It was easy enough to move through Winterfell unnoticed. With so many unfamiliar faces hurrying from place to place, no one took notice of one waif like young woman picking carefully through the chaos. She didn't even need to employ her training from the House of Black and White.

Here, in a place that had once been her home, she had finally learned what it was to be no one.

She made her way to the forge, weaving around people who were to preoccupied in their preparations for the nightmares to come.

She spotted Gendry almost immediately as she entered. Everything was dim and grimy and the heat managed to cut through the winter day with more force than the roaring fires in the great hall.

"It isn't easy making a blade that big with dragonglass." Gendry said, sounding as stubborn and bullheaded as she remembered.

He looked very much the same as well. His hair was shorter, his arms more muscular, and a few lines on his forehead that had not been there when she'd known him before. But he was still Gendry. Sadness tugged lightly in her heart. He was still Gendry, but she hadn't been Arry in a very long time.

"You're saying you're good, is that it?" The Hound said, sounding bored and like he might stab someone just for the distraction.

Her heart quickened at the sound of the brutal man's voice. He was just a imposing as she remembered. Despite leaving him for dead, he looked none the worse for wear after his encounter with Brienne of Tarth.

Strange now, looking back, to realize that both had fought to protect her, unable to trust that the other's intentions where just as pure. Strange that their very efforts to protect her were the same actions that left her without a defender. The same actions that took her to the faceless men where she learned to defend herself.

"I'm just saying it's a tricky material to…"

"You know who makes weapons for the wildlings? Cripples and cocksuckers." Sandor said, moving closer to the blacksmith, using his enormous size to intimidate. "Which one are you?"

"Leave him be." Arya spoke up, drawing attention for the first time that day.

Both Gendry and Sandor looked at her. Recognition dawning on Gendry's face a moment after the Hound's.

"I heard you were here." The Hound considered her for a moment. His frown deepened. "You left me to die."

Of course.

"First I robbed you."

The Hound moved closer to her, the axe Gendry had made for him gripped tightly in his hands. For a moments she wondered if he was going to swing it at her.

"You're a cold little bitch, aren't you?" He asked. Then she saw something that looked almost like a hint of pride in his eyes. "Guess that's why you're still alive."

With that, the Hound left. Arya looked at Gendry who was watching her with curiosity after that exchange.

"That was a nice ax you made for him." Arya said. "You've gotten better."

"Yeah, thanks." Gendry said. "So have you… I mean, you look good."

Her face felt hot. Was she blushing? She couldn't remember the last time someone made her blush. Actually, she did. And it was the same person as stood before her now. But she wasn't so sure that she was the same person as the last time.

"Thanks." She said. "So do you."

"It's not a bad place to grow up, if it wasn't so cold." Gendry said, gesturing to the surrounding, already resorting to small talk. She couldn't blame him. They couldn't claim to know each other anymore, not after all this time.

"Stay close to that forge, then."

His eyes twinkled with amusement. "Is that a command, Lady Stark?"

Her heart sped up a pinch, reminded of those times when he'd teased her about being a lady. It seemed like another life. She'd done what she'd had to do to survive since then. But a part of her, a not so small part, wished she could go back to those days. While not carefree, they had been simpler.

"Don't call me that." She told him.

"As you wish, milady."

Milady. The word both stung and thrilled her. The last time he'd called her milady, she'd begged him to stay with her, to be her family. What might their lives have been if only he'd said yes?

She swallowed hard and pulled out her drawing.

"Here's my wish." She said, showing him the design. "Can you make it?"

"What do you need something like this for?" He asked, which seemed like a rather stupid question to her considering the approaching battle.

"Can you make it or not?"

"You already have a sword." Gendry said and noticed the hilt of her dagger. "What's that?"

She drew the dagger and passed it to him to inspect.

"It's Valyrian steel." He observed and smirked at her. "I always knew you were just another rich girl."

"You don't know any other rich girls." Arya reminded him before reclaiming the dagger and walking away, stealing a glance back and flashing him a final playful smile.

Arya waited for Sansa in her chambers. She knew her sister was busy preparing for the evacuation of the women and children. She knew that as a Stark and a Lady, she was expected to help her sister with such things. But that had never been her. Leave the management to Sansa. Leave the fighting to Arya.

Arya would fight the dead and her sister would make sure there was a people left to fight for.

When Sansa stepped into her chambers, she look bone tired. She closed her eyes for a moment and let out a slow breath. Arya wondered how she did it, how she retained her composure as so many looked to her for hope and guidance. Arya could retain her composure, but she had not been born to be a beacon of hope, not like Sansa.

"When do you leave?" Arya asked.

Sansa's eyes snapped open and found Arya instantly. She didn't scold her for invading her privacy, likely realizing that it would be futile.

"The women and children will leave out in three days time. I received a raven House Reed this morning. The Crannogmen have agreed to open their halls to us in our hour of need."

Arya frowned. "The Neck is a long way, Sansa. If Winterfell falls, you won't reach it before the dead overtake you.

Sansa gave her a sad, almost pitying look and Arya realized that Sansa had already considered this. Of course she had. Sansa wasn't a fool, no matter if Arya was forever struggling not to see her as the vapid child she'd been when they first parted.

"If Winterfell falls, it won't matter." Sansa whispered.

She shrugged off her cloak and took a seat by the fire. The flames played trick on her pretty face, making her appear much older.

"Brienne seemed to be under the impression you're planning to do something stupid." Arya said to change the subject.

Sansa gave her a look, because they both know that was not something the Maid of Tarth would have said, especially not about the lady she served.

"You don't like the queen." Arya said, hoping to push the conversation in a more illuminating direction.

"I like her fine." Sansa said with an expression that spoke to the contrary.

"But you won't submit to her." Arya said.

"The North has suffered enough at the hands of an outside ruler." Sansa said.

"Jon trusts her."

"Jon is too trusting."

Arya studied her sister for a long moment. What was she planning? She was too much like Littlefinger to have no plans in the works.

"Maybe." She agreed. "But we do need her."

Sansa frowned. "I'm well aware."

"Jon knows who his family is." Arya assure her. "He won't forget that just because the queen is beautiful."

A dark look crossed Sansa's face that Arya couldn't place.

"I have messages to tend to." Sansa said, indicating several rolls of paper on her table. And Arya could recognize a dismissal when she saw one.

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