A Note from the Writer: While this story is canon... to an extent, imagination did trump knowledge at some points. enjoy.

Arya

Arya was the last living Stark to return to Winterfell, She'd known she wasn't 'nobody' all along in the dark recesses of her mind where she kept the thoughts that plagued her in the moments between wakefulness and sleep, but she hadn't truly realised it until she saw him in Braavos. There had been reports that the war was over but she'd heard them all before and refused to believe it, war and Death were never over they merely shifted tact... Her wolf dreams were gone, she had no eyes to confirm or deny reports in the west… that's how she'd felt as she stalked the banks of the Hero's Canal wearing a face that wasn't hers. And then she'd seen them, the imp first… her blood had boiled and a wretched hatefulness seared in her veins but her gaze had shifted to his companion and her blood ran cold. Her neck began to prickle with icy heat and she'd turned on her heels and run back to the house of black and white, back to her hidden bundle, to her own face.

She'd flung the door open, expecting no one, the waif and the kindly man stood, the man looked placid the waif had a self-satisfied smirk and was holding out needle towards her.

"You'll be needing this"

"My brother…" Arya started.

"yes, he is on his way here."

"Why"

They didn't answer, she removed the face that was never hers and exchanged it for the dulled blade.

"This isn't the place for somebody."

"I am…" she was interrupted by the kindly man.

"Arya Stark." He'd said finally as if naming her himself. There was a knock on the large door which shook her heart and she turned to stare at the thick dark wood. She made to say goodbye to her companions of these past years but they were gone and she was alone. The door knocked again, she moved towards it silently, her legs trembling uncontrollably. As she pulled it open she whispered his name "Jon?" and he needed no more prompting, he'd know her voice, her eyes, her strange little expression anywhere.

"Arya." He fell to his knees to better look at her, it had been so long but she had grown so little "Arya" he repeated, he seemed lost for words and he pulled her into him and held her so tight she could barely breathe. Needle dropped in the commotion rolled to the feet of Jon Snow's companion, The Imp seemed just as pleased to see her as her brother.

"What are you…" his question was interrupted by a sobbing plea she didn't know she had in her.

"I want to go home Jon." She sounded so young as she said it, but she was seven and ten now and had been gone almost half her life, but she missed it all the same. It never stopped being home, no matter what she told the faceless, Winterfell never stopped being the beacon of hope on the periphery of her mind.

Jon needed no more instruction, he had swooped her up and marched her swiftly to the port demanding passage on the first vessel across the narrow sea. They hadn't waited long; the hands of the queens do not wait. Before she knew it she was back at the Salt Pans, Jon attempted to coax some of the story out of her on the voyage but she'd denied him, opting to snuggle into his side like she had when she was younger only now Ghost joined them. Tyrion for his part made himself scarce on the crossing and when they finally reached the Salt Pans he bid them farewell and headed south to his own queen.

Arya hadn't expected Sansa to be happy to see her, she expected a coolness. She didn't know why, but she'd always assumed Sansa blamed her for everything. She couldn't have been more wrong, Jon hadn't sent any ravens forward, there were still Bolton's and Frey's and Wildings who weren't happy with how the chips had fallen. Arya Stark was still a valuable pawn, even though the Game of Thrones was apparently at an end. At first sight Sansa had fallen to her knees, her crown had dropped and rolled into a recess completely unnoticed. The few knights who stood guard in the Great Winter Hall made to help her but Jon waved them away. The first thing she'd said to Arya as she pulled her down to her, the very first thing to fall from her lips was "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry my little sister". Arya had been shocked and also a little broken, she'd sobbed into her sisters arms and felt sorely ashamed afterwards. All those knights would think her a stupid girl now.

She had opted that night to tell Sansa and Jon some things, she needed to give her confessional to her kin. She listed off the men and woman she'd killed, one at a time, she told them of her training in the art of death (omitting the face part) she told them of the Hound and her forgiveness and his death.

"He's not dead." Sansa had interjected with a grin

"I can call him if proof is what you seek." Jon added when Arya remained silent and disbelieving.

"He was healed by some Wildling priest and he tried to find you he promised me he'd bring you home."

"So he's your knight now?" Arya almost chuckled

"No… you know how he feels about titles. He just helps and as queen that's all that can be asked. But now that the North has a crown again there are some knights." Sansa had smiled, she obviously liked the idea of a bunch of 'Sers' roaming the North doing good deeds.

Arya had avoided the whole "queen" business for as long as she could, since her return she'd heard nothing but "your grace" or "Princess" or the Occasional "My Lady" the whole notion of Northern regal titles was new to everyone it seemed.

"you're a queen?" Arya couldn't think how to approach the topic delicately "How?"

"An accord between myself and The Queen of the south was made after we won at the wall and before we took Kings Landing. Her Dragons were necessary but they weren't the only thing holding the Others and the Wights back; steal, wolves, fire and men did the leg work." Arya knew all of this already, because she'd seen it. She couldn't explain how, but she'd been at her sisters back leading a pack… she had been one of those wolves "The north protected the realm while the south pissed their pants and fought over whose god was better." Arya couldn't help but gasp when her sister cursed. "When Daenerys Stormborn the mother of Dragons took the iron throne we were at her side Arya and she rewarded the north its bravery and loyalty with its freedom." Sansa concluded with a very regal nod, the trio continued to swap tales well into the night. Arya told them about her time as a mummer, Jon told her about Tyrion and the Dragon Queen while Sansa skirted round her time with lord little finger.

"He's dead you know." Arya said with a wry smile.

"You?" Sansa asked

"No, but I got to watch. He owed a great debt to the iron bank he could not pay." Sansa seemed satisfied with this.

After more talk Arya was led to her room, the room that had always been hers, the room she'd slept in since before her memory began. It looked exactly as it had back then only everything was new, the bed, the chest the tapestry… they were all the same but new. It had been Sansa, in typical Sansa fashion's first 'project' when the snow settled and the war finally came to its… what? Conclusion? Queen of the north Sansa Stark, nobody dared call her Lannister, had made it clear to all and sundry that she would keep the peace, as her father had done. No more war, no more death… at least for the time being as she turned her mind to rebuilding Winterfell. All of her family's rooms were returned to their previous glory, even Robb's just in case they should return now that peace had fallen, to show there was always a place for them in the walls of Winterfell. Sentimental nonsense in Arya's opinion.