Draco shifted uneasily as he stood waiting for his new, and first ever, pupil. The Red Keep unsettled him, there was magic here. A faded sense of power and blood and anger and madness. Perhaps, he mused, there was some truth to the stories he had heard about the Targaryens. Perhaps there had been some magic in them after all. Still it was only an echo, and nothing like the power that had sung through places like… Draco shut down that train of thought even as the old pain swelled in his heart. There was no point thinking on the past, it was gone, the future was all that mattered. Though at the moment his main concern was with the future of the next couple of hours rather than any wider worry.

Draco had accepted this teaching role almost on a whim, and because Syrio had asked him. Syrio might have claimed there was no debt between them but Draco knew better. After that bloody day fighting among the rocks and on the sands he owed Syrio, owed him a debt he could never pay. If Draco was honest with himself Lord Stark was also part of the reason he had accepted the offer, he wasn't sure what it was but there was something about the man. Still, the fact remained that Draco had never taught anyone fencing, or any sort of combat, before and, if he was honest, had no idea really how to start. Certainly he knew what he should be teaching, but the question was how to teach it. Draco had quite a few examples of teachers to draw on though it was hard to tell what would work until he met this Lady Arya and found out what she was like. A wistful smile crossed Draco's face, well it wasn't as if he didn't have a lot of very personal experience of seeing how a teacher dealt with a spoiled rich brat and if all else failed he'd just do his best impersonation of Snape. At that thought sadness welled up, he hadn't thought about his old mentor in a long time, ruthlessly Draco crushed the thought and pushed it away. Now was not the time to go down that path. It was definitely not the time, Draco could feel someone approaching the room, and unless he was very much mistaken it was his new pupil.

Arya ambled slowly through the halls. If Septa Mordene or Sansa had seen her there would have been a lecture about how highborn ladies don't slouch or scuff their feet. Arya didn't want to be a highborn lady and she especially didn't want to be one today. Dancing lessons. Why by all the Gods her father wanted her to have dancing lessons Arya didn't know, but here she was going to meet her 'dancing master'. Pushing open the door she walked into the room which was going to be her dancing room for the next hour, and there he was, the man whose lessons she would be forced to endure.

He wasn't as old as she was expecting, but he looked strange. She would never admit it but many people in the capital looked strange to Arya but this dancing master was definitely one of the stranger. He was wearing robes almost like a Septon, but they were black. His hair was whitish blonde, like the stories she'd heard of the Targaryen's. The more she looked the more she realised he couldn't be that much older than Jon or Robb, but his face looked too hard and cold it made him look older. Confusingly he was holding what looked like two pieces of wood, partly concealed in his robes.

"You're my dancing master?" she asked.

Draco smirked back at her, "Ah yes a very particular form of dancing."

He flung something at Arya, it clattered to the floor at her feet. Arya felt a sudden surge of joy as she saw what it was, a practice sword; like the ones she had seen her brothers use in the practice yard at Winterfell a hundred times. She looked up, Draco was smiling properly at her, "Well little lady, pick it up and let's see what you can do."

"I'm not little and I'm not a lady" Arya snarled back. Draco smirked "Well you are most definitely little, so in that case shall we settle for little girl?"

That smirk was already infuriating Arya, "And what should I call you?" she almost snarled back.

The smile never wavered "My name is Draco Malfoy, and I will be teaching you how to fight. Now pick up that sword and hit me, if you can."

Ned strode quickly down the hall. He had meant to be there when Arya's lesson had started, if only to see the look on her face when she realised what her 'dancing lesson' actually was. But instead that blasted Maester Pycelle had corned him after the small council, wittering on about something so unimportant Ned had already forgotten it. Now he was practically running through the Red Keep in an attempt to get to Arya before her lesson ended.

A faint clattering sound rang out as Ned neared the room, nodding to Jory and the couple of guards who just happened to be sitting nearby Ned moved to the open door and looked in to see his youngest daughter doing her best to beat a man with a practice sword. She was wild, his daughter, swinging her sword this way and that, but that was no surprise, every novice fought like that and his little girl had too much of a wolf in her to fight any other way. He was surprised at how fast she was, though thinking back to her chasing Bran around Winterfell he supposed he shouldn't have been surprised. What did surprise him though was her teacher.

Ned knew that Draco would be at least a passable swordsman, otherwise Jory would never have recommended him, but from what Ned could see he was far more than that. It was nothing most men would have noticed, sparring with a young girl Draco was obviously faster and stronger but the way he moved! Every step was perfect, every movement of his body just enough to let a wild swing slide past him or to slide his sword past Arya's guard with a cry of "Dead again little girl." Ned stood there watching Arya was grinning, her face alight with joy in a way he hadn't seen for weeks.

Ned smiled watching his little girl swing away with her training sword, listening to the clatter of wood on wood. But as he stood there another sound came creeping slowly, unbidden to his ears. The clatter of steel on steel. Ned watched Arya swing wildly, and saw her blade clash against the cold steel of Draco's. He could see sand scattering at their feet where there had been stone only moments before. He could hear the roaring swell of battle building in his ears. Now the two fighters were surrounded by water, water stained with blood. He saw Draco spin under Arya's attack and bring his sword to her chest and as she froze for a split second he saw the blade cut deep into his little girl, saw her lifeblood spill into the waters of the Ruby Ford. Then Arya laughed, and it was gone. The sound of battle vanished, the blades were wooden practice swords, they were standing on flagstones and his beautiful little girl was unharmed, laughing at how easily she had lost.

Ned turned away, troubled. He had thought this would be a distraction for Arya, a game to keep her occupied until she grew into her role as a lady. But now he was not so sure. Ned didn't believe in prophecy or greenseers, if such things had existed they were gone from the world now, but in that moment he felt with cold hard certainty that one day his beautiful, wilful, innocent, little girl would wield cold steel in anger and either she would kill men or they would kill her.