Chapter 4

Wrapped tightly in her cloak, she stared off into the narrow sea. She had no tears left to cry, no emotions left to feel.

She had spent hours digging with a sharp rock. When she was satisfied that no animals could reach so far, she'd laid Wilar into the cold ground. Kneeling next to the grave, she'd rummaged through his pack until she found an ornate cloak she had gifted him on his last name day.

As she carefully tucked it all around him, she'd said a silent prayer to all the gods, for she never knew which had been Wilar's. She sat and watched him until the eyes staring into the sky became her father's, the open skin a tear across her mother's throat. The hands laid across his chest became Robb's hands that had ruffled her hair so many times when she was a child. She could hear Wilar's laugh as it transformed into the giggles of Bran and Rickon, when she would play a nasty trick on Sansa. She blinked furiously, but it was no use.

The tears had poured down her cheeks as she cried for everyone she had never mourned. She had never cried for the loss of her parents or her siblings, never wept that Sansa might be gone, or that she might lose Jon beyond The Wall. She hadn't spared much time to remember the faces of everyone in Winterfell that had probably died in the invasion. She couldn't. But as she sat by the grave of her best friend, so close to the home she had shared with all those people, she couldn't help but cry. The tears had continued to fall as she pressed the dirt back into the hole, and placed a pile of rocks to mark her friend's final resting place.

And now she sat alone on the shore of the Narrow Sea, staring at the waves as they came and went. Arya had never been very good at being alone, she was fiercely independent, but she had always had someone around to rely on.It was times like these she wished she had been able to be No One.

She stood from her seat and pulled her hood over her head. Wrapping her cloak tightly around her, she shouldered her pack and took one last look at the grave. Turning her emotionless gaze north, she set out, following the river towards Hornwood.

oOoOoOo

"So, why's 'er wolf wanderin' round on 'er own? Yers is never gone more than a day er two." Edd asked, eyeing the wolves as they trudged along west of the party. Jon followed his gaze.

"Arya chased her away on the King's Road when they were heading to King's Landing. Joffrey wanted her killed for attacking him."

Edd grunted his understanding and turned his attention ahead. Grenn ran up from behind and fell in beside them.

"Two more will lose fingers before the day's done. Another at least his foot, if not the whole leg."

"Stannis's?" Jon asked. Grenn Nodded.

"Bloody idiots that lot…" Edd grumbled. "We told 'em, didn't we? To wear the furs? But no. 'We'll wear the King's Sigil proudly, thank you….. I'll not be caught in a fight with naught but fur to stop a blade'" he imitated. "Fat lot of good any o' that does ye, if you're frozen dead 'fore ye even get there."

Jon sighed as he scanned the landscape before him.

"We'll stop beyond that grove of trees ahead." he decided, nodding towards their destination. "We'll rest, the men can warm themselves, but we break camp and start again before first light. We're close now. I'll not have them knowing we're coming sooner than can be helped." Grenn nodded and turned to go back and relay the message, but Edd spoke up.

"I'll go, 'aven't had a good laugh in days. Might just try strike up a conversation with the one who lost 'is tongue last night." He grinned as he walked away.

"How he's still alive I can't figure." Grenn grimaced at his friend's back. "How close do you suppose we are, then?"

"We'll make it before the next moon." Jon's face set with determination as he watched the wolves from afar. "We have to." Grenn nodded and they marched on in silence.

It had been days since Nymeria appeared, and Jon had become increasingly worried. She seemed more and more on edge the further they traveled and Ghost had picked up on it and followed suit. He couldn't shake the feeling that the wolves' odd behavior had something to do with Arya. She's all right. He forced himself to repeat the mantra over and over as they marched across the snowy plain.

Once they'd reached beyond the grove, the men set about building fires and picking through their rations. Jon walked the camp and made sure that everything was in order. He paused to check on the Watchmen, stopped at the Northmans' camps to see that they had everything they needed and nodded to the commanders in Stannis's ranks, giving them ample time to stop him if they had need of him. He wanted to be alone with his thoughts, but he knew that he had to keep morale up. He had to show the men that everything was going as planned and remind them they were almost there.

With his Lord Commander duties done, he walked to the edge of camp, taking the piece of stale bread and some dried meat that Grenn offered as he passed. He sat in the snow and worked at the meat as he watched the direwolves approaching.

Nymeria's ears perked up and she turned to look south, letting out a low whine. Ghost padded around her a few times and nudged her back towards the camp. She bared her teeth but relented as both wolves turned and continued towards Jon.

Ghost sat beside him, laying his head by Jon's free hand, but Nymeria stopped a few paces out and sat, turning back to stare off to the south.

"Nymeria, come." Jon called, as he scratched behind Ghost's ears. The shewolf turned to Jon with a whine, but wouldn't move. She lay down in the snow and continued to look south. Jon turned to follow her gaze, but all he saw was snow and trees. She's all right.

He tried to distract himself with thoughts of Winterfell but they all seemed to involve Arya in some way or another. He tried thinking of his time with the wildlings but the memory of abandoning Ygritte, though he knew it would probably mean her death, reminded him that he had abandoned Arya to fend for herself after Ned's execution. Try as he might, he could not push the thoughts of her away.

He remembered the night of her seventh name day when she had accidently walked in on Theon and Ros. She'd run to find him in the yard, ranting that a naked woman was trying to kill Theon. Jon had blushed furiously when he tried to explain what had actually been going on, finally giving up and sending her away after she promised to knock at people's doors before she burst in. Then there was Sansa's eleventh name day, when Arya had sweetly dropped a beautifully wrapped box in her sister's lap during her feast. Sansa beamed as she'd tore the ribbons and pulled back the lid only to find slimy frogs bursting to get out. They'd escaped over the table causing Jeyne to spill her soup all over hers and Sansa's feast-day dresses.

He smiled at the image as he remembered his father half-heartedly scolding her while Lady Catelyn dabbed furiously at Sansa's dress, threatening to lock Arya in her room until the next moon if she couldn't behave a proper lady. All the brothers had failed miserably at muffling their laughter.

His smile quickly faded as the thought was replaced with the memory of the last night they had spent together at Winterfell. The night she had found out he was going to take the Black and been so hurt. The night she had touched him like that. And he had liked it, as desperately as he'd wished he hadn't.

He groaned as he passed his hands over his face, trying to repress the memory again. He told himself that they had been two foolish children, lost in confusion and hurt, though he was already a man grown and she had been on the verge of womanhood.

Realizing he would have no more peace as long as he sat there, he stood from the snow and took one last look south before turning to find Grenn and Edd. He would call the commanders to meet so they could discuss the retaking of Winterfell. That is why I'm here, he told himself, though deep down he knew more than anything he had come for Arya.

oOoOoOoOo

It had been almost a fortnight since she'd set out from the coast of the Narrow Sea. She'd slept only when exhaustion threatened to take her over and eaten what little she was able to catch or pick along the way. She had avoided taverns and inns, only venturing near a town once, and only to steal a garron and some furs and supplies from a poorly-manned stable. Arya doubted that anyone could recognize her after so many years, but she had come too far and was too close to risk it, and despite a few close calls, she had reached her destination quicker than she had hoped.

Now, she stood at the edge of Wintertown, her hood pulled down low over her face, staring at the blackened stone and charred wood of Winterfell.

Arya watched as starving families were turned away at the gates, though some of the prettier girls were ripped from their parents arms and dragged away by one soldier or another, all displaying the flayed man of House Bolton. Orphaned children sat huddled against each other, trying to share the warmth of one small fire that burned in a pit just off the road. She closed her eyes and pushed back her anger. I can't help them all, not yet.

As much as she wanted to avoid being recognized, her plan required that she make a choice friend or two, and her best chance of finding what she needed was the Inn.

Motioning to the stable hand who had been watching her, Arya dropped a few coins in the boy's palm and handed over the reins before grabbing her belongings. Once the boy had gone inside, she quickly ducked behind the stable, dropping her packs. She knelt in the snow and dug into it until she reached ground. Removing her gloves, she scraped at the frozen dirt until she had a small handful and smeared it over her face to darken her skin. It was a feeble disguise but she hoped that, together with her years away, she looked different enough to fool any older residents.

Tucking her braid into her wool shirt, she pulled her hood back up and made her way to the Inn where she had seen several soldiers enter not long ago.

"Please, anythin'," a woman stepped in front of her, a small babe in her arms. "the lord won't help us and we've got nothin', they've taken it all. Please." The woman clutched at her arm.

There were so many people around, so many in need, she was afraid that if she helped one, the others would crowd her for more. She couldn't risk that kind of attention.

"Sorry…" She mumbled and shouldered her way past the woman, trying to avoid her pleading stare. She quickened her pace and kept her eyes trained on the ground as she rushed towards the Inn.