"Remember, I'm Arry, and Gendry and I're brothers. And Hot Pie, you are our cousin," Arya repeated for the hundredth time as they approached the inn doors. It was a small place, made of whitewashed wood; the door was covered in an ornate mural that had long faded away.

"I know, I know, just shut up Arry," Hot Pie snapped, tired of her incessant nagging. Gendry remained silent as usual. It took a lot of self-control for Arya to hold back a retort. They couldn't afford to be fighting, especially since it was just the three of them left. After the entire group with Yoren had been attacked and captured, the three of them (Lommy had been with them before he died from his leg, an event that brought no sadness to any of them) had no choice but to continue onward alone.

Their plans were still unclear. Hot Pie just wanted to find the nearest village and settle down, but Arya didn't hesitate to tell him how stupid it was since all the villages were being sacked. Gendry wanted to find a nearby castle and offer his skills as an armorer's apprentice, and Arya again didn't hesitate to tell him how stupid it was since all the lords' lands were also being sacked. Arya knew there were only a few sensible choices–Riverrun, Winterfell, and the Wall. Riverrun and Winterfell were almost equally close, Arya had realized once they had found out where exactly they'd been attacked. Winterfell would be the most sensible choice, but it was still a bit of a way off. Lastly, the Wall. There was a deep-seated desire in Arya to head for the Wall. Once long ago, she and Bran had promised each other that one day they would visit the Wall together. That was just a dream of a summer child, but now Jon was at the Wall, and Arya longed to see Jon and have him muss her hair once more.

The inn had more people than Arya would have expected; it wasn't crowded or filled to the brim, but there was a decent lot of customers considering the state of affairs of the land. The three took their seats at the only available corner table, ordered two beers, and paid with money they had scavenged on their journey.

"Have you decided on anything?" Gendry asked, lowering his voice.

"I can't decide between Riverrun and Winterfell. I need to know which road is safer," Arya answered. "My mother's at Riverrun, and she would know me on sight and it is a little closer, but…"

"Yes?"

"Winterfell is home, and besides we're almost in northern territory and some of my father's bannermen should know me. If not, well, I'm sure I can prove it to them. I remember some things from their visits from a long time ago," Arya explained.

"So…?"

"I don't know, alright?" Arya snapped. But that drew attention, and attention was the last thing Arya wanted. She took a deep breath and continued, "I think the first thing we should do is get some money, horses, and a map."

"About the money thing, I have an idea," Hot Pie finally piped up. "I overheard the innkeeper saying she could do with some more help. I could be a cook's apprentice, you know? And you two could clean the place, and we could earn some coins to live off of."

"Staying in one place is too dangerous, and it'd take a lot of time to earn a little," Arya argued.

"Some money is better than nothing, and we don't have to stay long," Gendry countered. "And if we listen to the gossip here, we can get an idea of what's going on."

"But we could be recognized."

"Just a few weeks."

"One week."

"Two weeks," Gendry said stubbornly, his blue eyes unmoving. It wasn't often that Gendry stood his ground on something (usually he just let Arya make the decisions), but then he was set on something, there was no use arguing.

"Two weeks," Arya repeated.

Hot Pie left and disappeared to the kitchens to speak with the owner. After several minutes, he beckoned for Arya and Gendry to join him.

"This is Meria. She owns this place," Hot Pie explained.

"So you runaways want to work here?" she asked.

"Yes, ma'am," Arya replied, trying to seem as innocent as possible.

"Where you from?"

"Um, we–"

"This is my little brother, Arry," Gendry said firmly, placing a hand on Arya's shoulder as a protective motion. "I'm Gendry, and this is our cousin Hot Pie. We've traveled from King's Landing."

"King's Landing, eh? Now what're a couple of street rats from King's Landing doing all the way up here?"

"We were traveling with a group, and we were attacked. But the three of us managed to escape."

"You're not outlaws are you?" Meria narrowed her eyes.

"No, ma'am."

"Alright," she sighed. "I do need some more hands around here. I'll give you food and a place to sleep and little bit of wages."

"We only want to stay for two weeks," Arya quickly blurted.

Meria only shrugged, "Don't matter to me. Now I want the three of you to go wash up. Can't be handling food with so much dirt. Hot Pie, go find my husband. He'll get you started in the kitchens." She turned to Gendry. " You seem like a strong young man. You'll find my daughter in the back. She'll want your help lifting some things. When you're done, come back here. And you, little girl– that's right, I know you're a girl, a woman just knows these things– you need a change of clothes and you'll be serving tables." Arya frowned. A change of clothes meant she'd need to look like a girl.

It wasn't hard work, just frustrating. Sometimes the customers would make bawdy jokes at her, but if Meria ever caught them she'd give them a smack upside the head. She seemed to be well-known around these parts, and her service and food was well-appreciated. Arya grew to like Meria, but just after a few days, Arya was itching to get moving again. Hot Pie and Gendry seemed to like being settled, even if just for a bit. Hot Pie was always in the kitchens, learning a new recipe from Meria's husband, a fat but jolly man. Gendry always seemed to be helping out Meria's daughter, Shella. She wasn't a specially pretty girl, but she was four-and-ten and she had a bosom. Arya didn't like the way she was always blushing and giggling at whatever Gendry said, although the big lug himself didn't seem like he'd noticed the special attention he was receiving.

On the sixth day, when Arya couldn't handle being so pent up anymore and there weren't too many customers, she decided to take a walk. The sun was high in the sky, but the air was still as cold as night, a sign that winter was truly upon them. The inn was a bit far off from the Kingsroad– thank the gods for that– and situated on the outskirts of a small but still untouched village.

There was a nearby forest, and Arya could feel it calling to her. It was a forest of the north. Not like the trees down south that shed their leaves in the winter and were only beautiful in the spring and summer. No, this was a forest of winter trees, trees that never lost their green color even in the harshest of winters. Arya inhaled and the scent of the pines overwhelmed her. She wiped away a small tear in the corner of her eye and with a sudden burst of energy, she sprinted into the forest. The cold wind whipped against her and blew her hair back– she would need to cut her hair again soon– and the occasional pine branch scraped against her skin. But oh, oh, oh, this was the North.

And then she saw it. And it brought a stream of tears from her eyes. Slowly, slowly, she walked until she stood face-to-face with the weirwood. Arya gently rested her hand upon the tree, and she realized that it was crying too, and they remained there, unmoving, two crying souls. She realized then, that it was to Winterfell she needed to travel, not Riverrun.

She kneeled in front of the tree, listening to the rustle of its leaves speaking to her, and she imagined that her father was kneeling next to her.

"Father, why doesn't the weirwood ever answer?" Arya had asked once.

"It does, sweetling. But first you must learn to speak its language," her father had replied in that wise tone of his.

Speak its language, Arya thought. The wind rushed the trees, as if whispering north, north, north. "I know," Arya whispered, "I'm going north. I'm going home."

"And where is home?" a voice asked that made Arya jump. She instinctively reached for Needle, which we realized she had left it back at the inn.

"You?" Arya asked, recognizing the man she had free from his celled wagon when they had been attacked. "Jaqen H'ghar."

Jaqen H'ghar was leaning casually against a pine, but his demeanor did not make Arya lower her guard.

"A girl is going home?" he asked, his eyes never leaving her.

"That's none of your business."

"A man had come here to repay a girl three favors, but a man does not believe a girl needs them anymore."

"What favors?"

"No, it is a thing of the past. But a man cannot completely forget such an action; it would not be, eh, honorable."

"What do you want?"

"I do not want anything. It is a girl who wants so much." He reached for his pocket, causing Arya to flinch and step back. "No, no, do not fear a man," he chuckled, pulling out a small trinket and tossing it to her.

"A coin?" Arya asked, examining it. Except it wasn't a coin of the Seven Kingdoms.

"A special coin. If a girl ever needs help, give it to any man in Braavos with the words valar morghulis. Say it, valar morghulis," he ordered.

"Valar morghulis," Arya repeated, confused but intrigued. He smiled and turned to leave, but Arya called out, "Wait, where are you going to go now?"

"I? Jaqen H'ghar?" he chuckled. "Jaqen H'ghar is going to disappear, but I have other things to do." He turned around again, and Arya jumped back, startled. His face had completely changed, and he now had a terrible hook nose and a gold tooth.

"How?" was all Arya managed to ask before he disappeared back into the forest. The leaves where he had stood remained completely undisturbed; the coin was the only evidence that he had ever visited her. "Valar morghulis," she whispered again before stuffing the coin into her pocket.