Winterfell
In a small, cozy room lit by candles, four girls sat on different chairs, each trying to complete some needlework under the teachings of Septa Mordane—or at least three of them tried.
"Why do I need to learn this?" Arya asked, still puzzled by the repetitive, tedious, and boring task at hand.
"Arya, a lady must learn restraint, hard work, and ladylike activities. It will be good for you, and remember this so that we may find you suitable marriage candidates in the future," Septa Mordane replied sternly.
The other girls mocked her with small shushes, and Arya finally snapped.
"I don't care!" she shouted, throwing her messy attempts at the other three girls, who started screaming. Arya ran away to the family crypt—a place that offered peace, quiet, and distance from those mean girls. She arrived red-faced, sweaty, and out of breath. When she sat down to rest, she heard a voice beside her.
"Hello there, Lady Arya," Sebastian said, a mischievous look not hidden even behind his mask.
Arya yelped until she realized who it was.
"Sebastian," she grumbled.
Sebastian, for his part, sat on the floor, not caring in the slightest if his suit got dirty. He looked at her and waited. Arya tried to ignore him until she finally shouted,
"Stop that!"
"Stop what, my lady?" Sebastian asked, his tone more serious now.
"I… I don't like it when… when you get silent. It feels— it feels like you're ignoring me," Arya finally admitted.
"I didn't know that, Arya. My apologies. I won't do it again," Sebastian said, tapping two fingers lightly against her head.
Arya blinked, surprised.
"You apologized? For real?" she asked, baffled.
"Yes, Arya. I did something wrong without meaning to, and I apologized," Sebastian replied.
"And now," he continued, "would you mind telling me what happened? Septa Mordane and the servants are looking for you."
Arya sighed. "The Septa wants me to do needlework because that's what a proper lady should do. And I tried—I really did—but the other girls mocked me, and I—" She finally shouted, "—needlework is stupid and useless! I'd rather learn the sword or explore!"
Sebastian nodded, and once she calmed down, he began to speak.
"From what I see, I can break this down into several points. Will you hear me out, my lady?" he asked. Arya nodded.
"Good. First of all—and I quote—'sucking at something is the first step toward being sort of good at something.'" Arya looked at him in surprise; Sebastian was always so proper. He noticed her expression but continued. "This applies to most things and most people. Your frustration is perfectly normal when trying something new and not getting immediate results. Keep trying, and you'll eventually get better at it."
"Second," he added, lowering his voice, "Sansa, Jeyne, and Beth weren't very good at needlework at your age either."
Arya stared at him, flabbergasted.
"In fact," Sebastian said, pulling an old handkerchief from his jacket, "these were theirs." The cloth was full of crooked stitches and messy shapes. "This emaciated wolf is Sansa's, this crooked tree is Jeyne's, and these are supposed to be small wolves—though they hardly look like it."
"But they told me their needlework was better than mine at my age! They said I had the hands of an old man!" Arya protested.
"Lies, my dear Arya," Sebastian replied calmly. "They only said that to make you feel bad. They're decent now, but they worked hard to get there. Mocking you is their way of showing off and unloading their frustrations. Here—keep these. If anyone tries to take them from you, they'll answer to me."
Arya smiled mischievously.
"And last but not least," Sebastian said firmly, "needlework is not useless."
"Pardon?" Arya asked, confused.
"I said needlework is not useless. Would you like me to show you why?" He stood and offered his hand.
She accepted.
Arya followed the butler, puzzled by the whole ordeal. They walked toward the inner ward, and she couldn't help but ask,
"Where are we going? What are we doing?"
"The inner ward," Sebastian replied. "To teach you."
"Teach me what?"
"The importance of needlework on the battlefield."
Arya frowned but kept following.
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They arrived at a large yard filled with targets set at varying distances for archery practice. Arya gazed longingly at an old bow and a bundle of arrows, daydreaming about the day she'd be old enough to practice.
"Arya," Sebastian called.
"Mmm?" she murmured.
Sebastian removed his black jacket, rolled up his sleeves, and took something from his pocket. To Arya, it looked like a knife with a strange design—a hole at the top and an oddly shaped blade.
"This is a kunai," he explained. "Similar to a knife, but made for throwing."
He hurled it toward a target. It struck dead center, astonishing Arya.
"The hole allows a rope or thread to be tied," Sebastian continued. "For example—" He tugged sharply, and the kunai snapped back into his hand. "Do you see it now?"
Arya spotted a thin metallic thread trailing from the blade.
"This thread serves many purposes: traps, offense, defense, even first aid—just like the thread used in needlework."
Before Arya could respond, Sebastian cut his own arm, opening a long, ugly wound.
Arya panicked and looked around for help, but Sebastian remained calm.
"For example, I'm bleeding," he said evenly. "First, we stop the bleeding. We need cloth, preferably clean. Here, use the kunai and cut my jacket."
He pressed the kunai into her trembling hands.
"Wake up!" he shouted, snapping her out of her stupor.
She obeyed, cutting a rough strip from the fabric.
"Now apply pressure."
She did, holding it tight until the bleeding slowed.
"Good. Now we clean the wound. There's always a fire nearby—melt some snow, clean it gently, then boil the water."
She followed his instructions carefully.
"Now sterilize your needle and thread in the boiling water. Normally, we'd wait twenty minutes. This is an emergency—we'll wait two."
She threaded the needle and handed it to him, watching in awe as Sebastian stitched his arm closed.
"In two or three weeks, once it scabs, the thread must be removed," he said calmly.
Arya stared at him, realization dawning.
"This is why needlework is important, Arya. It can save your life in a pinch or on the battlefield. Infections from cuts and untreated scratches cause more deaths than a sword ever could. Or else, who do you think taught me this?" he asked.
Arya, unsure, stayed silent.
"My father did. My mother taught me how to throw a kunai, while my father taught me first aid on battlefields or in enemy territory," he explained, to Arya's surprise.
"I thought you were… you were… like Jon…the servants, I heard…" she stuttered.
"And-" he interrupted "- Does it matter?" he asked.
He continued despite her surprise.
"We may not be related by blood, but I would have been fortunate to have a little sister like you," he said, ruffling her hair with his uninjured arm.
"How about a bet, little sister?" he asked jokingly. Arya looked at him with intrigue.
"Make a handkerchief for me. Use this symbol—" he showed her a small handkerchief marked with a simple design, "—and I'll teach you how to do this."
He produced four kunai, one in each hand, and threw them all at once. Every single one hit the mark, and Arya's face shone with longing.
He retrieved the kunai, slipped them back into his pockets, and escorted her to the needle room.
As they walked, Arya now more confident, asked, "And what was that symbol?"
"A paper fan," Sebastian replied.
"And why do you want me to use that?"
"Just like the Baratheons with their stags, or the Starks with their wolves, my family, my clan, used a paper fan as its symbol. A fan can make a fire burn brighter, wilder and stronger."
"Here, you can have my handkerchief until you can copy your own" he handed her his hankerchief
Arya stared at it in amazement.
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A/N: Hope you like it, like, comment, drop stones and leave reviews if you want/can. If you dont, that's totally fine. I changed a little bit the previous chapter, it is arya who wanted to look at sebastian's face, not sansa (which is in my opinion more fitting). Sorry to the guy who left sansa's gif there, but i will add for arya and sansa in your honor.