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Arya

           Jonlookedheroverwithallhisfourteen-year-oldwisdom."You’retooskinny,"hesaid.Hetookherarmtofeelhermuscle.Thenhesighedandshookhishead."Idoubtyoucouldevenliftalongsword,littlesister,nevermindswingone."

           Aryasnatchedbackherarmandglaredathim.Jonmessedupherhairagain.TheywatchedBranandTommencircleeachother.

           "YouseePrinceJoffrey?"Jonasked.

           Shehadn’t,notatfirstglance,butwhenshelookedagainshefoundhimtotheback,undertheshadeofthehighstonewall.Hewassurroundedbymenshedidnotrecognize,youngsquiresintheliveryofLannisterandBaratheon,strangersall.Therewereafewoldermenamongthem;knights,shesurmised.

           "Lookatthearmsonhissurcoat,"Jonsuggested.

           Aryalooked.Anornateshieldhadbeenembroideredontheprince’spaddedsurcoat.Nodoubttheneedleworkwasexquisite.Thearmswerepideddownthemiddle;ononesidewasthecrownedstagoftheroyalHouse,ontheotherthelionofLannister.

           "TheLannistersareproud,"Jonobserved."You’dthinktheroyalsigilwouldbesufficient,butno.Hemakeshismother’sHouseequalinhonortotheking’s."

           "Thewomanisimportanttoo!"Aryaprotested.

           Jonchuckled."Perhapsyoushoulddothesamething,littlesister.WedTullytoStarkinyourarms."

           "Awolfwithafishinitsmouth?"Itmadeherlaugh."Thatwouldlooksilly.Besides,ifagirlcan’tfight,whyshouldshehaveacoatofarms?"

           Jonshrugged."Girlsgetthearmsbutnottheswords.Bastardsgettheswordsbutnotthearms.

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