A/N: This chapter is dedicated to new reader, The Plaid Slytherin. Thanks for popping in, checking it out. Welcome to the family!

-C

A low breeze over the godswood brought a chill to Sansa, but she did not shiver. It felt nice, a slight chill to the deepest level of her skin. Almost as soon as Stannis left for the Neck, a young man with a direwolf, a letter from Sandor, and a fantastical story arrived at Winterfell, and he was given work almost immediately as the new blacksmith. His skills were considerable, and the wolf seemed to want nothing more than to stay at his side.

She knelt down beside the direwolf, which looked up at her with sharp, clever eyes.

"You're Nymeria, aren't you?" Sansa said softly, reaching out with a tentative hand to stroke the warm fur. After what had happened, after how she'd treated her sister, she wasn't sure the wolf would respond well to her, but she was pleasantly surprised when it leaned into her touch, accepting her had eagerly.

"I hope this means she's alive," Sansa whispered, hugging the direwolf, which allowed the affectionate embrace. "That's all I can ask for, is that she's alright somewhere."

The wolf, the direwolf she was almost certain was Nymeria, looked up and licked Sansa's face. For a brief moment Sansa was horrified, but then she thought of Lady, the sweet wolf that had been her companion until Cersei Lannister had her life taken.

"Lady was your sister," Sansa said, ignoring the tears welling up in her eyes. "I wish I could have saved her for you. I cried when she was taken from me. It wasn't fair, but not for the reasons I thought at the time. You know, there isn't a lot of fair in this world."

The wolf licked her face again, looking up at her with baleful eyes. What had Nymeria seen since Jory and Arya chased her away? Had she seen the war? Had she met wolves, common wolves? Had she spent all this time trying to find her way home?

Although the air was biting cold, but it was pleasant to hold onto the warm, soft, strong body of the wolf. Sansa thought of Sandor, somewhere in the Neck, preparing to march on the Twins to avenge her family and secure a section for the Dragon Queen. How long now her bed had been cold and empty without him. She felt that she could tell all this to the direwolf, and Nymeria would both understand her pains and keep her secrets. She thought about spilling all her thoughts and emotions to this animal, to this kindred spirit, but she was nervous that if she began to do that, someone would hear her.

Even as the wind howled around them, she knew that someone was approaching, watching them, but the way Nymeria's ears tilted back. Sansa didn't look up. If it weren't a friend, the wolf would have become protective. She felt very calm with Nymeria, almost as if she had Lady back.

Gendry was standing above her, not bothering to wipe sweat from his brow as he looked down at her. He was handsome, with dark hair and great strength, but what impressed Sansa was how kind his eyes were.

"She's not usually so trusting," he said softly, his voice gentle and assured. "Must recognize a fellow direwolf."

"It's more than that," Sansa said, motioning for him to sit. He did so. "You must have heard stories of my brother's direwolf."

"The people weren't sure if they were true or tall tales."

"They were true," Sansa said, brushing a few snowflakes off Nymeria's snout. "There were cubs rescued by my brothers, one for each of us. I named mine Lady. Arya named hers Nymeria." Gendry stiffened, but said nothing. "Hers snapped at Joffrey on our way to King's Landing. She and Jory chased Nymeria off so that Joffrey couldn't have her executed for the attack. But we were all shocked when the prince and the queen demanded that Lady be executed in her sister's place."

"Cruel."

"That is the Lannister way," Sansa said, surprised at the lack of bitterness in her own voice. "Lady has been gone for some time now. But it is good to have Nymeria back."

He leaned across to get a look at the direwolf's eyes and said, "Are you sure it's her?"

"What other direwolf would live south of the Neck?"

He hummed agreement, but his eyes were still skeptical. She knew he was a blacksmith, that he had a trade he could practice at Winterfell, or anywhere. But she couldn't help but wonder if he could truly be comfortable at Winterfell, a place where he did not naturally belong. It was a different world, and he had been heading to the Wall.

"Are you satisfied?" she asked him. "Living here at Winterfell, do you have what you need?"

"Very few have as much satisfaction," he said, bowing his head slightly. "The Wall was never my dream, although if I were needed there and you wished for me to go, I would go. But if you'll have me, Lady Clegane, then I would very much like to stay."

She smiled to herself. Gendry was the only one at Winterfell who called her Lady Clegane without any difficulty. It was as though he had known her as that all his life. She certainly had no concerns about keeping him at Winterfell, and indeed felt a measure of comfort from his presence. She knew that Jon could use more men at the Wall, and if there came a time for urgency she would likely ask Gendry to go North, but until then, the man would have a place at Winterfell, and she told him so.

"That is good to hear," he said, smiling his friendly smile. "I have a feeling that the wolf wouldn't go with me if I had to leave, and I wouldn't want to make the journey alone."

Sansa nodded, running her fingers through the warm fur of the panting direwolf. Nymeria would not leave her, she knew. With Lady gone, Nymeria had to take care of both Stark girls, when Arya was found. She closed her eyes.

"You miss your sister," Gendry said. "Don't you?"

"I miss all my family."

"But your sister especially."

She said nothing, feeling unshed tears stinging under her eyelids. She never would have guessed that Arya would be someone that she missed, but she felt so horribly guilty that her sister was lost. Sansa wasn't sure that it was entirely the guilt, though. She had spent so many hours with her sister, learning needlepoint and decorum and posture. Well, Sansa had learned them. Arya seemed to go out of her way not to learn anything that would help her to become a lady. At the time Sansa had been horrified, but now she wished she knew a few more of the things Arya had wanted to learn, how to defend herself and ride horses like men.

"She was a very special sort of girl," Sansa said softly. "I didn't appreciate it when I was a child. I didn't understand her. She wasn't ladylike." She ran her fingers through the fur again, opening her eyes and looking down at the full eyes of the wolf. "That was all that really mattered to me when I was little, but I feel foolish."

"When I was a boy," Gendry said darkly, "I imagined I could do magic. For a while, I even convinced myself that I could. I broke my leg trying to fly. I never tried to do magic again."

Sansa smiled sadly and said, "You do magic every time you mold metal. And I am a Lady, although this is not how I imagined it when I was a child. Sometimes life works like that."

The two of them sat in the snow with Nymeria for some time, before it grew too dark and the wind too high to justify staying outside for long. Gendry offered to walk Sansa back to the Hall for her evening meal, and she accepted. She could walk the grounds of Winterfell without looking where she was going with full confidence that she would arrive, but darkness had an effect on her now that it hadn't when she was a child. Being alone in it would likely never be comfortable again.

Gendry and Nymeria went with her all the way back to the Hall, and she asked if he would come inside.

"I have a warm stew waiting for me at the forge," he said, bowing his head slightly. "But thank you, Lady Clegane. Perhaps another time."

Sansa watched him go back out into the night toward the village area. She realized there were too many people eating paltry stew at night while she had warm, fresh bread. She wondered what her father would do with such a realization. Could she afford to feed them all as she ate?

She didn't know, but Sansa resolved to do what she could.

/-/

The air was cold as Arya gazed out over the sea. She thought over the things she had learned on her journey back to Westeros. They would dock in the morning at White Harbor, and then she had a choice to make. South to find and kill those who killed her family, or go North to where all the rumors said her sister had taken control of Winterfell.

How would Sansa have made it all the way up to Winterfell alive and victorious, Arya wasn't sure, but she wanted to believe it more than she had wanted anything since she left Westeros.

The wind blew hair out of her face. If she went to the South, perhaps she could find the peace to sleep at night without her prayer. There would maybe be other prayers. Only time could tell.

If she went North, Sansa would be there. For some reason, this thought produced a great calm in her breast that she could not recall ever feeling before. She did not know there was turbulence there until she felt the calm. Perhaps, Arya thought, she could be of use to her sister. The Game of Thrones was still being played, no doubt. Those who had her brother and mother and father killed would go after Sansa as well. Wolves were safest in a pack.

And together, perhaps a more solid plan could be made to finish off Arya's list. She licked her lips, leaning out to smell the ocean. The cold, salt air stun her nostrils, but the smell was pleasant, all the same.

If she kept going North, there was the Wall. She had thought about going to the Wall, but women were even less acceptable wielding swords there than anywhere else in Westeros. Only Winterfell and the South were options open to her now. If she took a ship to the Fingers, she could bypass the Neck, but if she decided to go North, she couldn't go South again if enemies of the Starks held Moat Cailin. Not easily.

It was possible, but traveling alone in a place with very few cities would be far from ideal. There were wild animals, to say nothing of brigands and rapers. She didn't have enough knowledge of how the region had changed since she'd been gone to justify that journey alone.

So North or South?

The question had plagued her for the last three days, and still she felt no closer to an answer. Each path had its merits, its rewards, its promise. And each path had its dangers, its disadvantages, is sacrifices. Her gut told her that she needed to go South first, to finish what she started. After all, Sansa at Winterfell was only a rumor, and rumors were not to be trusted.

On the other hand, her heart told her that she needed to go North first, to go home. If Sansa was there, she could have allies.

"You are pensive, little one," the low, rumbling voice of Mikel said as he frowned at her.

Mikel was a young man in the troop taking passage on the ship, and he fancied himself in love with Arya. He didn't know anything about her except that he thought she was pretty and lonely, but for him that seemed enough. He wanted her to come with them to the Fingers. She told him she was considering it, but she hadn't told him why.

"I am trying to picture what the shore will look like," she lied. "It seems so long since we last saw land."

"Some time, yes," he said, smiling sadly. "But it has been longer since you last saw Westeros. Anxious to be home?"

"I doubt it looks anything like my memories," she said, gripping the rail with strong fingers, feeling the wood give only just under her fingers. "I still don't know where I'm going."

"You can come with me."

Her lips tilted into a small, ironic smile that no emotions backed up. He seemed satisfied, however.

"I think we could be very happy together," he said, moving a bit closer. "These aren't the safest of times to have a family, but I think once the battles settle down…"

Arya shook her head. Mikel was a nice boy. He deserved a loving wife in peacetime, someone who could do more than tease and lie to him. Someone who could truly feel for him. Arya would never be able to do that.

In that moment, she had complete clarity on where she was going next.

"I'm not going to the Fingers, Mikel," she said softly.

"You just said you didn't know where you're going."

"I don't," she lied. "But I know it's to the North, wherever it is."

Mikel stiffened beside her, but he did not move away immediately. She did not have to look at him to know that his lips had twitched into a frown and then back to neutral. She had seen his face do similar things when she would spurn his gentlemanly advances. Arya respected him for his honor, for his sweetness. But sweet would not bring vengeance, and honor would not bring back the dead.

"There are wars," he said softly. "Everywhere. You could die."

"I could die if I go with you, as well."

He was no doubt frowning outright, now.

"Forgive me," he said, the frown very evident in his voice. "I have kept you long enough. No doubt you have musings to be left to. I…I have things to see to. Sleep well, little one."

"And you."

She said nothing more, and he did not acknowledge her kind words. Instead, he left her alone, as promised, to consider her future.

There was not much left to consider. She would not go to the Fingers. She had already said as much to Mikel. That only left the consideration of how she was going to get to Winterfell alone with winter on the fast approach. Villages peppered the roads from White Harbor to Winterfell, and a young woman travelling alone had always been safe in her father's era, but times were different now. With war, perhaps even a Stark at Winterfell – if more than a rumor – would not be enough to keep the roads safe. Still, Arya felt better about travelling in the North than the South.

She took in one last deep breath of sea air before retiring below, curling up on her bunk, pulling out Needle and watching it glimmer in the candlelight. The men who had given her passage were gentlemen. They would make sure she had food to eat for some time when she parted their company. They could not spare enough to last her all the way to Winterfell, but Arya had her ways to get herself the rest of the way. She had not gone all the way to Essos to learn nothing.

Arya sheathed Needle, tucking it lovingly under her pillow, watching the flame of the candle flicker as the ship rocked. Soon enough she would be on land again, solidity beneath her feet, keeping her steady. No more rocking. No more swaying. No more salt air.

As the ship rocked, she wondered if it would feel strange, being on dry land again. It had been some time now since she had spent this long on a ship, and she had forgotten how easy it was to get used to the sensations.

But one could get used to a lot of things. One could get used to blood, to the look of the light leaving someone's eyes, to wearing a different face. One could get used to the world having fewer people in it than it had before. Arya would grow accustomed to solid ground once more.

She closed her eyes, still able to see the flame in the darkness that resulted. She counted down the names of each person who still had yet to die. She said them silently, still afraid of being overheard on a ship where the walls often felt too thin. But in her mind, she could feel the rhythm of each name, the familiar flow of her prayer. Would that list grow short, or simply exchange old names for new? Once she had hope that it would end someday. Now she had seen more, and she was not so certain.

Arya had not hoped, not in the truest sense of the word, since she left King's Landing. Hope was for children. There was nothing productive in it.

And yet, her chest was filled with an emotion that she recognized as hope, like the smell of her sister's coveted lemon cakes or the feeling of Nymeria's fur in her fingers. Something not quite forgotten, but so distant that it seemed almost unreal in the nostalgia of it. She finished her prayer not in the usual way, whispering the words she had not understood.

Instead, into the candlelit near-darkness of the cabin she whispered, "Winter is coming."

A/N: Review Prompt: I don't usually ask these kinds of questions, but how do y'all think my Arya is coming along? I feel like I'm struggling with her, and I want to know how you feel the struggle is managing.

-C