Chapter 19

Arya was not used to having time free from supervision. An hour spent without Septa Mordane, Maester Luwin, Father or Mother watching over her. But today was different. Mother was secluded to her bedroom and all attention was on her as she went into labor.

It had started early in the morning, when it was still dark. Arya woke up to Sansa knocking on her door and excitingly telling her to come and meet their new brother or sister. They quickly discovered that the babe hadn't arrived yet and it may be some time before it did. After being told sternly to stay away from Mother's room until they were called, they were released.

Despite Maester Luwin tending to Mother, lessons after breakfast were not cancelled, much to her displeasure. Tiresias instructed them this morning, as he often did when Maester Luwin had other duties. He was a good teacher, kind, with a voice different than any other person in Winterfell. But she just couldn't keep still, her thoughts kept straying to Mother.

"Ayra?"

She started. It was the second time that she had been caught and she turned to see Tiresias' hazel eyes boring into hers.

"You didn't hear my question, did you?"

She braced herself for the harsh words that usually came from Septa Mordane. Instead Tiresias just sighed.

"Well, I can't say I blame you. Are you worried about your mother?"

Arya nodded. Tiresias came over to her seat and knelt down, looking her in the eye.

"It's all right. I know it's scary, but your mother's strong and she's in great hands. Luwin is an excellent maester and your father is with her. Just like when you were born. And Bran."

"And me, Tiresias," said Sansa.

Tiresias nodded. "Of course, Lady Sansa. You as well. The bells rang for all your arrivals. Now, either today or tomorrow, the bells will ring again and you'll have a new member of your wolfpack."

He stood up, walking back to his books on the main table. He closed them and stood in front, turning to face them.

"Now, because of that," he called back. "I understand that you're all distracted. So I'll make you a deal. No books today and I'll let you go early. However for the next hour, I want you to talk me about your new brother."

He fetched a half-hour glass from the desk before walking back and placing it on the table.

"For the first half-hour," he said, before switching to Valyrian. "We speak Valyrian, and for the second…"

He then switched to the Old Tongue.

"We speak in the tongue of your forefathers."

"But Tiresias," said Sansa, but Tiresias raised his eyebrows and she paused before continuing. "Tiresias, how do you know it's a boy?"

Arya had that question as well, as did all most of her other siblings it seemed. Jon and Robb had fixed the librarian with their own questioning gazes. Bran was too busy with his drawings. Tiresias only raised his hands in surrender.

"I don't," he said. "I only dreamt it."

There was a slight smile on his face and it remained there for the rest of the lesson. Arya couldn't stop looking back to it. She recognized that smile. It was on the librarian's face as far back as she could remember…

Tiresias was always in Winterfell, according to her. Jon told her about the first time that he had walked into the Great Hall with Father. A stranger who sat with them and stayed for what had now been three years, bringing more and more tomes to the library tower.

But as she grew she learned strange things about him. About how he sparred with Jon, though she'd never seen him armed. The sword, the spear, the bow; these came out at night. Although Jon said he carried a dagger with him, tucked away. He also said her that Tiresias told him to train her, that he was responsible for their bouts in the godswood.

A librarian doesn't train like that. She wondered if Maester Luwin also trained, if the old man could wield a sword like Ser Rodrik. She asked Father a few moons ago and he laughed.

"As far as I know, Maester Luwin is only a maester and believe me, that's enough training for one man."

When she inquired about Tiresias, Father only shrugged.

"What Tiresias does in his spare time is not my concern. So long as he does his duty and conducts himself with honor. Besides, he's Essosi. They're not quite as strict. Tiresias can be both a man of letters and a man of arms. Though I think he prefers not to draw attention to that."

Maybe that's why he told Jon to train her. Why he doesn't sneer at her bastard brother. Why he doesn't insist on her being a lady…

Only two months ago, she had snuck out to the training yard, away from a lesson from Septa Mordane. She couldn't reach the swords stacked high along the sides of the yard. So she wandered over to the archery range. A bow laid there, too small for a grown man. Bran had forgotten to put away his training weapon…

She looked but no one was present. Not knowing how much time she had before the range was occupied, she ran to the target and took out the five arrows stuck there. She had to reach high for the last one.

Having gathered all the arrows she could, she ran back to the discarded bow and picked it up. It was a little big for her, but she could hold it steady. She nocked an arrow as she had seen Robb once do. Her entire arm was shaking as she drew back and released.

The arrow went halfway to the target before falling to the ground.

The second arrow fell just short of the target. The third flew behind.

She had no idea how much time had passed. All she knew was that she ran to collect her five grounded arrows three times. The third time she stalked back to the line, she was breathing hard, frustrated, and close to tears. She closed her eyes and breathed as Jon had taught her.

Breathe in on one...two...three...and hold for one...two...three...and release on one...two...three…

Head calm and fingers still, she nocked an arrow and released. Still a miss. She let out a breath and nocked again.

Something was different. She could feel it as she let go. The arrow flew from her bow, singing in the air before it stuck in the target. Not the center, not even close…but still it stuck.

Smiling she was about to cheer when she heard something above her.

Clap, clap, clap.

She whirled around and looked up to the balcony. Father was there and Tiresias as well. She had no idea how long they had been watching her, but they were at the railing, both applauding, not saying a word. Father with his quiet pride. Tiresias with that slight smile…

A smile came over her face too and a torrent of emotions welled up inside her. Relief that she wasn't being punished for abandoning her lessons with the Septa or for shooting arrows like a boy. Pride and joy for sticking the arrow her first time holding the bow. The previous arrows that grounded didn't exist in her mind. The one stuck arrow counted beyond measure.

Tiresias muttered something to Father before wandering off, nodding to her as he did. Father looked back to her and told her to keep practicing until dinner. She nodded quickly and picked up the next arrow. He stayed on the balcony and watched the rest of her exercise.

That was two weeks before her fifth nameday. Which was very exciting, except she still had to go to lessons. She had a harder time concentrating than usual, even her numbers didn't come as easily as they usually did. Finally when Maester Luwin dismissed them, she cleaned her slate as quickly as possible before turning to run out.

"Arya?" called Tiresias from his table. "Could you come here for a minute?"

Arya slightly pouted. She didn't want to stay in the library anymore for her nameday. But Father and Mother told her to respect the adults. Not to mention that Tiresias was never mean to her.

So she dragged herself to his table. He was surrounded by stacked tomes and littered parchments filled with his neat, tiny writing. As she arrived, he dug through one of the stacks and pulled out a thin tome, presenting it to her.

"Happy nameday, Arya."

She took the book curiously, eyeing the title; SheBears and Their Spears. Opening the book, she saw a single drawing. A bear was growling at her viciously.

"Stories from the women of House Mormont," said Tiresias. She looked back up at him. "You're old enough to start reading it yourself. That tome doesn't belong to the library though. It will stay with you, should you wish to keep it."

Her shelf in her room had no books like these. Stories came from Mother, Father and Old Nan. This was hers to read by candlelight. In secret, when she should be sleeping. She giggled at the thought.

"Thank you," she whispered, running her fingers along the page.

Tiresias nodded. "You're welcome," he said before leaning forward and lowering his voice.

"If you place that in your room now, Arya, I think you might find something else for you as well."

He picked up his quill and began to write again.

"You should hurry though," he muttered, his eyes on the parchment. "I don't think you would want your mother to discover what's under your bed."

That was all he needed to say. She raced through the corridors, calling back thanks to the much taller adults who wished her a happy nameday.

Entering her room, she closed the door quickly, her entire body pressed up against the frame before turning to the bed.

She crossed first to the shelf, placing the book on top before returning to the bed. Lying down and reaching into the dark, she gasped as she pulled out a bow.

She held the bow in disbelief for a few seconds, not quite believing it to be so. She had never had anything like this before. Stepping away from the bed, she held it and pulled it back. It was a good size, perfect for her…well, she didn't know anything about bows, but it seemed perfect to her. Far better than using Bran's practice bow.

Coming back to the classroom, she looked to her left hand, at her calloused fingers. They no longer hurt, but they made needlework even more difficult. She didn't mind though. Her evenings with the bow, the wooden sparring swords or her books made her lady lessons more tolerable. She still hated them, but she could also imagine the scowl on Septa Mordane's face as she drew back her bowstring.

She even got her first bullseye last week. She tried in vain to replicate it, but so far no luck. It still made her grin though. She could hear the arrow hitting the straw perfectly…

Blinking to attention just in time to hear Tiresias' question, she answered in Valyrian, the words coming from her rough, but correct. The rest of the hour passed more quickly than it would have had they just stared at the books. Tiresias could usually make the books exciting, but even he knew that today was special.

At the end of the hour, he dismissed them. Even Bran responded in the Old Tongue for the farewell. They put away their books and ran from the library. It was time for the midday meal and that was even more difficult to sit through than the lessons. Each bite felt heavier and heavier as they waited for the new Stark cub. Even the blueberry tart didn't taste as good as it should.

She didn't even bicker with Sansa. That's how nervous she was. When the meal ended, she ran off. She didn't want to be around anyone, not even Jon. Everyone was too quiet, just waiting. It unsettled her.

Desperate for some true quiet, she grabbed her book from her room and ran to the training yard. Careful not to approach the immediate spars in the center, she stuck to the sides and ran over to the younger guards. She stopped before the friendly one and pulled on his shirt.

Jory Cassel turned and looked down at her.

"What are you doing here, my lady?" he asked. "A training yard is no place for a young girl."

"Then why are you here?" she asked.

Howls of laughter came from Jory's companions. Jon had told her to say that if any of the soldiers tried to get her to leave. She wished she didn't have to say it to Jory. He was really nice, but fortunately Jory laughed with the others.

"Well then, I suppose it's only right then that I escort you from the yard," he said, smiling. "Come, Lady Arya, I'll take you to the Septa."

"Don't call me Lady!" she retorted hotly before forcing herself to calm. "Septa Mordane is with Mother right now. Everyone's with Mother."

Actually the Septa was with Sansa right now. And Jeyne. But Jory didn't have to know that.

Jory shrugged. "Then where shall I escort you then?"

"I don't need an escort," she said, before pointing to the shortest practice sword. "But I need that. Could you reach it for me? Please?"

Jory turned to the others, before placing a hand on her shoulder and walking with her.

"Do you want me in trouble with your lady mother?" he asked lightly. "You know she doesn't approve."

"Mother's having a babe and Father doesn't mind!" she said. "Come on, you know they let me shoot."

"That's different," said Jory, not quite meeting her eyes.

That was her opening.

"Please, Jory," she pleaded. "I'm more like to hurt myself with a needle than with that."

After swearing not to tell Mother, to be careful, and promising to return it, he reached for the sword and gave it to her, calling to her not to run with it as she bolted from the yard. The clinks and hammers faded fast as she ran into the godswood. She weaved in and out and found herself at the weirwood tree.

How long she spent in that godswood she didn't know. The sword was heavy but she went through the exercises as best she could. At least all the ones that she could remember. She closed her eyes and imagined Jon going through the forms. Eventually her arm tired and she sat down to read.

For a while, she was able to forget Mother in her birthing bed. Her fingers traced the drawings of the spears and forms of the Mormont women, decked in furs and leather armor. A tingle went up her spine and she went to find a long stick. Not quite a spear, but she managed to find one that was longer than her. A little heavy though.

Nevertheless, she propped the book up and went through the first page, holding the stick like a warrior, alone in her world.

But she was still tired from the sparring sword and she was too little. She soon dropped the stick, panting.

Another tingle went up her spine and she stared at the weirwood tree. Sansa didn't care for the weeping face in the white bark. It was frightening to her. Arya secretly agreed, but she was still drawn to it. She wondered if it was truly alive as Old Nan said. Whether those empty dark eyes were watching her…

She asked Maester Luwin about it once in lessons. He chuckled and said if the weirwoods ever truly saw, that they were blind now. And not to worry. Any secrets that the tree held were forever closed. Only the Children of the Forest could speak to the weirwoods and they were gone now.

Arya heard the scratching of a quill stop when he said that. She turned to see Tiresias at his table eyes down, paused in his scribbling. He wore the slight smile again…

The bells rang, their chimes dimmed in the godswood but she could still hear them. All thoughts of the weirwood immediately vanished from her head. A new Stark was born in Winterfell…

She quickly put the stick away, leaning it up against a tree that she could easily find again. Barely containing her excitement, she gathered her book and sword before running for the exit.

Heading back into the training yard, she heard cheers coming from the men there. Jory took her sword from her with a great smile, telling her to go run and meet her new family. She was already running away when he called that to her.

Placing the book in her room quickly, she hurried to her mother's room. Robb, Sansa and Bran were in the corridor already. With the Septa.

She steeled herself, but couldn't slow down. Robb caught her in a hug.

"Lady Arya, where have you been?" asked Septa Mordane.

"In the godswood, praying," she said quickly. The Septa may have been of the Seven, but she still preferred prayers to the Old Gods over swordplay. Her lips pursed, but her eyes were not too severe. But that didn't matter to Arya. Not now.

"How's Mother? Is she all right?" she asked, unable to keep the fear out of her voice, looking to her siblings. Even to Bran, who looked the most relaxed, holding Sansa's hand.

"Mother's fine," said Robb, placing his hand on her shoulder. "The babe's fine. Father's with her now. They're just cleaning the babe up. We can go see them in a little bit."

Knowing that they had no choice, Arya nodded. The next minutes dripped by more slowly than the entire previous day. Arya paced for a few seconds before the Septa told her to be still.

She sat with Robb and breathed steadily, as Jon taught her. Wishing that he was here, but knowing why he wasn't, raised her temper and she had to start over.

The breathing helped, but not much. How could she possibly be calm? It was her new brother or sister. Despite being told Mother was safe, she was still nervous. She had to see for herself. Had to know that they were all right. Both of them.

Finally, Father came down the corridor. She stood immediately, thankful for Robb's hand on her shoulder. Otherwise, she would have barreled at him.

Father arrived and knelt down to her level, but looked to all of them.

"It's all right. The babe's healthy and sleeping. Your mother's very tired as well, but very happy. And she wants you all to meet your new sibling. We all need to be quiet and gentle. Don't jump on her or scream. It's very exciting, but we need to be gentle now. All right?"

Arya nodded earnestly. Father stood and took her hand.

"Come on, then."

They walked down the corridor. A maid walked out of Mother's room, carrying a bunch of soiled sheets. The smell made her crinkle her nose as she walked, but she said nothing. She heard that birth was messy. She shuddered at the idea of giving birth when she was grown.

Father gave a soft knock before they entered. Arya's breath seemed to come in shudders as she entered. The room smelled strange as well. And it was warm. A large fire was burning in the hearth.

Mother laid on the bed, her hair undone, her eyes barely open. She smiled as they entered.

"My dears," she whispered. Ned walked over to her and kissed her on the forehead, taking her hand. Arya walked to her bedside, along with the others.

"Are you all right?" whispered Arya.

Mother nodded. "I'm fine, Arya. I'm just very tired right now. But I'm very happy as well."

She lowered her voice even more, as though it were a secret.

"Would you like to meet your little sister?"

Little sister…she had a new sister…

Mother nodded to the crib in the corner. Father took her hand again and led her to it. He picked her up so she could see.

"Children...say hello to Cara Stark."

The babe was asleep and wrapped tightly. The only part of her that Arya could see was her red and squashed head. Wisps of dark hair peeked from under her bonnet.

Sansa joined her at her side.

"Mother, she's beautiful," she whispered.

Liar.

"She looks like a turnip," Arya whispered back.

Sansa looked horrified. "Arya!"

Robb had a big smile on his face as he looked down. She felt Father quaking with silent laughter before speaking.

"She looks like a normal babe. You were that color when you came out of your mother." He glanced at Sansa. "As were you."

When he looked back to Mother, she stuck her tongue out at Sansa, who waited before Father set her down before giving her a light smack on the arm.

"That's enough," said Father quietly, his eyes stern. "Now, say goodbye to Mother. She's going to sleep for the rest of the day. I'll see you tonight."

They crossed to the bed, each giving Mother a kiss before exiting the room. Arya climbed gently on the bed and pecked her on the cheek. She could smell the dried sweat.

"Well done, Mother," she whispered.

Mother smiled. "Thank you, love. Go be with your brothers and sister."

She walked rigidly to the door and out into the corridor, her feet speeding up as she felt a grin spreading on her face.

I have a baby sister…

I have a baby sister…

I have a baby sister!

When she got to her room, she picked up a pillow and screamed into it. She was more excited than she could ever remember being.

The Great Hall was crowded that night. Father didn't care for feasts that much, but Robb told her that he was duty bound as Warden to share his good fortune when he had some. Therefore a new child of House Stark warranted a feast for the whole of Winterfell.

All present certainly seemed to appreciate it. Father accepted congratulations all night and gave numerous assurances to Mother's health and to Cara's as well. She lost track of the number of toasts to them both and to Father and to House Stark.

Father raised his cup for every toast and took tiny sips. Arya could never remember seeing him drunk, like the other men in the hall. Tonight, as celebration, Robb and Sansa were allowed a cup of wine each and they had to drink slowly. The Septa was with Mother, so Maester Luwin kept an eye on them.

Luwin had stayed up all night as well, but the old man seemed to be in good spirits. He drank moderately too and waved off the congratulations. He credited Mother for the good birth.

Arya was excited too, but this feast was beginning to become too much for her. Even Jon wasn't enough to keep her. He was allowed to sit with them at this feast because Mother was bedridden. No one said that, but she knew. However, she'd already eaten dessert and she was antsy to leave.

Father met her eyes and saw her silent plea. He looked around and nodded. She didn't hesitate, though she did ensure that she walked out of the hall properly before running down the corridor. She encountered very few people on her way. Besides the guards at their posts and the servants in the kitchen, everyone else was stuffed into the Great Hall. The yard would be deserted…

She fetched her bow from her hiding spot in the stables. She didn't trust the maid who cleaned her chamber not to hand it over to Mother. The night air was crisp as she walked to the training yard and she shivered. She fought through it, knowing she would be warmed up after a few minutes. Besides, she was a wolf and wolves love the cold.

However as she drew nearer to the yard, she stilled. Someone was already there and they were striking something hard and quickly. She crept to the entrance and peered around the corner.

She recognized the lean frame of the man. Tiresias was in front of a training dummy, striking it viciously with a pole staff. She debated going further. Tiresias always seemed to know where everyone was. She could never sneak up on him. But something made her continue and she kept to the shadows, her feet light.

Arya had never seen a grown man cry before and she didn't realize what was happening until she was closer. Tiresias' cries echoed through the empty yard, punctuating as he struck the dummy. A fear grew in Arya. His tears, his strikes…he seemed enraged…

Arya didn't want to be there anymore, but she couldn't leave. She found herself rooted to the spot and when she was able to move, she only found herself rounding the yard, keeping to the shadows. She still had to see. Tiresias wouldn't hurt her. She knew that, but she was still scared…

No torch was lit in the yard. The moon and stars were all she had for light. Tears glistened on Tiresias' cheek. His teeth were clenched and his eyes were dangerous, but still he struck hard and true, his movements quick.

She had never seen him like this. She wondered if Jon had ever seen him like this. He was Tiresias, the quiet librarian, calm and kind. He gave her a book...

But also a bow…was this man in front of her the one who gave her the bow she now carried?

He began to lose control. She saw it. He gripped the pole staff and begin to beat the shoulder of the dummy again and again and again. He yelled with his last strike and stood still with the pole still on the shoulder. His own shoulders were heaving. She didn't move, didn't even breathe...

Finally Tiresias crumpled, dropping the staff, and going to his knees, his breath a heavy fog. He was muttering something. She walked forward carefully.

"I'm sorry…I'm sorry, Rickon," he moaned softly. "I'm sorry…"

Her foot sank into some mud and she winced at the squelch. It was enough. Tiresias started and turned to her, his eyes as wide as hers. The dangerous rage she saw in his eyes disappeared quickly and he stood.

Neither of them spoke for a moment. Finally, he picked up his pole staff.

"I'm sorry, Arya. I…" He cleared his throat. "I should have…you…you didn't have to see that."

He wiped his eyes and breathed.

"Did I scare you?" he asked. She shook her head at once, but he laughed softly.

"Aye, I did. I'm sorry."

Now he could see everything again. Now that he wasn't in tears. She didn't just know what to say. It was a lot colder than she had thought and she shivered.

"I'll light a brazier for you," Tiresias said. "Are you here to shoot your bow?"

She nodded.

"Come," he said, leading her to the archery range. She followed him and in minutes he had lit the brazier by the archery shooting line. He disappeared and reappeared with a quiver of arrows.

"Can I trust you not to hurt yourself?" he asked. She nodded. "Well, good night then, Arya. Again, I'm sorry for frightening you."

He seemed normal again, but in the brazier's light, his eyes still looked sad. He turned to walk away just as she found her voice.

"Who's Rickon?" she called after him.

Tiresias froze, but didn't speak. The crackle of the brazier and the distant songs of Father's men filled the air. A minute passed but still she waited. Something was different tonight.

Finally, the librarian turned. His face was down again, but when he spoke, his voice was even.

"Rickon was…he was an unfortunate young boy. And I couldn't save him."

"Was he your brother?"

Tiresias closed his eyes and smiled that slight smile. But it was different now. That slight smile was so sad.

However it disappeared quickly and Tiresias looked up to her, shaking his head.

"No," he said softly. "No, he wasn't."

Mother had told her not to badger people about sad things. She wanted to ask more about Rickon, about the sad smile, but she held her tongue and picked up an arrow.

"Your dream was wrong," she said, walking up to the librarian. He gazed down at her. "Mother had a girl, not a boy."

Tiresias nodded. "Well, dreams are just that, aren't they? Dreams." He turned and walked a short distance before stopping. He turned back.

"Congratulations on your new sister, Arya Stark," he called, before disappearing into the castle.

Arya went to her arrows and back into the warmth of the brazier. She gripped her bow and nocked her first arrow. She drew her arrow back, looking at the target.

Her new sister…another wolf…

She released her breath and the arrow flew, singing in the cold. It stuck near the center. That would down anyone who came near Cara Stark.