A Furious Thing

Tarth

Arya spent most of her time dodging Lady Brienne's strikes, and she worried that would be all she'd be able to do. Staying on the defensive the whole time and never striking wouldn't prove anything to the Lady. It was as she was worrying that Lady Brienne sent a blow to her side. She reigned in her strength, obviously, or Arya would have suffered from several broken ribs, but the force still knocked her to her knees.

She was kneeling before the Lady when she saw her chance. The woman had glanced up, mayhaps because she didn't think Arya would press the fight on, and the smaller girl gathered her legs beneath her, springing up with her sword held before her. Her jabs came in quick succession. She pulled her arm before any could do damage, but, Lady Brienne doubtless felt the pricks of Arya's Needle anyway. After this the fight tipped more in her favor. With her confidence back she regained her speed, and Lady Brienne, used to only needing to be quicker than large men in bulky armor couldn't keep up.

Lady Brienne still won, stopping Arya's quick slashes and pokes with a sweep of her broadsword which sent Needle flying from Arya's grip. And she was just grateful to have shown that she wasn't completely inept. She'd never expected to win, not really.

"Well. You're no liar," the Lady acknowledged slowly, handing her sword off to a guardsman. "You could use some work, and you can't always rely in speed, but you're not hopeless."

"Does that mean you'll take me in?" Arya asked. Her voice was small in the courtyard, tremulous, but Lady Brienne heard her clearly.

"I don't need another guard. And I doubt you'd be accepted with open arms by the men who I already employ," the big woman shrugged. "They have enough trouble with me carrying about a sword. And you are...very small."

Arya gritted her teeth, not liking where this was headed. She wasn't small. She was...wiry...lithe. She'd seen pictures of bravos and dornish spearman. There was nothing weak about being short.

"But..." Lady Brienne continued right through her defensive thoughts. "I don't have a squire. I thought about fostering one of Rud Gower's boys. His oldest, Gerald is a friend of Renly's, and he has a few brothers running about. But I hadn't asked Lord Gower yet, so it'll be no problem."

Arya felt her mouth drop open but was hopeless to close it back up. She stood silent for a moment, something Jon would joke was absolutely impossible. "Thank you," she finally breathed, worried saying something might make Lady Brienne change her mind. "Thank you, My Lady!"

"Just Brienne will be fine, girl."

"I'll have no disobedience. I am...I'm taking a risk here, letting you stay here. And if the King brings his search here, I'll not lie to him. Do you understand?"

"Of course, my- Brienne!" Arya answered quickly.

"Come along," Brienne gestured, turning back towards the hall. Arya jumped to follow, tucking Needle through the loop in her belt. Nymeria trotted close behind them. The people that bustled around them, dispersing after watching their match gave the wolf a wide berth. "You'll need to talk to my Steward about your room, and some new clothes. And I'll discuss your allowance with him no later than tomorrow, I think."

"You needn't go to such trouble," Arya rushed forward, staring up at Brienne. She didn't need to be a burden.

"It's no trouble. A knight provides for their squire. It's expected. If you're to learn from me you'll be expected to be clean and well rested."

"Thank you, Brienne," she repeated, just to dissolve the remaining guilt. She knew it was correct. Her father had done the same thing for Theon Greyjoy, and he'd been merely a hostage.

"You're welcome, Arya."

The Steward's name was Duran Sarsfield, and he was a great bear of a man. His big black eyes took her in in just a few seconds, leaving her feeling a bit clumsy, though she was only standing there.

He reminded her a bit of her father, oddly. Oddly because he looked nothing like Ned Stark. His hair was white with age and his eyes were dark, and he was made of large cords of muscle padded liberally with fat, where her father was lean. But the simple way he spoke was just like the Lord of Winterfell.

Arya decided suddenly that she liked the man.

"You're the squire the lads have told me about?" he gruffed at her. Brienne and she had stopped by the kitchen to inform the Cook of Arya's change of status along the way, so she was not surprised that word had reached the steward before them.

"Yes,," she agreed readily.

"What're you called?" Duran asked.

"Arya Snow."

"Ah. That explains it. Our Lady has a habit of accepting strays without thinking about the consequences," he explained, scowling. But she heard a note of fondness in his voice.

"I don't wish to cause Lady Brienne any trouble," she assured him. "I only wanted to learn from the best."

"What do you want?" he asked, cutting off the smile was wearing.

"Lady Brienne said I should talk to you about my rooms...and some new clothes," Arya said. He narrowed his eyes at her. "Is there something wrong?" she asked.

"Nothin'. I expect you're not one for frilly dresses?" he commented, lips thin. She hoped that his thinking face was merely intimidating, and he wasn't upset at something she'd said.

"No, I'm not."

"Good. Breeches are cheaper."

"Lucky."

"I'll send a servant to bring you to your rooms once I've found them myself. Anything else you want?" His voice was brusque, and Arya knew when she was being dismissed. But she still had one more request.

"Yes. I just... My...companion...or, my pet... Nymeria. She needs feeding. I'll do it myself, I just need..."

"Talk to the kennel master."

With that, he turned away, back to a slip of parchment, and Arya took her leave, knees still shaking.

As Arya approached the kennels she half-hoped Kira wouldn't be there. The girl was a chatterer, which had never bothered equally talkative Arya before, but her escape from her family, she had noticed, and quieted her, and now she found silence could be rather comfortable. She could only imagine the girls reaction to finding out who Arya was.

She needn't worry. The girl had left, and the only person in the maze of dark halls among the noise of several dogs was a short man with big brown eyes, sort of like a cow. Yes, this was definitely Kira's father.

"Hello," she announced as she came through the door. He was watching her, so it wasn't necessary, but she wanted to be polite to Kira's father.

"Hello," he responded, offering a polite, if confused smile. She supposed he didn't get many visitors besides his daughter. "Is there something you need?"

"I'm beginning my service to Lady Brienne tomorrow, and the steward directed me to you." Then, to make clear her reason for being there, she called for Nymeria, who'd stayed just outside of the building.

His eyes widened for a long moment. "This beast is yours?" he asked incredulously. "Looks like a wolf to me. And a big one, at that"

"Nymeria is a direwolf."

Shaking his head, Kira's father said, "I doubt that very much, miss. Ain't been no direwolves for a very long time."

"She's not yet fully grown, and already she's this big, sir," Arya argued.

He still look disbelieving, but didn't press the issue. "And you want her quartered here? She'll not get along with the hounds, miss."

"Nymeria sleeps with me. I just want to know when the dogs are fed, if I might bring her along to be fed as well?" she wondered.

He shrugged. "I don't see why not, miss. But I'd keep an eye on her if I were you. Wild animals are likely to turn on their masters."

'Thank you."

"Sir," she acknowledged with a nod.