(Author's Note: So sorry it took me so long, I rewrote this a bunch of times and real life got in the way.)

Previously On:

"We're still blood, Arya. We're still family." He reassures her. She hugs him back with all her might. But all she can think over and over again is that he's leaving. He will leave; it's only a matter of time.

That's not me.

No matter what he says, he still feels like her brother; still smells like him. She won't believe otherwise. She can't make herself feel any different, she doesn't want to.

She pulls away, knowing it can't last forever. His choice, not hers. Pulling away first was always safest. One lesson she'd learned the hard way.

"Goodnight, Brother." He smiles through his own tears at that, hugging her once more.

"Goodnight, Little Sister."

They were already in front of her door. She unbolts the lock easily and manages to close the door behind her just as absent-mindedly.

She hadn't lied before. She was tired. Exhausted actually. She was always exhausted. She'd had a reason to get up that morning. What would she wake up to tomorrow? What had she done wrong? Why were the Gods so displeased?

She doesn't bother with the tossing and turning, the struggle to sleep among racing thoughts. Her special poppy tea is cold and bitter, but she gulps it down gratefully regardless. Before the blackness, she begs forgiveness of the Old Gods and prays for a peaceful, dreamless sleep at last. She says nothing about waking up.

The Sickness

Stannis

He could tell something was wrong with the girl upon his arrival. Oh, she'd held herself proudly, she always did. She'd threatened and acted graciously in turn, playing the lady to perfection. She always managed to impress him, even from the first, despite what she thought. She was dressed well enough, rather comely in fact. He'd thought her quite homely at first, true, dressed as a boy. But on her wedding day, she had quite resembled her aunt.

Oh, no mistake.

He certainly hadn't worshipped Lyanna as his brother had, no infatuation, but he could recognize strength and respect it. Arya did, in fact, take after her- surpass her even. Gendry was smitten from the start, poor bastard. And Stannis was partly to blame for that. He'd known the Stark girl would eat him alive, and he'd thrown his own nephew to the wolves anyway. He'd expected a marriage of convenience, a joining of houses, nothing more.

He'd been proven wrong at Storm's End. They'd acted as a couple, true partners.

Then the whole mess with the serving girl...

And then miraculously, they'd seemingly reconciled before splitting up on the way to The Wall. It was quite the riveting epic. It almost made him yearn for something he'd never fully had. His own wife was rather more reserved- Selyse was hardly a partner. They had never truly gotten to know each other. He blamed himself for that, too closed off, too private. And Selyse had been driven mad by all the babies she'd lost. He'd thought that was a normal marriage. Arya and Gendry had had something completely different. He'd never seen it's like and doubted he would again. And yet... It was rather telling that Gendry was not here. Most like, it was not of his own volition.

Contrary to what others believed, Stannis admired the girl's spirit. Strength of will, even above sword skills, earned his respect. And she had will in spades. Not to mention, Arya's grammar was impeccable. So, he was somewhat looking forward to her acerbic wit during his stay in Winterfell. But he was sorely let down in that regard. The way she glided through polite conversation with so little interest simply wasn't like her. Frankly, it was a disappointment. He missed her biting comments which always kept him on his toes. No more. One could attribute it to maturity or a softening into her role.

But he knew differently- she was only halfway present. Alarming in a passionate woman like that.

Her reunion with her brother and outburst at Melisandre aside, she was almost an entirely different person. The Queen was concerned as well, but too polite to mention it. And her brother merely attributed the change to time; years having passed since they had parted. He noticed they barely spoke either. Stannis knew something was deeply wrong with the newest Baratheon. What's more, he highly doubted Gendry would leave again so soon, so easily, even for Shireen.

The Queen sent back the two lackies, Brenn and Poe, he thought their names were. They were to inform Lord Tyrion of recent events. Though what exactly would be said he could only guess. Many of the men left with them, looking to escape the cruel North and try their luck farther South. Part of their eagerness was due to the Queen herself, able to charm savages and Wildlings alike, offering them a new start in the Capital. Stannis had never managed to secure loyalty in such a way. He could admit when a woman had what he did not, although grudgingly.

Stannis stayed. It surprised Lord Snow almost as much as it had surprised him. Stannis cared for his wolf niece, but more for Gendry's well-being. The least he could do was to look after the girl while his nephew was away. Though he doubted the lad would properly appreciate it. If her scowls were any indication, Arya certainly did not want him there. Stannis sent Ser Davos South to speak in his place until he returned. Melisandre stayed in Winterfell as well, but he had the sinking sensation that it was not based on loyalty to him at all. She was quite taken with the Crow who turned back into a Wolf.

Lady Arya stopped bothering to entertain all-together after the bulk of her guests left. She seemed to truly resent smiling. The wolf had looked none too kindly on Daenerys' all too clear interest in Snow- that was evident. The Queen had been her friend once, he seemed to remember. She was angry at her brother too. Oh, she'd forgiven him, publicly. She would sit beside him at dinner, and reminisce about their childhood. But she only half-answered Jon's questions, nothing about her life in between. Jon for his part was determined to give her space and not push her, for fear of earning her true wrath. Things were troubled between the siblings, more like casual acquaintances now. Jon still planned to leave. Arya must have sensed that, it underlay all their interactions. She was clearly sick of the dinners. The talking and the smiling. She wasn't really listening to what they were saying, her nods seemingly disconnected from the conversation. She always seemed exhausted. Even with her own brother. She was having to pretend after all. He could almost hear her thoughts. She believed it would be better if he hadn't returned. Or if she hadn't. Stannis was more than concerned. Mostly, she kept to her room nowadays. She ate when she could get it down, drank tea whenever she awoke to put herself back into dreams.

She kept to herself. Waiting for them to leave, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Daenerys and he would share uncomfortable looks.

Though he received many hints to the contrary, he believed it important that he stay for some reason. Something in his gut persuaded him. Perhaps The Red God was speaking directly to him. Perhaps he simply wished to see Gendry once more before leaving for good, having become sentimental in his old age. He even missed his daughter and was looking forward to spending time with her.

Arya was always the first to retire and the last to join them for breakfast. Eventually, she stopped attending breakfast altogether, arriving at varying times in the afternoon, picking at her lunch or dinner. Until one day when she didn't come down at all.

She wasn't accepting visitors, not even her brother Jon. Well, she would see him, whether she liked it or not.

It was not easy to convince her women to allow him entrance to their Lady's chambers. But, they too were worried, enough to let him pass. Immediately upon entering, the air changes. Her figure is somewhat hard to make out in the bed. He steps in fully.

"You look like death. What exactly is wrong with you?" Stannis asks after a long while of silence. It had taken some time to get over the shock of her. She was pale, paler than he had expected. With cheeks too red. Her hair was in disarray, and her nightdress clung to her skin, damp with sweat.

"What's wrong with you?" She answers back bitterly. Good, a little bite, it relieved him somewhat.

A deep chirping sounds outside. No, not a chirp. Strange.

"I'm concerned. You're acting..."

"No, you're not. You don't give a shit about my well-being. What are you really doing here, Stannis? What the fuck do you want from me?" He was offended at that.

"I told you, I'm..." He tries to answer but she cuts him off.

"Waiting for Gendry. Yes, yes, so you said. Just go meet him in Storm's End. You'd rather be there anyway I'm sure. I'm sure we'd all prefer that." She takes a swallow of water from a pitcher beside the bed, shuffling tangled up bed sheets. The chirping again. No, not chirping... She looks out the window, distracted.

"Charming." He remarks, rolling his eyes, making his way further into her room. The heavy smell of sweat assaulting his nose. The glow of candlelight further highlighting her features.

"Who said you could come in here? Do you think you're welcome?"

"I'm not the only one who's concerned."

Again. It's cawing. A loud caw.

"All you bring is discord, with your bullshit conditions, your judgments. You made Gendry walk through hot coals for you. Your own daughter is as a stranger to you."

He scowls at that. That had hurt. He hurts her in turn.

"You seem to me not so different. Did you not also torture the boy? I know he wouldn't just leave unless you broke him. You did, didn't you?" He asks it as if he knows the answer.

She attempts to prop herself up to face him, but her heavy limbs betray her. The cawing grows louder.

"Shut up." Not one of her more clever retorts. He sits in a chair pulled close to her bedside. She has no choice but to face him. The corner of her eye keeps turning toward the window.

"And your brother has one foot halfway out the door. You're doing your best to push him out. Was that your intent?" He cuts deep.

"Mind your own business." She growls. She strains to see out the window, a tapping on the glass joins the cawing. He ignores the obvious distraction and keeps going.

"What, you think your father would be proud of this behavior? The spectacle you're making of yourself. Lying about like an invalid- it's pathetic. He wouldn't know what to make of you."

He has her full attention now.

She slaps him.

It's not hard.

He wasn't all that surprised. When he blamed her for Gendry and for Jon, he expected something. But her father... that got her attention.

"You have no right..." She means to say more, but it doesn't come out right. She keeps getting distracted by that damn bird. She attempts to straighten her nightdress, but it sticks to the sweat on her skin. He winces in discomfort in her stead.

"It's the truth." He states calmly, shaken by her apparent frailty.

"Fuck you." She curses half-heartedly.

He raises his eyebrows at that.

"Not nearly as witty as usual." He taunts, but without sting.

"Just go home, Stannis." She tells him before returning her attention fully to the window.

"Jana! Ferron!" She calls out. "Someone open the damned windows."

"Arya." He tries to get her attention. She's already turned away. "Are you alright?"

"The window..." She answers, forgetting her anger at him for an instant. And then she remembers. "Just fucking go."

He puts his hand on her forehead, fire beneath his palm. She shakes him off violently.

Outside the bird is tapping, pitch dark, a crow.

So that's what's been calling. What does it want? Was it here for her?

Its figure is obscured by the glass, frosted by the snow. The crow.

She mumbles, fighting to get up. He puts a gentle hand beneath her shoulder to help her, but she only struggles harder. He's worried she'll injure herself. He can't help but think of his own wife on her sickbed.

She thrashes about, fighting hard to escape the sheets wound tight around her body. She's pleading. But she's making no sense- delirious, unintelligible. It's no longer just her sanity he fears for, but her very life. Where was Gendry?

A crow with three eyes looks on.

Melisandre

The girl needed her. That was clear. Snow begged her to save his little sister. Even Lord Stannis seemed to care for her well-being. They believed her unwell, poor ill thing. Melisandre could see things more clearly. The young woman was dying. It was of her own making. She was on the verge. She could see everything.

The others questioned her, and her motives. They believed her a sewer of discontent. But she only ever told the truth. It was both a virtue and what set her apart. Others, even the most powerful, found her truths unsettling. She understood their unease. No one wanted to face their darkest selves. Stannis could not face his own mediocrity. Snow could not face his own lack of humanity. Gendry could not face his own limitations. And Arya herself, could not face her calling. She was being tested. The God of Light had a hard road intended for Arya, a particularly trying one. But then, all his chosen ones had trials. Meant for important things. Arya had capitulated. Given in. Nothing could be done. Not if the girl was determined to die. Who was Melisandre to go against her will? To go against God's will? To be burned was the truest death, even more so from the inside out. A pure end for a bright soul.

They tried to talk to her, to bring her back, but the poor thing wouldn't listen, she couldn't. She muttered nonsense about birds, and other whispers no one could quite make out. The Targaryen Lord Commander was beside himself, most resembling the boy he was before she'd had to bring him back as 'less'. He cared, but had no idea what to do. He left her care in the Priestess' own hands. The serving women worshipped their Lady, and were more than willing to follow her every command.

Her nightgown was see-through with sweat, sheets kicked off, scrunched at the foot of the bed. Her skin was flushed, an unnatural shade of pink, completely wrong against her naturally pale flesh. And the smell... Death was assured, and it would be a blessing.

They all thought her cold, uncaring, disconnected. But Melisandre saw things as they were and as they would be. It was hard to get attached when she knew all people were mortal. They all died eventually, whether she cared for them or not. Only Melisandre remained. To watch Kings rise and fall, religions spark and die out, and even great women change the course of history only to take their last breaths. She could not end the woman's suffering, but she could hurry along the dying. And ensure the Lord Commander King would take his true place as Ruler of the North and further fulfill his destiny. The little sister dragging him back to the past only got in the way.

"What do we do? How can we save her?" Eventually, they looked to her.

"Burn the fever out." Melisandre answers with a straight face and a stiff upper lip. Cleansing fire. A kindness, a service to her God, a favor to the tormented young woman.

"What? But she's so hot already..."

"Boil some water. She needs the heat to let the poison out. Only The Lord of Light can release her." That was true.

She receives a few doubtful looks, but no matter. The Lord of Light did not require faith to exist nor to be effective. Melisandre showed no hesitation, and so they followed, wanting to believe in a cure.

Arya howled when they placed her in the hot bath, fighting tooth and nail to be released. She scratched some, but was too weak to cause much damage. Her brother could not take her torment, having to leave, pacing back and forth along the halls. The Queen comforted him. It was easier to work without his prying, pitiful eyes anyway. Arya screamed unintelligible curses, but it didn't deter Melisandre. It was for the greater good.

The windows remained shut tight, keeping the steam within. The serving women were more than loyal. And yet still, some had to leave the room periodically to get fresh air, others even fainted, but not she. Heat she could withstand. The room felt like a furnace, but outside was the last of winter. Heavy snows marked the last fall before Spring would finally take hold over this barren land. A pity Arya would not be around to see what she'd fought for.

For days they tended to her like this, pressing rags steeped in willow bark to warm her forehead, giving her more of her favored tea to soothe her. Tears leaked from Arya's eyes, in futility or capitulation, it didn't matter.

And still, Arya fought, though not for her life. When not attended to, the young woman would crawl to the window, trying desperately to open the latch. The others feared she would jump, or get sicker from the frigid air. Melisandre sensed something more.

One of them would drag her back, only to bury her deeper in her woolen comforter and warm furs. The chambers remained locked. She kept crying out. The women would get squeamish and unsure. Melisandre had to assure them she was delirious, that this was the right path.

It was almost done. The fever had taken hold. She would be with her beloved R'hllor now. Melisandre was almost jealous.

Next Up- Arya's journey through the afterlife. Encouragement makes me write faster.