Chapter Text
Arya swung her sword, her grin fierce as Eowyn raised her arm to meet her, and their swords clashed in the stillness of the night.
Thrust and parry, push and pull, fire and ice – the two danced in the yard to steps they were both familiar with.
They continued until both were dripping with sweat despite the cool autumn air. It was only when Kel call from the barracks that they stopped, lowering their swords and saluting each other. Arya swung her braid over her shoulder, tucking any escaped strands behind her ear and sheathing Needle. Eowyn grinned, slinging an arm about her shoulders.
“You get better every time we fight, Stark.”
“As do you, Mistress of Rohan,” Arya replied cheekily, knowing she would receive a slap on the head in response. Eowyn didn’t disappoint, her hand thwacking her even before she’d gotten out the last word.
“Careful, youngster,” she replied, though she was grinning. “You have yet to beat your own teacher.”
Kel met them in the doorway, shaking her head at their state. “Do you two ever stop?”
Both women raised an identical eyebrow. “Never,” they replied together.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Inside, they heaved off the chain mail and washed up, changing into their other set of tunic and leggings – also black, as was everything else here. Castle Black was aptly named, Arya thought not for the first time. Coiling her braid into a knot at the back of her head, she tied it in place with a leather strip from her wrist.
Her boots echoed against the stone as she walked towards the main hall, where the other women would be dining, as they did every night. Pushing the huge wooden door open, Arya slipped inside, nodding at the others already seated. Kel waved to her, gesturing to the empty seat, and Arya smiled in reply.
She took her food, murmuring quiet thanks to the young pages before turning towards her table. She remembered the feeling of being a young trainee all too well, having spilled more than her share of pots while on cooking duty.
Taking the seat next to Kel, she grinned at Brienne, who sat across from her. The older woman shook her head, her mouth twitching as she took in her state.
“You missed a spot, young wolf,” she said before taking another bite, and Arya grinned as Eowyn laughed at her from her spot next to Brienne.
Looking further down the table, Arya gave a slight nod to the red-haired woman who sat at the head. Sansa was the chosen leader of their band of warriors. Ruthless, proud and unerringly loyal, she lead them almost regally with a firm hand. She was also Arya’s older sister. Now she gave her a smile back before turning an attentive ear back to Margaery, who sat at her right.
One of her sister’s closest friends, Margaery Tyrell was as clever as she was pretty. And gods, she was pretty. It was one of the reasons she made such a good soldier. Men got so lost looking at her looks or her bare skin (which was never all that covered, despite the cold), and they seemed to lose all their wits, making them easy targets.
The door banged open, and Arya muffled a laugh at the wild ginger-haired woman who stood in the doorway. Her cheeks were flushed and her braided hair hung in tangles around her pale, freckled face. Somehow managing to look sheepish and defiant all at once, she glared back.
“What?” She asked crassly.
Arya waved her over, and Ygritte closed the door just as gently (that is, not at all) before making her way through the tables. Winking at her as she sat down on the bench, Ygritte leaned over to steal her apple.
“There’s a right chill coming this way,” she said between bites, and her smile was wicked. “Feels good.”
“Winter is coming,” Arya replied with her own grin.
“You Northerners are a scary lot,” Kel commented with a shake of her head, and Arya nudged her none too gently.
“Us Northerners,” she corrected, and Kel’s hazel eyes glinted in the dim torchlight.
After they’d finished eating, Arya headed back to her room. Grabbing her bow and arrow, she slipped out back to the smaller practice yard. As she stepped into stance, her muscles relaxed, easing into their familiar positions. Her focus narrowed until it was only her and the target: elbow raised just slightly, feet steady, the tip of the arrow by her lip, grazing her just before she released. It hit the center with a satisfying thud, and Arya grinned.
She fired several more arrows before a voice broke the silence.
“I don’t think I’ll ever tire of watching you do that.”
Arya turned to see Sansa leaning against the rail, smiling. She was also dressed in black, though her tunic was longer, more fitted before widening into a divided skirt, hiding her leggings and boots from sight. Those long boots held their own sharp daggers, as did the concealed belt at her waist. Her sister was as good with the blades as she was with Needle.
Arya raised a hand in greeting, emptying the few arrows left in her quiver before making her way over to her sister. She hopped up to sit on the fence, her legs dangling off the ground, and they looked upon the yard in silence for a while.
“Still can’t sleep?” Sansa broke the silence.
Arya knew there was no point in lying. “Not really.”
“Do you still dream of them?”
“Most nights.”
“You could go see Wylla, you know.”
Arya knew. Wylla was their healer, and a damn fine one at that. But Arya refused to resort to dreamwine or any other remedy to put her to sleep. There was no telling what that stuff would do in the event of a surprise attack. At least if she couldn’t sleep, she could train.
Her sister was well aware of her opinions, but since she’d offered anyways, Arya gave her a small smile in thanks.
“What about you?” She asked instead.
Sansa looked into the distance, her blue eyes cold. “Some days are not so bad. Others are worse.”
“More bad than good?”
“Lately, yes.” Arya was surprised to hear her admit it. Then the strength crept back into her sister's voice, so reminiscent of their parents. “But we’re together. That’s what counts.”
“Yes. That is what counts,” Arya agreed quietly, and the sisters stayed out long after the last candle was blown out, watching and waiting and wondering what was next.