A/N: It has been seven years since Ned Stark was declared a traitor to the crown and sentenced to the Wall. Now Winter is here and creatures of legend have been stirring in the North. The Three-Eyed Crow told her mother to make Arya a red cloak to protect her on her journey to see Ned. The red hood will keep her safe, the trees whisper. But the long night is indeed dark, and the road north full of terrors. Forced to face the Others, Arya is convinced the cloak will be the death of her. Until the Wolf King and his pack save her life. The price the Wolf King demands for saving her life is high, however, and the bargain struck may cost Arya more than she is willing to give.

Disclaimer: I only like posting these once, at the beginning. I didn't invent ASOIAF or Game of Thrones (that was George R.R. Martin and company). While my alternate universe may echo certain events, I am merely playing around with my favorite characters. Thus, I reserve the right to shamelessly play about with canon. ;)

THE RED HOOD

CHAPTER 1

"Do you have enough food?" Catelyn asked.

"Yes, mother," Arya evenly replied.

"Your furs look too light. Are you wearing enough layers?"

"If I add any more, I won't be able to fight." Arya tightened the saddle strap and secured the buckle.

Catelyn shifted on her feet. Snow peppered her flame wreathed hair as the older woman took in the quiet yard. She did not like it when Arya fought. "You don't have to go. Rickon is old enough…"

Arya snorted, interrupting, "Rickon is ten and still a baby. And I'll be fine."

Catelyn shivered and then reached behind her, untying the suspicious bundle she had brought when she ambushed Arya at the stables. "If you insist on completing this task alone, at least wear this."

Arya focused on steady, calming breaths as she turned and not-so-patiently waited for Catelyn's unveiling. The cloak was clearly a patchwork piece, borrowed scraps from old dresses she and Sansa had long outgrown. Before Winter began, White Harbor had brought in bolts of new cloth from the South. But this was before the Others were spotted south of the Wall, before the old tales sprung to life.

Before Father took the black.

Arya couldn't help but gape at the fine silver-thread stitching, direwolf heads, and winter roses, carefully wrought by her mother's hand. "It's...red," she blurted. "I'll be a bloody target, wearing this out there." Still, she could not help reaching out to stroke the fabric with her fingerless gloves.

"Bran said," Catelyn paused for an unsteady breath, "it will keep you safe."

Arya shivered. They did not often speak of Bran, although her little brother sometimes spoke to them through the trees. Her mother had believed in the Seven before Winter came, before Bran fell from the tower and later ran away with the Reed siblings.

Before he became the Three-Eyed Crow.

She had not seen Bran in seven years. Her vision blurred. The wind cut sharply across her cheeks, freezing her tears in place as it whispered, "Sister."

Arya shook her head as she brushed the tears aside, then finally met her mother's eyes. Tully eyes. Blue like the summer skies, like the sapphire ring that had been Sansa's betrothal gift.

Calm as still water.

Catelyn did not shed any tears, not anymore. Her face was too grave and lined beyond her years. "Bran said they will not attack you as long as you wear this," her mother insisted.

Arya's sigh clung to the frozen air between them. Her horse, Snow shifted on his hoofs and twisted his dark head to peer curiously at the two Stark women, catching Arya's eye. It was difficult not to roll her eyes at her oldest friend, then. Instead, Arya nodded her assent. She turned as Catelyn helped bring the fur-lined hood over her head. The moment the heavy, layered fabric settled over her armored shoulders she felt warmer, wrapped in the scent of Summer.

"Safe," the winds promised with her brother's voice.

Her mother closed the clasp at Arya's neck, then settled her thin, yet strong hands on her shoulders. "Now, you listen to me." Blue eyes clouded like winter storms. "No fighting, not unless you have no other choice."

"But—" Arya's protest died as her mother's grip tightened like stone.

Lady Stoneheart, the smallfolk of Winterfell had begun to call her.

"No buts, Arya, I will not lose you to any foolish sense of honor like we lost Robb." A flash of pain crumpled across her mother's worn features.

The loss of Robb to the War of the Five Kings had hurt the most. Arya never forgave the Lannisters for that.

One day, I will kill the queen, came the dark thought.

Arya covered her mother's hands and brought them to rest between them. They were not affectionate, not really. All affection had died in her mother with the loss of her husband, her two oldest sons… and Sansa. There was little left for baby Rickon.

Still…

"I'll be fine, just like I've been every time I visit Father," Arya said, willing strength and reassurance into her voice. She forced a smirk she did not feel, adding, "And just think how happy he'll be when he sees what you've sent him."

She didn't tell her mother how Ned had looked during her last visit, more silver than brown in his hair and beard. Or the haunted look in his dimmed gray eyes as he told her Uncle Benjen was still missing. Instead, she kept her smile until Catelyn crumpled in on herself and squeezed her hands in a cold grip.

"Keep your cloak on, no matter what happens. The wolves will protect you, Bran said." Catelyn's ominous words hung heavily between them. The lines about her blue eyes deepened as she whispered lastly, "Come home soon." No sooner were these words spoken, than her mother turned and retreated into the keep.

To the Godswood, no doubt.

Rickon was often left with Maester Luwin or Uncle Brynden of late, as their mother retreated to speak with her dead son.

The air was still warm where Catelyn had been. Arya allowed her smile to fall then, allowed the old bitterness to creep back in with the guilt she felt every time she was forced to endure her mother's presence.

Lady Stoneheart.

A shadow of who Catelyn Tully had been, an older reflection of the sister Arya hated.

Arya checked her saddlebags and her pack, the additional blades she had hidden on Snow's saddle. She climbed onto her horse's back and led him out the yard, past the open gates and onto the road leading north. The guards wasted no time quickly shutting the gates behind her. No one else bid her farewell. So many of the old guard had died protecting Father in King's Landing, and then helping to smuggle her out of the city. No, there were too few left.

This was why Catelyn eventually allowed her youngest daughter to brave the road in Winter alone. Besides Arya's natural affinity for survival, she knew the best places to hide, to hunt and to avoid. She was sixteen her last name day, and she was unafraid. After all, had not Aunt Lyanna disappeared into the wilds after Prince Rhaegar defiled her? No one ever found her, dead or alive. Arya liked to imagine her aunt was still out there, somewhere, even now.

Distant howls cut across the landscape, echoing through the Wolfswood. Arya shivered and gathered the edge of her cloak closer, praying Bran was right about this bloody red hood. The Long Night, as Old Nan called it was indeed dark, and the road north would be full of terrors.

Review: Thank you for reading my little Jonrya fairytale AU, friends! This is a cross-post of my first ASOIAF fic from AO3. You can follow me there as well if you fancy. As you might have guessed, this story will stick somewhat to canon events, but with a few more magical alterations ;) Next chapter we will finally get to meet Jon!