Disclaimer: I don't own the A Song of Ice and Fire series nor do I own Game of Thrones. They belong to George R.R. Martin and David Benioff and D.B. Weiss respectively.

A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed, favorited and followed, it means a lot to me that so many of you enjoy this story. This is the re-vamped version.

Chapter 1 - Escape from the Dungeons

The sun was setting over King's Landing and the skies were a deep, dark orange with hardly a cloud in sight. While most of the city folk were now heading back to their homes, some were still out on the streets shopping or trading, or if they had no home to go to, simply lingering in the back alleys.

Among them, was eleven-year-old Arya Stark. She was currently chasing a skinny orange tabby cat through a narrow alleyway, with her long and tangled brown hair whipping behind her in the wind, and there was a determined expression on her dirt-covered face. She had been living in the streets for the past week, ever since her father (the hand of the king) had been arrested for treason and she had escaped the castle, and she had decided that she would stay here, hidden, for as long as possible. However, because of her highborn upbringing, she wasn't exactly used to being starving and not having a warm bed to sleep in, and she knew that it would be difficult for her if something didn't change soon.

Then suddenly, curse the old gods and the new, her stomach began to rumble and a feeling of hunger set in. Spotting a baker who was selling delicious smelling loaves of bread, she ran over to him. She knew that she wouldn't be able to afford it, but perhaps he would be kind enough to let her have some of his crusts.

"Excuse me, sir," she said in a humble voice, trying to appear innocent.

"What do you want, girl?" the baker spat back, glaring into her large, misty gray eyes.

"Do you think I could have some crusts?" Arya asked him as her stomach rumbled even louder. "I'm so hungry."

He shook his head. "Oh, piss off, girl. I don't do business with street urchins," he answered very unkindly and turned away, waving a large piece of bread in her direction as he went off chuckling.

Never in her life had Arya been denied food when she wanted it and the experience was quite disconcerting. In that moment, she wanted so badly to chase him down and tell him exactly who she was, but she instantly thought better of it and instead slumped away.

After all, she didn't want to be thrown back into the clutches of those evil, lying royals who were causing her family such harm and dishonor. Ever since she had met them, she had distrusted and disliked them, and now she wanted nothing more than to stick her sword right through the new king's head. Not only had he lied and cost her and her sister their direwolves, but he had been behind the death of her friend, the butcher's boy, and now he had locked up her kind, honorable father whom she loved more than anything in the world and was going to do the gods only knew what with him. It wasn't fair; they never should have come here, she thought.

Noticing an unoccupied area of ground, she slowly went over to sit down against the hard, stone wall and began drawing circles in the dust at her feet. How had everything gone so horribly wrong? She wondered, holding back the tears that threatened to fall from her eyes as all of her thoughts and worries came rushing out at once, bombarding her.

What will become of Father? Of Sansa? Of me? Why couldn't we have stayed in Winterfell where we would've been safe and happy? Unable to hold back any longer, she began to cry softly into her hands. She was only a little girl, after all, and as much as she hated to admit it, she didn't really know how she was expected to survive in this cruel world full of liars and traitors without her father there to guide her. But that was when the harsh reality hit her, perhaps she wasn't supposed to survive this. Perhaps she was simply to be collateral damage in something much bigger that she had no idea of yet. And that's when she heard the voices...

"Yeah, the Hand of the King..."

"Exiled?"

"...don't know yet, I think he'll likely be executed, but it's up to the king to decide..."

Instantly, Arya scrambled back onto her feet and quickly wiped at the tears that were streaming down her face. She knew that she couldn't sit there and cry, not when her father was about to be condemned to such a horrible fate and she would lose him forever if she didn't act now. She knew that she had to do something - anything, to stop this, because by the gods, she was the only one who could. She was small and skilled with a sword and she knew that if anyone was going to rescue her father, it would have to be her, for they had no other allies here in King's Landing except for themselves. Besides, when it came to wielding a sword, her elder sister was about as useless as a loaf of bread and she was so tall that she would certainly be caught. Not to mention, she hadn't seen her sister in days, and she doubted that she would have the guts to sneak away and free their father when she was so busy swooning over the new king. Idiot.

Staring off towards the large castle in the distance, Arya noticed that as the skies changed into a deep, dark blue and the moon appeared in all its glory, the lights inside came on and emitted a bright, whitish glow. But if she looked down low enough, she could see the utter darkness that must have been the dungeons; where her beloved father sat in chains.

"It's got to be me. It's got to be me. It's got to be me," She repeated the words over and over again in her head as she crept into the shadows and silently headed off towards the castle. Her head was spinning and she felt like if she stopped walking for a moment, she would either dart back in the other direction or fall over and get violently sick. She had only killed one stableboy before in her life and it had been a horrible accident, but now she knew that if she was to have any chance of saving her poor, innocent father's life, she would have to kill again and probably more than once. I'm killing Gold Cloaks, they're as evil as the ones they work for, my father is innocent... I'll be doing good by killing them, won't I? In her eleven-year-old mind, that had to be a good enough rationalization.

xxx

The dungeons were dark, damp and cold with only the whitish-orange glow of the torches to provide even the slightest bit of warmth and light. Lord Eddard Stark couldn't remember a time when he had been so utterly miserable in his thirty-nine years of life and all he could think about were his poor, innocent daughters who were now entangled in this horrible ruin. And tears welled up in his smoky gray eyes.

Though he wouldn't admit it to himself quite yet, he was fairly certain that he was going to die. He was going to die even though he was innocent and simply trying to do right by the memory of his best friend, the deceased king. The thought sickened him to his core, but he knew that he would have to remain strong or the gods only knew what would become of his family, of his house. But one thing was for certain, he would rather die a horrible death than sacrifice his honor.

"Seven hells," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head and causing his long brown hair to fall into his face. He couldn't believe this was really happening; how could he have been so careless as to get himself caught conspiring against the royal family? How could he die and leave his daughters as lone wolves in the lion's den where they would certainly be torn to pieces? No, he couldn't let that happen...

Then suddenly, he heard a loud yelp and the clattering of metal on the hard stone ground, and then there were light, hurried footsteps headed his way. While he wasn't sure what this sudden commotion was, he knew that it couldn't be good. Or could it? And then, right when he thought that his entire world was about to crumble around him, he saw the one person whom he hadn't been able to get off of his mind since his arrest; his youngest daughter. She was standing right in front of him with a bloody sword in her left hand and he realized, with horror, that it was in fact her own sword.

"Oh, Father!" she cried out, barreling into him.

"Arya!" Ned roared, only half angry as he held her against him as if his life depended on it. "What in the seven hells are you doing down here?"

"I'm sorry, Father, I'm so sorry," Arya sobbed, clinging to him desperately. "I ran away and I was hiding in the streets but tonight I heard some men saying that that horrid little king was either going to have you killed or exiled for treason, and I couldn't bear the thought of losing you, so I snuck back into the castle and I killed those guards out there with Needle - I crept up on one of them and drove my blade right through him and while the other one stood there looking for me I stabbed him too - they never even noticed me coming. I know I did a horrible thing, but you're innocent, you don't deserve what they want to do to you, so we have to run away - back to Winterfell, before they can take you away from me forever!"

As she rattled off her explanation, Ned could feel her warm tears soaking through his tunic and he gently peppered kisses on her forehead and in her hair. "Shush, it's alright, little love," he whispered soothingly as he continued to hold her in his strong arms. And in that moment, he knew that the gods had been merciful; they needed to escape. "We have to go, now, where's your sister?"

"I don't know," Arya admitted quietly, wiping her tears on her dirty sleeve. "I think she's still up in the castle, I haven't seen her in days."

Hearing this, Ned cursed under his breath as a harsh realization hit him. It would be far too risky to go up and retrieve his elder daughter, for if it was his head that they were after, they would certainly take it knowing that he tried to escape, and then he wouldn't be able to protect either one of his daughters. But if he escaped now, with only his younger daughter, then he could find a way to reunite his family again and protect them all.

"Right. I'm afraid we're going to have to leave her here then, only for now until we can get a safe distance away and I can have Robb bargain for her release," he decided, standing up and slinging his younger daughter over his shoulder. "He's called up the Northern banners in my defense so we need to get to him quickly and tell him what's happened. And we need to stay completely hidden on our way North, do you understand me? We'll have to set off before the sun rises and not rest until the sun sets, because that lying little king will send for us I swear to you. We need to get back home as quickly as possible so I need you to do exactly as I say, do you hear me?"

Arya nodded weakly. As much as she didn't always see eye to eye with her elder sister, the thought of leaving her in this horrible place bothered her immensely. "What if they hurt her?" she asked. "What if she thinks we've abandoned her?"

Ned sighed deeply as he crept towards the entrance. "They won't touch a hair on her head if they don't want the entire Northern army on their tails," he huffed in response. And he meant every word of it. If they harmed his daughter, his flesh and blood in any way, shape or form, there would be hell to pay. "And she may be hurt for a while when she realizes we've left, but she'll come to understand that I only left her so that I could protect all of my children... that if I had rescued her, I would've been killed and there would've been no hope for any of us. You did a very brave thing, you did, letting me out like that. In a way, you saved all of us."

Creeping out into the warm night air, he settled a soft kiss on her forehead and Arya looked up at him. "Is there going to be a war?" she whispered, a fearful edge in her voice. "The North versus the South?"

"If that's the only thing that can end this reign of terror, then by the gods, yes," Ned replied with confidence. "Now we have to go, I'm sure the entire castle will be alerted of our escape soon enough and we want to get as far ahead of them as we can, so it will be impossible for them to catch us before we're behind Northern lines. Remember, to the Northerners, I am still their Warden, and they will stand behind me," he explained.

"Right," Arya said, a small smile spreading across her face. "Are you going to declare yourself King in the North?"

"I may have to," replied Ned, walking over to the stables and unchaining a nice brown horse. "Because I'm certainly not going to live in a kingdom ruled by - by that beast of a lad who knows nothing of what a good king should be."

He put Arya on first and then climbed up behind her. "Hup!" he shouted, slamming down the reins. "Go!"

"I'm scared, Father," Arya admitted as the horse took off into the darkness. "Would they execute an eleven-year-old girl for treason if they caught us?"

She had never been on the run before and she was horrified by the thought of being caught. But the wide smile on her father's face instantly settled her nerves; sometimes, he didn't even need to speak in order to reassure her.

"No, sweetling, I don't believe they would," Ned responded. "But your fate could be equally horrible, and that is why I am going to get us back home safely."

Hearing this, Arya simply nodded again. She had heard of the things that the kingdom did to little girls and she was in no hurry to experience any of that. "Right," was all she said.

As the night grew darker and they continued on their way out of the city and Northwards into the woods, Arya nuzzled into her father's chest. Though their circumstances were grim, she had faith in the old gods and the new that he would return her to Winterfell safely and they would reunite with their family. And she wasn't so scared anymore.

Note: Because I extended this chapter, the next chapter may be repetitive or not make sense, so I want to warn you to simply ignore the next two chapters until I can edit them tomorrow. Thanks!