Disclaimer: All rights belong to George RR Martin and any other respective owners.

The Lone Wolf
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Chapter Two
Nymeria

Days later, the Starks stood in another line. Arya thought it ridiculous. She did not appreciate waiting for a turn to be told goodbye. I should not have to say goodbye, Arya thought bitterly.

Jon stood in front of the Starks. They were no longer his family. He was of the Black now.

It seemed no one was angry at Arya like she was angry at everyone. Arya only watched stiffly as Jon said goodbye to the Starks. He gave a hug to father and to Robb. He shook Theon's hand. He kissed Sansa's cheek, although Sansa did not seem fazed by Jon leaving. She just stayed quiet Although that was expected, Arya only resented her sister for it. Rickon didn't seem to know what was going on; he was too young to understand. Bran, although sad, seemed detached; it seemed he had a silent understanding.

Jon said his goodbyes with his head high and his stance strong. And when Jon said goodbye to Arya, he said the same thing, with the same stance, and the same words. Arya said her goodbyes with a frown on her face and tears in her eyes. And as those tears fell down her cheeks, Arya could feel her mother's eyes on her. Catelyn's eyes were hard, disapproving and regretful. Arya did not think this made her a good person, but she felt glad her mother felt guilt. Ned Stark's eyes were sad and hesitant as they passed from Catelyn to Jon to Arya.

Arya hugged Jon tightly and gave him a soft kiss on the cheek. There was no hesitation as Jon turned away. He walked up to his horse, earning a pat on the shoulder from Uncle Benjen. He did not look back. Still, it was only when the horses started to leave that Arya realised that her pack was leaving her. It seemed she'd grown accustomed to the comfort of reliance. Arya did not want that to change.

This just couldn't happen. He could not be leaving; not after it all. Jon knew Arya needed him. So, he mustn't go. Arya needed to bring Jon back.

"No," she whispered weakly as she began to run forward, with all the speed she could muster, but in only a few moments, all horses were gone from sight. Arya stopped, looking around in panic. He was gone. Jon left Arya's pack.

Jon was only the first to leave.

Arya Stark was born during the first year of the long summer. She had not known of the harshness that the winters of Westeros could bring. She did not know of the frost that would creep up your skin or the ice your tears would become. Arya did not know what it felt like to watch your fingers turn from a pink to red to white to blue. She had never seen the nights that would last all day or the frozen body of a sheep. Arya was born in the long summer, and she had never known the cold.

It was the year 300AL, when Arya felt a strange cold run through her. It was something she'd never felt before. She'd known the cool winds of Winterfell and the burning of ice, but Arya had never felt so strange. Goosepimples freckled Arya's skin, running up her arms and her legs. It was uncomfortable how her lungs felt cold but she was also sweating.

Arya felt her knees buckling slightly, and her stick felt heavy. She felt like insects on the inside of her head were picking at her eyes from behind. Arya felt like something was beginning to pull at her body with a sharp wind. Arya began to feel a sharp and religious prickle at her skin that stung like the cold. But she did not stop swinging her sword in a steady rhythm. Winter is coming, Arya would remind herself. It was just the signs of winter that Arya was unfamiliar with. Still, the feeling lingered and the echoes got louder and louder. The world began to spin faster until Arya felt suffocated, as if a tornado was forming around her. She began trying to steal air for her lungs, but was unsuccessful. Somehow Arya found herself on the ground with her vision blurred and her head heavy. Her knees ached from the fall, but they were the least of Arya's pain. Her body soared with discomfort. A stabbing pain shot throughout her entire body, and soon enough, it all went black.

Arya dreamt in her slumber. She dreamt of Jon. He stood in front of her, wearing his long cloak, lined with fur and snow. The snow fell heavily and the snow on the ground was piled high. There was nothing to be seen for many miles, except the never ending storm. Jon looked older now, by a couple years. His Stark Grey eyes looked worn but young. His dark hair was longer and his features were more pronounced. It had been two years since they'd said goodbye, and Jon looked so different now. Not only did he look like a man-grown, but he looked older. There were no lines on his face or spots on his skin, but Arya knew he was different.

Jon said nothing to Arya. She was not even sure he could see her. But, Arya could see him, with detail as if he were right in front of her. She could see the snowflakes catching in his hair; she could see the pores on his skin. Arya could even hear him breathe.

Arya felt happy to see him. He had not written to her at all, and she not him. She missed her brother, and she missed his face. Sometimes, though, Arya had trouble remembering his face. She would sometimes forget the scars he'd been given from playing too roughly with Robb and Theon. Sometimes she forgot the shade of grey of his eyes, even though they matched her own. Sometimes Arya forgot it all, and all she could remember was the feeling of acceptance. Arya sometimes forgot the sound of his voice. Jon never spoke much in the first place, but when he did, Arya reeled in it. She liked his voice when it was serious and she liked it when he was teasing. The only time Arya did not like his voice was when she could not remember it.

It nearly broke her heart every time something reminded her of Jon, but she'd always managed to push that aside. She did not like to feel broken.

That was why Arya felt her heart swell in both happiness and sadness as she saw Jon, clear as day. The wind blew harshly, and the snow continued to fall, but Arya could not feel it. She couldn't feel the Goosepimples on her skin, or the snowflakes melting. Arya wondered if she was even there.

"Jon," she called. He did not move. "Jon!" Arya called again, a little louder. He did not hear her. "Jon!" He heard her this time and turned to look at her. But Arya suddenly realised that his face was starting to blur. But before Jon faded away completely, he spoke. Arya heard his voice but did not understand his words. He was gone, and Arya was left in the snow, alone. Arya stood there for one second. She did not understand. Anger began to swell inside her, and she balled her hands into fists. She did not feel the pain as her nails dug into her skin.

She stood like that, until another harsh wind blew. And Arya understood its song. Winter is coming.

Arya woke with a start. She tried to hold onto her dream, but the harder she tried, the faster it left her mind.

Her skin, she realised was coated with sweat, and her heart beat loudly and strangely. She almost felt is if it had changed patterns completely. Arya sat up, slowly. She had the feeling that any harsh movements would make her feel even worse than before. She carefully supported herself with her hands as she turned and stepped out of her bed. Catelyn, she saw was sitting on a chair next to the bed. Arya's mother looked concerned, even when she was a sleep. But still, Arya still thought her mother beautiful.

Arya grunted as she tried to step toward her mother. Catelyn shook, and her eyes snapped open. Her eyes, the distinguished Tully blue colour nearly glowed in the darkness. The confusion fled from Catelyn's eyes as she acknowledged her daughter. Catelyn wore an expression of worry and frustration now.

"Arya, you're awake." Catelyn declared. "You had me worried sick. Get back into bed, you are in no shape to be standing," Arya frowned. She did feel dizzy, and her limbs felt weak, but Arya did not want to go back to bed.

"I do not want to go to bed," Arya protested, her voice coming out weakly, draining much of her energy.

"Don't be a fool, Arya." Catelyn scolded, standing up. She rested her hands gently on Arya's shoulders. There was still a line between Catelyn's brows, but Arya could tell she was trying to remain calm. "You have caught flu. You've been asleep for two days." Arya stared into her mother's eyes for a moment. They were blue, but they were a strange blue. It was not deep like the sea. It was not dark like the sky. It was not shiny like tears. This blue was a bright blue. It was like the colour of the sky on a summer's day, mixed in with the sun. The Tully blue of Catelyn's eyes was the blue of hope.

But when Arya blinked, she saw the moon, and she saw a wolf, howling to its beauty. And Arya did not wish to sleep when the moon hung in the sky; she knew that it was the moon that gave her strength, just like the blue of her mother's eyes gave her hope.

"I miss the moon." Arya told her mother. Catelyn simply frowned and her grip on Arya's shoulders tightened. Arya knew Catelyn would not understand. Catelyn, without a word, guided her daughter to her large featherbed, and pulled up the quilts up to Arya's chin.

Catelyn kissed Arya's forehead, and whispered.

"Sleep, child. But do not sleep for too long. The moon will see the sky again," Catelyn stood up straight and retreated from Arya's chamber, leaving her daughter with the moon.

Arya looked over to her window and saw the moon once again. A wold howled from far away, and Arya could not help but feel as though the moon was the most beautiful she'd ever seen. Arya felt like she could understood stand what it felt like to be ignored when you shine the brightest. It was all Arya had ever known.

When Arya woke up next, she was sweating. Her room was still dark, and silent. Looking outside the window, Arya could see that there were a few more hours until sunrise. She stood up, feeling weak, but stable. But Arya was sticky with sweat. Her hair clung to the skin on her neck, as did her night clothes. Getting out of the warmth of her bed, Arya felt a little cooler, but it was not enough. She walked over to the window and put her hands against the glass. The coolness of it sent chills through Arya, and she suddenly longed to be outside.

Quickly, Arya turned; making her head spin too fast, but she ignored it. She grabbed her boots which stood neatly at the foot of her bed. She slipped them on quickly, and grabbed Needle from her hiding spot. Its grip was strong and hard, and Arya clenched it tightly. Arya moved toward the tall door of her chamber, and turned the handle with her free hand.

As quietly as she could muster, Arya crept through the halls. The corridors of the Great Keep, were warm, being built over natural hot springs, but it was cooler. The stone brought a certain chill to the air, that it this time, Arya was grateful for.

Arya managed to sneak out. The night time air was cool, and the wind was brisker. Arya loved it. The cool winds touched her skin beautifully and sharply, making Arya coo at the feeling. She felt cold, but it was a good kind of cold—a beautiful cold; a Stark cold.

A wolf howled. Arya turned her body to follow the sound. Wolves scared Arya, as they would scare anyone. Even Arya, as irrational as she could be, knew not to mess with wolves. Strangely, though Arya felt compelled to the deep howl of the wolf. It came for the Godswood. Perhaps it was a message from the Gods.

Arya began walking towards the woods when the wold howled again. Arya quickened her pace, and slowly she progressed into a run. The wind blew against Arya, and it was almost as if it made her go faster, as her hair danced behind her.

Another howl and Arya began to slow down, her heart beating too hard and her lungs struggling for air. She stopped in a clearing, reaching for breath. She nearly collapsed on the ground when she heard shuffling in the nearby bushes. Her hand immediately went to Needle, unsheathing her silently and quickly.

Arya was ready to strike whomever or whatever would emerge from the bushes. Arya scanned the area quickly, but saw no one. She opened her ears and eyes some more, listening and looking for a hint. Arya heard the whistle of the wind a little louder. She saw the shapes of the leaves a little clearer. But then, she heard the whimpering of a pup. Arya lowered her sword. When she did, a large pup emerged from the bushes. The eyes of the wolf glowed yellow, and Arya stared into them for a moment, bemused. Arya had never seen anything like the pup. She was big, but not big enough to best Arya. Still, the wolf bared her teeth and snarled.

Arya chuckled and knelt, extending her hand to the pup. She tilted her head, before decided to come closer to Arya. The wolf was big, but Arya could tell she was young.

"You're a Direwolf, aren't you?" Arya asked the wolf. Arya giggled as the wolf pounced on Arya, tackling her. "Where's your mother?"

Arya wondered where this wolf's pack was. It was probably a horrible idea to play with a pup, without thinking of its pack, but Arya had a strange feeling this dog had the lack of one.

Finally, when Arya felt tired, she stroked the pup calmly, deciding she would be this pup's pack.

"What should we call you?" Arya asked, scratching the wolf's ear. "You know, if I were father, and you were me, I would let you be a warrior. I would let you fight, and run and be wild. I would let you conquer and be free. I would raise you like the Rhoynar." Arya sighed, and continued talking, even though she knew the Direwolf would not understand her words.

"Have you heard the story of Nymeria? Nymeria was a warrior queen who brought ten thousand ships across the narrow sea to Dorne. And she conquered. I wish I could be Nymeria." Arya smiled. "But if I can't, maybe you can. How do you like the name Nymeria?" A last wolf howled in the distance, it's last song to the moon before the sun would rise.

I know this chapter is very short, so for that, I apologise. I have not read it over, so sorry if there are spelling errors and the writing sucks. But please review! Also, thank you for all who reviewed and followed! I love and appreciate you all!

Chapter three is called Catelyn, and should be up sometime in the next two weeks.