"Since when do pirates lay siege to castles?" Robb inquired angrily, "Deepwood Moat is Northern land, mine to protect until father returns."

Arya hated to hear him so distressed, although these days it was unusual to see him otherwise. Since their father had ridden South, all the Kings duties fell on her brother's shoulders, exhausting him to no end. Having his sister around seemed to ease the pressure some, so upon his request she attended all of the council meetings.

Maester Luwin bowed his head, "Indeed. My Prince, there have been rumors... It is said the attack is lead by a young woman, a girl with iron in her veins."

"Asha Greyjoy," the Princess breathed, her eyes narrowing. Tales of the wild lady had reached her even in Dorne. They called her the Kraken's Daughter, a woman who even the roughest of the Iron men respected. She was said to be merciless, born and breed on Pyke to reap and never to sow.

"The God's save us," replied Ser Rodrick Cassel, her father's Hand. "It is said that where Black Wind sails, death follows..."

"Even so," Robb interrupted, "She is a woman of the sea. Her men are not accustomed to walls. If we act hastily, we can break the seige before the castle falls."

The maester agreed, "Ironmen are not known for their patience. Yet we may have a larger problem at hand. If it is indeed Asha who has broken our peace, then more like than not, all of Pyke stands behind her. I'm afraid we have a rebellion at hand."

Robb looked stricken. She knew he wished their father had not left. His cool head and sound council was needed now more than ever. Arya worried for her family. They hadn't received a raven in a week. She had told Robb it wasn't unusual for ravens to go missing, shot down, lost in a storm, or simply flown away. He seemed reassured by her words, but she couldn't quite shake the seed of doubt that had bloomed in her heart.

"Call the banners," her brother said. "It is time we remind those iron bastards who is King in the North."

Just then, sounds of a commotion made their way into the room. Arya jumped to her feet and ran to the window, just in time to see a haggard man drop from his weary horse onto the snow glazed cobblestones. Serving wenches had left their work to come peer at him, gawking and yelling at each other, as two of the kennel boys hoisted him to his feet. She could see a white sigil on his dirty shield, a direworf. Her direwolf. She felt butterflies flip in her stomach.

"Robb," she said urgently, "Come quick, I think it is one of father's guardsmen."

He joined her at the window before storming out of the solar, leaving Maester Luwin and Ser Rodrick looking worried. He returned almost immediately, the kennel boys helping the man in behind him. "Bring furs, ale and food, I won't have him fainting out on me," he commanded.

The half frozen rider fell to his knees, partly out of respect, it seemed, and partly from fatigue. "Your Grace," he murmured his voice breaking, "Your father, the King... He's, he's... he, he..."

Robb looked paralyzed, but Arya couldn't sit still. She pulled up the newcomer and shook him. "Spit it out, what news do you bare of our family?" Ser Rodrick pulled her gently but firmly back as Luwin helped the man into a nearby chair.

"I'm so sorry, my Prince, but... he, he's... He's been murdered, your Grace, your Queen mother, brother and sister as well." Once he had started talking there was no stopping him, although Arya barely comprehended his words. "We had stopped at the inn at the crossroads, the royal family and your father's advisers and personal guards slept inside, while most of us made camp on a nearby hill. In the middle of the night, all hell broke lose. The stable was on fire and our horses were panicking. We were all drowsy, barely awake when they attacked. It was a massacre. They rounded all us survivors up after the fighting and locked us up in the great hall. I was one of the lucky ones, got a space near a window." He fidgeted with his cloak. "I heard them talking, saying your siblings had somehow escaped them in the night. They sent riders with hounds looking for Bran and Sansa immediately. An hour or two after dawn, a tracker returned. I'm so sorry miss, I wish I wasn't certain, but I saw it myself... They flayed your sister and brother, and hung them from the inn's rafters as a warning to us, and, I think, to you."

"Boltons," Robb said, "Our own men." His voice as cold as the lands beyond the wall.

"Your Grace, they carried no banners, but some bore a flayed man on their armor and shields," the man assented.

Arya was not shocked. She just felt numb. Numb and irreparably broken. She didn't want to trust this stranger, but his words rang true. It couldn't be, not her father, not her loving, kind King. She couldn't get his image out of her head, her great father, the invincible King Stark. He'd stood so tall under the weirwoods, so proud as the bloody leaves danced around him. He couldn't be gone, he couldn't be. And Bran, so young... How could they skin a child? How could a human be capable of such wickedness? She couldn't even bare to think of Sansa, her beautiful, ladylike sister, hanging dead from some wretched inn.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Robb rush out of the solar, and somehow managed to scramble to her feet and follow him. Her mind was blank, and she couldn't tell where her legs were taking her, but was following him, and that was all that mattered.

Somehow it didn't surprise her when she found herself in the godswood, surrounded once again by the bone white trees with their blood red leaves. She saw her brother draw Ice and raise it, preparing to strike the heart tree. Arya heard herself call his name as if from a great distance, but he stayed his hand all the same, dropping the great sword and grasping her instead. The Princess returned her brother's embrace, holding him tightly, feeling that if she let go, she'd be swept away by emotions.

"I'll kill them all," he half sobbed. "Every one of them. I'll kill them all."

"Not if I do first, Robb."


She felt as if she was living in a dream, or, more like, a nightmare. Arya couldn't have said how long it had been since she had first heard of her father's death, nor how she and Robb had found their way back to the solar. Her older brother's eyes were red and puffy from tears, but Arya had not shed a single one. She felt as if her heart had stopped beating just as theirs had; her life had left her. Where there once was a princess, now there was just a shell of a girl.

Yet some part of her remained, a nagging voice in her mind that reminded her that the North does not forget. Arya had convinced her brother, now her King, to return, to hear out the messenger. They had justice to enact.

The messenger sat before them, his face red from the warmth of the hearth. The ice had thawed from his cloak, and a ripe smell of horses, blood, sweat, smoke and filth filled the solar. Arya wanted to retch.

He introduced himself as Ser Maryse, a mere hedge knight from White Harbor. He'd been ridding with their father's men for years now. It was an honor for a man of such low birth to serve any King, especially one such as Ned had been.

The Boltons had lead the surviving Stark guards into the yard after Sansa and Bran had been found, and showed them the gruesome bodies. They gave them a choice: either renounce their rulers, or face the same end. Ser Maryse turned beet red when he admitted that he had chosen the former option. He relayed that most of his comrades stayed true, but he didn't stick around to see their fate. He stole a horse and rode away the moment he had a chance. Arya thought he had the courage of a goose and the name of a maiden. She knew she shouldn't blame the messenger for the news he carried, but she disliked him all the same.

"They are following me, most like a few days behind. You know well, your Grace, that a host of men moves far slower than a lone rider. I'd wager they are headed to the Dreadfort."

"They wouldn't dare come near Winterfell," Robb growled.

"I agree, your Grace, most like they will avoid the King's Road. I'd wager a bet that they head east into the Sheepshead Hills rather than chance a meeting on the Kingsroad, although they may not know that you have heard of their treason yet..."

"Then we have the element of surprise on our side," her brother concluded, "Perhaps..."

Arya felt immensely uncomfortable. She wanted to be far away from the stench of the solar, from the turncloak knight, from talks of war and revenge. The princess imagined hopping onto Nymeria's back and just riding, riding to the end of the world. Yet no distance could separate her from her duties, she knew, so she fixed her eyes on the stranger once again.

"Your Grace, don't even think of trying to intercept them out in the open. You are in a far more advantageous position here, behind your walls," the sniveling hedge knight advised her brother, the future King. "They are merciless men, and hard, those Boltons..."

"Ser, I thank you for your service," Robb replied, always the courteous one, "But do not presume to council me on war. It is precisely because they are hard and cruel that I must punish them. You may leave. The servants will find you a room. Go rest, you must be tired."

The man bowed before exiting the solar, leaving Arya alone with her brother. "This is war, Arya." He said, a cold look glazing his eyes, "And justice will be served."

Arya felt a sinking sensation as she watched him leave. The world was crumbling around her.


Winterfell had always been a place of noises and actions. She couldn't think of a time when there hadn't been sounds of scullery maids gossiping, children screaming, Mikken making steel sing in the forge, horses neighing, the cooks bellowing... Life coursed through it like the hot springs that kept it warm. Yet her home was changed, just as she was. It was the most crowded she could ever remember it being, full of villagers seeking shelter from Ironmen and wildlings. Gage had his hands full in the kitchens, cooking non stop. Fires bloomed around the castle and makeshift longhouses had been erected to hold the overflow of people, yet it still felt empty. Everyone had pain and anger in their eyes, and no longer whispered about trifles. War was on everyone's tongues. Even the horses seemed spooked.

Despite it all, when Robb walked by, they bowed reverently. He was the only thing that gave them courage now, and they loved him with undying devotion, as befit the King in the North. His crowning had been a simple affair, but she could tell it put hope into their people. They had gathered in the godwood, as silent as statues, to witness him bow before the ancient heart tree.

Arya held Rickon in her arms, standing at the front of the possession in a place of honor. Robb said his vows loudly and clearly, pledging on his honor as a Stark to defend the North for the rest of his life. Even Arya felt her heart stir as Maester Luwin placed the ancient crown upon his brow, and Ice into his open palms. She fell on her knees before him, her brother and her King.

She remained in the woods after everyone else had left, thinking of her mother, sister, brother, and most of all, her father. It seemed like years ago that he had stood so tall and unflinching in the very place she now knelt. Before she could stop herself, Arya was sobbing, shaking hysterically. She drew her sword and hacked at a nearby tree until she could no longer support her own weight. The princess lay on the Northern snow covered ground, letting her broken heart mourn.


AN: Oh my goodness, I feel so terrible doing this to poor Arya. As if it wasn't tough enough for her in the canon story. :'(

I promise it will get better after the next chapter. Maybe.

Ghosts That We Knew - Mumford and Sons

PS: So, embarrassing confession time. Every time I post a chapter, I get super nervous, "Are they going to like it? Am I too lame, too cheesy? Is anyone even reading it?" I basically sit around refreshing the page for a while, hoping for reviews. Ehem. Those of you that review, I love you. Like really, you are the reason I write. Reviews don't have to be nice, I'll appreciate constructive criticism too. I think I might even be tough enough to handle a flame, I dunno, haha, just try me. Anyways, I'll stop begging now. Thanks for reading. :)