Disclaimer: I do not own A Song of Ice and Fire, or His Dark Materials, nor any of the characters therein. I'm just playing with them for a little while.

Title:And I feel above me the day-blind stars waiting for their light

Summary: The thing about daemons, Arya thinks, is that they reflect who you are.

Genre: drama/romance/ Ramsay being a sadistic fuck

The thing about daemons, is that they reflect who you are.

And the large bird of prey that is seated atop Ramsay Bolton's shoulders has blank, black eyes and she looks hungry. There is no other way to describe her, for she isn't all that pretty to look at-and Arya is to be married to this man. This monster.

Miles growls deep in his chest, and she reaches out to bury her fingers into his soft fur. Stop it, she chides. Father is watching.

Her daemon casts his eyes toward where Mother and Father are seated, Carwyn and Caoimhe at their feet, eyes intent on the scene before them.

Roose Bolton stands behind his son, his hawk daemon also sits on his shoulders, the man's silver-grey eyes watching Miles at Arya's feet.

Arya lifts her eyes to Ramsay's, and supresses a shudder. She smiles, more a vicious flash of teeth, and curtsies like a good little lady. "My Lord," she greets, rising to face him once more, grey eyes as sharp as the teeth of the direwolf at her side. "It is a pleasure to finally meet you. I have heard so much, after all."

Ramsay laughs-the harpy eagle by his head swivelling hers to stare directly at Arya-and reaches for her hand. As he kisses the back of it, Maelrys growls. The laugh that he gives is nervous this time, and Arya delights in the tone of fear.

She smiles dazzlingly as her betrothed says, "And it is an honour to finally be acquainted with you, Lady Arya." Ramsay releases her hand, and she lets it flop to her side. He returns her smile with a snide smirk, his eagle daemon fluffing herself up. "They say that you are quite unlike any other lady."

Maelrys shows the Bolton both rows of shiny, pearl-white teeth, and pins his ears to his massive skull.

At this, Ramsay backs away, nearly bumping into his father. "I meant no offence, my Lady."

Arya opens her mouth to retort, but Eddard Stark intervenes. "Of course you didn't, Lord Ramsay." At that, he lifts a brow in his daughter's direction, and Arya tightens her hand in Miles' coat.

The direwolf's jaws shut with an audible click of teeth.

Mother smiles politely, Tully eyes tight. "Perhaps Lady Walda would be so nice as to accompany me for a walk in the gardens?" Arya had not noticed Walda Frey standing by two escorts, her otter daemon a heap of fur at her feet. When she spoke, it was light and almost a squeak. "If you'd be so kind, Lady Stark."

Lord Roose nods, a ghost of a smile on his face as his pregnant wife waddles to Catelyn Stark's side. As Arya watches her mother disappear, she wishes that this whole ordeal would be done and over. Miles shares her thoughts, leaning more heavily on her thighs with a grunt.

.

.

"You don't have to do this."

Taibhse whines, butts her head against Maelrys' shoulder.

Arya sits down beside Jon, tucks herself under his chin. "But I do," she sighs, fingers twining in Tabby's snow-white fur. "I was betrothed to Domeric before he died, remember?"

Miles snorts, lifts his head from between his paws. "At least Domeric and Eira were nice."

Arya vaguely recalls meeting Domeric Bolton, remembers his warm smiles and his slim winter-owl of a daemon. Eira had been polite, Arya thinks. And not nearly so strange as Ramsay's Ciera.

Jon grimaces at her, and Tabby says, "I mislike the look of that vulture daemon."

Arya rolls her eyes, reaching over to stroke her ears. "I can handle them."

Jon pulls away to peer down at her. "No, Arya. You can't."

Arya frowns, and Miles glances up at them. "Yes-"

"They are not Domeric and Eira, little wolf." Tabby snaps, rising from her spot to glare at her. "They are not right."

Maelrys nips her ear, body stiff with tension. He doesn't like it anymore than Arya herself does.

Jon and Taibhse had been fostered out here since Arya was six, around the same time her betrothal to Domeric had been cemented. Miles quickly decided that they preferred Jon and Tabby to the Bolton lot.

Arya loves Jon with everything she is, had since she was six. That he lets her touch Tabby, his daemon-his soul- means that it's a mutual affection.

Arya turns and lifts her head, hands coming up to rest on his shoulders. Jon flushes, his hands falling hesitantly to encircle her slim hips. Miles and Tabby have gone silent, curled in on one another.

"Arya-"

Arya snorts, moves until her nose is touching his. "Shut up and kiss me."

And he does.

.

.

Bran often lets her join in with the sword practice, his honey-brown Sophronia laying down beside Miles and watching Arya twist and spin to Bran's twirls and lunges.

Father had gotten her a teacher, and compared to her little brother, Arya was quick on her feet. She managed to knock his feet out from under him, and Bran went down to the dirt with a huff of air leaving his lungs.

Arya grins, eyes bright. "Ha! I win."

Bran grunts, pushes her away, but takes it in stride. "So you do. Good form."

Arya springs to her feet, offers Bran her hand. "Thank you," she says, preening and pulls him to stand. "You did very well, yourself."

Bran grins, Tully-blue eyes happy. Sophie bumps her head against Bran's legs, and Bran says to Arya, "I bet you say that to all your sparring partners."

Arya laughs.

The clapping of hands startles all of them, and by Miles' growl, Arya knows who it is.

Ramsay Bolton grins at her, eyes taking in her form and Arya wants to tear his eyes out or hide away. Maelrys prefers the former, and bares his fangs.

Bran stills, glances from Miles to Arya before his features harden on Ramsay's form. His voice still has traces of wariness when he speaks though, and Arya almost winces.

"My Lord," Bran greets, a smile firmly in place, and Arya thinks that their mother has trained them all very, very well.

Ramsay nods, his Ciera eyeing Miles with an interest that makes Arya's skin crawl. "Lord Bran," he returns with a warm grin that Arya does not trust in the slightest. His pale eyes hover back to Arya's face. "My Lady."

Arya smiles in return, hand a fist around the sparring sword. "My Lord," she says sweetly as Sansa. "I was just about to go and clean up. After I do, would you care to accompany me for a walk?"

Ramsay eyes her and Arya pushes down the urge to let Maelrys rip out his throat. His tone is soft and as sweet as her smile had been. "I would be delighted, Lady Arya."

Arya all but runs from the practice yard, dragging Bran along with her.

Minya: um. ah. Here are some things about the daemons and stuff? Just take it.

Eddard Stark: Caoimhe (KEEV ah) "Gentleness; beauty" settled as an average wolf.

Catelyn Tully nee Stark: Carwyn, meaning "Blessed love". Settled as a delicate water foul.

Sansa Stark: Delwyn, meaning "Pretty and white". Is settled as a white and grey-flecked direwolf.

Arya Stark: Maelrys, meaning "rushing prince", pronounced "Mile ris" nicknamed "Miles". Is as hot-headed as his person. Settled as a brindle direwolf.

Brandon Stark: Sophronia, meaning "wise", settled as a honey-brown direwolf.

Jon Targaryen: Taibhse, meaning "ghost" or "phantom", nicknamed "Tabby". Settled as an albino direwolf, and is usually as silent as the grave.

Ramsay Bolton: Ciera, (KEER ah) meaning "Dark" refers to Ramsay's need to control, and reflects this. Settled as a Harpy Eagle.

Roose Bolton: Bryda "Strength;power" settled as a night hawk. Has a soft voice, when she does deign to speak, much like her person.