A/N: This one popped into my head after the end of Season 7 for the show. I hope you like it.
xx-Kitten.
Winter Has Come
By Kittenshift17
Chapter One
"Arya?" Bran called from his wheeled chair before she could leave the Great Hall after breakfast.
She was in no mood for the strange things Bran liked to say, and the odd way he spoke and acted. She was furious with Sansa again, her suspicions of the girl's growing dissent blooming with each passing day that Jon stayed gone.
"What is it, Bran?" she asked, her back still to the boy.
If he minded the rudeness of her refusal to meet his unsettling gaze, he didn't let on.
"The things we once thought lost often find their way back to us," he said, always speaking in riddles these days.
"Meaning?" she asked.
"Stay your blade," he replied before rolling past her in his chair, not making eye contact or bothering to elaborate further.
Arya stood there with her fists clenched, well aware of the way Sansa was watching her though she'd yet to turn. She waited until Bran had rolled out of the room before she spoke again.
"I'm beginning to hate the thing our brother has become," Arya said, knowing Sansa would hear her.
"I'm beginning to hate the things we've all become," Sansa replied quietly. "Bran - the Three-Eyed Raven. Jon - the King in the North. You - the Faceless Woman. Me…"
"Go on," Arya said, turning slowly when Sansa trailed off. "Why don't you tell me what it is you've become, sweet sister?"
Sansa's eyes flashed with annoyance for her goading tone and her doubt of her character.
"The Black Widow," she shrugged her slender shoulders. "Thrice betrothed. Twice widowed. Accused of killing one, though I didn't. Responsible for the devouring of another…. the Reforged Steel. The Rapist's Toy. The Survivor. Why don't you pick, Arya? You think you know so much about me and you seek to blackmail me about things I can't undo and things I couldn't change. You tell me? What am I now? Am I the hapless widow whose husbands just keep dying or disappearing? Am I the brittle and broken rape victim, whose body still aches from the pain of the things he did to me and whose heart still burns for revenge even after watching him ripped to shreds and eaten by his own mongrels? Or am I some plotting, treacherous snake who'd usurp the power of the North all for myself just to hand it over to Cersei Lannister after all I endured in her 'care'?"
Arya didn't answer her. She couldn't. She'd trained long and hard in the House of Black and White, but she hadn't been able to figure Sansa out. The clues about all she had survived helped.
"Why is Little Finger still in Winterfell?" she asked instead.
"Because without him the knights of the Vale would ride home and Jon's army would be halved," Sansa replied.
"Why do you keep his counsel when you know he's a poisonous snake?" Arya asked next, her hands tucked behind her back as she eyed her sister across the great hall.
"Politics is not black and white, Arya," Sansa answered. "If I cast him out or am any ruder to him than I have already been, he will leave and his men will leave with him."
"Why does he love you?" Arya asked.
Sansa sighed, propping her chin upon her balled fist and resting her elbow on the table, glaring at her a little.
"Because I'm the spitting image of Mother and because he foolishly believes that Jon being a bastard and me having been wed to the last Lord of Winterfell, not to mention my being the eldest living true-born Stark, make me the rightful heir to Winterfell. He seeks power, as he has always done, and he thinks that he can claim the power of the entire North by marrying me."
Arya curled her lip.
"If I kill him, his men won't leave," she said.
"If you kill him, everyone will know who was to blame," Sansa replied. "You've made no secret of your dislike for him. And what then? The knights of the Vale turn on the knights of Winterfell and we add forces to the army of the Dead that march ever southward?"
"You imagine me incapable of laying the proper trap to make it appear a tragic accident or the work of an enemy spy?" Arya raised one eyebrow, smirking in silent challenge. "Tell me, sweet sister, what do you believe became of the Freys?"
Before Sansa could answer, no matter the way her eyes went wide, Arya turned on her heels and walked away. Brienne had been ordered to travel south to do Sansa's bidding with Queen Cersei, but she'd yet to leave and Arya was determined to get in a training session before she could go. She didn't fancy the notion of being left up here with no one to spar with. Podrick was still in training and no one else in this place had any decent ability. No one who would spar with her, anyway.
"Brienne?" she smiled when she met the woman coming out of the stables.
"Lady Arya," Brienne smiled in return. Arya knew the big, blonde woman had grown fond of sparring with her, too, shocked by her skill and wanting to learn, in addition to benefitting from the practice of having a regular sparring partner.
"One more before you go?" Arya offered.
"Of course, my Lady," Brienne smiled.
"How many times must I tell you not to call me that?" Arya asked, though her smile stayed in place. "I don't call you Lady Brienne, knowing you aren't any fonder of your title than I am of mine."
Brienne sighed. "Your Lady Mother would be cross with me if I didn't show her daughter the proper respect due of her station."
"And I'm sure your family would feel the same at my address of you," Arya shrugged. "Yet I do as I please, not as society demands."
"You enjoy rubbing their noses in your defiance, don't you?" Brienne asked, handing the reins of her horse to Podrick and unsheathing her sword.
"Naturally. Women like you and me are not made for bowing and scraping and silly, pretty dresses, are we?" Arya smiled.
"Not really," Brienne sighed. "I believe the last time I wore a dress, I was forced into it. And it was too small. Barely reached my shins."
Arya laughed at the woman.
"At least you weren't tripping over the hems," Arya offered.
"No, I've never had that problem."
They bowed formally before they began, leaping into a vicious and rapid dance of blades, their weapons ringing together and sparking as they met. Arya was so drawn into the fight that she and Brienne both missed the trumpeting of horns and ringing of bells announcing the arrival of riders on the Kingsroad.
"Lady Arya?" Podrick said. "Lady Brienne?"
They both ignored him, their battle spilling into the main courtyard as they danced and fought around each other, heedless of the others going about their business there or the way the crowd had begun to gather as the gates were raised and riders astride huffing steeds appeared.
Arya smirked when Brienne was temporarily distracted by the riders, taking advantage of her distraction and whacking her hard with the flat of her blade, making the bigger woman grunt. Brienne narrowed her eyes and struck back, catching Arya's blade, her attention focused once more upon their deadly dance.
Arya ran up a nearby cart and dove at the woman with a warrior's cry, but Brienne blocked her, slinging a punch at her on the way down and Arya grunted, sent into a tumble as the blow threw off her balance and drew blood from her lip. She laughed as she wiped at it, springing into a crouch and watching Brienne, who was smiling too. They dove again, clanging their weapons, watching their steps, dancing a strange combination of Westerosi brute force and Braavosi Water Dance.
As so often happened amid their battles, they ended on a draw, Brienne's sword poised over her heart, and Arya's dagger to Brienne's throat. They were both breathing hard and both grinning when the slow clap began, and Arya blinked, frowning as she straightened, her eyes sweeping over the courtyard to rest on a group of men astride horses.
One bore a striking resemblance to her Lord Father, all dark hair, grey eyes and a stern yet smiling expression. He was the one responsible for the clapping and Arya's heart back flipped inside her chest.
"Jon?" she asked, sheathing her dagger and her sword and watching Brienne do the same thing out the corner of her eye.
"Learned a little more than how to stick 'em with the pointy end, haven't you?" Jon asked, swinging down from astride his horse and striding toward her.
Arya's face almost broke with the size of her grin as she gave a shout and ran toward the man, his gait and his stance so like their father's that for a moment she was caught in a memory. She threw herself into his embrace and he caught her with a laugh, lifting her into the air before crushing her to him in a bone-breaking hug that might've hurt if she wasn't squeezing him just as hard.
"I thought you were dead," they said at the same time when they broke apart.
Arya laughed. "We Starks aren't that easy to kill," she said. "And you, King in the North?"
He nodded, looking sheepish and rubbing the back of his neck.
"You're not a moment too soon," Arya told him. "We have much to discuss, big-brother."
"Why? What's happened?" he asked, frowning.
"Cersei has summoned Sansa to King's Landing for a meeting. She was planning to send Brienne in her stead."
"That's been cancelled," Jon said immediately. "Brienne, no one goes to King's Landing before Queen Daenerys reaches Winterfell."
Lady Brienne opened her mouth like she might protest, but before she could utter a word, a large man dressed in wildling clothes with thick red hair and an impressive red beard dismounted his horse from among Jon's posse and strode toward her. Arya watched in amusement and maybe just the smallest amount of concern as Brienne's mouth snapped shut as the big wilding invaded her space.
"I thought you'd gone to the Wall," Brienne demanded when the man stopped inside her personal space and grinned at her but didn't touch her.
"I've returned," he shrugged. "And I am ready for our fight."
"Our fight?" Brienne asked, dumbfounded.
"Tormund," Jon said quietly. "I don't imagine Lady Brienne is aware of the customs of the Free Folk."
"Oh," the redhead said. He frowned, turning his eyes on Jon and shrugging. He shot a glance at Arya, his lips twitching into a grin when she met his gaze boldly. Arya noted that he was definitely a wildling. There was something in his eyes she'd never seen in the eyes of any Lord of Westeros. "Guess you better fill her in, then."
"You really want to do this now?" Jon asked, smirking in returning as he slung an arm around Arya's shoulders, tucking her into his side.
"I just survived an encounter with the army of the Dead. I know what's coming. I won't wait any longer," Tormund said.
Jon sighed.
"Mad cunt," someone muttered from behind them and Arya turned in Jon's hold, her eyes travelling up and up until they swept over a scarred and puckered face that held sad eyes and an ugly grin.
"The Hound," she sneered, smirking as her heart gave another little lurch inside her chest.
He returned the look, his eyes brightening.
"The Stark Bitch," he sneered right back.
"Oi!" Jon growled at the man but Arya was already stepping out of her brother's hold and crossing the short distance to the former Kingsguard.
She slung her arms around him and was scooped into another crushing hug that almost broke her spine, but she'd begun to laugh.
"You two know each other?" Jon asked, seeming surprised.
"You two don't want to kill each other?" someone else asked.
Arya ignored them as the Hound set her back on her feet.
"You owe me a fight, bitch," he said gruffly.
"You owe me a pony," Arya replied.
"You owe me a knife in the neck, too," Clegane smirked.
"Glad I didn't give you one now, aren't you?" she said.
"No," he replied. "Selfish bitch."
"Eat me, Clegane," Arya retorted.
"Ran away with the Woman, eh?" he said. "What, the bitch almost hacks me in two and you're her biggest fan?"
"Didn't go with her," Arya shook her head. "You know that."
"You're with her now," he said, frowning.
"With you now, too," she said.
"Aye," he agreed.
"Is anyone going to tell me why this wilding wants to fight me?" Brienne demanded, and Arya turned to see that Tormund as still well inside her space.
She noted that he was actually taller than Brienne – not an easy feat – and it was clear to anyone with eyes that he fancied her.
"The Free Folk women are all warriors," Jon said. "You know why?"
Brienne shook her head.
"They survive by fighting. From the minute they come of age as women, they're fair game to the rest of the clans. If you don't know how to fight, you die or you're claimed by some toothless fucker better with a blade. They have a custom among the free folk regarding… well, marriage is the wrong word, isn't it Tormund."
"Marriage is paper and words we don't have time for. The Free Folk don't bother with all that pompous bullshit," he smirked.
"In the clans, you fight for your life. Anyone you fight must be fought to the death. If one person defeats the other, but shows them mercy, then they're life belongs to that person."
"I don't understand."
"If you and Tormund fight, whoever wins owns the life of the other. You can kill and end the life, claiming the debt. But if you show mercy, they belong to you. If you and Tormund fight and he wins, you're his, Brienne. You're his, and he's yours."
"How do you know?" Arya wanted to know.
"It's how I ended up with Ygritte," Jon sad, his smile sad. "Didn't know it at the time, but when I couldn't kill her, that made her mine. I was hers, and she was mine. The Wilding equivalent of a marriage, really. There's no arranged marriages for land or titles Beyond the Wall. Just surviving. And surviving is easier when you're sharing the heat of the furs with someone."
"Ygritte? You married a wildling?" Arya asked. "A Spearwife?"
Jon nodded.
"She hated you for it, too," Tormund laughed, glancing at Jon. "For a time. Until you showed her your pretty cock."
Jon grinned. "She hated me after that, too."
"You were a crow," Tormund shrugged before turning his gaze back to Brienne.
"I'm not going to fight you, Tormund," Brienne said stubbornly.
"Worried you will lose?" Tormund smirked. "I know none of these southern fuckers have a cock as big as mine, but you will like it."
Brienne's cheeks went scarlet.
"You can't just make her fight," Arya said, unsheathing a dagger.
Jon caught her hand.
"That he gave you warning at all, Brienne, was a courtesy. The Free Folk don't usually give warning. They just take what they want. Whether it's your life, your land, your food, or your cunt, they will take it if they can."
"Don't deny you want it," Tormund taunted the scarlet-cheeked warrior woman. "I have seen the way you look at me."
"With horror?" Brienne scoffed.
"With lust," Tormund grinned. "You want to ride the cock of Tormund Giantsbane. Come, we fight. And then you can."
"You realise that telling me the rules means that if I want to avoid fucking you, I'll kill you?" Brienne asked, drawing her sword.
"You won't," Tormund said. "I never lose. I'm good at two things. Killing. And fucking."
"Do you have to do it now?" Sansa asked, appearing on the scene with her arms folded. "Brienne is needed elsewhere."
"Snow?" Tormund asked, his sword already out, his eyes still fixed on Brienne while she dropped into a fighting crouch.
"You'd be safer trying to stick your cock in almost any other woman, wildling cunt," the Hound spoke up.
Tormund made a rude hand gesture and the Hound snorted in amusement.
"Crazy bastard," he muttered.
"Sandor?" Sansa's soft voice suddenly cut across the din of the courtyard as they cheered over the idea of Brienne and Tormund doing battle.
Arya felt the way Clegane tensed, his eyes snapping up to fix on Sansa.
"Little Bird?" he murmured and Arya watched his terrible face soften into the fondest expression she'd ever seen.
"Urgh," she groaned when she looked at Sansa and found a fond expression upon her face too. "Really? My sister?"
"Shut up, Bitch," he slanted a glance in her direction.
"Just what was she up to while you helped hold her captive in King's Landing?" Arya demanded.
The Hound cuffed her around the ears.
"Watch your mouth, Bitch," he said. "You got away, but your sister wasn't a wolf then. She was a scared little bird forced to sing through the bars of her gilded cage if she wanted to be allowed clothing, food, or a day without pain. Whatever you think you suffered, you never suffered that."
"You don't know that," Arya replied.
She blinked when he gripped her chin, leering into her defiant face.
"Were you forced to marry a violent cunt who played with his food like a cat with a mouse?" he asked. "No. You were with me, riding your very own pony and robbing taverns. You got off easy. You were free."
"I was your prisoner being carted all over the Riverlands and the Vale so that you could claim a bounty," Arya retorted.
"And I was so fucking hard on you?" the Hound scoffed. "Feeding you. Teaching you to fight. Making sure you didn't freeze or get eaten or captured by worse than me. While you were muttering that list of names into the dirt every night right next to me, you weren't being raped or beaten bloody and stripped naked before a court full of impotent bystanders who revelled at the sight of your pain. You were hungry and you were scared, but you had friends. She had no one."
"She was too stupid to run," Arya retorted. "She was the one whose beloved Joffrey robbed me of Nymeria and robbed her of Lady, while she lied and smiled and made eyes at the twisted little cunt. She was the one who thought she was going to be the next Queen of the Seven Kingdoms."
"And where is she now?" Clegane demanded, his grip on her chin painfully tight as he turned her head, making her face Sansa, whose expression was pained. "Does she look like the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms? 'Cause from where I was sitting she was cast aside by that Cunt for Margery Tyrell. She might've been too stupid to run when you asked, and she was definitely too stupid to run when I asked, but in the end, she ran just the same."
Sansa hung her head, as though in shame.
"This is hardly the time, or the place," she said.
"You're all ruining my moment with your family bullshit," Tormund complained.
"No, please, continue bickering," Brienne said.
"Why don't we all go inside and get out of the cold?" Ser Davos said.
"I've got a fucking fight to win!" Tormund growled.
"Later, Tormund," Jon clapped him on the shoulder. "Show her you Giantsbane of a cock later, yeah. When she's had time to consider the idea and won't kill you for spite. You don't want to claim her here in the grubby courtyard, do you?"
Tormund glanced around, curling his lip at the mud.
"Isn't this much mud North of the Wall," he said. "Can't fuck my woman in this filth."
"I'm not your woman," Brienne protested.
"Soon," Tormund promised, winking.
Arya snorted, pulling her chin out of Clegane's grip and noticing for the first time that there was someone else in Jon's raiding party.
"Dondarrion?" she frowned.
"Arya Stark," he inclined his head in greeting. "Been a long time, girl. Heart Hill, wasn't it?"
Arya shrugged.
"Aye," he said. "You were screaming about that one burning in hell while this one held you back from burning him, yourself. Or was it me holding your back from burning the Red Woman while we sold this one to her?"
He jerked his thumb at another man whose hood was up. Arya's jaw slackened when he threw it back, revealing his thick black hair and Baratheon-blue eyes. She'd know those eyes and that crooked grin anywhere, no matter how she'd sworn up and down that he was a traitor for choosing the Brotherhood over her.
"M'lady," he grinned at her, inclining his head and slinging a large Warhammer across his back as he strode closer.
"Do not call me m'lady," Arya blurted, her heart racing in her chest and her stomach backflipping, the words spilling out without thought.
He laughed at her.
"You're alive," he commented.
"So are you," she frowned. "I thought you were dead."
"Heard you were as well."
"You two know each other?" Jon asked. "Bloody hell, Arya. What have you been doing since I last saw you that you know all my men?"
"Didn't know the Wildling," she said.
"You know Gendry? How is it that you know the last surviving bastard of King Robert?" Jon pushed.
"Before the Hound stole her away to pawn her for money, she was crawling into my arms for warmth every night and pretending to be a boy on the run from the Lannisters and trying to get home to Winterfell," Gendry answered for her, still grinning as he came closer.
Arya stared at him, noticing how much he'd grown. He was taller than ever; at least as tall as the Hound, Brienne, or even Tormund. He was strong, too. Under his cloak and his heavy winter clothes his shoulders were as wide as her arm was long. When he came even closer, scooping her into her third bone-crushing hug for the day, Arya could feel how much stronger he was and she was shaking her head in disbelief.
When he held her to him, she found her arms automatically winding around his neck as she breathed in the familiar scent of him that she'd breathed every night as they'd travelled North together after he'd figured out she was a girl and before they'd parted ways.
"You have a Warhammer?" she asked when she pulled back, noting the way he didn't actually let her go.
"Yep," he grinned. "Pretty good at swinging it, too."
"Stupid," she told him. "Too big and too slow. I could poke you full of holes before you'd land a single blow."
He rolled his eyes.
"Watching you fight Brienne as we rode in made me want to poke you full, too," he retorted and it was Arya's turn to blush. Jon snorted and Sansa gasped.
Arya pulled his hair nastily, but he didn't seem to mind even as he set her down once more.
"And I thought the wilding was a mad cunt," the Hound said. "The Woman's dangerous enough, but the Stark Bitch… Knew you weren't too bright, kid. When she rips your nuts off, don't cry to me."
Gendry laughed and Arya smiled proudly.
"If we'd known you were coming, I'd have prepared a feast for your return, Jon," Sansa said, sounding disapproving.
"Anything hot will do," Jon shrugged. "Come on, let's get inside before Tormund tries to teach Brienne the Wildling Way out here."
"As though the Great Hall would be a better spot?" Brienne asked dryly, her cheeks still pink.
"It's cleaner in there," Tormund said. "Snowy ground in the Godswood would be better."
"You're going to scream when I kill you," Brienne promised the wildling man coldly.
Tormund laughed.
"You're going to scream when I fuck you. Over and over again," he promised in reply. "You'll enjoy every minute of it."
"Are all wildlings like this?" Arya asked, amused as they all followed Sansa inside and toward the Great Hall.
"None have as big a cock," Tormund assured her.
"It's probably true," Gendry laughed when Arya raised her eyebrows. "That things a Warhammer all its own."
Tormund beamed proudly, winking at Brienne again.
"Southerners just ask when they want to fuck someone, you know?" Arya said to Tormund, deciding she liked him immediately.
"Asking permission gives the opportunity to be told no," Tormund replied. "You Southerners. Stupid. The Free Folk know the only way to get what you want is to fight for it."
"It'll certainly be a fight worth seeing. She beat the Hound," Arya said.
Clegane grunted and cuffed her around the ears again.
"You fought my woman, Dog?" Tormund asked, his face serious.
"And lost. The bitch left me for dead. Both bitches, actually," he glared at Arya.
"Yet here you are," Arya grinned. "Brightening our world with your sunny disposition."
Everyone fell silent and glanced at the Hound before Dondarrion snorted and the laughter began.