Disclaimer: I do not own Game of Thrones.

a/n: Season 3, episode tag: The Rains of Castamere; spoilers. (Alternate ending). Arya is 14, Robb 20 [approximately].

Fic Summary: What if Arya was able to free Grey Wind from the kennel before he was slaughtered? (this is how I picturedthe way the episode could have went)

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One-shot —
Dual Intervention

Arya was here, she was so close. Just passed the gateguard, and then another unmanned gate, across the small yard and through the huge double doors where the wedding was being held. Her mother, her brother, they were here. She could hear the music, see a table of Stark men feasting outside the door. She was so close but the guard was telling them the feast was over, she didn't believe him. Something was wrong. While the Hound was arguing with the guard, Arya grabbed a short sword that they had hidden in the basket of pigs feet and leapt into the shadows from the cart, light on her feet like a wolf.

She was fast and sneaky, like a shadow itself, and passed the second gate unnoticed. She hide behind some barrels that were stacked by the gate, and peered into the yard.

She had been right, the table of men outside the hall were Stark-men, she could see the blazon of the grey direwolf on a field of ice in the torchlight. They were drinking like fish, raucous laughter and chatter mixing in with the sounds of celebration coming from the open doors of the hall. The celebration was still going, she knew that Frey-guard had been lying, but it was coming to an end; she could hear it.

"To bed!" they called, "to bed!" and the voices started to fade as the uncle she had never met was carried away with his blushing Frey-bride to the bridal chamber where the bedding was to be held. The hall grew quiet as it emptied out, and Arya couldn't hear over the feasting men outside. Then the orchestra started up, it was loud. She recognized the song, but only because she had heard it almost a fortnight before when Tom Sevenstring played on his woodharp—The Rains of Castamere.

And then she heard the howling.

Grey Wind! Now she knew for sure that Robb was here. But why was the direwolf caged? Robb would never to that to his trusted friend and companion—Grew Wind was a part of him, an extension, as much as Nymeria had been. Arya still felt the fresh pain and lonliness at having to drive her best-friend away—but she had to, the Queen would of had her killed like they did Lady because the direwolf had bitten her precious prince.

She gave her head a shake. She couldn't be thinking about Nymeria or Lady right now, she had Grey Wind in her sights. He was digging at the packed ground, slamming against the barred door. She knew that the Stark-men could hear the direwolf, so why did they ignore his urgent pleas to be released?

The big wooden doors to the hall was being pulled closed and three Frey men came into the yard. The Stark-men's attention pulled from their meat and drink to the men, she stuck the short sword through her belt. Arya darted like a shadow from her hiding spot through the shadows that pooled the edged of the stone wall, across to the small kennel where Grey Wind seemed to be going mad.

"Grey Wind," she whispered, her hands grasping the bars, she looked into the darkness. The wolf only stopped to look at her for an instant, recognizing her, but then his eyes went mad again and he resumed slamming himself against the door.

"Hey, what are y—"

Arya's heart stilled in her chest, she'd been spotted! But then she heard men dying. She'd become accustomed to the sound since this war had started. She needed to get Grey Wind out—now. She stuck to the kennel wall, slithering around front. There had been six Stark-men at the table, but they were dying fast, taken by surprise, unprepared for an attack.

A crossbow quarrel struck the kennel over her shoulder, but she continued to lift the crossbar. She'd just lifted the beam out of the cradle as Grey Wind struck against the door again. The door struck her, hard, knocking her clear, knocking her down, making her dazed. Grey Wind bolted out, bulldozing down one of the Frey crossbowman, tearing out his throat. She heard the screams as Grey Wind snarled, showing the Frey men no mercy like they had attacked the Stark-men like cravens.

The three Frey-men were dead, and two Stark-men remained. She pushed herself to her feet and ran to the hall doors, where Grey Wind was treating them like the kennel doors.

"Hey! Who the bloody hell are you? What the fuck is going on?" One of the Stark-men shouted at her.

"King Robb had been betrayed by the Frey's!" She screamed at him, grabbing a loaded crossbow from one of the dead men. "Now help me save him!"

Weapons in hand, they ran for the doors. They didn't know who this boy was, but knew the truth of his statement.

She wished she had a string bow, she knew how to shoot one of those. She was a better shot than Bran, Anguy had even shown her a few things when she was with the Brotherhood Without Banners. She'd only have one shot with this, there would be no time to reload if what had happened out here in the yard was going on in the hall with Robb and her mother.

She shoved at the doors, and when they didn't move, she feared that they might be barred on the other side, but then the two Stark-men were there next to her, shoving, and the doors came open.

The hall was like a sea of Red. Tables and chairs were overturned, men lay dead or dying. Men loyal to the Freys, men loyal to the Starks. She had never seen so many dead man concentrated in one place. The killing was still going on, the music still being played up from the gallery; the Rains of Castamere. It masked the sound of the dying. Grey Wind had charged right into the melee, had his fangs buried in a man's arm, tearing as he screamed, weapon less, uselessly whacking at the direwolf with bare hands. The two Stark-men had charged right in with a cry of the King in the North!

Arya took stock of everything as quick as she might. The hall was pretty much dead, with a few skirmishes still going on. She caught sight of her mother, standing tall in front of the dais that throned the Lord of the Crossing, Walder Frey, a young woman in her arms, a knife to her throat. Robb—Robb was on the floor, holding a dead woman in his arms, quarrels through his body. She would have thought him dead if not for the shaking of his broad shoulders.

"Enough, Lord Walder! Let's end this, I say. You have repaid betrayal with betrayal. This ends." Her mother called, strong. She looked it too, despite her bloodied dress and mussed red hair. "Let Robb and I go, and we will forget this. I swear it. By the old gods and the new... we will seek no vengeance."

"Only a fool would believe such blather." Walder Frey looked down on her. "Do you take me for a fool, my lady?"

The Stark-men that had charged in with Arya had taken out the remaining Frey-men on the ground floor, with the help of Grey Wind, but there were two crossbowmen in the gallery, taking shots off. Arya knew she should try and take out those two, but still, something wasn't right so she held back. The Stark-men could take care of those in the gallery.

"I do not." Catelyn answered, firm, her voice hoarse. The woman in her arms weeping in fright. "I take you for a father. He is my first son. Let Robb leave and I will release your wife."

"Mother, no..." Robb's voice was a whisper, faint. Arya could hardly hear it for the music. The king set the woman in his arms gently on the floor and grabbed the edge of a table, slowly pulling himself up.

Men moaned, dying. There were but two Frey soldiers in the hall, but there were a few Stark-men still alive. For now, Walder Frey was out-numbered, couldn't the old man see that? Arya even recognized one, she'd seen the flayedman on his black leather doublet; Roose Bolton.

"Heh. The King in the North arises. Seems we've killed some of your men, Your Grace. Oh, but we'll make you an apology, that will mend all again, heh." Walder Frey cackled, mocking.

"I will cut your wife's throat," Catelyn repeated. "Do not doubt that. Robb, walk out of here. Please." But Robb did not move.

"And why would I allow him to walk out of here?"

The two crossbowmen and two Stark-men had a small skirmish up in the gallery, the music coming to an end finally, leaving deafening silence in it's wake, and the ring of sword in soft flesh. No one on the floor seemed to take notice but Arya. The fighting from the rest of the castles were audible now, the clash of steel, the screams of battle and death.

Catelyn pressed the knife into the woman's throat drawing blood. "Your wife..."

"Heh. That wife you mean? A pretty one, sure. But easily replaceable." Walder completely dismissed both women with a flick of his hand.

Arya could see her mother's shock at such disregard made Walder Frey laugh. She watched as Roose Bolten slowly walked to the front of the hall, a spear in hand. What was he doing? Was he going to kill Walder Frey? He seemed to be the only Frey in the room remaining. The old man was unguarded, out numbered, and didn't even seem to realize.

But when Roose Bolton kept for Robb's back, his spear pulling back, Arya realized that the man was not meaning to kill Walder Frey, but her brother—a turncoat.

"Robb!" She screamed.

Catelyn started to hear her long-thought-dead daughter's voice and dropped the knife to Walder Frey's wife, jerking around. Walder looked at her as well, only seeing a boy. Robb started to turn around as well, but Bolton kept on, the spearhead going for Robb's back.

There was a thwang as Arya's finger found the trigger on her borrowed crossbow. The quarrel buried deep into Bolton's back. He jerked with a grunt, the spear clambering to the floor and he followed, dead at Robb's feet.

Walder Frey jumped to his feet, standing for the first time since he sat down for the feast. His eyes looked half-mad, half-terrified, finally realizing that he was not surrounded by Frey-men. He shouted, "Gu—Aughhhh!" it turned into a gurgling scream as Grey Wind finally reappeared and latched onto the Lord's throat, killing him on the throne he lorded over others.

"Arya!" Catelyn gasped, pale. She started to rush towards her youngest daughter, leaving the weeping woman on the floor, when Robb started to go down. "Robb!" The woman changed course for her injured son, and Arya dropped the crossbow, running for them as well.

Catelyn supported Robb and helped him sit in the chair that Arya had righted. She instantly started ripping strips from her bloodied dress and tied them around the quarrels, keeping them in place and stanching the flow of blood. The didn't have time to remove them now. He had one through his leg, shoulder and side.

"Arya, is that really you?" Robb murmured, his voice shaking.

Arya nodded, standing in front of him, emotion welling inside of her, the hope that she had tried to keep in check since she was in the company of the Brotherhood Without Banners who had said that they would take her to her brother and mother, and then the Hound, who had planned to ransom her off. He was here now, right in front of her. Her mother was there too, right in front of her.

"It is. I've finally found you. Mother, Robb." She felt the tears in her eyes.

Robb reached out to her and she took his hand. Yes, he was real. And mother reached out to her too after she was done with Robb's wounds. She was as real as him.

"Your Grace, My Lady," the last standing Stark-man came rushing down from the gallery. "We cannot stay here any longer. We must leave before others come back."

"You are right," Cateyln nodded. "We are no longer welcome here."

"The Freys will pay for this," Robb said. "They will pay dearly." He looked back at the dead woman he had been holding in his arms, his eyes pained.

The man helped Robb up, and handed him over to Catelyn. And they started to move as a group. The Stark-man taking point, leading them through the hall. Catelyn helped the injured Robb along. That left Arya, with her short sword drawn and Grey Wind to watch the rear.

They went out through the yard where Arya had come in instead of back through the castle. All they had to do was go through the two gates, into the field, rallying the Stark-men around them and leave this place.

The Karstarks and Boltons were traitors. Winterfell was under control of the Greyjoys. Last Hearth, Bear Island, Deepwood Motte, Torrhen's Square, Oldcastle, Greywater Watch, White Harbour; all were north of the Twins, while they were on the south side. Seaguard was the Starks closest allies, but the were located too close to the Freys. The King in the North needed to return to Riverrun. There, they could take stock of the situation, tally the surviving men, think of a plan to strike back at the Freys and get Edmure the Lord of Riverrun back from enemy hands.

They had gathered three hundred men around the king, more still remained in battle against the Freys and Boltons and Karstarks, and more still lay slaughtered. Robb's army had been chomped in half twice. They had found a wagon hitched to two horses, it carried the king, the princess, and the lady away, surrounded and defended by loyal men.

They were Starks and they were hard to kill.

Winter Is Coming.

The North will never forget.

The Young Wolf, the King in the North, Lord of the Trident yet lived.

The Princess Arya was returned to them.

Winter was coming and it would claim all who were the enemies of the direwolves.

-fini-

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Note:

This is how the episode should have ended, how I wish it could have ended. Why did they have to kill Robb? He was one of the best characters on the show! Anyways, tell me what you think of this alternate ending where Robb survives. I know there are probably a million of you out there that wished that Robb could have survived despite being killed in the books as well and the fics to go along with it, but I wrote it anyway cause I just had to. It could have gone this way, I just know it, if only Arya had been able to release Grey Wind before he was slaughtered in the pen.

Thanks for reading!

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