you be working on your stitches, little sister?" Arya made a face at him.
"I wanted to see them fight."
He smiled. "Come here, then. Stafford has been beating down his brother pretty badly."
Stafford had his axe, clearly a training axe brandished in front of him. Joffrey with some confidence began trying to land strikes on his own brother. Stafford dissected Joffrey's timing of blows, foretelling his already predictable and mediocre style, deflecting all of them. Arya, impressed with the skill with an axe, began to reason that it seemed impossible for Joffrey to best Stafford in the way he had described to the other girls last night. Another reason why she seemed to hate Joffrey's guts. Arya noticed their form too, Stafford had a rough stance, almost like he was about to take someone down using wrestling moves. He had his axe high enough to deflect blows, but low enough that it isn't interfering with his vision. Joffrey had no stance, he just tried to flail around and hit his opponents. Joffrey, who seem enraged by this, continued pressing forward to get a reaction from Stafford, but Stafford easily deflected his blows. Arya sensed Stafford grew tired of the combat, and he quickly pushed the aggression. The fight didn't last as long anymore, Stafford quickly disarmed his brother with the beard of his axe as he desperately tried to block a hit. Then, Stafford brutally landed a hit to Joffrey's side.
"Ahhh!" Joffrey yelled as he kneeled before Stafford. Stafford with good smile, delivered swift another blow to his shoulder.
"You sure bested me, brother. Maybe I should call for Lady Sansa to show her of your skill in battle?" Stafford taunted. The Starks laughed while some of the Lannisters and Baratheons went silent. Arya blinked at the amount of skill difference between them in combat. Stafford clearly had more technique and experience. His brother seemed like an overgrown boy in the courtyard.
"Watch it there, brother. You're speaking to your future king!" Joffrey spat as he tried to prop himself up holding his now wounded shoulder.
"Breathe now, brother. Don't get all worked up. You better embrace the fact my long massive axe will keep you grounded, king," Stafford stated. Stafford turned around and spotted Arya. He waved at her with a smile. Arya waved back, but noticed his brother get up and try to strike him from behind. Stafford, somehow noticed this and turned around just in time. He caught Joffrey's sword arm in mid-air and kneed his chest hard causing him to fall to ground once more. So much for the gallant Prince Joffrey.
"I tire of beating on my brother. Robb, want to go a round?" Stafford asked as people helped Joffrey off of the the courtyard. Robb in a daze nodded and faced Stafford for a match. Now, this looked like a good match up for Arya. Robb is remarkable with the sword and Stafford with an axe, and it seemed it was time to see if the age old combat testament was correct. It was time to see if a sword really cannot beat an axe.
The two nodded and began to stalk one another in the middle of the courtyard. Robb pressed the fight first using his skill with the sword and what looked like his superior speed on Stafford. Arya noticed that each of Robb's strikes were leaving Stafford flat footed in its wake. The way Stafford moved seemed different, like he wasn't used to fighting swordsman of this speed. It wasn't like Joffrey where he cleanly deflected all of his blows without much trouble. Now there was actually some resistance in Arya's mind. Arya could still see Stafford calm and in control, though. It seems Stafford was playing some strategy, most likely trying to wear down Stafford. Robb continued on the attack still driving Stafford back with his axe. Arya seemed impressed with Robb's skill, but somehow he had still not landed a blow on Stafford.
"Our brother is doing well isn't he?" Arya asked her half brother Jon
"He is, but Stafford was doing the same thing to Joffrey. Robb has just gotten much closer to actually hitting him than Joffrey was," Jon replied, "It's part of his strategy, watch." Sure enough Jon seemed like he was right.
As soon as Robb started to lose speed, Stafford began to hit Robb. They began to trade blows as each blow hit each other's armor. They were all minor blows, but Stafford seemed to handle them better than Robb, as Stafford had now regained ground and had Robb cornered. With a last stand, Robb tried to deal a barrage of blows with his sword using different over hand, under hand and even straight, but now Stafford had full control of the sparring match. Robb made one last slash at Stafford, but it seemed Stafford had expected it. Stafford caught the blade with the beard of his axe and disarmed Robb with it. Stafford then hit Robb with a flurry of blows to the torso and the legs. Arya thought Stafford had a side to him that was ruthless. Whoever trained him, must have been. Robb went down to a knee and yielded the round.
"Well fought," Stafford stated as extended a hand to Robb. Arya felt Stafford had more trouble defeating her brother than Joffrey, but Stafford didn't look winded even after the round with Robb.
"You see Prince Joffrey?" Jon asked. He hadn't noticed where Joffrey went to after he got absolutely devastated by his brother, He was surrounded by men she did not recognize, young squires in the livery of Lannister and Baratheon, strangers all. There were a few older men among them; knights, she surmised.
Arya looked. An ornate shield had been embroidered on the prince's padded surcoat. No doubt the needlework was exquisite. The arms were divided down the middle; on one side was the crowned stag of the royal House, on the other the lion of Lannister. Stafford's surcoat seamed divided too. Although Stafford wasn't wearing full plate, his shoulders had plate on them and one each side of the plate there were pictures of the sigil of House Baratheon and Lannister.
"And of course, you've seen Prince Stafford's half plate sparring armor, because you've been staring at him during the entire sparring session," Jon stated making Arya feel a little embarrassed.
"I have not!" Arya protested.
"The Lannisters are proud," Jon observed. "You'd think the royal sigil would be sufficient, but no. They both make make their mother's House equal in honor to the king's."
"The woman is important too!" Arya protested.
Jon chuckled. "Perhaps you should do the same thing, little sister. Wed Tully to Stark in your arms."
"A wolf with a fish in its mouth?" It made her laugh.
"That would look silly. Besides, if a girl can't fight, why should she have a coat of arms?"
Jon shrugged. "Girls get the arms but not the swords. Bastards get the swords but not the arms. I did not make the rules, little sister."
While they had been talking, Stafford and Robb had another sparring match. From the glimpses Arya had seen, it seemed Stafford took full control early this time and Robb had been swatted with a barrage of axe blows. Stafford had been the only person Arya had seen fight with an axe. The axe he had seemed like it was a hand axe. He clearly could have also thrown it instead of using it as a swinging weapon. After a few moments, Robb had been grounded once more and yielded.
"An interesting battle, but it seems Stafford's skill with an axe wasn't exaggerated at all," Jon stated as Arya nodded in reply
"Enough! Prince Stafford, why don't you take a breather?" Ser Rodrik called out, "Prince Joffrey, Robb, will you go a round?"
"Gladly," Robb stated although he looked winded to Arya.
"This is a game for children, Ser Rodrik." Joffrey arrogantly proclaimed.
Theon Greyjoy gave a sudden bark of laughter. "You are children," he said derisively.
"Robb may be a child," Joffrey said. "I am a prince. And I grow tired of swatting at Starks with a play sword."
"A Prince who can't even beat his younger brother in a sparring match," Stafford stated. About half of the onlookers began to burst into laughter.
"Without an axe you are nothing, brother!" Joffrey spat back.
"I can beat you with a sword, a spear, hell even unarmed," Stafford retorted. The Baratheon's and Lannister's eagerly awaited each retort, like they were used to enjoying the arguments between Stafford and Joffrey.
"Are you afraid?" Robb asked.
Prince Joffrey looked at him. "Oh, terrified," he said. "You're so much older." Some of the Lannister men laughed. Jon looked down on the scene with a frown.
"Joffrey is truly a little shit," he told Arya. Ser Rodrik tugged thoughtfully at his white whiskers. "What are you suggesting?" he asked the prince.
"Live steel." The prince suggested with fury in his eyes.
"Done," Robb shot back. "You'll be sorry!" The master-at-arms put a hand on Robb's shoulder to quiet him.
"Live steel is too dangerous. I will permit you tourney swords, with blunted edges." Ser Rodrik told him.
"Let him have it. I actually would like to see where this is going," Stafford suggested. Ser Rodrik shot him a look.
"Prince Stafford, we cannot allow for us to risk the safety of your brother and Lord Stark's son," Ser Rodrik retorted. Stafford looked disappointed. He crossed his arms and let out what looked like a sigh.
Joffrey said nothing, but a man strange to Arya, a tall knight with black hair and burn scars on his face, pushed forward in front of the prince. "This is your prince. Who are you to tell him he may not have an edge on his sword, ser?"
"Master-at-arms of Winterfell, Clegane, and you would do well not to forget it."
"Are you training women here?" the burned man wanted to know. He was muscled like a bull.
"Sandor, Ser Rodrik has spoken and as much as we both want to see them fight with live steel, I don't think we're see it happen," Stafford stated.
"Stafford, how old are you?" the burned man asked.
"Fifteen," he replied.
"And you, boy?" the man turned and asked Robb.
"Sixteen," Robb stated.
"I killed a man, at twelve. Hell, Stafford here killed a man at the prince's nameday," the burned man boasted. Robb, seemed like he had his pride wounded from the statements.
"Let me do it, I can beat him," Robb told Ser Rodrik. Stafford looked at him. Arya didn't know whether Stafford was as twisted as the burned man, or really wanted for Robb to regain his pride by trying to convince Ser Rodrik to let them use live steel.
"Then do it with a tourney blade, then," Ser Rodrik.
Joffrey shrugged. "Come and see me when you're older, Stark. If you're not too old." There was laughter from the Lannister men. Robb's curses rang through the yard. Arya covered her mouth in shock. Theon Greyjoy seized Robb's arm to keep him away from the prince. Stafford looked like he was about to assault his own brother, but he seems to have kept back. Arya couldn't understand why he could defend himself in the feast, but not defend anyone else.
""Come, Tommen," he said. "The hour of play is done. Leave the children to their frolics."
"But, I want to stay and train with Stafford, he wanted to show me some new moves today,"
"I said come Tommen," Joffrey commanded sharply. That brought more laughter from the Lannisters, more curses from Robb. Ser Rodrik's face was beet-red with fury under the white of his whiskers. Theon kept Robb locked in an iron grip until the princes and their party were safely away. Stafford began to shake his head and approached Ser Rodrik. When the princes were away, Ser Rodrik calmed down as Stafford said some words to him.
"Stafford's different from his brother, he's definitely boisterous and quick tempered, but at least he's nice and not a prick about things," Jon stated.
And then almost unexpectedly Stafford went towards her and Jon. Arya tensed a biit, but calmed down as he approached.
"Excuse my brother, he isn't exactly the most pleasant person to be around," Stafford stated.
"I can tell why. Anyway do you need anything, Prince Stafford?" Jon asked.
"If don't mind call me, Stafford. I bore of titles," Stafford replied. Jon nodded.
"I'm guessing it's over then?" Jon asked.
"Yes, my brother has grown tired of fighting, as per usual," Stafford stated and immediately turned to Arya, "I didn't expect for you to be watching the sparring. Not many ladies in King's Landing do that. Too busy knitting and talking to care about combat training." She should have been stitching and Stafford seemed right about that. She just didn't want to. She preferred watching combat, and was even open to participating in it.
"She should be keeping up with her stitching," Jon said.
Arya didn't think it was funny. "I hate needlework!" she said with passion. "It's not fair!"
"Nothing in life is fair," Jon explained.
"He's right, Arya. Just take a look at me, I have to deal with a brother, who hates my very guts and grows fond of spreading lies about me. I didn't ask for it, I just got it," Stafford declared. Jon began to walk away along with his direwolf pup. Nymeria followed, but went back towards Arya when she noticed she wasn't coming.
"She's yours correct?" Stafford asked.
"Yes, her name's Nymeria,"
"After the Queen of Rhoyne? Interesting, I wish I had a wolf like that. Wonder how Joffrey would react to it," Stafford mused. Arya laughed a little, but she didn't really know why she did.
"Well, best be on my way, mother will be looking for me after her dear prince will surely tell of the tales of my brutality in the courtyard today. I'll talk to you later," Stafford stated as he began to walk away.
Reluctantly she turned in the other direction. She wondered what was going to wait for her in her room.. It wasn't Septa Mordane waiting in her room. It was Septa Mordane and her mother.