Arya

Two months after Robb's wedding to Myrcella, she had adapted to life at Winterfell about as well as one could expect. She spent nearly all her time either in the sept, in the library, or walking around outside, usually alone. Robb said that he didn't mind that, but he hoped that eventually she would start talking to him more. Arya hoped it would work out between them, and then maybe she wouldn't have to feel as guilty about doing this to him... to both of them, really. Cersei, Jaime, Joffrey, and Tommen had fled Westeros, off to live in one of the Free Cities, and Arya was full of relief at Joffrey no longer being in the Seven Kingdoms. With Tywin in at least an uneasy truce with them, they seemed safe for the time being. But even if all the short-term threats were at bay, Daenerys and the white walkers both loomed ever closer. Daenerys definitely had her dragons by now, and Arya had a feeling she had for a while. It was only a matter of time before she came west, surely. Though King Robert still being alive might delay her. Or make her come faster... really, who could say? Arya had no idea how the mind of a woman like that worked.

In the meantime, she had more pressing concerns. Bran kept saying he wanted to go up to the Wall and visit Jon, and Arya had to say no. It wasn't safe, of course, but more importantly, Arya didn't think he was at the Wall right now. He would be on the other side of it, on his mission to infiltrate the wildling camp. She hadn't received any communication from him in quite a while. She hoped he would be okay; as far as she could tell, changing things down here in terms of the political landscape shouldn't affect things with Jon too much. But while she waited for news from either the north or the south and honed her fighting skills, she continued to think about what to do about the white walkers. They wouldn't be here for years, but their lack of planning had ended very poorly for them last time. The problem was, she didn't see any way to hold them off without Daenerys and her dragons. And as long as Robert Baratheon lived, Daenerys would never be their ally. She needed to talk with Sansa, make more of a clear plan. But she didn't have an obvious opportunity to go and see her.

While she continued to train her fighting skills, she also did her best to study politics and diplomacy. That had always been more Sansa's area of expertise than hers, but she didn't want to make any more major tactical errors. She sat in her mother's chambers, being lectured on the political intricacies of their land and advised on how best to approach different houses. It was horribly boring, but for her family, she would put up with it. It also meant spending more time than she ever had with her mother, and her respect for her grew. The more this happened, the more she wished her mother could learn the truth about Jon; it was the biggest thing between them, and her mother's greatest shortcoming. But still she bit her tongue; could her mother be trusted not to tell? She would like to believe so, but even Sansa had let that secret slip when she had thought it was politically advantageous. And besides, what would her father think? She hoped she would get to see him again soon; the point of saving her family had been to keep them together, and together they were not. They would need to be, when the Long Night came. Otherwise they would never survive.

One afternoon, when she had left another lesson on the political history of the Riverlands, she spotted Bran out with Summer. "Having fun?" she asked him.

He nodded, but then he said, "I've been having more dreams, Arya."

She swallowed. Those dreams were bad news for their plan. "Bran, I've told you. We're doing what's right."

"But haven't you ever thought about what can happen when you meddle with time? About the forces that let that happen? Something is wrong with the balance of the world, can't you feel it?"

His words made her feel cold inside. "You don't know that has anything to do with our trip through time, Bran. And no, I can't feel it. Your powers are... strange."

"All I'm saying," he said slowly, "is that things might still go terribly wrong. They might be destined to."

At that, her resolve hardened. "I don't believe in destiny. I believe in choices. And Sansa and I-we made a choice."

"Choices have consequences," he said.

"Yes, like saving our father's life."

"And King Robert's. You do see the problem, right?"

Arya sighed. "He'll never make peace with Daenerys Targaryen."

"Not in a million years."

"But if she never comes to Westeros..."

"She'll come," he said. "You know she will. And there's only so much our family can do."

"Our family is pretty extraordinary."

"Yes," said Bran, looking out into the distance. "But it wasn't enough last time, was it?"

And on that happy note, Arya left to go check on the dragonglass shipment. It was the second major shipment Lord Stannis had sent them, responding to Robb's letter. Their forges were hard at work, storing up weapons for when the whitewalkers came. But if things went right, Arya hoped they never had to come. They could go over the wall, find the Night King, and kill him before his army could ever come south. Save so many lives. She had killed him once... maybe she could again, or maybe someone else. But either way, she never intended for them to enter the kingdom this time.

Watching the smiths work, she thought of Gendry. He would probably still be down in King's Landing, not knowing who he was. Daenerys would almost certainly not make him a lord this time around, the odds of things lining up that way again were low. He would stay a bastard forever. At this point... with a sudden jolt, she realized that Gendry might not be in King's Landing. It was possible that with things there different, he would never have been given over to the Night's Watch, but if he had... they wouldn't have been intercepted. That realization terrified her, made her think of him up in the freezing cold, taking the oath... but she told herself that such worries would get her nowhere. She would ask Sansa to check on him, she decided, make sure. But those thoughts made her think of all the little things that would have changed, the unintended side effects of their actions for their family. Was Bran right? Was she making a mistake? The problem was, there was no way to know. And it was too late to change her mind, anyway.

Sansa

Months of plotting had gotten her nowhere. Her father had rejected any plans of getting King Robert off the throne, saying that no matter how long the king was gone for, if he made any efforts towards peace with Daenerys Targaryen they would be quickly ended, and him likely thrown in the Black Cells. She bemoaned how unreasonable Robert was, and her father could only nod.

"It's absurd," she had said. "And hypocritical. King Robert has Targaryen blood."

"I know," he had replied.

"And who is he, to hate the family so much, when you don't even? It wasn't his family they killed. And my aunt didn't even like him!"

At that, her father had gone silent for a moment, then said, "I don't know what you hope to gain by telling me this, Sansa."

"I just wish-"

"That you could make him be reasonable? I've been trying a very long time."

So she was back to needing, desperately, some way to deal with the Daenerys Targaryen problem. Some way besides letting Robert try to kill her. Because by this point, the moment was past. She had her dragons. Robert could only anger her now.

She walked through the flower gardens with her mind racing yet again, and she came across Queen Margaery, walking with her grandmother, who was smiling. Sansa curtsied when she reached them. "Your Grace."

"Lady Sansa." The queen smiled at her and said, "I've noticed you coming to court more often."

"I'm starting to develop a bit of a political interest," said Sansa. "My father wants me to know more about the goings-on of the kingdom, says it will better suit me for my place as lady of a household in the future." The words left a bitter taste in her mouth, but she had a feeling the queen understood.

"I'm sure you will make a lovely wife someday," she said.

"How are you liking being queen?" asked Sansa.

"It's what I've always wanted," Margaery replied. "And soon my position as queen will be even more secured."

Sansa frowned, trying to puzzle out her meaning, then it hit her. "You're pregnant?"

Margaery smiled brightly. "I am. At least, I'm quite certain by this point."

"I haven't heard any royal announcement."

"No, and you won't for a while. Robert wants to wait until the child is actually born, make sure it looks like him."

"What if it doesn't look like him, and looks like you instead?"

"He'll get very angry, I expect. Best not to worry about it yet."

"Why are you telling me?" She knew better than to think this was only pleasantries, knew that the Tyrells always had a plan for everything. But what did they stand to gain from telling her?

"Just thought you might want to know," she said.

"Right." Sansa went back towards the castle to speak to her father.