Chapter Nine: Seasons Came and Changed the Time

Lord Beric

After Gendry had brought her back, naked, with only his cloak to protect her from the world, riding on the back of a great beast straight from a child's nightmare, Lord Beric could no longer think of the girl as a child. She looked almost ethereal in morning mist.

Thoros had fallen to his knees, praising the Lord of Light, at the sight of her, them, united at the light of dawn, looking like a song brought to life. The two seemed to glow in the early morning light, a golden color illuminating them. Behind them, hidden in the shadows of the thick forest were rows upon rows of barely visible wolves, completely hidden if not for their eyes, glowing as they reflected the light. He was not sure how many there were but to him it looked to be more than any person would want to have to meet.

"What is this Thoros? Witchcraft?!" He heard himself ask, voice barely more than a whisper. He never took his eyes off the two and the monster of a wolf as they slowly made their way to the group.

"It is the magic the Starks carry in their blood, my Lord. The blood of the First Men." Harwin answered unexpectedly from behind the two men, a mixture of fear and awe coating his voice. "It was said that the old Kings of Winter were fearsome, with great powers. Blessed by the Old Gods."

"Powers?" Gendry was helping the girl down, gently lifting the girl from the beasts back and placing her on her own bare feet. His fingers lingered on the girls arms.

"Aye. Skin changers, wargs, some were even said to be green seers, profits of sorts." Harwin expanded. Lord Berics eyes then connected with Arya's and what he saw there was enough to make him suck in air as if he had been struck.

There in that one look, he saw all of the wild that was kept at bay within her. He saw the blizzard that swirled inside her, the turmoil that threatened each day to overtake her. Those grey eyes said so many things without her mouth opening once.

Thoros placed a hand on the Lord's shoulder, concerned. With a wave of his hand he told Thoros he was fine. "What do they say of the Queens of the old North, Harwin?"

"The Lady's in the North are different than those in the South. In the Winter, they were even more different from one another. There was never a more fearsome Queen than one of Winter." Was his quick reply.

"How are they different? The two?"

"A Southern Queen looks at her people and sees her subjects, she expects to be worshiped and commands respect. A Northern Lady, or Queen I imagine, sees her people as her children and she is expected to protect them and care for them. In the winter most of all. So, tell me true Lord, which is more frightening to you?"

Thoros laughed beside him then. "Mother's will do anything to protect their children."

From that day on things had changed between the two. Lord Beric indulged Arya's interest in swordplay, combat and tactics, as well as many other untraditional things for a Lady of the Realm, or a Princess for that matter. He had conditions though, the most important was that he himself would be one of her instructors with the blade. He also insisted that Arya continued to learn certain "womanly things" as well. And lastly, she was to work with Thoros, to better understand her power over the wolves.

She argued and shouted and swore that no womanly arts were useful to her. She said she had no control over the wolves, she only was connected with Nymeria. The poor man wanted to scream in frustration. Eventually, Gendry convinced her to agree, but not without concessions of his own. Lord Beric finally agreed that she wouldn't be made to wear dresses on any occasion, only that she dress appropriately. And also Gendry had to have the same studies as her. She and Lord Beric agreed on this without even asking the boy properly.

Eventually, a routine began and time seemed to speed. Each day he trained with Arya and Gendry from sun up to mid morning. They drilled movements, Gendry focusing more on the basics while he had Arya do movements to build her strength. Both used practiced swords during this time. The first day Gendry had mentioned that Arya's training sword was much too heavy, being at least three times the weight that Needle was.

Arya smiled at him and said matter of factly, "When I first started training in Water Dancing, my dancing master made me use a similar sword. It was made of wood, not metal, but it was also much more heavy than Needle. I complained that it was heavy and I couldn't use one arm to wield it. He told me, 'It's as heavy as it needs to be to make me strong.' The sword will be fine, I will adapt."

After they practiced in the mornings, they would break their fasts with the other men, usually bread and cheese or whatever game that Anguy had shot over the past day or so. Then he would go about his business as the leader of the Brother's and left their royal wards in the capable hands of Thoros for their lessons. Beric knew he needed to find them an actual tutor but there was rarely an opportunity in the forests of the Riverlands.

At night, they would all gather again and he would hear of their studies that day. Oftentimes, one or the other needed scolding for something or another that went on, depending on the subject that Thoros decided to cover that day. Each day Gendry would practice both numbers and letters, basic etiquette and, between Lord Beric and Thoros, politics. Arya stayed with him through all of this, helping him when she could.

Both Arya and Gendry learned a great deal of history under the foreign priest. He taught them about the Knights and everything he knew of the different Houses of the Realm. He told them of his homeland and all the different places he had traveled on his way to Westeros. He told them of the Dothraki Screamers and the magic that still lived in Essos. With Lord Beric's help, the two schooled them often in battle tactics and movements.

After reviewing their studies or being scolded for not being good enough students for whatever the reason, they would all listen to stories while they ate. Lord Beric used this as an opportunity to begin preparing the two for the battle they did not even know they would be apart of yet. He and Thoros had seen no reason to tell the two of the threat of the Others that Thoros had seen in the flames just yet, there were too many worries on their young minds already. What would knowing change? So instead he told them stories, often of the Long Night or Azor Ahai. Gendry especially loved the tale of the hero blacksmith. Lord Beric thought fondly of the first time he told the tale.

"Darkness had fallen over the world, darker than any remembered it to have ever been. A man, a hero, was chosen, to fight against the all consuming darkness, but before the man could fight the darkness, Azor Ahai had to forge a hero's sword. He labored for thirty days and thirty nights, sweating and slaving in his forge. Finally, when he went to temper the blade in water, the sword broke."

Gendry had sucked a breath then, as if he had been struck. Arya had laughed at his reaction and this made the boy blush brightly, angrily grumbling that had she understood the frustration the man must have felt, she wouldn't be laughing.

"Well, he didn't give up. Instead he started over. This time though, he took fifty days and fifty nights to make the sword. The second sword was even finer than the first, truly a marvelous blade. To temper this blade, he captured a lion and drove the sword into its chest, and again the steel shattered."

"Careful, if it happens again I believe the boy may faint!" Anguy teased lightly and all around the group laughed good naturedly, nudging the boy who was already bigger than the archer himself. Gendry for his part looked every bit on the edge of fainting at the thought of Azor Ahai's struggles. Arya had discreetly grabbed his hand in silent support much to Lord Beric's surprise.

"The third time, with a heavy heart, for he knew beforehand what he must do to finish the blade, he worked for one hundred days and nights until the most perfect blade was finished. This time though, he called for no water nor any beast, instead he called for his wife, Nissa Nissa, and asked her to bare her breast. He drove his sword in her living heart. Her soul combined with the steel of the blade he had so carefully crafted, finishing the blade that was called Lightbringer, the Red Sword of Heros."

"There will come a day, after a long summer, when the stars bleed and the cold breath of darkness falls heavy on the world again. In this dread hour, a warrior shall draw from the fire a burning sword. That sword shall be Lightbringer, the Red Sword of Heroes, and he who clasps it shall be Azor Ahai come again, and the darkness shall flee once more before him."

"Well that is awful!" Arya had not liked the story the first time, nor anytime it had been told. She hated that Nissa Nissa was sacrificed, as if the sword was more important than her life. "They could have figured out a way to defeat the darkness together. And anyway, that isn't what ended the long night. The Last Hero did."

After a tale or two, though always before it was completely dark, Arya would take Needle from her belt and hand the tiny blade to Gendry. He would smile, trying to hide the worry in his eyes, and she would smile comfortingly. She would then walk away from the group and to the edge of woods where the beast Nymeria would be waiting for her patiently. Arya would climb on the great wolf's back and they would disappear with a harrold of howls into the trees.

The first night, Lord Beric had tried to stop her, but Thoros had laid a hand on Lord Beric's shoulder, shaking his head to tell him not to bother the girl. "Go ahead love. Be a wolf." Thoros had told her, and she nodded, and turned again to leave.

"What is the meaning of this Thoros? It is nearly dark, the woods are not safe." He had demanded, angry.

Thorso smiled wryly. "And she is on the back of the scariest monster in those woods my Lord. What does she have to fear?" He asked cheekily.

Lord Beric thought a moment before nodding, The man had a point. "But why risk it?"

The fire priests smile broadened. "Just as she has to bond with the boy and the men, make them love her and be loyal to her, she must also bond with the wolves. The best way to bond with a hound from what I've seen is through the hunt so this is what we thought would work best."

Beric looked back at the girl riding on the back of the direwolf as it trotted into the trees, disappearing into the darkness there. "She's to hunt with them, without bow or blade?"

Gendry unconsciously swiped his thumb over Needle's scabbard. "Well she has a dagger I made her. And besides, wolves don't use weapons."

"She'll be fine my Lord, worry not. Come, there is much more wine and warmth by the fire." Thoros said, leading the worried Lord back to the circle of men.

And so, she was fine.

It was late when she came back each night, and each night Gendry would greet her. He always waited up for her, often he occupied himself in the makeshift forge, sometimes with his letters or numbers. He would find something to do to busy himself until he heard the herald of howls announce her return to them, to him. She always returned, usually covered in mud, dirt and blood. The lad always cleaned her up with such tenderness and care and then the two would lay down by the fire together, out in the open under the stars.

She never said a word when she returned, instead always allowing Gendry, only Gendry, to care for her.

xoxoxo

Sansa

Sansa cut the root carefully, making sure each chop was even. Her eyes wandered over all the variety if herbs stocked in that small kitchen. She knew all their names and uses now, how to prepare them properly, how to save them, keep them fresh and viable. She gently guided the blade through the ginger root, letting her mind wander aimlessly on the stories she had heard from the merchant on the road. He had told her there were wolves wandering about in the woods.

She remembered the true fear on his face as he told her of the wild wolf girl and her band of outlaws, wandering the woods, defying the crown by all means. Sansa had laughed, thinking the man to have been jesting her, telling stories to frighten a poor, simple girl, for that was definitely how she appeared to the fanciful man on horseback, walking with a baskets of plants and bare feet. She smiled at him good naturedly and with a wave she continued on her path back into the woods, where she had been staying for so long she had lost count of the days. She followed the now familiar, faint path that lead her to the hobble which had been her new home. She knew the wolves in these woods would never harm her.

It truly was a beautiful sight, though humble. In all the trees surrounding the tiny home, crystals hung, reflecting light and making the air seem to glow. In front of the home was a giant cast iron cauldron and a fire pit that was well used. The home itself was made into the side a small hill that lead the way to High Heart. The woods were alive with the Old Gods and weirwood trees were scattered sporadically throughout the deepest part of the dark woods. The air here reminded her of the air in the North, though not as cold, it held the hum of energy that she had never noticed until she traveled South and felt the absence for the first time.

The energy of the Gods, the Children and the spirits. She recalled her recent teachings on what that humming was. She had learned a great deal that her Septon had never taught her here, in the woods. So long it felt she had been here, it felt like a new home. It was comfortable. It felt safe.

It was strange to her still sometimes, how safe she felt here of all places. There was barely enough room for the three of them in the little hole in the side of the hill, built up over time into a small little home and yet she felt as though she had all the room in the world. Once she would have thought that talk on the Old Gods and magic was something to sneer at, silly stories from a more savage time, when really it was insight to a much more ancient and natural knowledge. Her younger self would have called her a witch, and wrinkled her nose at the idea of something beyond the Seven. Arya would have loved it though.

She brought herself back to her task when the last of the ginger had been cut in a thin, nearly transparent sheet. The door banged open and signaled the return of Sandor and the old woman who had taken them in months and months passed. "I am telling you witch, she need not track down that sister. She is a dark one. More, we should focus on getting her home." Sandor grumbled as he removed his cloak and set the basket of goods they returned with on the table.

"There are more stories of Arya than?" Sansa asked sweetly and she went to the old woman and helped her remove her cloak and get comfortable in her favorite chair by the fire.

"She is near, sweetling. The dog thinks it best you stay hidden here, with me." The crone croaked and gently petted Sansa's sweet face. She was a small woman, shorter than Arya had been at nine, and with long white hair that trailed the ground. Her wrinkled eyes were red and full of wisdom hidden from the world.

"She is dangerous and travels with a lot of outlaws. You're damn right I think the Queen should remain safe and let me approach her sister." Sandor shouted angrily. He was always so protective of Sansa.

"She will have your head Sandor before you're allowed to speak." Sansa poured a cup of tea that had been stooping in an old teapot in preparation for their return. The nights were getting colder and it was always nice to warm up with a nice cup of tea.

"And what if she is all the things they say she is? What if she is a demon risen? You want me to let you go trotting up to her camp of bandits and wolves?" Sandor was angry now, face contorted more than it already was with his displeasure at the thought of letting her go alone to her sister.

Sansa laughed, a sound similar to bells, chiming brightly in the dim light of the small home. "She is not." The auburn beauty was sure.

"And how do you know? The things I have seen these last months majesty, have opened my eyes to what you alone are capable of. I remember Arya from the road. She was just a child but there was something dark in her eyes. Something that these gods you and this woman worship put in her. Something savage. She is a born killer. And the things they say of her..." He didn't finish his words, not wanting to upset his Queen.

The old woman spoke again finally, a smile spreading across her wrinkled face. "We could see her, if you wanted, before you run to find the wolf…" She trailed off, letting Sansa read into what she was saying.

Sansa smiled at her words, knowing she meant divination. Sandor looked to become paler when the crone mentioned of using magic. It had been an adjustment for him, after the old woman had saved them after he had fallen ill, when Sansa began to learn the old witch's crafting. But there was no denying that the girl was born to it, coming as naturally to her as flight did for a little song bird. It was changing her though, taking her from the innocent child she had been at the beginning of their quest, turning her into a dangerous woman. Though Cersei Lannister had done her part already to kill the innocent child in her.

"I will be stepping out for the evening if you are calling on the old gods." He said simply, before moving to stand outside the hobble, a skin of wine in hand.

When the door shut behind him Sansa turned eagerly to the old woman, nearly bursting. "I had so hoped you would suggest this. I have longed to see Arya since we heard word of her after the Lannister's were killed at that tavern to the South of here."

The woman looked at her questioningly. "Why have you not looked then? You have your ways, and you have been practicing, have you not?"

"No, I mean, yes, of course I have been practicing. I am just not able to perform something to advanced on my own, is all I had meant." Sansa stumbled carefully over her words and played with her long hair as she spoke with the woman before her.

The witch clucked through her teeth. "Child, you are more capable than you know, if only you would release the power within, rather than hold it down, so tight." She held out a hand for Sansa to sit and join her. Sansa did just that, lifting her skirt and making herself comfortable on the stool beside the woman's chair. "How shall we look my Queen?"

Xoxoxo

Tywin

Tywin scowled again at the note in his hand. Again evaded, again an entire unit destroyed by the girl and her blasted wolves. For a year now she had evaded his capture since his discovery of her true identity. Each time he sent more and more forces and each time she had as many wolves as he did men. How many did she command? And how?

He had taken to looking into the thing the Northern people called 'wolves blood', seeing as she was doing things that should be impossible. She was commanding wolves the same way that the Targaryen's had commanded dragons. For the sake of the Gods, she even rode the biggest of them to battle. There must be something different about her that makes her able to command a beast as if she spoke it's language. His most hated child was aiding him in his quest to find some knowledge of the power the girl held over the animals, trying to find a way to end the connection. With the wolves surrounding her it was nearly impossible to get close, and especially impossible to actually take her.

In the time he had been looking into the history of the Stark family, which was very, very long, he had found out a great deal of things. They were the oldest house that still lived in Westeros. They were from North of where the Wall had been erected by none other than Bran the Builder, a Stark, and the first King of Winter. The Starks were the first, and only, Kings of Winter, and while the current holders of the name were honorable rulers of the Northern territory, there were many throughout their history who had been dangerous and bloodthirsty rulers. They had to be in order to unite to savage North against the threat of the Others. There were also a great many Queens of Winter, who had been more fierce than their male counterparts in many of the historical texts.

More than anything there was always a mystery shrouding certain portions of the Stark House rising to power. There was a time that was dark and very little had been recorded, but in that time, where history was not written, there were legends that told stories of Warg Kings and battle hardened maidens. There were giants and spiders as large as hounds in the tales, and women smothered their babes rather than see them live in a world so cold and cruel. But there were no facts to support any claims, not a single maester living in the North at that time.

He didn't like not understanding how this enemy would work. He didn't like fighting a girl that had hundreds of wolves at her command, wolves who did not fear running headfirst into battle. They seemed to live for the fight. Just as the girl did. He had heard report after report on her prowess with a blade, many claiming she rivaled Jamie Lannister in his best of times, before he lost his hand. She moved with the grace and poise of a predator and was unhindered by heavy armour, instead wearing some new design that was light and thin. She had never been defeated in battle, much like her brother before her, but unlike her brother the girl was a savage in her attack. None were left alive, save for one to tell the tale, and no prisoners were taken under her command. The one that was left, well they were never the same after the she wolf had them. She had a knack for war it would seem, more so than any man in her family had.

Suddenly a knock at the door to his chamber shook him from his musings. He frowned a little deeper, annoyed by the disturbance, before announcing that the person may enter. None other than Tyrion Lannister entered the chambers of the Hand. The man waddled in with that same arrogant smile that always graced his features. "Tyrion, to what do I owe this pleasure?" Hi voice indicated that this was no pleasure.

The imp grinned at his father as if he was the cat who had caught the mouse. "I think I have figured out a way to solve our problems with the blasted wolf girl."

Xoxoxo

Thoros

Thoros watched as the two wrestled endlessly by the fire, Brother's surrounding them and taking bets on who would finally beat the little Princess. She was faster than any man there and the only one to come close to defeating her had been the Dayne boy, Beric's squire, just because he was also faster than most. Now, she had already taken Gendry's back and was working her way to his throat, ready to grab him about the neck and make the giant fall. Thoros smiled sadly as he watched the two and took a swig of his wine.

The fire was burning brightly now and soon Arya would be leaving to go with her wolves, a she did every night. Tomorrow they had planned a raid on a Lannister camp that she had found during one of her hunts. She and the wolves would check the camp once more tonight, to be sure there was no signs of them relocating and tomorrow they would all attack. "Shewolf! Let the boy be and come here, will you? Before you go, I have a favor to beg of a Princess." Thoros grinned as he spoke, showing all his teeth and his eyes crinkling pleasantly at the corners.

Arya stopped her assault on Gendry and looked to Thoros suspiciously. She raised her left eyebrow and narrowed her steely eyes at him until they looked to be barely open. "What do you want priest?" Her voice reflected her body language and the older man had to suppress a laugh at her mistrust. Obviously he had played one too many tricks on the Northern Princess.

Suspicious though she may have been she still slid down Gendry's back and let her feet once more land on the ground. She made her way to Thoros, and looked at him questioningly, waiting for his favor to be asked. He sat there quietly a moment, knowing that he was grinding on her nerves. She was nearly fourteen now and had been with them for nearly three years. She was like a niece he had never known and he treasured the moments that he could spend so candidly with the fierce girl.

"What will you have of me priest? Or were you just going to stare at me?" She ask good naturedly teasing him. She could see there was something bothering him. The girl was nothing if not perceptive. She had had to be growing up on the run he supposed.

He let his cheeky smile soften and regarded her truly. Nearly a woman grown now, she had blossomed under the Brother's watchful eyes. Not in the way normal Lady's or Princess's would, but in her own way, the Northern way. She was brave and compassionate, strong and cunning, and loyal. For all the good in her though there was a darkness there too, hidden, only coming out at night, with the Wolves of Winter, and when there was blood spilt. The beast was something older, something that was passed through her family, something that Thoros feared because he did not understand what it wanted.

"Little Wolf, will you tell us a story from the North on this night, colder than any we've yet to suffer?" he asked finally, wondering which tale she would choose give them.

She smiled brightly and nodded, moving to sit beside the priest. The girl had a knack for storytelling, always animated in her expressions as she relayed the tales. Her voice fluctuated to emphasis falls and leaps in the story, she would use her hands and move around them, almost as if a mummer putting on a show. He wondered if she had always been this way. "What story would you like?" she asked still smiling at him.

Gendry and Anguy made their way over to sit with the rest of their little group which was only a small part of the now thousand strong force of Brother's. "A scary story, something to send the lads running then!"

Arya thought a moment and then nodded, as if she had decided which story to tell the group. She took a sip of Thoros's wine, making a face and the sour taste. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, they looked at though she was looking through everyone there, remembering something from long ago. Thoros wondered for a moment if she was.

She licked her lips, and then spoke in a voice so cold he thought perhaps he had upset the child. "A scary story? But what do you know of fear? Fear is for the winter, when the snow falls a hundred feet deep. There is no sunlight, hidden in darkness for years and years. Babes are born and live and die, never seeing the sun's face. Even the direwolves are hungry in the winter, when the white walkers move through the woods."

A shiver ran through all around the fire, and it seemed that wind seemed to blow just that much colder. The night continued to creep in around them slowly, hiding their surroundings in shadows. "They were called the Others, and thousands and thousands of years ago, they brought with them a winter that was so cold and hard and dark that it seemed endless. There came a night that lasted an entire generation. Nobel and poor froze to death in their homes, for winter knows no class. Mother's were said to smother their children to save them from a life starving and when they cried, the tears froze to their cheeks."

"The Others were cold things, dead things. They ravaged the land, no town, castle or holdfast could withstand them. And with every army that fell, they raised those dead to fight for them. They had no pity for any, be they woman or child, and all that were caught in their path were killed savagely. My Nan even said that they fed the children to their undead slaves." The leaves began to rustled the leaves in the trees and the noise made everyone feel even more uneasy.

"They hated iron, fire and the light of the sun. Eventually, the Last Hero was able to beat the Other's back, but not before losing all of his friends and his beloved dog while seeking out the Children of the Forest to use their magic against these dark Others. No one knows how they pushed them back, but one thing is known for sure."

Her eyes almost seemed to glow in the fire then, just as her wolves eyes would in the dim light. Her voice raspy and hushed, as if not wishing to speak what she was to say into existence. "The Other's were only defeated, not destroyed, and one day they will return, riding pale horses that have been dead for years, with an army of undead soldiers at their command, and Westeros will once again have a Long Night."

A chorus of howls punctuated the end of her tale, almost as if the wolves were agreeing with their mistress.

A/N: So we're getting into a flow again with posting. Not as bad this time. I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter. I know it may seemed rushed but more that anything I wanted to move past the boring day to day grind that had to set in for sometime. Lord Beric is progressing well too, in my opinion. Not a lot from Gendry this chapter I know but do not worry, there is much more to come.

Sansa made a brief appearance this chapter. I know I am not focusing on her as much as Arya, but she will become a much bigger character in upcoming chapters. Sansa becoming a witch's apprentice was supposed to be a bit of a shock. So, she is the only one that never embraced her blood as far as practices within the old ways of the North. Witches weren't common but they were more common than in the South. And while in both areas they are feared, they are more respected in the North as they practice the old ways.

I'm sure everyone noticed I had two stories in this chapter about the Long Night. Both have different stories but each one holds heavy sacrifices that had to be made in order to defeat the Others. Both of those I did not make up and instead got from various works of G.R.R.M. There will be many references to the world he built and I will do my best to work within the history of it as well. There will be several other old stories from the North in this story in the upcoming chapters as each one reveals something towards the main plot.

What is Tyrion's plan I wonder? And will it work?

Please leave a review and let me know what you think. They honestly help and are always so appreciated!