(Winterfell: The Foggy Canyons 298) Arya IV

The sun shone brightly above her, warm air blowing through her hair as she glided downward from in-between the wispy white clouds, over the shattered, deathly barren, earth far below. Wide canyons and narrow ravines traced along the ground, each filled to the brim with a fog so thick it appeared as milk and spilt slightly over the upper edges of the chasm walls. The white veins of the broken land spread out into the far horizon in all directions, and along several stretches of the misty depths, a dull orange light coursed throughout, hidden beneath the foggy veil. Arya knew well the colour of burning coals, and the mysterious light underneath shared in its hue.

'Something is burning down there,' she told herself. High as she was, Arya could still feel the rippling waves of a fiery warmth dancing across her skin, 'and its very hot.' Despite the odd heat, the clear skies that surrounded them had almost managed to bestow a sense of calm over her mind. Almost. Far out in the distance, to the east, across the scarred plain, Arya spied a black storm brewing, marring the pristine azure sky.

Despite Bran's proximity, Arya still felt alone, and his continued silence during their journey into the sky had finally tugged at her last nerve. "That storm to the east," she blurted out. "What is it?"

Her 'older,' second youngest, brother remained quiet for a moment before sighing. "Change," he replied, the telltale sounds of exhaustion readily evident in his tone as he flew beside her.

"Change? What do you mean?" her interest piqued, the crashes of rolling thunder echoing out over the desolate landscape.

"Exactly what it sounds like," he continued. "Time, as it should have been, no longer follows its destined course. Even now, someone works to shape destiny as she sees fit, and it all started the moment the woman stepped foot into the world."

"She?" Arya pressed, looking down and watching as shadows began creeping upon the land. Ashen clouds had begun forming above them, she realized and looked to her brother who seemed not in the least bit troubled.

"Hmph," he snorted, sparing her a glance. "She's nothing more than a smoky shadow in the corner of my mind, whispering honeyed poison into my ears, laughing her silken laugh, and her eyes, Arya…" Bran shuddered. "They burn like the sun and yet strangely they seem blacker than the night sky." Bran looked wistfully to the east as a dark pall briefly crossed his aged features. "Gods know I could've lived without ever seeing those…"

"What does she want?" she continued, her youthful curiosity once again getting the better of her.

"I know not. She shows me things I do not recall, 'gifts' she calls them. Perhaps they are memories I should not have? But whatever her reasons, they are hers alone. Fortunately, her twins are more easily defined in their machinations. They appear as two raven-haired children, with golden eyes, on occasion. But more often than not, they take the guise of hawks, black dogs, bats, crows, snakes, and all manner of beast and creature in between. They are down there, Arya. Somewhere. Hidden in the canyons, under the cracked ground, watching our trek across the sky. They are always watching."

The words chilled her to the bone and she spared a glance down upon the splintered field, and the many misty canyons therein, but spotted nothing.

Bran chuckled harshly. "I hold no illusions on who she is, her and her children, litt…big sister. I know what they represent to me, to us," he looked to her with a mix of sadness and anger in his eyes, but below even that, she saw the look of relief. A look one would have after a long day's work, a look her father always wore when he would perform his many duties as Warden of the North.

"What are they?" Arya probed, feeling as the air above had begun to grow cold even though the air beneath had kept its pleasant warmness.

"She is to Bloodraven, what you are to me," Bran answered. "A replacement. One far more dangerous than even the three-eyed crow could have ever imagined, and they are her instruments."

"But is not Bloodraven still…" she started, until being cut off halfway by her brother.

"Oh, he no doubt still lingers about, trying to salvage what he can, and manipulating what he cannot. However, he lacks one critical aspect that the shadowed woman firmly holds in her grasp. He cannot go to that place…"

"What place?"

"A place I have never seen, yet know exists. The place where your friend, Jun, goes," he had closed the distance between them, the wind still whipping through his hair, and ruffling his black breeches and dark brown tunic.

"The Grove?" she specified, remembering Jun had oft spoken of the Grove of the Burning Tree and the others she would see and hold council with there. Jun's words on the extraordinary place had filled her with wonder, the pink buttermoth, and the talking twin snakes, but Bran seemed to think otherwise. 'Snakes!' she recalled the memory of Jun's tales on the argumentative serpents lurking in the Grove and looked to her brother. Bran's words on the twins had disturbed her enough to distract her mind from immediately linking the two, the twin snakes and her brother's stalkers, but now clear of mind, she knew she had to speak on her suspicions.

"Indeed," Bran replied, his words sounding somewhat hollow.

"Are they dangerous? The twins, I mean," she asked, knowing the idea of them distressed her brother, but not enough to have had him speak out of hate against them.

"Change is always dangerous, Arya. For you know not if the changes will be for good or ill," his weighted words sounded like some prophetic portent and not one of simple fact, as she assumed.

"But have they ever…" she led.

"Struck against me?" Bran shared a look with her, before returning his gaze to their northern destination. "No. They have had more than ample opportunity to end me, and have not done so."

Arya stared at him, hearing the silent 'yet' at the end of his words, but saying nothing.

"Though I wonder, given that I will fade in time, perhaps I am not of too much import?" her little brother surmised, a resigned smile awkwardly gracing his lips. "Whatever the case, I have seen them appearing at certain moments in time, not as people, but as animals. I have seen what they have changed, but not for what purpose. Are they following their 'mother's' will or some other agenda of their own? Nothing of what they have done has had an adverse effect on our family. That I could discern, at any rate. Indeed it has strengthened our family's position considerably. Contrary to what had befallen us before…"

"What have they changed? What happened before?" she wondered, the idea having bothered her far more than she had let on.

"You saw what happened before, and you saw how it changed," he answered, confusing her. Bran looked down and began slowing his speed, descending gradually to the ground below. She followed his descent, wondering what he meant, noting a large canyon laying only a short walk away from the landing point Bran was leading them towards. The second and third youngest Starks of Winterfell came to rest atop a clearing of dried, cracked, mud.

"I did?" she asked, unable to decipher the meaning of his words, staring at her brother's back. He remained silent a moment, looking out across the desolate landscape. The uncomfortably warm air swirled around them, causing desert demons to whip about in the distance like snakes of sand and dust.

"The visions you spoke of having when you first met me in the courtyard. The man with the wolf head? The King in the North? The vision of the girl, Ursa, and our brother?" He looked over his shoulder, a featureless frown lining his lips.

She shuddered, remembering the gruesome scene of the severed wolf head resting atop the bloodied corpse of the headless man. "Yes? What of it?"

"Do you know who the headless man was? Do you know why that came to be his fate?" a sad look came upon her brother's face, which was quickly replaced by one of anger and a deep simmering hatred.

She remained silent, going over her thoughts, before finally drawing a blank and answering him, "No."

Bran sighed, looking at her once more before staring out at their gods' forsaken surroundings. "Robb. It was Robb. He was betrayed…we all were."

A heaviness came upon her chest, her mind filled with flashes of Robb's smile and laughter, when she had thrown a spoonful of peas at Sansa, during the King's welcoming feast. Despite her developing good-conduct at Ursa's hands, she had been unable to help herself when she had spotted Sansa gossiping with Jeyne Poole and the others.


Jun and Brienne sat beside her, the smaller of whom had struggled to stifle her laughter when Robb came to take her to her quarters. Jon and Ursa were away, speaking with the Lady Azula at Jon's requests on becoming one of Ursa's sworn swords, and so had not been witnesses to the event. As she and Robb had reached the hall just outside of her room, her big brother's frown broke and he laughed, enveloping her in a crushing hug. "You mustn't do that again, little sister, mother was very cross…but by the old gods was it riotous!"


"Who!?" she shouted, running up to Bran and tugging at his tunic. "Who was it?! What happened?!" she felt hot tears welling up in her eyes. "Tell me!"

"I cannot," he answered, eyes stubbornly looking away from her.

"Like the seven-hells you can't!" Arya screeched, her voice trembling in equal parts, horror, rage, and grief. She tugged harder, and glared at Bran, hating him in this instant for his secrecy.

"He cannot tell you," a voice slithered out of nowhere from up ahead. Arya darted her eyes forward, startled by the sudden voice and bringing them to rest upon a boy, as young as Rickon, holding hands with a long-haired girl of similar years. Both of the children bore manes of unnaturally black hair and matching icy golden eyes that held an eerie gaze upon her and Bran. They wore glossy silk tunics and leggings of black, which rippled in the sunlight, and stood barefooted on the parched earth. Identical pins depicting a burning iron skull with dragonglass encrusted eye sockets, and crimson flame rested along their left breasts.

"For it is not his place to say," the girl finished the peculiar boy's words.

"You will discover the truth yourself," both the children spoke in unison now, their words having a monotonous quality that unnerved her. "Once you traverse the foggy canyons and the maze of tangled trees below."

"She is not ready for the canyons," Bran protectively placed his arm out in front of her.

The twins shared a look of confusion with each other, then turned their attentions back to Arya and Bran. "And you brought her here still?"

"To learn a much-needed lesson," Bran countered. The light of the sun blazed above, elongating her shadow and causing her to realize that neither Bran nor the twins had held shadows of their own.

"In what?" The twins radiated a cold indifference and retained their flat sing-song tone, even amongst the sweltering gusts that blew around them.

"Family," her brother stated, his voice sounding resolute and ironclad. "So she does not lose her way as I almost did."

"Bloodraven's methods are not our methods," the twins' words turned melancholic, though no less uniform. "Nor are they our mother's, Brandon Stark, so do not confuse the two."

"I know well what your methods are," Bran's eyes grew cold.

"Do not act as if the bastard's mauling was not to your satisfaction. It certainly was to ours, the taste and feel of his blood dripping from our teeth, ever remains our greatest of memories," the twins continued on, licking their lips as they did so. "His death was necessary to secure our line, and yours. Or would you have preferred he had lived and caused the havoc you know his continued life would have brought to your family? Or perhaps you even still possess a lingering hatred for his father, our father's grandfather, and what he did to your brother?"

'Bastard?' Arya regretted thinking of the word and associating it with Jon, but she shook with worry at its utterance and grew angry. She was angry at being talked around and concerned that Jon was part of something that would cause his death. "You leave Jon out of this!"

"Jon?" the children twitched their eyebrows, seemingly surprised at her sudden outburst. "Oh! Jon Snow," the twins shared a laugh that sounded eerily reminiscent of the Lady Azula. "Do not be silly, Arya Stark. Jon Snow will live a long boring life with his short boring wife. We have no interest in him." Once their piece with her was done they went back to addressing Bran, as if her outburst had never even occurred. "Our mother has expended much needed time and energy to keep you from fading. Time and energy that she could have utilized elsewhere against the great other, or the dark spirit, or even the black emperor. Neither of whom has this world's best interests in mind, let alone either of our family's. So we do not have the luxury of wasting time on fruitless endeavours, and pointless bickering, lest the changes we have made lose their permanency, and your family finds itself back on the wrong side."

"We won in the end," her brother pointed out.

"True enough, but at what cost?"

Bran remained silent.

"Time is of the essence, Brandon Stark, prepare her for the canyons as soon as possible," the twins stated with a certain finality. Golden eyes held a disquieting gaze upon her and Bran, before the children hunched over, turned black as pitch, and melted into the ground.

Arya had no words for what she had just seen and suddenly found herself waking up in a cold sweat, strewn across her small bed in her moonlit chambers. Nymeria was at her side watching the left end of her room intently, a low snarl emanating deep within Nymeria's furry throat. She noticed a large shadow moving along the stone floor and turned to look in the direction her direwolf faced, identifying the source of the shadow as she did so. There, perched upon the sill of her small window, was a solitary black hawk, pecking and pulling away strips of flesh from something beneath its feet. A soft breeze whistled in, causing a black object to detach from the lifeless form beneath the hawk. The thing floated in her direction, and with a deft hand, she caught it mid-flight, revealing it to be a crow's feather. Looking back had revealed nothing but an empty window with a crow's entrails resting upon the cold, stone sill. Nymeria whined and snuggled closer.

Arya suddenly grew very aware that the cotton sheets from Dragonstone, covering her body, were soaking wet and freezing to the touch. She flung them aside, shivering as she did so, and grasped at several unused pillows, furs, and sheets from her bedside.

Nymeria's head and ears perked up, and she bounded off the bed, likely wondering what her master was doing.

Arya threw the collection of bed stuff upon the floor, in a heap, near the head of her bed. She crouched down, looking under her bed, and measured the space with her eyes. She positioned the cushions underneath and lay the fresh sheets over them, as best she could. The small crawlspace was scarcely enough to allow her or Nymeria room to manoeuvre, but somehow she had managed, even though her constant shivering and chattering teeth had almost made it unbearable. After setting up her makeshift cot, she finally grabbed at the spare furs and snuggled in with Nymeria, hidden safely under her bed and humming the song that gave her the most comfort during her sleepless nights.

'Gaze upon the sea…' she trembled, holding Nymeria's head close to her face, wanting to forget what she had seen. What she had heard.

'Past the clouds of tempest ill.'

'To the east,' her eyes watered with ice-cold tears.

'Where the saviour of promised hope comes…'


Note: From here on out, Arya's chapters will only have the year, not the exact date.