There once was an outline for a three part book that never got told and was changed into the Game of Thrones we know and love today. This is my version of that outline, a story of love, loss, betrayal, choices and sacrifice. And I regret nothing by writing this story! Enjoy!
Winterfell loomed before her as the dark sky gave way to the first rays of morning. Six days, she had been riding. Six days without barely any sleep, and for one moment Arya Stark feared she was hallucinating the vision of her home.
It was not in ruins as she had heard years ago. It stood tall and true, with a new king behind it's doors. Jon Snow. He was King of the North if the rumors were to be believed. Arya did not understand how, but she hoped against hope the rumors were true.
Even as the feeling of exhaustion threatened to consume her mind, body and soul, Arya kicked the horse forward. Six years of death and loss brought her to this moment, to the doorstep of her home.
She was not the same naive girl who had left with her father for King's Landing. She was a battle hardened, broken shadow of her former self. Yet, in that moment all she wanted was her old room and her old bed.
The snow fell around her in large swirls and flakes, slapping her cold skin and blinding her way. She knew where to go…towards home.
Winterfell's great walls grew taller the closer she came, as if begging her to go faster. Would anyone be awake to greet her? Would Jon be there? Or Sansa? Maybe Bran and Rickon had made their way home. The longer she thought of her family the more desperate she felt.
"Faster," she whispered to the horse.
The beast whined and fought against Arya's pleas. Suddenly, the horse knelt down, throwing Arya from her seat. She hit the ground and rolled to a stop, yet she could not force her battered body to go any further.
The ground was hard and cold beneath her as she twisted her body to look upon Winterfell. She was so close, so close to being safe for the first time in years. Slowly turning on her stomach, she dug her fingers into the cold ground moving inch by inch. She would do this as long as it took for her to stand again. The one thing she could not do was stop.
When her fingers turned bloody, and her skin broken, she rose to her knees. The sky above her turned blue and orange in the rising of the sun. She was so close that the shadows of Winterfell walls were within her reach.
"Come on," she ground out, her teeth clenched.
Getting to her feet took all the strength she had left within her. She steadied her shaking legs before taking the first step. The moment her left foot came down on solid ground she almost fell. Arya knew if she hit the ground again she would remain there. The snow would kill her in a matter of hours…winter had come at last.
One step. Then another. Then another. One by one, she took small steps towards the gates of her home. Arya wished she felt strength from such a sight as Winterfell, but that could not be farther from the truth.
"What business do you have before these gates?"
The voice came from above her, and Arya slowly raised her face to see the soldier with his arrow pointed at her chest. In fact, there were several soldiers with their deadly weapons drawn on her. Of course, they would not let her just walk in. She could not imagine the site she must be.
"I—I'm…"
Arya staggered back, her legs shaking worse than before. She was not going to make it. As soon as the thought crossed here mind her body gave in. Arya hit the snow covered earth without feeling a thing. Was this what it felt like to die? Her eyes stared up into the sky imagining her father and mother's face. She imagined seeing Robb again. She would be with Gendry again. It was such a lovely thought, but the next face she saw grounded her to the living world.
Jon.
He was so close, just behind those walls, and if she would just push a little longer he would be before her in the flesh.
"Arya… Arya S—Stark!" she said, as loud as she could.
She was not sure if they heard her, but the moment one of the guards yelled for the gates to be opened she felt like crying. They had heard her.
"Wake the King!"
Hands gently grabbed her arms and legs. She watched as the gates went by over head. They brought her inside Winterfell, taking her straight to the Great Hall. A woman she did not recognize had begun to start a fire, and the moment Arya felt the heat against her frozen skin she felt like crying.
They sat her in a chair before the fire, wrapping one blanket after the other over her shaking form. She closed her eyes, breathing in the familiar scents of her home. Her body was weakened, but her mind was sharp. They placed something hot in her hands and helped her raise it to her lips. She drank it so fast she did not know what it was, but the hot contents soothed her throat and stomach. Arya opened her mouth to thank the men, but the door to the Great Hall burst open and she swallowed her words.
"Your Grace," the men around her said, bowing their heads.
"Where is she…"
His words died in his throat, but there was no denying the owner of that voice. She had thought of him all these years, and after losing Gendry it was Jon's image, his voice inside her head, that kept her going. Now, she was hearing him with her own ears.
Arya turned to look behind her and there Jon stood. He was like a statue, frozen in time. His eyes were wide, his mouth half open as if he were struggling to breathe. He had changed so much, yet not at all. There was a tiredness behind his dark eyes she had never seen there before. No matter the changes he was still her Jon.
"Jon," she whispered, barely able to speak his name, barely able to believe he was there.
His face crumbled into one of emotions so raw. She felt as if she were eavesdropping on such an intimate moment, that she should look away, but she would not dare take her eyes off him for fear that he would disappear.
Arya forced herself to stand. Her body screamed and fought her with every move, but she ignored the pain. She only took one step before her body locked up and she stumbled. Bracing herself for the impact, she felt arms catch her. Jon was there before anyone could react, and he crushed her to his chest.
For the first time in six years, Arya closed her eyes and let go of her fear and loneliness. She wrapped her shaking arms around his neck, his scent blanketing every corner of her universe. He leaned away, gently grabbing the sides of her face and staring at her wonder.
"You're alive," he said, low and reverent.
"You're real," Arya said, back.
Through the tears in his eyes a smile graced his features. It grew until it covered every part of his face, and the laughter that rang from him sounded sweet to her ears. He leaned in, placing his lips upon her forehead and remaining there for what seemed like an eternity. Arya did not mind in the least. She held on to him as if he were the last lifeline she had.
"Take Arya to her room. She needs rest. Have warm mead and hot soup sent up immediately," Jon commanded.
"Your Grace, are those not your rooms now?" one of his men asked.
"We will worry about my dwellings later. I have no plans to sleep any time soon," Jon responded, never taking his eyes off Arya.
His men bowed and left to do as their king commanded. Jon stood to his feet bringing Arya with him. She gave him an apologetic smile, for he had to bear the brunt of her weight. Without a word, he scooped her up in his arms and carried her from the Great Hall. She rested her head against his chest finally allowing the exhaustion to take her. She was safe.
More to come. This will be a long story and as we go along it will be a bumpy angst-filled ride. For any of you that know of the outline I speak of you can kind of get the understanding of what will happen, but there will be changes as this this my interpretation. Get those reviews ready!