Winterfell was less than an hour away and Jon sat in the back of the wagon across from his little sister, white fluffs of snow dancing in the evening air. He knew she wasn't thrilled about their methods of transportation but with Arya just starting to walk around the other night, there was no chance she'd be riding a horse. Their wagon was not one you'd expect to see a King riding in either, it was more the type you'd store your food and tents, but they hadn't exactly brought a chariot along with them. Instead, they both sat in the middle of the line of soldiers, rocking in the wagon for all to see.

With every large bump in the road, he thought her breath caught a little, thought her lips twitched ever so slightly. But if Arya was in any pain, she never said a word about it. Her expression revealing nothing of her true feelings as she watched the trees. He didn't know what she was looking for. The bruises around her face had begun to fade, even the cut on her lip was nearly healed. Only the scratch that laid horizontally across her cheek lingered like a stubborn drunk. Arya glanced down at her gloved hand, flexing her grip with the slightest of frowns.

"How's your finger?"

"Better."

Her blank stare went back to searching the forests and he fought back his own frown. She'd been quiet all morning, never using more than a few words to answer a question, yet he couldn't think of any reason Arya had to be upset with him. Whenever Sansa was angry with Jon, she'd give him the cold shoulder, speaking to him with short sentences or simply ignoring him. Sansa and he didn't fight often but when they did, he was always surprised by her fierceness. The girl he'd known from childhood had been much softer, even to those she didn't like. Sansa…

Jon scoffed to himself and it was enough to gain Arya's attention. "What?"

"You're nervous."

"Do I look nervous?"

She hadn't. Her dark eyes were clear and no part of her fidgeted to give away her discomfort. Her expression was calm and if he didn't understand the feeling himself, he never would have guessed. But the twisting of his stomach that grew and grew in the days leading up to the barn, leading to the moment he thought he might see Arya again, was still fresh in his memory. "Not even a little bit."

She nodded slowly, studying the scenery one last time before giving into conversation. "The last time I saw Sansa…" she sighed and held her eyes closed a moment longer than necessary. "The last time I spoke to Sansa, we weren't on the best of terms."

"I think she still feels terrible about choosing Joffrey's side."

"She told you about it?"

He nodded. "About what happened to Lady, and the butcher's son you'd become friends with."

"Mycah." She muttered. "His name was Mycah."

"Are you still upset with her?" He didn't think she was the type to hold a grudge after so long, but that could have changed.

"No, I forgave her a long time ago, before I even thought to forgive myself. I was the one who hit Joffrey over the back of the head…not that he didn't deserve it."

He grinned slightly "I wish I'd gotten the chance to do that myself."

Jon watched as her eyes drifted behind him and turned his head to see what had caught her eye. Jaime Lannister smiled at them, with a grin that seemed almost too sincere to be true. He gave them a mocking salute and Jon watched as Arya smiled back, a glint in her eyes he couldn't explain. "He seems friendly." The image of him and his little sister whispering in the dark still left Jon with bothersome questions.

"You don't trust him." What could have been a question was more of an observation coming from her.

"You do?" She tilted her head and eyed the Lannister again and he continued. "I know he gave you that sword but that doesn't change who he was in the past."

"It doesn't." The sadness in her gaze gave him pause. "None of us can change what we've done. And he might smile like he's in on some joke but he's still grieving for Brienne." Jon knew who Arya was talking about, the bodies that had been hanged by the brotherhood before his arrival. His men had cut them down and burned the woman and young boy with the rest. "And if you need help not hating him, he did save my life in a way."

"I'll admit, that helps." He smiled softly. "But you still didn't say if you trusted him."

"The only person I trust right now is you." Arya pulled her cloak tighter around herself. "I haven't collected as many reliable friends as you have over the years."

Despite the chilly wind, her words warmed him, but the thought she didn't have anyone didn't. "You used to be friends with everyone."

She scoffed. "Not everyone, Jeyne hated me." Jon's stomach sank at the name, he'd completely forgotten about her and Theon. "What's wrong?"

He hesitated a moment, but there would be no avoiding this conversation, like so many others. Especially with Jeyne Pool and Theon Greyjoy right over the hill they were currently climbing. He launched into the explanation of who Ramsey had really married, and of the boy from their childhood that had been kept a prisoner there. By the time he'd finished, he had no idea what Arya thought, something that was becoming consistent for him.

"Theon's in Winterfell. Alive. After everything he's done?" There was no guessing anymore, she was angry.

"Ramsey put him through hell Arya, there's no point in killing someone who's already broken."

"Sounds like it'd be a mercy then."

He sat back. "You don't mean that."

Her glare was just as fierce as her sister's or mothers ever was, something she'd never used on him before. "And why wouldn't I? If he'd never turned his cloak, it could have changed everything."

"We don't know that."

Her smile was bitter. "You know he might not be the one who put a sword through Robb's heart, but he still stabbed him in the back."

Jon's tone was firm. "Theon isn't who he was before, and I'm not having him executed. None of us can change what we've done, remember?"

In his experience using someone's own words against them often left them even angrier than before, but Arya seemed calmed by them. Her shoulders relaxed and her glare faded when she looked away. After a moment she replied, but the words seemed to take effort. "You're right."

Her anger wasn't misplaced, he knew that. He'd wanted Theon dead for years before he'd seen the man again. He'd just never thought Arya had felt the same way. And why wouldn't she? He had to stop thinking of her as some innocent nine-year-old girl who'd never dare to hurt a fly. Not even Rickon was that innocent anymore, and Arya had experienced years more of this ugly world than him.

He knew she wasn't a stranger to violence, he'd seen that when he'd found her. Close to death and surrounded by it. But when Jon had thought Rickon was dead, he never had to wonder where he'd been or the things he could have seen. And for some reason in his mind, Arya had been someplace safe or dead, he hadn't considered either of them facing the kinds of adversity he had. Never imagined Rickon killing a man as a child or being raised by foreign savages. Now as he sat across from the sister he hadn't seen in more than half a decade, he yearned to know the demons she faced, the ones that seemed to keep her up at night. Arya never spoke of her nightmares, but the shadows under her eyes said enough. Is it the night I found her that haunts her dreams, or some other horror?

Arya seemed impatient when she glanced back at him; he'd been staring. "Look I'll try and forgive him okay? But it won't be overnight."

"I don't expect you to forgive him."

"I'll try anyway." She wrung her gloved hands "Tell me about Val."

"Val?" she nodded "Why?"

"Because I'm nervous like you said and wouldn't mind a distraction." She shrugged. "She's a Wildling, but I doubt you brought her to fight for my freedom because she doesn't even have a sword. She helped Wolkan, but she doesn't have any notable knowledge of medicine. Is she an advisor?"

Jon took a moment to think. "Val was the sister of Dalla, Mance Rayder's wife who died in childbirth. Then she was Stannis's prisoner until he died…after everything none of the Wildlings were going to my prisoners. Most everyone thinks she should be married off to strengthen relations between the North and the Wildlings, but Val's not having any of it and I doubt anyone could make her if they tried. She offered to come with me and if I didn't find you or found…something worse. I could use all the support I could get."

Arya smiled softly. "You brought her for support." He frowned at her smile thinking she was making the same assumption that Sansa had made. They have more in common than they used to, seeing things that aren't there. She looked thoughtful "So she doesn't want to marry."

Jon didn't feel like explaining the Wildlings tendencies towards rape and stealing of their paramours. "Wildling culture…is different than ours."

She nodded. "I was thinking of what Tormund said the other night when he was drunk." His skin crawled at the memory, he'd been unexplainably angry with his friend for bringing up the idea of Arya having someone else in her bed. Jon sat up, his skin raising in temperature despite the cold. Why is she bringing this up? He thought she might have caught on to his sudden discomfort for she rushed on "It just made me think of marriage is all."

Her explanation didn't put him at ease at all. "Do you…want to marry?"

Her frown seemed to match his own, "I never considered it. I…when we were young, being married off was my greatest fear." she smiled a little as if amused by the thought, but it faded quickly. "But after everything…,I'd completely dismissed the idea. I didn't think…I'd ever live that kind of life. And everything's different but being in the positions we're in, there're expectations."

"If you think I'd make you marry some stranger over expectations, I'm offended that you've completely forgotten who I am." He couldn't help but grin at the absurdity of it.

She gave him another soft smile before looking at her hands. "It's just been so long. People change."

Jon watched her stare at her own hands, the dark leather gloves sliding back and forth, and his heart tightened. He reached over and took one of her hands in his own, being sure to take the one without the broken finger. She glanced up with serious dark eyes. "I haven't changed that much, I swear."

Arya studied his hand in hers "and what of how much I've changed?"

"Of course you've changed, Arya, the last time I saw you, you were a child."

With what might have been a forced smiled she pulled her hand back. "There're things I need to tell you." He nodded seriously, thinking of how she'd yet to tell him of anyone she'd lived with over the years. "Lady Stoneheart didn't die in the fire."

He wasn't expecting that. "Jaime said she did."

"He implied she did yes, but…" her gaze stared at the space beside him. "I killed her." Jon watched as her eyes flicked to his as if weighing his reaction. "That's why the Brotherhood held me prisoner, not for my name, but for what I'd done. It's why Lem beat me and why they were going have me hanged."

Arya had killed Lady Stoneheart. Jon's head spun at the thought. The woman who wanted him dead, who'd claimed to have organized the murder of House Frey, who seemed to want House Stark to rise again. Everything he knew or learned about this Lady Stoneheart made no sense at all. "Why?"

"Because of what she did to Brienne and Pod…she'd become a monster…" her voice was a whisper as one of her hands touched the faded yellowish marks around her neck briefly. "and when she grabbed me I thought…I thought she was going to kill me."

"It's okay, I understand." It seemed Arya had wanted Theon dead but bringing up the killing of someone had left her eyes haunted. "You have no reason to feel guilty about defending yourself."

"There's more." She whispered but didn't rush to tell him what it was, so he thought he might be able to find the courage to tell her his own secret.

"There's something I need to tell you too, before someone else does it for me." He cleared his throat, his mouth suddenly dry. I died once… but just as he thought to say something, they reached the top of the hill, the shadows of Winterfell's towers standing black against the setting sun.

It still hurt to breath, and it still hurt to walk. But Arya would not be carried back into Winterfell. The snow had begun to rescind, and the air tasted like a breath of ice, like home. Jon walked beside her, and instead of using her new and improved walking stick; an actual stick this time with a rounded end that fit well in her hand. She held onto Jon's arm, all the while wondering what he thought of her now. Telling him that she'd been the one to kill Lady Stoneheart was a weight off her shoulders, but there was still so much he didn't know. So much she wasn't sure she had the heart to tell him.

As the heavy gate was pulled open, her stomach was more than hurting. The moment held a blurry cloud around it, resembling a dream so much her head spun. Blinking the feeling away she let Jon led her, leaning on him as they walked. The wildlings and soldiers were pressed in around them as they moved, and then they cleared, giving her a better view of the courtyard.

Sansa Stark stood in the center; gloved hands held together with twiddling thumbs. Her navy-blue dress covered whatever shoes she wore, and a dark speckled grey fur hung over her shoulders. Her lovely face held an uncertainty Arya felt twisting in her stomach, one that didn't leave when her sister's blue eyes met hers. Sansa really did have the eyes of their mother, not Lady Stonehearts but Catylen's. Stoneheart's eyes had been tainted with a grey shade of death, where Sansa's were bright with life and emotion.

"It's really you." She said softly, blue eyes staring like she never thought she'd see her sister again.

"Expecting someone else?" Arya asked almost timidly. She wasn't used to feeling nervous so often, to feeling so much so often. But the family she'd felt safe with once were now strangers, strangers who she knew couldn't anticipate the person she'd become.

"What happened to you?" Her sister looked her up and down.

Arya ignored her question and hugged her instead. Sansa's hands were firm but gentle, and she noted that she hadn't even asked Jon where it was her their sister had been. Sansa had escaped the Lannisters, possibly killed Joffrey, and somehow had helped Jon take back the Winterfell. It was a story she wanted to hear.

When Arya stepped back the boy standing behind her sister caught her eye. "Rickon." She blurted. He looked nothing like how she remembered. His dark eyes were stuck somewhere between a grey or blue, his mop of messy hair a dark auburn.

His gaze searched her up and down, suspicious and unsatisfied. "I don't recognize you."

"Rickon." Sansa hissed disapprovingly but Arya only smiled at his honesty.

"That's okay, I remember you." the boy still didn't smile or look comforted.

"For true? You're not lying?" he was only a head shorter than she was.

"For true. Bran and I would take you with us when we snuck out of our rooms, mo-" she paused as Lady Stoneheart's face came to mind in place of the memory of her mother, clearing her throat again she went on. "Lady Catelyn would be furious with us." she finished quietly and smiled despite the bile that crept up her throat, the sound of Lady Stoneheart's last dying gasp echoing in her ears. Arya...

"I remember Bran, he sent me away." Rickon made himself sound angry but Arya could see he just felt betrayed, abandoned.

"Rickon we've told you Bran was trying to protect you." Sansa tried to comfort him, her voice smoother than silk.

"He left! You all left! So why can't you just let me leave? I don't like it here!" his next string of angry words was in a tongue that Arya didn't understand, it was a harsh sound that reminded her of Dothraki. "and leave me be!" with his last words in the common tongue he stormed off. Somewhere outside the castle, a direwolf howled.

Arya stared at the footprints her younger brother left in his wake, stunned and at a loss for words. She felt Jon place a hand on her shoulder as Sansa tried to explain. "Don't take it personally, he's been this way since he got back. He thinks we all meant to leave him."

A bitter memory of a stubborn bull-headed boy came to her mind. "Whether we meant to or not, we still left."

Wolkan had insisted on another checkup as soon as Rickon had run off. Arya found herself sitting on a chair in a room that once belonged to Measter Luwin. The grey walls were familiar friends, but the tables and beds had been rearranged like strangers. She waited as Wolkan went through his shelves of vials and assorted leaves, berries, and roots. "I'm just looking for something to help with your pain, My Lady."

Arya tapped her fingers on her seat arm impatiently, "I don't need anything for the pain." She chewed her lip a moment, not wanting to rely on medication for anything…but her heavy eyes yearned for a peaceful rest. "Do you have anything to help me sleep?"

"Does the pain keep you up?" He turned to face her, maesters chain ringing with his every movement.

"Not really."

Wolkan's blue eyes softened. "When I was taught at the Citadel there were many maesters only interested in the ways to bind wounds, the antidote to every poison, the symptoms of every flue. But there was one of my professors whose interest solely focused on injuries of the mind."

"There's nothing wrong with my mind."

"I've treated many soldiers and knights in my lifetime." The old man closed the distance between them, stopping a few feet away. "Oftentimes men who've survived battles, keeping fighting them long after they've ended. Repeatedly, in their dreams. I'd hate to see that happen to you, My Lady."

Arya stood, and made her way to the door. "I'm not a soldier."

"Perhaps not." Her hand hesitated over the doorknob as he spoke. "Perhaps you've faced worse monsters than the ones found on a battlefield."

She gave him one last look. "I can't say I've heard of a medicine that prevents bad dreams."

"I don't have one." He smiled sadly. "I'm still uncertain if the Wilding girl had the right of it when she told me not to say anything…of your past wounds." his eyes grew distant from her. "My professor always said you could never move past a thing you couldn't speak of." His blue eyes pinned her for a moment. "Might be if you faced whatever it is that haunts you in the day, it'll leave you be at night."

Jon was waiting on the other side of the door, "What'd he say?"

"I'll be good as new soon." She forced a comforting smile. Wolkan wanted her to face her demons, but she already had. She'd already confronted Lady Stoneheart, and it was that memory that ripped her from her sleep each night.

Jon's head titled with concern. "You look tired, come on." She took his arm again without argument, wanting to be away from Wolkan and his pitiful blue eyes. Their steps echoed down the empty hallway; shadows intertwined behind them.

"Rickon, was that the Old Tongue he was speaking?" she asked, leaning on him more than she needed to.

"It was."

"You know it."

"I can speak it, passably."

"Did you understand what he said before he left?"

Jon's frown twitched. "It's really not worth repeating."

"Few things are." When he didn't answer her right away, she placed a hand on his shoulder ever so gently. "I'm sure I can handle it."

Jon sighed. "He said something along the lines of not wanting to stay here, to see us all leave him again." he watched her as he said it.

"That's not going to happen." Arya spoke with more conviction than she felt. Her family was about to be at the front of a war, again.

"No, it's not, he'll be safe here. It's his home." They had begun to walk down the hallway that led to Arya's room, the lanterns hanging off the stone walls were recently lit, and she could see a handmaiden slipping through her bedroom door. They both paused at the hall, a hundred memories flashing over the grey stone and flickering lanterns.

"Jon, is something wrong?"

"No, no everything's fine."

Arya didn't believe him but didn't press either, she only changed the subject. "How's my room? Is it the same?" She didn't want it to be the same.

"Honestly, I don't know. I haven't been down here yet, not since before."

Ghosts that haunted her dreams seemed to pass over his face, eyes dark. She tugged on his arm, ready to face whatever daemons were lurking under her sheets. I'm not hiding from my past, Wolkan. "Together then."

When they reached her room, they saw the grey walls were bare and the furniture scarce. There was a bed great enough for two with a soft blue comforter, two shelves on either side, the one by the window being bare and the other stocked with a jumble of clothes. There was a tall looking glass in the far corner, and a freshly made bath at the end of the bed beside a hearth. Inside stood two handmaidens, one with a larger shape and dark hair, and the other a skinny blond girl.

The blond one by the bath noticed them first. "Your Grace, My Lady of Stark" she curtsied, and the bigger girl followed the others lead. Jon smiled at them in acknowledgment but kept his eyes on Arya. The only welcoming part was the fire and the bed, with what looked to have a feather blanket and pillows. It's just four walls and a ceiling. Her father might have once read her bedtime stories here, and her mother had woken her up in the mornings with loving blue eyes. But it was just a room.

The young dark-haired maid filled the silence. "I hope it's to your liking My Lady, we focused on the bed for there wasn't much time." The girl nervously fidgeted with her hands. "and we brought clothes on Lady Sansa's command, dresses, nightgowns, breaches, and other shirts, whichever you'd prefer."

"Thank you." Arya could hear the distance in her own voice as she walked to pear out her window, pushing the stained glass open. The musty air in the room tickled her nose. It felt more haunted than most of the other halls had, it was once a child's bedroom after all.

"And we had a bath drawn for you, but if you're not in the mood we can take it away..."

"No that's okay, I could use one." she turned remembering herself and gave the girls a smile. "I won't be needing anything else tonight. You can um...you can go." A couple of courtesies later and both the girls were gone leaving them alone again.

Appearing slightly more comfortable Jon took a few steps deeper in the room and stopped by the steaming bath. Arya stood before the looking glass that reached above her head. She didn't like what she saw. Her fingers traced the slice on her cheek and then her healing lip. There were still shadows of Lady Stoneheart's fingers lingering on her neck. She began to pulk at the bandages around her wrists, tearing them off.

"Maybe you should leave those where they are." Jon suggested tentatively, but she continued none the less. It took him a few moments to notice the urgency and her shaking hands. He marched over and gently took her arms, "Hey, you're okay."

"I look terrible." She argued, her wrists were covered in scabs and rope burn. The Brotherhood had made a mess of her, leaving her thin, weak, and scarred.

"You don't." but she hardly heard him, her eyes on her own hands. Hands that put an end to her mother. Not your mother, Lady Stoneheart. Gendry had told it true. Arya closed her eyes and saw him standing in a snowy forest.

"No, no..." she giggled, "It's not funny at all, Your Grace."

"Don't call me that."

Hands that had failed to cover the hole in Gendry's chest glared back up at her.

"You came...back for me...first"

Unbidden tears had formed in her eyes, blurring the view of the world. Jon's hands cupped her cheeks, forcing her to look at him, his thumb brushing away a tear from her cheek. "You're okay, I'm here." He seemed like he desperately wanted to find the right thing to say, the thing that would make her pain stop. It just made her feel more guilty.

Jon moved forward and wrapped his arms about her. Arya closed her eyes and took a deep, shaky breath, attempting to steadying herself. "I think, I think I just need that bath is all." she cursed herself inwardly for how strained her voice was.

He responded softly. "Words I never thought I'd hear from you." She scoffed lightly into his cloak, leaning away and wiping her face once more. The burning in her eyes starting to fade.

"Yes, well you learn to appreciate the things that aren't always there."

"I'm not leaving Arya, not again, not ever." His dark gaze held more conviction than she'd seen in anybody's eyes before.

She nodded fast, blinking away the tears again. "I know. I just…" Arya lost the words she wanted to say. How could she possibly tell him everything?

"Arya?" he whispered hoping to get an answer.

Silence clung to the walls but broke when the bedroom door opened, a young girl of only about four and ten stood there, red-faced. "Pa-pardon me, I didn't know anyone was in here." she placed a few towels on the bed and nearly ran from the room, sensing the seriousness of their conversation.

Arya swallowed and cleared her throat, grimacing as she coughed. "Are you okay?"

She nodded rubbing a hand across her neck, "Yes." she walked away and picked up a white towel off the bed. The fabric soft and fluffy, and almost unnecessarily so.

Jon lingered. "I don't want to leave you like this."

"You said you weren't leaving remember?" her mouth pulled in a sad smile but then she saw the redness rise to his cheeks. "The castle Jon, I meant the castle."

He cleared his throat "Right." He walked past her and stopped by the door. "There will be a guard at the end of the hall if you need anything, and the handmaidens are a few rooms down. And I'll be in um, in the master chambers…Sansa insists that's where the King should sleep."

"She's right."

"Yes well, I'll let you take your bath and get some sleep." but even as he said the words, he stood as though his feet were nailed to the ground.

"I'm not going anywhere either you know." Jon nodded and left Arya standing in the same place he had six years ago when they'd last bid each other goodbye.

A bath was all she needed, at least that's what she told herself. Arya could still hear Jon's steps fading down the hall, they were slow and hesitant. But even as she began undressing, she was stuck on the memory of Lady Stoneheart, convincing her to fight for Winterfell. It was never just Jaime and Brienne and all the Frey's she had wanted dead; it'd been Jon too.

"Arya..."

She took her head in her hands and bit her lip, tasting blood. Shut up, shut up. She stepped into the bath quickly and sank into the tub until her head was under the water. Until she couldn't see her mother's distorted face, only the darkness. The water was still steaming, and it hurt, but she embraced the burn and focused on the sting in her arm, stomach, cheek, and around her wrists. She wanted to yell but held it in, shoving it back into her chest to the place where her lungs screamed instead.

It had been more than a month since she'd had a bath, she'd never been so grateful to wash before. Riding herself of all the blood she'd spilled since leaving Saltpans. If she thought about it too long, she could hear the Frey's screams of pain, so instead, she just scrubbed herself clean. She spent the most time on washing her hands. When she was done the steel, tub appeared as though she'd murdered someone in it.

Dripping wet she wrapped herself in a white towel and looked at the jumble of clothing Sansa had the maid leave her. There was a couple of dresses, and a nightgown she should probably put on and go to sleep in. But that wasn't going to happen yet, so she picked up a red faded long-sleeved and black breaches. There was a small chest with jewellery, but Arya ignored it.

Picking up a second towel she dried her hair and brushed it, and when she went to the mirror it was a much less horrific sight than before. Her hair was still messy, but half dried it wasn't so terrible and her face was clean, but still bruised. She felt shame for losing it before, but maybe now that she wasn't wearing Lady Stoneheart's blood she could think straighter. Arya picked up a cloak hanging off the shelf, it was black and lined with unstained soft white fur that made her think of her robe at The House of Black and White. I'm not no one anymore. The clasp on her cloak was a silver direwolf. Not no one at all.

It didn't take her too long to get past the guards who were either too preoccupied with sleeping or chatting to notice her. Once she did, she found herself atop the North gate tasting the cold on her tongue, embracing the silence. Trying to anyway. Arya's mind still wouldn't rest, and every time the turmoil of thoughts threatened to take over, she found herself reaching for Nymeria.

The great wolf still prowled with her pack. Nymeria hadn't gone too far yet, but she was further south now, searching for food. A castle wasn't the place for her, she needed to be with her family as Arya did. Even if it meant they were separated. I'm not alone I'm with my pack too now. What's left of it anyway. Arya's gaze scanned the darkness to the North, knowing beyond the forests stood the Wall. Where are you, Bran?

Her not so peaceful silence was disturbed by the building sound of someone's footsteps. A guard maybe... Arya kept listening. A very short guard? Looking up she saw the unmistakable shape of Tyrion Lannister, his shadow the same as it had been on the ship. Great. The whole castle seemed to be asleep now, including half the guards, but of course, there was still a lion prowling about.

The last person he thought he'd run into on his nightly walk was Arya Stark. Tyrion had assumed Jon Snow would have her locked in her chambers or the maester would want to watch her over the night because of the girl's rumoured injuries. Yet here she was, standing still as stone above the North gate seemingly unharmed. She wore a thick black cloak lined with white fur, her hair was down and wet, making it look almost as black as her cloak, and the fair cheek facing him had a thin red cut on it, proving some rumours.

He could still remember expecting the Stark's to all share the northern look that Eddard Stark had, but when he'd arrived there had been so much red and blue it seemed the only person who shared the Lord Stark's features was his bastard son. Tyrion had been wrong though. Lady Arya was everything Stark that her sister and trueborn brothers lacked, in looks anyway. He then understood why it might have been that Sansa insisted her sister never fit when they were young, not really resembling any of her siblings. At least Arya didn't have to grow up with twins.

"Lady Arya, I didn't expect to see you out so late." Tyrion said cradling his glass of wine.

Lady Arya didn't even spare him a glace. "Better not to have expectations then."

He nodded his head and took a sip of his wine before answering, "It's a fair assumption that you should hate me I suppose, I'm a Lannister. Far from the worst they tell me, but a Lannister none the less." he sighed. This will be harder than I thought. "I was just talking to your sister not more than an hour ago." her head never turned, and her gaze continued looking North.

"Well she is your wife." she stated dryly.

"Yes...and she's concerned for you." He thought honesty might be the best approach with her, Sansa had said she had always seen people for who they were. If she had the sense at nine to hate Cersei as soon as she met her, might be she'll have the sense to see I'm here to help.

"Then comfort her." she still wasn't looking at him.

"Lady Arya I'd hate for there to be any hostility between us, maybe your brother told you about why I'm-?"

"We didn't talk about you." she interrupted. "and for why you're here it seems pretty obvious."

Tyrion found himself intrigued and smiling a little "By all means tell me why I'm freezing my ass off on the gates of this frozen hell." He waved an inviting hand.

"Daenerys Targaryen." she answered simply. Essentially, yes.

"You've heard of her then." he decided, that finally got a look from her.

She raised an eyebrow and shook her head slightly, "Who hasn't heard of her? She has to be the most famous living person in all of Esso's by now, and likely soon in Westeros after she takes the Iron Throne." Now that she faced him, he could see the bruise around her other eye, and the broken lip, even faded marks on the girl's neck. A wave of similar anger burned through him, as it had when he'd seen what the Brotherhood had done to Jaime's face. But Tyrion still hadn't brought himself to speak to his brother yet. "And when the great Tywin Lannister's own son murderers him and flees to Westeros to stand by the side of the Mother of Dragons...well word gets around." Tyrion felt his stomach drop at the mention of his father; Lady Arya clearly shared none of the subtle grace of her sister. "I didn't mean to offend you, just being honest."

"Maybe you don't like me for being a Lannister but a Kinslayer, My Lady? I know how your family can be with your honor." His sharpness came from the reminder of his father.

"I don't like you, nor do I dislike you, and honor?" a small humf form her nose told him how she felt before she said it. "My father lost his head for his honor, and my brother lost his when he broke a single vow. There is a time and place for it. As for being a Kinslayer..." she hesitated, her voice becoming quiet as she looked away. "I wouldn't judge you for that."

"So, do you like, or dislike my brother?" Arya didn't answer. "I haven't gotten the chance to ask him about your meeting yet."

"Probably because you've avoided him."

"I havn't-"

"I met him in a cage." She interrupted his denial. "And my first instinct was to kill him. But like an ugly formed wart, he's grown on me."

Tyrion snorted. "That's a fine way to put it, My Lady."

"I still wouldn't say I like him." She eyed him a moment, and he wondered what opinion she was coming to. "Why haven't you two spoken yet?"

It was his turn to look away, searching the darkness for answers. "You could say…the last time we spoke wasn't on the best of terms."

"Now you have time to make up for it."

"I suppose I should thank you for not killing him then."

"I really did want dead." She muttered, almost half to herself.

Tyrion smiled at her bluntness. "Most people do." he stepped forward a little. "You seem like the kind of person who doesn't care much for pleasantries, My Lady. You know why I'm here, on behalf of Daenerys. If your brother is to be believed, the North is going to need her and her army if it's going to survive this winter."

"We may need her dragons" Arya agreed mildly. "But if she chooses to ignore us then from what I've heard; there won't be a kingdom for her to rule." There was a pause before she continued. "She wants Jon to bend the knee first."

It wasn't really a question. "Yes, once she takes the throne, it's not a lot to ask considering. Once she comes into power my dear sister will be put to death, its own kind vengeance for the crimes committed against your family...and the rest of her crimes." His face itched where his nose once was. I should be there.

"I don't want vengeance." Arya's voice became oddly void of emotion.

"No? I was under the impression you hated my sister nearly as much as I do." he shrugged taking another sip of his wine. If not vengeance, what does she want?

"Cersei has lost her father, her brother...lover?" she scoffed lightly. "...and all three of her children. Tell me what could I do to her that hasn't already been done? Kill her? No, that would only bring her peace, something she doesn't deserve." Tyrion took a moment to mull over her words but couldn't agree with them. No, there's still plenty of ways for Cersei to suffer. "You disagree." she stated and lifted her head slightly, "Someone's coming" Tyrion looked around, but he couldn't see anyone nor could he hear anything but the wind.

"I don't..." he then heard the sounds of footsteps coming up the stairs of the gate tower, "You have fine hearing, My Lady" he gave her a curious look. Lady Arya didn't answer him though but patiently waited for the person to make their way to the top of the stairs. A moment later Jon Snow appeared with his direwolf behind him.

"There you are! I've been looking everywhere for you...Tyrion, hey."

"Your Grace." he lifted his cup of wine.

"I was just getting some air; Lord Tyrion was too apparently."

"You weren't in your room and the guards didn't know where you were..." Jon seemed to be gathering his barring's.

"Thought I ran away already?"

Jon sighed and smiled, "you did say you weren't going anywhere."

She shook her head at him "Once more, I meant the castle."

Jon smiled again and looked as though he was about to say something before, he paused, "How'd you get past the guards?"

"I'm light on my feet" she shrugged the comment off, "but it is about time I do try and get some sleep."

"I'll walk you back." Jon nodded at Tyrion and made his way back to the steps with his white wolf following right behind.

Arya took a few steps to follow before stopping and turning back to him, she spoke quietly so Jon couldn't hear. "Just for the record Lannister. I may have lost my taste for vengeance, but if anything were to happen to Sansa or my brothers...well you'll wish you had nothing to do with it." and with that, she was gone. Tyrion felt a shiver run down his spine from the coldness in her eyes and the promise in her words. She just threatened me. Tyrion couldn't help but be reminded of Catelyn Stark. She may have her father's look, but she's her mother's daughter.

"I'll have a talk with the guards later, you shouldn't be able to get past them so easily." Jon told her as they made their way back through the courtyard. How did she get past them?

"You defiantly need better guards." Arya said taking his arm. "In their defence, I can quite sneaky when I put my mind to it."

Jon shook his head, "They had one job; to keep watch. Yet a girl of six and ten got past all of them?"

Arya's eyes darted up and when Jon followed them, his heart skipping a best at the redness of Melisandre's robes.

"Your Grace." The Red Women smiled widely as she walked up to them "This must be your sister; I've heard much about you, my lady." Mel did the motion of a small curtsey.

"I'm afraid I can't say the same...?"

"Melisandre" she finished for her, "Of Ashi, I'm sure you two have a lot of catching up to do. Of course, I wouldn't be of any urgent conversation." she gave Jon a meaningful look.

"Ashi? You're far from home." Arya stated rather coldly, causing Jon to give her a questioning glance.

Melisandre only grinned more. "You've met a red priestess before I take it?"

"A few too many." Arya agreed.

"Hopefully I can help change your opinion on us, and the one true God R'hllor. My Lady."

"I think I've heard and seen enough for a lifetime, My Lady." Arya's tone was so different from the nine-year-old girl he knew. Whenever Arya had been upset with someone as a child she lashed out, but now her temper was controlled, calculated.

"Well, we were just on own way back to her chambers" Jon concluded, wanting desperately to get out the conversation.

"Of course, but maybe once Jon helps you understand the powers of the one true God R'hllor, we can have a more ample discussion" Mel looked to Jon once more.

Arya squinted her eyes at Mel "I'm fully aware of the powers a priest can possess, and no matter the theatrics they put on he's not my god."

"And who is yours?" Melisandre asked sweetly.

Arya paused before answering "I'm afraid you wouldn't know the name."

"R'hllor is the only god, but I assure you my lady I've heard of many, and more then you I'm sure."

"Maybe, you have been around much longer than I have after all." Arya tilted her head and her grey eyes went to Melisandre's necklace, "That's a beautiful ruby around your neck..." Arya's smile was something of a wolfs. "It almost seems to make you appear younger."

Melisandre's hand went to the ruby, her smile gone but her eyes sparking with something. Wonder? "You have a fine eye for jewellery." At that moment Jon Snow knew he was missing something; he was lost but at least he knew it.

"Among other things."

Melisandre found her smile once more. "Yes, be careful My Lady, Your Grace. The night is dark-"

"And full of terrors." Arya finished for her, and for a moment Jon saw the girl who used to lose her composure, but she was replaced with someone much more disciplined only a second later. "There are terrors everywhere, being able to see them doesn't change that."

"Of course, My Lady." Melisandre's voice was gentle as she rested a hand on Arya's arm before pulling it away a little too quickly. Jon felt sick watching them, he still hadn't explained to Arya that he died. He had no idea how she was going to react and judging by the glare she was giving Melisandre right then Jon wanted to avoid the conversation for as long as possible. Forever if the Old Gods were kind.

As for Melisandre, her eyes were awfully wide, she swallowed almost nervously. "Excuse me Your grace, My Lady" her eyes never left Arya as she left.

When she was out of earshot Jon turned to Arya. "What the hell was that?"

"I could ask you the same! You're following a different religion now?"

"No, no Melisandre was one of Stannis's closest confidants...she helped him, and me." Jon paused before they continued into the castle. "I owe her, and she did try and help me rescue you."

Arya for once seemed confused "Rescue me?"

"When I thought that you were married to Ramsey Bolton" he explained. Jon still remembered the day he'd received the letter and all the mixed feelings that came with it. The rage, and the fear.

"Oh, I'm sorry"

"It's not your fault, the Bolton's had almost everyone fooled."

"If I'd been here then no one could have pretended to be me." Jon felt himself give her an odd look but decided not to question her. Where were you?

"I've heard stories about him, Ramsey." she kept her eyes forward.

"They're probably all true."

Someone had taken the bath away while they were gone. Jon's heart had stopped in his chest when the handmaiden had told him that Arya wasn't in her room any longer, he'd only been gone an hour. For an insane second, he had thought she'd jumped out her window. She'd been so sad when he left her before.

"I suppose you expect me to actually go to sleep this time." she smiled lightly, every time she smiled Jon thought a piece of his soul was being returned.

"It would be a relief, this time no more wandering walks in the snow, okay?"

"Okay" she whispered, dark eyes scanning the blanket doubtfully. Jon found himself at the door again ready to leave but wishing he could stay. I'm not a child anymore. Jon glanced up at her again and had trouble seeing the sight of her as something real, as his sister. She's not a child anymore either, far from it. "Jon." she said his name quietly, "do you think...could you stay? I know people tal-"

"Yes." he said it a little too quickly and realised it a little too late. She smirked at him, but Jon couldn't hide his relief and he was pretty sure she saw it too. "Yes, I'll stay."

"Okay I'm just gonna..." she looked around for moment, "Turn around and I'll change." she lifted a white gown from the pile of folded clothes. He turned and stared at the wooden door to her room, it wasn't often he'd stay in here when they were young. Arya had always been the one that came to his chambers, when she was upset, hiding from her mother and Septa Mordane, or trying to escape a nightmare.

Jon shifted his feet as he heard clothing falling to the floor and the realization that she might be naked made a flush reach his cheeks. It was stupid he knew; he'd seen her without clothes when they were younger, they'd swam together in the hot springs in the Godswood. We're not children anymore. He reminded himself yet again, closing his eyes he pushed the queer feeling away.

"I'm done." she said, and he turned back around. The white gown reached right above her knees and her hair was all pushed to one side of her shoulder, a little messy. Arya was busy picking up the old clothes she had on and shoving them back on the shelf and was oblivious of how beautiful she was. Jon pushed that thought away too. "Are you going to sleep in that?" she asked.

"No, I guess not." he unpinned his cloak and hung it up next to hers and took off the rest of his layers until he was wearing only breaches and a loose undershirt. Arya joined him on the bed, sitting slowly, one hand over her stomach. "You okay?"

Ignoring his question, she pulled up the blanket and laid her head on his chest, sighing from the effort. Jon thought he was dreaming then. He was sharing a bed with Arya. The girl he'd feared was dead every day for the past five years. The girl he'd tried to grieve for, after thinking she died in Kings Landing.As she breathed a sigh of contentment Jon wasn't sure there had ever been a sweeter sound, "Perfect." She finally said.

Now that she was curled up next to him, he placed an arm around her, brushing his thumb gently up and down her arm. "Are you tired?" he whispered, not wanting to disturb the peace.

"A little." Her fingers tapped against his chest. "Tell me a story."

He could hear the smile on her lips; he'd told her bedtime stories when they were children. With a chuckle, he launched into a story of his first days at the Wall. She'd mumbled back an answer or two at first, a or hmmm, but within two minutes they stopped. "Arya?" he whispered. No answer. He had to stop himself from laughing, fearful he'd wake her. Only a little tired she says.

He kissed he top of the head. "Goodnight, Arya."