Blood is pouring from the walls of Winterfell. There is a war raging, steel hitting steel, steel piercing flesh. The boy is running, he carries his sword and tries to look fearsome but he knows he was never good with a sword. That was Arry's place, sword in hand. Arya, his mind corrects.
He runs. His best chance is to avoid the savage fighting in the yard. He follows a band of men into the tower.
They're cut down before him and for a moment he thinks a sword is bound for his neck until he stumbles on the limbs of the fallen and the sword takes his shoulder. The wound is not deep but he drops his weapon and closes his eyes waiting for the next hit. Instead a force hits his body and he finds himself falling, the dead weight of his would-be killer atop of him, an arrow in his eye.
He's trapped under the body. He thinks of giving up, of yielding, but then thinks of his friend. Arya, he remembers correctly. He's come to rescue him, her, his friend. He will not leave her, not this time.
He pushes the body aside and starts to run again. Up the steps, he fears no ghosts of Winterfell. He doesn't know how but he ends up outside her door. Men are still fighting, the door is shuddering and they are about to break it free.
It cracks and the noise resonates in his skull. Armed men gush from the room. He's pushed back by the flood and finds himself falling down the stairs. So close, he laments. He's hurt, his shoulder throbbing and his bravery has left him. He pulls himself into a dark corner of the castle.
There is movement beside him and he turns. A girl with dirty brown hair has her eyes closed, body shaking.
"Arya" he whispers, his heart beats faster. Has he found her?
"Arya, its me, Hot Pie. I've come to save you."
Jeyne Poole opens her eyes and stares at the boy in horror.