"Gods above," Catelyn breathed out, her eyes as wide as dinner plates as she watched Theon flee the room. "What are we to do?"

"I'll go after him," Robb announced, standing quickly and exiting the room before he had fully finished his sentence.

Jon and Sansa were still statuesque, staring at one another in a mild panic. Ned's expression matched his daughters and if Arya hadn't known the gravity of the situation, she would have laughed at how Ned's spoon hung half-way between his open mouth and his bowl; forgotten in the chaos.

"He cannot know! He won't understand!" Sansa cried, scrabbling to get up from her chair and chase down Theon.

Jon caught her hand and pushed her to retake her seat. "Sit. I'll go and make sure Robb hasn't killed him or somethin'," he said gruffly.

Theon, meanwhile, had not gotten very far before he ran into the back of Brienne, sending himself reeling to the floor in a daze.

"What the bloody hell?" Brienne muttered as she turned and looked at who had barged into her. Unlike Theon who was sprawled on the flagstone floor, Brienne had only stumbled forward upon the impact. "Theon?"

"Theon!" Robb's voice carried down the corridor. "It's not what it looks like!"

Brienne rolled her eyes, now familiar with the love-hate relationship the two men shared. She assumed as she knelt down to assess Theon that the eldest Stark and the Greyjoy must have fallen out over something trivial and, like usual, were at each other's throats when that happened.

Robb rounded the corner and stopped, a dull bread knife clutched in his hand. "What the hell?" he said surprised, taking in Theon who was still on the floor. "He's not dead is he?" His eyes widened and he tried to hide the knife in his sleeve when Brienne raised one of her brows.

"I think he knocked himself out, my lord," Brienne said uncertainly. Theon's eyes were closed and he had a visible lump forming on the side of his head. She wished Podrick were by her side as he had always had more knowledge about medicine and healing compared to herself. "Can you call for a servant to bring some cold water," she asked. "That might bring him around."

"Or just use this," Jon said as he appeared over Robb's shoulder with a handful of snow he had scooped off of the nearest window sill.

Robb shrugged and nodded, moving to the side so that Jon could rub the cold snow in Theon's face. It took a few seconds but Theon came round with a gasp and a groan.

"Fuck," he moaned, screwing his eyes shut and patting his head to find the egg-sized lump. "What happened?"

"You ran into me, my lord," Brienne said gently. She pushed off her bent knee and stood up at her full height. Robb and Jon covered their snickers in the collars of their clothes at seeing Theon on the floor and Brienne without a scratch. "Is everything alright?" she asked the two men.

Jon glanced down at Theon who was groaning quietly, an arm thrown over his eyes. "Sansa was becoming hysterical. He saw me kissin' her," he murmured.

"Is Lady Sansa alright?" Brienne asked suddenly, her hand landing on the standard sword she had taken on.

"She's fine now. We just need to figure out what to tell the idiot here," Robb glared down at Theon, kicking him in the ankle lightly.

"The truth is too much I am assuming," Brienne replied and the two young men nodded.

"What you on about?" Theon slurred. "Why am I on the floor?"

"Oh perfect, he can't remember," Robb huffed sarcastically, crossing his arms as Jon and Brienne looked at him incredulously.

It took Robb a few moments before he broke out into a grin. "He can't remember!"

"Who can't remember?" Theon asked.

Jon smirked and offered Theon a hand. He pulled the man up and clapped him on the shoulder. "Let's get you to Maester Luwin. That bump may just kill you," he joked.

"We can only hope," Robb jested as he slung one of Theon's arms around his neck.

"Robb," Jon warned.

Robb held up his hands, remembering only at the last second that he was supporting the dizzy Theon and the Greyjoy nearly collapsed back into a heap on the floor before Robb grabbed him again. "Joking, you know I am. Anyway, what would I do without him?" He nudged Theon's head with his own.

"Fuck!" Theon groaned as Robb hit the lump. "You mug."

"See, we complete each other, don't we Greyjoy?" Robb added with a fond smile. "You're probably concussed or something."

"My Lord," Brienne began as she watched the two stumbled towards the Maester. "I know as well as anyone that you don't have to be a wolf to belong in Winterfell. There are always going to be those seeking shelter and a home in the den. Those who are just as important to the pack."

Robb looked at the Lady with quizzical eyes.

"The lone wolf dies," he said slowly. Robb nodded tightly and turned away, helping Theon walk. The two left in the corridor watched them until they disappeared down one of the hallways.

"Are you sure Sansa is alright?" Brienne said suddenly.

Jon's smile dropped instantly. "She will be eventually." He seemed to age in front of Brienne as his shoulders slumped and his thick brows drew together.

"She is strong Jon."

"I know. The Red Wolf will always lead. She just needs time."


Arya slipped out of Ned's solar soon after Jon had left.

She had somewhere to be and someone to see.

The walk to the forge made her skin erupt in anxious energy. She felt as though her hair was crackling and standing on end with every footstep and her stomach was knotting itself tightly.

The fires of the forge were already lit despite the early hour and the small outdoor area was sweltering with heat. The snowflakes melted on her cheeks as she slipped past a mucky worker and hid behind one of the support beams holding up the slanted roof of the open forge.

Despite his difference in age and appearance, Arya's eyes immediately found Gendry. He was working without a shirt and already his back was shining with sweat and soot.

He was hammering away at a dented chest plate, the rhythmic clang of metal on metal lulling Arya into a sense of calm.

Dragonglass was a temperamental material at the best of times and Gendry had spent countless hours ruining chips of the precious weapon, trying to figure out the best way to fashion delicate but strong arrowheads.

The warmth of the forge meant that he was surrounded by the majority of those who could wield a hammer despite it being the middle of the night. There seemed to be a constant buzz of activity within Winterfell's forge as it was arguably the warmest place in the North since the unforgiving Winter had descended.

"You are supposed to be sleeping," Arya's smooth voice cut through the tinkering of the hammers and it took all of Gendry's self-perseverance not to jump at the sudden appearance of the young Stark.

"So are you, Lady Stark," he replied, allowing Arya to take the half-formed arrowhead from his fingers.

"Don't call me that," she warned but the bite she had used to deliver it with had disappeared over the years and it was simply a fond retort to an overused jest.

Gendry watched as she flipped the dragonglass between her gloved fingertips. He was transfixed as she held it between two fingers, looking through the grass into the flames of the forge. Arya's other hand was resting on her Valyrian dagger like always and an idea struck him.

"Pass me that," he said, sliding his hand down over her arm slowly and pulling the hilt free from her belt.

"It's rude to take a lady's sword," Arya teased, leaning back into his chest as he came closer to her, still looking at the glass in her hand.

"You're no Lady," he breathed into the shell of her ear.

Gendry carefully pulled the dagger free and took the hunk of glass from her fingers. She was still stood with her back to his chest, his arms encased around her, content in watching him work out whatever he had been mulling over.

Gendry held the glass like Arya had, between his thumb and index finger, and he slowly pressed the blade to the edge, cutting a smooth chip off as though it were an over-ripe fruit. They both watched it fall to the floor and bounce on the soil a few times.

"Valryian steel," he said in awe.

"Finally worked out how to arm the living then," Arya said with a smile.

"Let's go to bed."

"The best thing you've said all day."

Gendry had finished repairing the armour and had moved on to straightening out a bent dagger blade. Arya watched with careful eyes as he dipped the hot metal into a bucket of snowy water and listened to it sizzle and hiss.

Gendry flipped the handle of the blade with his fingers and sent the small knife twirling over his thumb and into his palm, ready to fight, just like she did.

"Impressive," Arya found herself saying. She stepped out from her hiding space and smirked as Gendry's shoulders lurched as he jumped. The knife clattered onto the workbench.

"You scared me, my Lady," Gendry said quickly, scrambling to pick the blade back up but Arya was quicker.

"Don't call me that," she said reflexively. Arya took a slow breath and flipped the knife in the same way Gendry had. "You traveled from King's Landing to Winterfell at the request of a man you have never met."

Gendry shuffled back from the workbench and pulled on his overshirt and jerkin once more. He nodded, still watching the knife in Arya's hands be expertly moved across her knuckles and fingers.

"I did."

"Why?"

"What? Besides the threat that had been written into it?"

"You and I both know that you would have come, threat or not," she said and Gendry looked up sharply, his brown eyes meeting hers as his brows quirked. "So why?"

Arya waited with bated breath for him to reply. She knew she looked like the scrawny child she had been when they had first met, not the confident warrior he had come to love. She hadn't dared to think about what would happen if he didn't remember her. If he didn't know her. She needed to know but she didn't want to.

Gendry's tongue darted out and he wet his lips as he studied her face.

"A feeling, m'lady. I rode out because I had a feeling that I was supposed to be here. In the North."

"With you," she wished he had added but he didn't.

Arya didn't know whether to tell him all she knew. She wished she had spoken to Sansa about her worries but the person she had usually spoken to about things like that in her last life was the one person in front of her who she wasn't sure knew her anymore.

"My name is Arya Stark," she said slowly.

"I know. My name is Gendry Waters," he replied. "Nice sword you have there. Skinny too," he added, motioning to Needle's hilt.

Arya looked down at the gold reflecting the forge's flames. "Its called-"

"Needle. I know."


A month later

The lords and ladies descended upon Winterfell a moon's turn later for Sansa's fourteenth name day.

Catelyn had conceded to her daughter's request and scaled back on the feasts and costs of the celebrations. The smallfolk and castle enjoyed a generous meal on her name day and then the leftovers were shared between the Keep.

The Northen houses gifted the young Stark with expensive fabrics and materials, along with more exotic plants for the glass gardens and several lords had sent their heirs to Winterfell for the nameday feasts to try and ask for her hand. Jon, Arya, and Brienne had hardly left her side.

The only time during the week-long celebrations that Brienne left her Lady had been when riders from House Mormont arrived with two of the Mormont girls. Dacey and Alysane Mormont arrived bearing gifts for the young Stark and had promptly gotten into a fight with a drunk bannerman too deep in his cups as soon as they entered the Great Hall.

The Starks were sat at the high table, each facing out over the rest of the hall, with Ned and Cat in the center and the children sitting on either side of their parents. Sansa, Arya, and Bran were on Cat's side whilst Robb, Jon and Theon were on Ned's. The unified family, with bastard and ward included, was a purposeful seating arrangement by Catelyn and all watched as the two girls got into some trouble at the back of the Hall.

"Sister, please," Alysane sighed as Dacey held a knife to the drunk's throat. He had slapped her arse as she had walked past and the eldest Mormont did not take kindly to the gesture.

"Lady Mormont," Brienne called, leaving Sansa's side to ensure that peace remained. "May I be of some assistance?"

"And you are?" Dacey asked, not even glancing at the woman.

"Sister..." Alysane warned.

"Lady Brienne of Tarth. Lady Sansa's sworn sword, my Lady," she said calmly. "Please remove yourself from the man and put your knife away. This is a time of celebration."

Dacey turned and looked up at Brienne in shock. "You're Brienne of Tarth?"

"I apologize," Alysane said with another deep sigh. "She thinks before she listens or speaks."

Brienne shook her head in reassurance. "I am, my Lady and there is no need to apologize."

"Fucking hell!" Dacey said with a wide grin, dropping the drunken man back onto his chair without a second thought. "I've heard stories about you since I was Lyanna's age."

Brienne's cheeks tinged pink and she shifted her stance.

"I would love to spar with you one day if you would have me," Dacey said suddenly. "Wait! We have gifts for Lady Sansa."

Brienne looked over her shoulder to see Arya and Sansa watching them with quirked lips from the high table. Brienne had never met either Mormont girl in her last life but she knew Dacey had died at the Red Wedding with Robb. These were loyal allies of House Stark and all of the Starks sat upon the high table knew it. Ned and Catelyn were talking quietly, Catelyn's eyes not leaving the two newcomers and Robb was staring at Dacey with intense eyes as Jon and Theon attempted to engage him in conversation without success.

"My Ladies, if you would like to follow me," Brienne said with a dipped head as Sansa motioned subtly for them to approach. She turned and led the two through the busy hall.

Robb leant forwards and caught his sister's eye. "What are you planning?"

"Nothing. The Mormont girls bent the knee for you, not I."

Robb sat back as Sansa smiled as Brienne announced their guests.

"Ladies Dacey and Alysane Mormont," she returned to her previous position of guarding near the wall, leaving the two girls alone in front of the family.

Alysane climbed up onto the small platform and handed a cotton-wrapped gift over to Sansa with a smile. "For the Red Wolf on her nameday," she beamed.

"Red Wolf?" Catelyn inquired.

Alysane's soft features turned into a mask of unease. "I apologize if I have spoken out of turn. The name has travelled across the North and reached us. We assumed it to be a name of respect, at least that was how it was spoken to us. The smallfolk use it."

"We have not heard it spoken by someone outside of Winterfell, that is all," Ned reassured her as Sansa pulled apart the cloth.

A small wooden carving sat nestled between the fabric. It was a thick slice of a tree trunk in which a howling direwolf stood tall in front of a snarling bear, all carved elegantly into the wood.

"My younger sister Lyra carved it. She is handy with a knife when she wants to be," Alysane joked back to Dacey who rolled her eyes.

"It seems all younger sisters are like that," Sansa replied, knocking Arya's boot with her own under the table. "It is beautiful and I will happily display this within my chambers, thank you."

"Let's have a look," Theon said further down the table and Sansa handed the wooden carving down to her brothers. As it traveled down, Dacey's eyes followed it until they landed on Robb.

"Shamelessly, we have also come inland for another reason," she said slowly as Aly returned to her side. "We are both of age now and have come to pledge our swords to House Stark."

Ned's eyebrows disappeared into his hairline. The two girls were barely out of their teens. Alysane was shorter than her sister but had defined arms underneath her bear furs and armour. Dacey, on the other hand, was tall and willowy, wearing an amalgamation of armour and formal wear all covered with a bearskin cloak. She seemed to be wearing a Northen style dress but it had been cut in the skirts so that her trouser covered legs could be seen. He couldn't deny that they looked capable but they were still children in his eye.

"My Ladies," he began but Catelyn rested her hand on his, effectively silencing him.

"Who would you be laying down your swords for? The Starks are large and whilst we may not all share the Stark name, those sitting at this table are wolves. Can a bear defend a Kraken or a bastard if needs be?"

Jon and Theon looked over at Lady Stark as if she had grown a second head. Jon was still getting used to the civility between himself and Catelyn whereas Theon had never heard her refer to him as a part of the family before.

Dacey narrowed her eyes at the spluttering Greyjoy but she turned back to Catelyn. "House Mormont is loyal to the Starks. Every last one of them."

"As my lady wife said," Ned continued, "our pack is large and diverse. We aren't just wolves here."

Aly dropped to one knee before them and set her sword down on the floor. "House Mormont is loyal to House Stark, whoever they deemed them to be." Dacey followed, sweeping her long skirt away by the split at the side, her trouser covered legs appearing as the material fell away as she knelt beside her sister.

"House Stark accepts you, Lady Alysane and Lady Dacey," Ned said after several moments, finally satisfied. He stood up from his chair and lifted his tankard of mead high. The room quieted instantly, mimicking his movements. A server rushed forward and handed two tankards to the Mormont girls. Ned waited for him to return to the side of the hall, a tankard of his own lifted high. Everyone within the Great Hall's walls, from bannermen, Lords, and Ladies to the smallfolk and servants of the Keep were stood, glasses raised in a toast.

"The lone wolf dies but the pack survives. It is these words I tell my children and it is these words we Starks live by. Not all of you here are wolves, but those loyal to the pack are protected by the pack." He paused and let the words sink in. "To my daughter, the Red Wolf of Winterfell. To Sansa!"

"To Sansa!" came the chorus replied.

"Long live the Pack!" cried out several more after they took hearty gulps. "Long live the Pack!"


"The big woman is training the smallfolk in the yard," Tormund said to Jon in passing. "She's got Arya and the two Bears with her."

Jon grinned. "I pray I am never on any of their bad sides."

"There's only one woman you want punishing you," Tormund replied.

"Not here!"

"There is no one around!" Tormund laughed as Jon's cheeks darkened. His facial hair was slowly coming in more and more but the Wild Man couldn't look past Jon's youthfulness. "Go to her now."

"We have to be chaperoned," Jon told him with a groan.

Tormund's grin was from ear-to-ear. "I can chaperone."

"No you can't," Jon replied instantly. "You will just wander off and watch Brienne."

"Exactly."

Jon was silent for a few moments. "Alright. We will be in the Godswood."

"Is that not a holy place for you?"

"Yes? So"

Tormund shrugged, already walking towards the training yard where the women were fighting. "Just thought it would be wrong the fuck around in front of your gods."

"Fuck sake!" Jon said, exasperated. "We aren't!"

"Then somethings wrong with you!" Tormund shouted in reply.


Arya had been avoiding the forge as though it held the plague. She had panicked the day she had spoken to Gendry and left without looking back, accidentally taking the dagger with her. It small and precise with a sharp edge and a smooth handle and it reminded her of one she had seen in the House of Black and White.

"Do they have to be dead?" Sansa asked one night as Arya explained her idea. She was going to wear a face, talk more to Gendry and see if he truly remembered and talk more with Theon. The idea hadn't unnerved Sansa as much as Arya thought it would. Her sister had made her promise not to cross her path when she was wearing the face and Arya agreed.

"I'm not sure you'd want to be walking around without a face," Arya quipped. "I'll head down to Wintertown tomorrow night."

"I think this is a horrible idea."

"Brienne will be with me," Arya said as she slipped the dagger into the leather belt wrapped around her waist.

"Take Tormund and Robb with you," Sansa advised. "If Robb is there, Theon will surely follow."

Arya nodded tightly. She no longer minded Sansa's overbearing need to ensure her safety but it still made her skin itch. She didn't want Robb to be near her when she took on whoever's face. They were slowly becoming closer but it was still tentative and fragile.

"Robb won't like it," she warned her sister.

Sansa waved her hand. "He won't know. Go down with Brienne before and procure your face, then Tormund and the boys will arrive and you can do whatever it is you do," she finished, her nose scrunching up as she said it.

The following night

Arya was tucked into a borrowed cloak, silently following Brienne's tall shadow as they trekked through Wintertown. The smallfolk moved aside as Brienne, dressed as Bannerman, entered the Smoking Log inn.

She haled the innkeeper for a mug of warm ale and nodded to the small figure following her, letting Arya know that she was free to find her face.

Arya turned on her heel and left the inn. The neat rows of huts and houses were slowly filling up with families as the mild Northen summer shifted into cool autumn. There were fires raging in the hearths, illuminating the smallfolk as they settled down for the night.

There was one house with a blacken, chared plank of wood nailed to the open door and Arya went straight for it. The mourning family was gathered around the body of a young lady who was lying prone on the table dressed in her finest clothes.

One by one, the mourners were standing by her side, stroking her face and whispering prayers to the old gods. Arya was at the back of the makeshift line, waiting her turn patiently. As the man in front of her cried and stroked the dead woman's face, Arya slipped the blade free and began to think about how she would undertake the task of taking the face.

"The pyre is finished Esobel," a man said somberly as he shuffled into the house and laid a hand on a stout, elder woman's shoulder. "We should move her before those at the tavern come stumbling home too deep in their cups."

Esobel, the woman Arya assumed to be the dead girl's mother, sighed deeply and nodded. Arya stepped back, letting Esobel stand beside her daughter. It made her chest tighten as the mother placed a gentle hand on the dead girl's pale skin.

"Whoring was no way for her to live," lamented the matron. "She should have worked within the Castle."

"She put food in our bellies and wood on the fire my dear. We cannot fault how she lived her life, not whilst she lies dead," the older man replied.

Arya mentally took note of the house and the family and vowed she would send some coin down for those the girl had left behind. They would not go hungry just as winter was on the cusp of its arrival.

"Alright. Let's move her."

"I can help," Arya said quickly, volunteering herself and situating herself near the dead girl's head. Along with the girl's father and brothers, Arya tried to shoulder the weight of the table but she was too short and had to resign in just following as they left the house for the pyre behind the home.

She watched as they slid the dead girl off of the table and onto the makeshift pyre. It wasn't as tall as the ones Arya had become used to seeing in her last life. The amount of wood given to the funeral pyre would have fed the family's fire for a month or two and the loss was sure to be felt as Autumn arrived.

"Wait, ma'am, I haven't said goodbye," Arya said quickly, realizing that her chance had appeared right before her.

Esobel looked down at Arya suspiciously. "Never knew you knew my Palina." Arya waited with bated breath. "I won't deny you," Esobel said and she let her approach the body.

Arya walked over and had to crouch so that she could bend over the girl's, Palina's, face, shielding it from her grieving parents. With careful fingers, she slid the blade out from her sleeve and as she thanked the girl for her face, Arya expertly sliced through the skin and pocketed the bloody face. With blood-stained fingertips, Arya scattered Palina's hair over where her features had been.

As soon as Arya stood up, a flaming torch hit the dried wood and engulfed the body. Arya turned and fled, fighting through the smallfolk on the muddy road back towards the inn.

She saw Brienne sitting at the back of the inn, a head and shoulder above those who seemed to have crowded around her. Tormund and Theon were by her side and Arya elbowed through the crowd.

Before they saw her, she slipped Palina's face over her own and rolled her shoulders. When she caught Brienne's shocked, wide eyes, Arya was no longer standing in the crowded tavern.

Theon felt Brienne's arm tense and he looked up, following her gaze and seeing the short woman coming towards them. He thought he knew her but he couldn't put his finger on who she was.

"I'm looking for the new Smith," the girl said and Theon frowned. Gendry had been dragged to winter town by Tormund and he was nursing a tankard of mead nearer to the fire. Theon pointed the girl in his direction as Robb handed him another horn of wine.

"Who was that?" Robb asked as he sat down. He took a sip of his wine and smacked his lips.

"Not sure," Theon replied. "Went looking for the new smithy."

Robb snorted. "Let's hope Arya doesn't hear about th-" he began to say but he stopped himself and paled. "How tall was she?"

"Huh? I dunno. Short."

Robb nodded slowly and downed half of his drink as Theon laughed without truly knowing what was going on.

Gendry didn't think he would ever get used to the cold of the North. The forge at Winterfell kept him warm during the day and the hot springs under the castle ensure he was semi-warm at night, but he couldn't deny he was missing the sweltering heat of the South.

"Snow getting to ya?" a girl said as she appeared by his elbow.

Gendry jumped and looked down at her. "I'm not from the North so yeah," he joked. "I'm-"

"The new smithy. I know."

Gendry nodded into his tankard and took a sip. "The North seems to know a lot," he mused.

"So do you if words can be believed," the girl said. "Palina."

"Gendry."

"How do you know the Starks? They hand pick those who work in Winterfell," Palina asked him and Gendry shrugged, used to the Northen way of saying directly what you wanted.

"I knew one of his daughters a long time ago. I don't think she remembers me now." Gendry glanced down into his mug at the thought and when he looked back he was staring in the eyes of Arya Stark.

"That was all you ever had to say," she told him as he dropped the mug. It clattered and soaked his feet as he stared at her in shock.

"Fucking hell Arya!" Gendry knew all about Arya's ability to become another but he had never gotten used to seeing her pull off the features of a stranger like a mask and melt back into herself.

"All this time, you knew and you never thought to come and find me?" she growled and Gendry's mouth hung open.

"Me?" He spluttered in disbelief. "I don't remember seeing you come rushing to talk to me."

"Because I didn't know if you remembered or not!" Arya cried in response.

"How was I supposed to tell you if I never saw you!" Gendry roared in her face.

"Little Wolf! What are you doing here? What's that?" Tormund's loud voice cut through their intense glaring and Arya quickly stuffed the face into her pocket. Most of the tavern's occupants were watching the pair with quick eyes as their argument had increased in volume.

"Nothing."

"Arya?" Robb asked, blinking slowly as he stood up and swayed slightly. "You should be at home."

"So should you," she replied. "Father will have your head so you better walk me back."

Gendry reached out and grabbed her sleeve, stopping her from slipping back into the crowd who slowly got back to their drinks.

"I remember everything. The white-walkers, the dragon glass and you," he said softly.

"You remember who I used to be. I'm eleven again," she faltered.

"And I'm barely fourteen. We aren't the people we were but we know what we experienced," he told her gently. Gendry was unsure of himself. He didn't know how to act around her. "I don't know what to say," he said truthfully. "I know it's you but you look like a child."

"You could say the same thing about yourself," Arya replied, insulted.

Gendry laughed in frustration. "I meant we were in love and now you don't look like the child version of you I knew. Does that make sense?"

Arya's dark brows quirked. "No."

"In our last life we didn't meet for another year or so, maybe less, and by then all those things had happened and you were pretending to be a boy."

Arya smirked. "Does that change some things? Do I have to be a boy to win your favor again?" she teased.

"You haven't lost my favor," he replied earnestly. "I just feel as though we should get to know one another again."

"Who said anything about that? I'm young again? What makes you think I want to be saddled in life with you once more?" Arya asked and Gendry thought she was serious for half a second before he saw the teasing smile.

"I can make your weapons," he whispered as though he were promising her the world.

Arya tapped her chin and pretended to mull of the proposition. "There are several others who could do that."

"Not like I could. I will forge that spear you used to talk about," he told her.

"Finally get around to it in this life then? That's a big promise," she laughed as Robb finally stumbled through the crowd to their side.

"If my Lady commands it," was all Gendry said and he was out of her reach before she could punch his arm. "That's not very ladylike."

"She's not a lady," Robb told him as he slung an arm around his sister. "Come on, we're all going back. He remembers then."

Gendry looked at each Stark in shock. "You remember?"

"All of us do except Theon. Brienne and the Wildling included," Robb slurred. "Suppose we were brothers in the last life, you know before I died."

"Robb," was all Arya said as she led them through the tavern towards Brienne. "Ignore him."

Gendry nodded uneasily. "Right. Sure," he muttered to himself as they left for Winterfell.


Six months had come and gone and it was coming up to a full year since the Starks had woken up. The glass gardens were up and running, producing more food than was needed for both Winterfell and winter town and the cooks were slowly filling up the freshly repaired Broken Tower with supplies for the winter.

The smallfolk had been training with Brienne and numbers to the Starks' bannermen had swelled to accommodate the women.

Sansa had slowly grown taller than her mother and taken on more duties than ever before. She had begun corresponding with the Tyrells of Highgarden after receiving several seeds for her glass gardens.

Gendry and Arya practised their sword skills under the watchful eye of Ned who had taken to watching over his keep in the afternoons with his wife at his side.

Little Rickon was beginning to form words and sentences to the delight of his siblings but he usually just mumbled and butchered the names of his sisters. He seemed to have taken delight in saying Sansa's name with a beaming, toothy smile whenever he saw her, much to the annoyance of the others.

Jon, Robb, and Theon began filling out and were looking more like men, soldiers, and kings than ever before. Their facial hair had filled out and Jon's curls had grown long as Sansa had preferred.

Robb spent more time training with the bannermen and the smallfolk than he had before as Bran scaled the castle walls, more sure of his footing than ever before.

It was a cool, sunny morning when he dropped down from the roof of the forge to startled his mother and father who were ambling across the yard, arm in arm, with Rickon perched on his mother's hip.

"Today is the day," he said cryptically and Catelyn shushed him and pulled him close, running her fingers over the soot that had managed to stick to his cheek. She handed the wiggling Rickon to Ned who set him on one shoulder with a grin.

"Even the Three-Eyed Raven cannot escape his mother's hand," Ned joked as Bran squirmed uncharacteristically and Rickon babbled. As Ned laughed at his children's antics, Ser Rodrik approached with a grim expression.

"My Lord, a deserter from the watch has been found," he said somberly and Ned looked down at Bran with a tired expression. He handed Rickon back to Catelyn with a frown.

"How I wish you had been wrong and the peace could remain," he told his son before turning to Rodrik. "Gather all of my children and have their horses ready to be mounted."

"Ned," Catelyn hesitated, transferring Rickon from one hip to the other. "Is this really for the best? They are so young."

"It was their decision, my love," Ned reminded her as he rubbed Rickon's chubby cheek. The Stark children had unanimously decided to be there whenever the deserter from the Watch showed up.

"Sansa..." Catelyn began.

"Saw her fair share before," Bran told his mother. "Arya did her fair share."

"Bran," Ned chastised.

Ned's shoulders dropped. "He is right Cat. They are not the children they were. When we get back we will have the pups. We need to decide the next course of action tonight."

Catelyn's lips pursed. "I will have your solar set up for sup. Come straight there when you get back," she told him. Ned nodded and pressed a soft kiss to her lips and then dropped one onto Rickon's curly head.

"Come on Bran," Ned warned his son as the rest of his pack appeared in the yard. Arya and Sansa were dressed in woollen breeches rather than skirts as if they knew they were going to be riding that morning. "This will not be any easier the second time around I fear."


AN: sorry for so long between updates. Just finished uni for the summer so more should be coming quicker than before!

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