Summary: Jon Snow knows nothing.

Jon trudged down the steps to the main courtyard, Longclaw feeling remarkably heavy at his waist for being such a light and familiar blade. He loathed what it might do to their relationship, but he wanted to at least give his sister a chance to discover for herself just how outmatched she would be on this venture north. And if afterwards she still refused to be left behind, then he would have Edd take her into custody until after they departed.

She may hate him for the rest of her days, but she would be alive and that was his only concern.

So, Jon waited until Arya stepped out into the courtyard, already set to leave just as he was. Edd and Ser Davos were already there, the latter waiting to escort them all down to the gate and the former waiting to, if it became necessary, ruin Jon's relationship with his dear sister. Ghost lingered around the periphery of the courtyard, ever silent as he observed them all and Jon wondered briefly if Arya would stay if he asked her to do so in order to look after his old friend. But, he knew it wouldn't work. His sister was no longer a naive little girl and she would see right through the ploy in an instant. So, drawing Longclaw, Jon turned to face his sister, setting the tip of the blade in the mud underfoot to rest both of his hands atop the wolfshead pommel.

At his request that she join him, Arya stood passively across from him, her hands clasped behind her back in that same relaxed manner which seemed to have become her custom during their separation. When several others of their troop, those who were also set to leave, joined them at the periphery of the courtyard to watch, Jon muttered a curse under his breath because he had hoped to keep this matter as private as possible. With witnesses, Arya's embarrassment would only be added to, which would surely only make her hate him more.

But, this needed to be done. If he handled the matter carefully, then perhaps something of their raport could still be salvaged, but if it was a choice between her life and her love, he wouldn't hesitate to give up the latter for the former in a single heartbeat.

He would die a thousand more times to keep the rest of his family safe.

"I need to see what you mean when you say you know how to fight," he said, turning his attention squarely onto Arya. "If I'm going to let you come with us, I need to be sure you'll be able to handle yourself."

Jon hoped that phrasing it in this way would make her think he hadn't already decided on the matter. Still, he expected her to be offended as she once surely would have been.

Instead, she only said, "Are you sure? We're wasting daylight," her manner ever as cool as the frigid air around them.

He dipped his head in a curt nod.

"Humor me, if you would?"

Arya returned his nod in much a similar fashion, giving her consent.

"If you insist."

Jon held his breath a moment for what might happen next and realized he was, for his anxiety, gripping Longclaw's pommel rather tightly.

"Where are your weapons?"

And then, in a move which was so baffling and maddening and terryfying, Arya pulled the Valyrian steel dagger from her belt, the same one she'd threatened the Hound with in the cells earlier, and nothing else. Needle, Jon only noticed then, wasn't even on her person. Of course, he knew the weapon would be useless on this venture, but surely she could find something to bring besides just a dagger, Valyrian steel or no.

"Is that all you intend to bring with you? Arya, you can't be serious."

To his mind, it was just more proof that she shouldn't join them because what did she hope to accomplish with one little dagger?

Arya only smiled.

"Humor me."

Jon was hesitant now but agreed, breathing out a sigh through his nose.

"Are you sure you want them all watching?" his sister nodded to the troop behind her, which had already grown some since he'd first taken stalk of the spectators, now including Jorah Mormont, Beric Dondarrion, and the smith she'd brought with her, among a few others. "Won't it be embarrassing when I put you on your ass?"

And despite himself Jon smiled because, while he was unaware about how well she would be able to follow through with that threat, it was good to know she still had that same bite to her personality that she used to, that underneath that collected exterior burned the heart of fire he remembered.

"Just ready your little dagger."

The shrug Arya gave was a little lopsided and Jon didn't think to question this or why she had the dagger in her right hand.

"If you're sure. Don't hold back, big brother."

Arya tucked the dagger away behind her back and then stood still, waiting. It took Jon a moment to realize this very passive posture was her being ready and then he hefted Longclaw, ever anxious about the fallout of what was to come. Gripping the sword firmly in both hands, Jon stepped forward and slashed sideways as he would to cleave her across the shoulders. But, the swing was slow because he wanted to make sure he would be able to stop it himself if Arya couldn't.

That was his second mistake, which he realized only a moment later.

His first was not taking her seriously to begin with.

Arya ducked and swiveled beneath the arc of the swing and, before Jon was even sure what had just happened, she'd swatted his sword onward with her dagger and kicked his knee out. He didn't even have the time to take stock of just how quickly his little sister was able to move until he had one knee in the mud and she had that little dagger of hers at his throat.

There was a roguish sort of amusement in her eyes, as well as in the little smirk she was wearing, when he looked up at her and Jon was fairly certain his expression was as oafish as he felt as his entire perspective of his sister was tipped right over.

While unaware of it himself, his expression wasn't all that different from the one Arya had worn just that morning when she'd seen the Wall for the first time.

"I told you not to hold back."

She pulled the dagger away and twirled it around her fingers several times, surely just for show he thought, as she brought the weapon behind her back once again and stepped away behind him. Jon looked to those watching from the sidelines and spotted several different reactions. Many of the spectators looked as surprised as he felt. Ser Davos looked impressed. The bloody Hound almost looked, dare he say, a little proud. The smith, Gendry, was the only one who seemed as though he'd expected this.

And Jon felt rather like a fool.

She had warned him, after all. He'd simply been unwilling to listen.

"I'd do as she says," Gendry the smith offered in his two bits from where he was leaning against an overhang post and Jon would swear in that moment that the man looked to be almost as amused as Arya.

Rising to his feet, Longclaw in hand, Jon turned to face his little sister, finding that smirk of Arya's was still well in place as she retook that same passive posture from before. He had never expected this spar might just become a serious matter, that his own initial claim to see what she could do would prove true.

And now, perhaps, there was just a little bit of curiosity to it as well.

"Are you sure?"

Still, he needed to know this, that she was absolutely sure she could handle herself in a real fight because, no matter how silly she'd just made him look, she was still his little sister and he would hate himself if he ever hurt her.

But, when she gave a simple, mute nod, he returned it because he wouldn't doubt her again.

"Alright. No holding back it is."

And so, Jon moved in for another swing, but this time Longclaw cut through the air quickly. Arya was quicker as she stepped back and out of the way. He planted his swinging foot and pressed in again with another slash, not giving her the chance to close the gap between them like she had last time. He expected her to dodge this one and she did, ducking and swivelling on her feet like she had before, but she kept her distance this time. It was as he went in for his third strike, an overhead slash which she bent out of the way of, that he realized his once impatient little sister was studying his movements with a careful calculation he once never would have thought to look for in her. She would keep her distance for now, it seemed, as she catalogued his moves and whatever tells which may precede them, but if he let himself get too complacent she would surely make her own move.

So, he changed it up as he went, throwing at her every curveball he could conceive of, but this wasn't like most of the sword fights he'd been in, which was really only because Arya didn't have a sword. There was very little parrying involved and no grappling at all. She spent most of her time evading his blade—and making it look remarkably and frustratingly easy to do so, he thought. He'd never seen footwork like hers before, steps so swift and winding that he would've surely tripped over his own feet by now in her place, and she read the movements of his body almost as quickly as he made them. It was equal parts impressive and annoying.

He was hitting a lot of air.

After another swing in a long string of them hit nothing, Jon groaned out loud and lamented with a half-frustrated and half-amused, "Damn!" because he had never expected his sister would be one to give him this much trouble.

It was difficult not to laugh for the grin she sent his way.

"Getting tired, brother?"

To be honest, he was breathing a bit heavily, but he wouldn't give her the satisfaction of admitting it.

"Don't dream of it!"

He pressed in again and she continued to stick primarily to evasion, only resorting to diverting his much heavier blade with her dagger when left with no alternative; even then it was only to make up for what little her movements lacked, never a full on parry. There were a couple times when Jon feared she might not be moving out of the way fast enough, but Longclaw never so much as grazed her clothing or cut a single dancing hair on her head.

He slashed. She ducked.

He lunged. She stepped out of the way.

He turned the downward arc of a slash into a rotation of his own and slashed horizontally, but she was already rolling under the swing as he turned. The tap of the flat edge of her dagger on his calf told him that if this were a real fight he would've just been maimed and Jon groaned out loud again.

He'd never had such a hard time hitting something before.

In the end, it was his wealth of experience over hers which won him the bout, a triple feint which brought him close enough to his prancing sister to shove her with his shoulder.

She was thrown off of her feet, at last rendered still as she hit the mud underfoot, and Jon was relieved for his own panting breaths that the duel had come to an end. With a grin down at his little sister, he extended his hand in an offer to hoist her up.

But, Arya was fast and he once again failed to completely register her movements as she swept his leg out from under him, failed to realize it until their places were reversed. Flat on his back, spots dancing in his vision for the hard fall, Jon stared up at his little sister, who'd been back on her feet even as he was landing in the mud.

She was wearing that same smug little grin from before as she bent over him.

"I told you I'd put you on your ass."

She offered him her hand as he had done and Jon once again failed to question why she used her right rather than her dominant left, although this time this lapse in judgement may have had something to do with the harsh landing.

"Not before I put you on yours," he jested goodnaturedly, but they both knew that, if it had been an actual fight, he wouldn't have been in the position to do so with a maimed leg.

With a grin, he accepted the offer and she braced her foot against his to hoist him up with a strength he hadn't expected from one so small.

"Seven Hells, Arya! Where did you learn to move like that?"

The way she said, "Nowhere," made him think it was some kind of a joke, but he was pretty sure he'd missed the punchline.

All the same, this short bout had made one thing irrevocably clear.

"I suppose I can't really ask you to stay behind at Eastwatch anymore, can I?"

The smile Arya gave him made Jon wonder if she'd suspected his motives all along and he was relieved because she didn't seem to resent him for them. Perhaps, he hoped, she understood that his caution stemmed only from a desire to protect her, a brother's undying concern for his sister.

He followed as she made her way over to the group of spectators, noting as they approached that Tormund had since joined them all and the man looked far too excited, sporting that same look of barely subdued mania Jon remembered seeing before they'd climbed the Wall.

"Is that that dancing shit I found you practicing?" The Hound asked as they drew nearer and Jon wondered not for the first time in the last hour how a man who had reportedly captured Arya for ransom could act as though there was anything but animosity between them. "Well, fuck me, you might actually be able to kill people like that now."

And just as baffling as it had been before, Arya smiled at the man.

"Want to test that out?"

And despite the words themselves, there didn't seem to be a real threat behind them. Sandor Clegane smirked.

"Think I'll stick with 'no fucking way'. I already lost to Brienne of fucking Tarth. There's no way I'm going to put myself in the position to lose to you."

For his little sister's speed alone, Jon wondered if she would actually be able to outmaneuver the man. All it would take, after all, was one well-placed strike.

"Can I try?"

Tormund seemed much too eager as he held up his curved blade, that same mania skirting around unabashedly behind his eyes, and Jon jumped in on instinct with an insistent rejection because, no matter what she'd just proven of her skills, Arya was still his little sister and he would always be a bit protective.

Because he didn't want to offend her, he added, "Time is wasting and we need to be going," but the look Arya gave him, with one eyebrow turned slightly upward, told him he wasn't fooling her

He could only assume she let it go because they had a lot of ground to cover in less time now.

As the others started to move out, Jon lingered only briefly as Arya paused in passing by the smith.

"Any more concerns?" she asked him, a question from what he could only assume was an earlier conversation.

The smith shook his head and there was amusement in his eyes as he replied with an earnest, "No, I'm good."

Before she turned away to follow the others over to the lift, the two shared a weighted look and Jon thought then that he definitely needed to ask the man for those details Arya had mentioned the morning they'd set out for the Wall.

They had all gathered down in the tunnel and were now making one final check that they had everything they would need and Arya stood by, waiting.

Off to the side she heard the man, Davos, bid farewell to Gendry with a clap on the shoulder and an earnest, "Be careful out there, lad," to which Gendry offered only a mute nod and a tentative smile.

Arya had to settle a sudden disquiet in her heart with a breath as she turned to look at the smith, unsure about what that disquiet was but finding it wasn't altogether unpleasant despite the fact that it had stolen her breath away. She was glad she had told him what she'd needed to and the way he'd looked at her as she'd said it all told her he had needed to hear the words, probably as much as she had needed to say them.

She could plainly see that Gendry was anxious for the coming expedition. Afraid, as he had admitted to her on that beach a week ago, but she held to her stance that only a fool wouldn't be. With where they were going and what they were trying to do, it would be more likely that they would all die than not, no matter what she made anyone swear. With this company were a few of the only remaining people she still cared for and she hated the thought that, by this same time the following day, their existences could be wiped from the world just as so many others had before them. She could only hope that, were that to happen, she would actually get the chance to join them.

The alternative was to be alone again and she didn't think she could-

"If you have something to say, just spit it out," Arya found herself snapping, her frustration finally boiling over because she really was growing tired of being stared at.

Thoros of Myr stepped up beside her. Because, of course, he was one of the few people still alive after all of these years.

"You aren't supposed to be here, little Stark," he said, and something in the way he said it made her think he might actually be sad, a deep melancholy on her behalf which she hated to see from someone she hated so much.

Quite honestly, though, it was the only thing that kept her from snapping at him again, but the last thing she would ever want in the world was the pity of, in the words of someone who had a truly unique way with them, Thoros of fucking Myr.

"None of us should be here," Arya said and she didn't wait for what the man might say in response.

She walked away from him before he could even open his mouth and went over to join her brother at the gate, passing by the Lord Commander, a man named Edd who seemed to be on good terms with her brother, as he was heading in the opposite direction. Jon smiled at her as she approached, that same smile which had been infused into the sword he'd given her, the one she'd carried with her for years and the only thing, for a time, which had kept her grounded as Arya Stark. She returned it as his hand fell on her shoulder, not with any intent to start a private conversation with her or to turn her attention towards something but rather, it seemed, just to touch her, to solidify once more in his mind that she was alive and standing there with him. Largely, it proved the inverse for her, that her brother had somehow returned from the dead.

It was foolish because he couldn't make such a promise, but Arya wanted to ask him not to die, just as she had done earlier with Gendry. The words wouldn't come in that moment when they were there on that precipice of potential disaster, but they weren't actually needed, she thought, because she could see a similar plea in Jon's eyes. Surely he could read the words in hers as well and that was enough.

And so, one by one, the others joined them. Beric Dondarrion looked as grim as ever as he stepped into the front line. Thoros took a swig from a small flask tied around his neck. The Hound frowned at him, but she thought that may have been only because the man didn't seem about to share his drink. She didn't know the man who stood on Jon's other side personally, though he'd been previously introduced as Jorah Mormont, a former night from Bear Island currently serving the Dragon Queen from Essos. He was a tall man who was quite obviously past his prime, though not so far as Ser Davos, although he carried himself as a warrior still and he seemed appropriately grim as well, all things considered. The large ginger, Tormund, was perhaps the only one who seemed largely unaffected by their task ahead, but, a Wildling, he was the only one of their company who called the lands north of the Wall home. And then there was Gendry, stepping up on Arya's other side. His jaw was clenched tightly shut, his entire frame stiff for the looming unknown ahead of them all.

It wasn't a conscious action when she reached out to grip his hand briefly, easing his fingers from their tight fist, but when Gendry looked at her she found she didn't regret the action, not when he took a breath that seemed to settle him and gave a little nod, a gratefulness shuttered behind his still hesitant blue eyes. She returned his nod before dropping her hand again, reminding herself that they weren't allowed to die.

A deep boom resounded through the tunnel, drawing Arya's attention as the gate before them slowly began to rise, the chill of the air beyond rushin in to greet them in a flurry. As it started on its slow ascent, she glanced at Jon, but she came up short when she found a deep sort of longing in his eyes as he watched the gate rise. That longing couldn't be mistaken for anything but what it was and she realized in that moment that she'd been wrong before. She feared in that moment that, even if they survived against all of the odds stacked against them, if they captured the wight they sought and ultimately defeated the Night King and his army and took the Seven Kingdoms back from Cersei… she would probably have to say goodbye to her brother anyway.

His home, Arya realized in that jarring moment, was no longer in Winterfell. She had the fleeting and painful thought that perhaps it never had been, not as it had been hers, at least. She hated the completely unmerited jealousy that filled her because she should want for him whatever he wanted for himself.

Even if it meant they would have to part ways.

"You never told me what we're supposed to say."

This comment from Gendry cut right through the suffocating hush which had claimed the group, as well as the painful realization she had just come to, and Arya turned.

He took a deep breath to settle himself and clarified, "Back on the beach. You said, 'there's only one thing to say to Death', but you never told me what that something is."

And she was thankful in that moment because this turn of thought allowed her to slip back into that empty place inside of herself, the one she would probably need before this venture, and everything that would come after should they be fortunate enough to survive, was over. She could feel her brother turn to look at her, could see Beric and Thoros and the Hound all looking at her from behind Gendry, and she knew the smith wasn't the only one waiting.

The gate had finally risen high enough that the sun reached her eyes and Arya turned, shielding her face from a flurry of snow that rushed in, and shortly thereafter found herself looking out over the frozen wasteland north of the Wall. They would have to cross that expanse of snow, capture a dead man, and then return, all without being swallowed by the army of the dead. Those words Syrio had once imparted to her, she found, seemed more fitting than ever before.

With the danger looming ahead, Arya steeled her resolve and said those two words which had always given her so much strength, hoping to impart some of that same strength to the rest of them.

Each one of them would need it before this was all over.

"Not today."