POV- ARYA

They had barely taken two steps into Winterfell when her father and..."Lord" Rogers (gods, it would take her some time to get used to thinking of him as such) had been ushered into the Great Hall, and she hadn't seen them since. She knew something important was about to happen; as they had approached Winterfell they could see a vast stretch of lights to the east, in Winter Town, and she knew soon enough that the Lords of the North had amassed a great host.

The Giant of Umber, the Bear of Mormont, the Flayed Man of Bolton, the Merman of Manderley- all were represented. It was an unprecedented gathering- but Arya thought that the way she had slipped away from the pre-occupied household staff and any others who might shoo her off to bed was almost as unprecedented.

Then she remembered- such a task often fell to Septa Mordane. Her heart sank as she was reminded of this. Syrio had been shown to his temporary quarters, so now, here she sat in Bran's room with Sansa, the three Stark children watching their newly reunited direwolves play "bitey face" as Rickon liked to call it. The three children had so much to say, but didn't know how to say it at the moment, so they had fallen into a contented silence: Bran had finally fallen asleep, and Sansa was nodding off as well, leaving Arya to ponder the hero who made their reunion possible.

Arya had stirred a bit when she finally heard voices coming from the Great Hall- the gathering of Lords was finally over. For Bran's sake, she didn't open the window, instead going to her own room, Nymeria padding behind her the whole way. She opened the window, and several voices managed to carry all this way. Of course, one of them was the Greatjon Umber- she caught a few words, and it seemed he wanted to test the newest Northern Lord's strength for himself, and she supposed Steve was open to that, as a circle of the Lords gathered around them, her teacher standing perfectly still at the behemoth of a man slowly advanced towards him- the Greatjon said something that was obviously a joke, for the crowd laughed, while Steve remained silent. And then he threw himself at Steve.

Steve Rogers was a mystery only as much as he was content to peel back the layers one at a time. She finally got him to share details of battles he had fought. A man who believed in him had used all of his knowledge to make him strong "but like a maester, not a mage." There was no magic to it, and the man had died afterwards, taking his secret with him. Her father deserved this "seer-um" as much as Steve did- she had thought him invincible when she was younger, as all children imagined their fathers. But for now, there was only one like him, and the gods were kind enough to send him to House Stark.

He could scarcely pick up a weapon before, he said, and he regarded his abilities as a gift that indebted him to the greater good. Like a knight from the tales...

He wasn't strong before... knowing that slowly made several little things clear. He quickly grew to have his share of admirers in Winterfell before the journey south- a few of the ladies in waiting, and Jeyne Poole (Sansa thinking him rather old, but conceding that he was still somewhat handsome) among them. She had even heard that Princess Myrcella had two opportunities to speak with him during the journey to King's Landing but could scarcely do so without giggling and blushing in a most undignified way.

Bet the Queen hated that- Arya thought. Of course, the woman hated anyone without the name "Lannister,"- that much was clear. It made Arya feel better about the tact and good graces she had compared to the Queen if the woman was so bad at hiding her contempt for the world at large- how she had managed to have three kids by the Fat King, she could scarcely imagine. But the way Steve became a little uncomfortable at the batting eyelashes made it clear he wasn't used to this- and when she asked for stories of his home, she had asked for stories of battles he had fought. He had politely declined; at first, he shared stories he had read; of the giant Paul of House Bunyan and his great blue auroch Babe. He told her of Lord Edmund Dantes and his quest for revenge. Finally, after asking for a scary story, he told her of the Immortal Lord Dracula, who fed on the blood of the innocent and the small band of heroes dedicated to stopping him. It took much pleading and assurances that she wouldn't have nightmares; she had enjoyed the story, but it was only after much nagging that he finally started telling her about his own battles. He spoke often of how he was nothing without his men, his "Howling Commandos," and how the "Red Skull" was as terrifying an enemy as one could imagine. When pressed for details, he told her of the Red Skull's monstrous appearance- even better, with a quill and parchment he produced a drawing of his greatest foe. The "vampire" of his story hadn't effected her, but knowing the demon in the picture had once lived truly did frighten her, and she finally had a nightmare where a black shape of a man topped with a demonic fire-red, fleshless skull was standing over her bed. She managed not to cry out before awakening.

But he emphasized that the Red Skull had destroyed himself at the end. Every victory he spoke of, he gave credit to his allies and the rare mistakes of his enemies. But coming from the man who felled the Mountain That Rides with a single blow, one knew that this was an incomparable humility.

When she said this, he gave her a piece of advice from one of his own kings, and added "Humility aside, it always helps if your enemies underestimate you. That's one thing you have over me now. And we're going to keep at that."

Of course, when you lived in the same castle as Theon Greyjoy, anyone would look humble by comparison.

He did his part for the family, as well; he wrote to Lady Catelyn often assuring her that her daughters and husband were kept safe. He had even corresponded with Bran, trying to cheer him by telling him stories of his home.

He had even spoken for a moment about something he had said to Maester Luwin in a letter about the seven "wanderers" in the sky and what made them different than the rest of the stars and how it had excited him to further study. His final odd venture was the suggestion adding more hops to a batch of ale to the castle's brewers- it created something called an "India Pale Ale" when added during the brewing process. The first batch had been well received by King Robert- but then again, it got you drunk, so of course it was. He later explained to her that it was simply something else to pass the time- which he had a lot of, because he only needed 4-5 hours of sleep a night.

And as much as he tried to play the peacekeeper between the two sisters, he had made things worse for a time- Arya had insisted that if Sansa loved those stories of knights and chivalry Old Nan had , then she need look no further than Steve as the embodiment of those stories. Prince Joffrey suffered by comparison to even the piggish Ser Blount, but compared to Steve he seemed a mockery of a boy; cruel, petty, both arrogant and ignorant. She said these things, baffled that her sister would find this foreigner strange but moon over Joffrey. It had been at a mid day meal and this had quickly escalated to a shouting match before Septa Mordane sent Arya out. She had finally told Steve this in frustration that evening when they were done with practice, angered that Sansa couldn't see Joffrey for what he truly was.

"I guess you should ask yourself if you're really trying to tell her what she needs to hear or if you simply want to disappoint her," he had finally said.

"Put it another way- what if Joffrey finally did something so horrible that she ran to her father crying," he'd asked, sitting down next to her. "Would you laugh, say I told you so, or would you put all those feelings aside and be there for her like a sister should?"

Arya had sat there silently. Sansa was truly her mother's daughter, and even if there had been no love in her heart for her sister, she owed her mother that much to be kind to her.

"All kids have dreams that they grow out of. That's part of being a kid. Just let Sansa have her dream. Her family will be there for her when she grows out of it, however that'll happen."

"And you? You'll be there too, right?"

"Of course I will," he replied with that smile that was warm while belying the power of its wielder. She was silent again for a moment.

"Do you think all of this-" she gestured around the training area "-is just a stupid dream?

"I wouldn't be here if I did."

"You're lucky, "she groused. "You don't have any titles, you don't have to get married- how would you feel if you had to marry some giggling, proper lady- she'd probably think you strange just for training me."

"As long as that's what she wants to be and isn't what the world forces her to be, I think I could manage if it came to that."

"I want to throw up every time Mother talks about marriage- why couldn't I be a little older, and I could marry you?"

There was no lovesick sigh as she said this; on the contrary it was spoken so casually that it startled Steve. It wasn't the idle speak of a childhood crush- there was none, for it was Arya stating the accepted fact of her inevitable arranged marriage and saying that she would be miserable and she saw only one man in the Seven Kingdoms as being kind enough to make that inevitability bearable.

"I don't want to marry you," she added, stammering in her embarrassment for what she had accidentally implied. "But I haven't heard of any man who would let me be what I wanted to be. He'd probably be mad that he didn't get Sansa." At this last, Steve was quiet for a moment.

"I read that the Prince of Dorne has a few sons close to your age," he said at last. "Walder Frey in the Riverlands has to have at least one kid worth your time."

"I read that the whole lot of the Freys are a mess of no-chinned, big bellied, cross-eyed sneaks," Arya replied, and Steve couldn't help but guffaw at that. "And I bet Dorne hates the North almost as much as they hate the Lannisters."

"Well, if you're so determined to find a place for yourself doing manly things, I say you leave them no choice- show them that lacing you into a frilly dress is such a huge waste of what you have to offer that even an idiot could see it."

And he stood up at that, and had assumed another defensive stance, his practice sword outstretched. He smiled expectantly at her.

She had been ready to call it a day before; now she found she had an unexpected second wind as she went at him again, and the loud snaps of their wooden swords resumed.

And so the Greatjon was hurled to the ground like a rag doll. There was applause. And judging from the few words she caught, the Greatjon didn't seem angry- something about "a new strategy." He came at Steve low, trying to pull a leg out from under him.; in turn, he leaped over the Greatjon's brawny arm and locked his right leg around the back of the Greatjon's left, pulling it as he gave the man a shove. Again, the Lord of the Last Hearth tumbled. That familiar, booming laugh followed again quickly as he pulled himself to his feet, and slapped Steve on the back such that any other man would have been knocked over;

"You help us win this war and you can have your pick of any of my daughters!" he proclaimed. "Imagine a grandchild of mine that could break me in twain before they grow their first hairs!"

The assembled crowd laughed, and she could tell Steve was somewhat embarrassed by the suggestion the way he scratched his head at this.

"I always thought it was the way of most powerful men to brag and boast,"Sansa said. Arya nearly jumped, as she realized Sansa had entered behind her, watching the events below.

"Father doesn't," Arya insisted.

"Father isn't most men," Sansa insisted in turn, as if Arya had said the sun and the moon had switched places in the sky.

"I know Father never would have hurt the king," Sansa finally said. "If the Queen is saying it, Joffrey is saying it as well."

"The way he said he fought off the man who threw around the Greatjon and toppled the Mountain?" Arya replied. But these words held none of the derision they would have months before.

And Sansa's face burned, a ruddy pink framed by auburn tresses. "Yes. Like that." She finally replied.

Arya had barely noticed Lady in the room, but in the awkward pause that followed, the smallest of her pack loped forward and gave's Arya's hand a lick. Nymeria, in turn, placed a paw on Sansa's leg.

"Bran's awake," Sansa finally said. "The ruckus woke him up- it's best we return to our rooms for the night."

"I'm not leaving him just yet. Those big chairs are comfortable compared to what we had to settle for on the trip back."

Sansa nodded, and they returned to Bran's room. He asked them what had happened below, and he laughed when they told him. They spoke of how they would all be glad when the host departed, even though they dreaded what it meant, and that Father and Robb would be going with them.

Bran finally mentioned what he had overheard two of Lord Karstark's sons said about him, that he would be better off dead than a cripple.

"Steve would have introduced their faces to their arses if he'd been there," Arya growled- but the treachery and cruelty they'd dealt with made this seem like pettiness beneath their notice.

"But they'd still think it," Bran said. "What good would that do then?"

"It would do me some good," Arya grumbled.

"If a man says awful things, it reflects badly on only them," Sansa finally chimed in.

The silence was uncomfortable, until Bran finally asked them if it was true he had beaten the Mountain that Rides in the Tourney. They said he did, and that it seemed if he had wanted to, he could have killed Ser Gregor with little cause for complaint.

"I knew he was strong, but I didn't know he was that strong," Bran finally said.

"He told me something one of his kings said- that you should 'speak softly and carry a big stick.' He lives by that," Arya explained.

"That sounds like a Lord of the North if I ever heard one," Sansa smiled.

"That same king- he had a nephew who's his king now," Arya added. "The new king's a cripple, but he was a great king. He almost had the war won when Steve was taken from his home."

Bran stirred at this. "Really?" he asked.

"Yes, and he even hosted a King and Queen from an old House and served them peasant's food," Arya added.

"Do you think he'll have time for one of the stories of his homeland before he leaves?" Bran asked. "He wrote down a story that Old Nan read to me about a mouse and a lion- I rather liked it."

"Oh, he's told me several," Arya said, leaning forward. "Would you like to hear one?" Bran nodded eagerly.

"Once there was a noble Lord, who lived alone in a forgotten castle," Arya intoned ominously. "But when a banker came to help him buy new lands, he learned that there was something terrifying about Lord Dracula..."