A Furious Thing

Tarth

Lady Brienne stopped suddenly. It jolted their guards, creating a bit of chaos while the woman absorbed what Arya had just told her. Turning slowly, Lady Brienne's eyes scanned her face. This time she seemed to be searching for something.

"Yes, I suppose you have the Stark coloring..." she began, voice hard. Her brow wrinkled. "Why are you here?"

"I'm sure you've heard the rumours, My Lady?" Arya asked. Her hands were behind her back, mostly so that no one could see her wringing her hands. Biting her lip, she continued after Lady Brienne's curt nod. "Well, I'm not sure which one you heard, but there was an...incident near the Trident. The Queen wanted me flogged... The King decided to send me back to Winterfell and marry me off."

"Yes, I heard about this," Lady Brienne said. "But why are you here, in Tarth?"

"I don't want to be married!" The words burst out in a single breath, as if she was drowning.

"I...excuse me?"

"I can't just bow my head and be sold off to the first stranger my brother thinks will have me. I'm not like Sansa. I wasn't supposed to get married. I was going to stay at Winterfell forever. Or even, just be one of Sansa's lady maids. I would have been happy to just do that. But not..." Arya paused for a moment to take another breath.

"They sent you back to Winterfell to be married? Because of what you did with the prince?' Lady Brienne asked.

"I, yes. But, but I didn't do anything, My Lady, I swear it. I would never dishonor Sansa that way. We've never been...close, but she's a Stark nonetheless."

"I don't need to know what happened, girl," the Lady told her, mouth tightening. "I need to know what you'll ask of me?"

Arya blinked. It wasn't a promise of any sort, in fact, it shouldn't have been enough to give her hope, but it didn't stop the hope from blooming right there in her chest. The large woman hadn't outright rejected her. She also hadn't ordered her guards to capture her, which was a blessing in itself.

"I want a place in your household. I want to have a place on your guard."

"Listen girl, I won't have any-"

"My Lady, I'm a proficient swordswoman. My brother's taught me how to handle myself in a fight. I'm adequate with a bow, as well. And I can ride better than anyone in Winterfell. I'm not japing."

The Lady stared down at her, face inscrutable, before nodding briefly. "Prove it."

"What?" Arya exclaimed. She could admit suddenly that this was not what she'd expected.

"Prove your claims. Than we can talk."

"Who will I face?" she asked.

"Me."

Arya stood facing the Maid of Tarth, the white-blonde woman towering over her, and Arya worried that she'd not only lose, but humiliate herself in front of the small crowd gathering to watch the two women in breeches square up facing each other. Lady Brienne had allowed her to retrieve Needle from her room at the inn, as well as her pack, and Nymeria. She'd had to toss a few extra coins the innkeepers way after she found the pile of wood chips her dire wolf had chewed away from the bed's headboard. Otherwise the trip had been short and she found herself before the Lady much too quickly.

"Are you sure you wouldn't like a more appropriate weapon?" Lady Brienne asked, looking a bit concerned. Compared to the other woman's weapon, a large broadsword that looked tourney blunted, Needle did look like a child's toy.

"No thank you."

"Very well." And with no more preamble, Lady Brienne struck. The heavy sword went for her belly and Arya almost didn't dodge quickly enough. As soon as she'd escaped the first strike, though, another one came, and another, and then another. Lady Brienne moved almost quickly, which was new for Arya. She was quicker than Robb and Jon, who usually relied on strength and skill, forgetting speed, making it easier for Arya to beat them.