Arya

They had been a week at Moat Cailin, and Arya had spent most of it in the chamber she'd been allowed. Dickon was the face she mainly saw, and he was kind enough. During his stewardship over her in King's Landing, Arya had grown to like him at the very least: always polite, never overbearing, asking her if she needed anything. That role had continued up the Kingsroad; Arya had stayed with him and his Tarly soldiers, far back from the front of the column where Cersei Lannister was being kept in a wheel-house, behind the men in black leather armour who carried spears and in front of the carriages transporting the wildfire.

How she had been waiting for an opportunity to cut that woman's throat. The display she put on for Jaime Lannister outside the entrance of Maegor's Holdfast was mostly theatre. Never would her desire to end that woman's life be quenched. Said desire was only unfulfilled because Jaime Lannister would not allow a situation where it could be. Even during the few times they'd been together on the journey north, both Arya & Cersei were accompanied by guards who had explicit orders to make sure the two of them did not clash in anything other than words.

And Cersei had not been the only woman Arya had not been allowed to kill. During the meeting where final decisions were made for the journey north, she'd been standing in the gallery with Melisandre, the Red Woman, who'd taken Gendry. She'd offered Arya a verbal greeting, but it was only reciprocated with a cold stare. At least Gendry is safe in Winterfell. Dickon had brought her that news, acting as a bridge between herself and Jon.

Jon.

She hadn't spoken to him since their first meeting in the main hall, seeing him mostly at the high table as she ate on the lower ones. The only reason Arya could think as to why he hadn't approached her was that he was allowing her the space and time to process the information which had been divulged during that meeting. And if that is the case, he will be waiting a long time.

The words were still running through her head: the Dragon Queen asking Jon who he'd married, and him replying, "My cousin, Sansa." Every time Arya thought of it, she gagged. It's not right. It's not natural. Even if Jon is our cousin, Father would've never wanted him to marry Sansa. And I don't want him to be married to her either. They're my brother and sister.

Dickon had tried to offer comfort. He brought her to this chamber after she ran from the main hall, and she had curled up on the bed and lied there for hours before eventually falling asleep. Come the next day, it was Dickon who'd shaken her awake, telling her he would take her to breakfast. "I don't want to eat anything," she replied, weakly. "Go away."

"Now, that's no attitude to have," Dickon told her, sounding like big brother.

"Easy for you to say. You didn't learn that your big brother is actually your cousin and has married your sister."

"And I'm not trying to pretend I know how you're feeling, Arya, but you need to eat."

At the very least, he didn't call her 'princess.' He'd stopped doing that when she asked him to, the day following the one where he'd stopped her escaping into the walls of the Red Keep. She'd wanted to kill him for that alone. But as the days went on with him watching after her, keeping her fed, washed and even letting her spar with him using wooden swords – under the supervision of guards, on the express order of his father – Arya had grown to at least tolerate the young Tarly who was now a lord, perhaps even like him.

"I don't want to eat if Jon is going to try and talk to me."

"Then I will make certain he doesn't."

With great reluctance, she climbed out of bed, walking to the main hall with Dickon at her side. Passing through the cold stone corridors of the largest of the Moat's three towers, Arya asked Dickon, "Can I please stay with you for the rest of the journey?"

"You won't even consider travelling with your brother?" Dickon said, sadly. "I saw how happy he was to see you again, how happy you both were. Don't let that go by the wayside, Arya, try to recover it. I will be greeting my sister the same way when I arrive back in Horn Hill, though I will not have been without her for as long as you and Jon have been, at least I hope."

"Yeah, well, I'm not in the mood to be with him. And I doubt I'll be in the mood to speak to Sansa when I see her."

"That is at least two weeks away, and you don't know what will happen between then and now that might change your mind."

She huffed. "I beg to differ."

Arya broke her fast for the first time in Moat Cailin, making Dickon sit with her, far away from the high table where Jon was sitting with Jaime Lannister and Daenerys Targaryen. Already, he is spending a lot of time with them. Is he going to keep the North independent, or is he just warming up to Lannister and Targaryen so that they don't immediately wipe out every last northerner once this battle is over with? Arya knew the Dragon Queen could do it. She'd seen what her dragons were capable of, even just one of them could do it. And Jon will be helpless to stop her.

Since then, both Howland Reed and Lyanna Mormont had visited her. The former told her of the time he spent with her father, during Robert's Rebellion, and of the time he'd spent in Winterfell in recent months, talking about Jon and Sansa and Bran. She was repulsed by the news Bran had already married. "He is younger than I am," she said.

"He was wanting to wait until he was six and ten, but circumstances being what they are, he didn't feel like he could wait that long," Howland explained. "That was also part of the reason why Jon married Sansa, from what I understand. Jon originally agreed to marry Sansa only if the other lords and ladies of the North asked him to step down from the position of King, so your sister could be given the crown instead. Part of that agreement was that if Jon was allowed to remain as King, he would marry, very soon, a daughter or granddaughter of one of his bannermen. However, he instead decided to marry Sansa, after some persuasion from Bran, who told me all this himself."

"So Bran wanted this to happen as well. Why?"

Howland shrugged his shoulders. "The reason he gave both me and Jon was that he wanted what was best for Sansa, but if I'm being honest, I can't help thinking each of his actions has some hidden reasoning he keeps only to himself. That boy is ever more a mystery with each passing day. When you meet him again, you will not recognise him as your little brother from five years ago, I'm afraid to say."

Lyanna Mormont had not been as soft-spoken, and for whatever reason, Arya had preferred it. Mormont remained stood while speaking, while Howland had sat on the bed beside Arya. "Your brother and sister are the reason the North is no longer in the hands of the Boltons. They're the reason you have a home you can go to. And I think you should be more grateful His Grace didn't keep you in the dark on the matter, like he was all his life. He could've just as easily not had you present in that hall before Lord Howland told the rest of you coming up from the south. It could've been in Winterfell when you found out. Would you have preferred that, my lady?"

"I would have preferred it to be the case that this truth wasn't revealed to anyone," Arya replied bluntly. "The secret could have died with my father and Lord Howland for all I care. Jon was my brother."

"And he is still your brother, maybe not by blood, but certainly in all the ways that matter."

"Shouldn't it be the same for Sansa?"

"It was his northern bannermen who consented to the marriage, my lady, it wouldn't of happened otherwise. And I was among those who consented verbally, because I didn't want Tyrion Lannister making a claim on the northern crown."

"Remind me again why I am listening to wisdom from someone younger than me," Arya replied with snark, not liking how good the reasoning the Lady of Bear Island just gave was.

"Because wisdom is wisdom, no matter who or where it comes from, my lady. I pray you reconsider your refusal to see your brother, for your sake more so than his. It would be a pity should you lose him over this."

With that, Mormont had gone, leaving Arya to brood on her own.

Dickon had taken her down to the yard to spar a few times, and every time had to cut it short when Jon stepped into the yard and began to watch her. I don't want him to see me spar. He has no right. And it brought her pleasure seeing his face turn to disappointment whenever she left the yard. But I might never make him feel as bad as I do now, which is a pity.

Of all those who'd tried to comfort her, Ghost had been the most welcome. The direwolf had come to her twice, and she had hugged him tightly, his snow-white fur soft and comforting to the touch. Though the second time, he'd brought Arya a scroll from Jon which she hadn't even bothered to read. I do not want to hear what he has to say. She even sent the scroll back with Ghost, unopened.

And that had been her week in Moat Cailin, at least all the parts of note.

Now she simply laid on her bed, in the chamber she'd been allowed, not knowing when the time would come for them to be moving off. They can leave me here for all I care. I'll find no peace in Winterfell. Facing the wall opposite the door, Arya saw the sliver of light from the corridor grow as the door was opened ajar.

"Arya," said the voice of Jon, softly.

"Go away!" she told him. "I don't want to speak to you."

He opened the door completely. "We all have to learn to do things we don't want to," he said, sounding like the King he was, more so than a brother. "I'd rather leave you be, but we are moving off today, and I will not have you sulking like this all the way to Winterfell." His shadow was imposing as it stood there on the grey wall, bordered by dim light.

"Then leave me here."

"I can't." His footsteps rang against the hard floor, getting louder as he approached the bed. "I am the Head of House Stark, and it is my duty to take care of you."

"I don't need you or Sansa. I survived by myself. You're no better than the Kingslayer who you're so friendly with."

"I am friendly with him because I have to be." He stopped at the edge of the bed. Arya could feel his eyes looking down on her, piercing her being like blades. "Now are you going to get up, or at least look at me?"

She let out a breath, sitting up on the bed and leaning against the wall, looking up at Jon. "There, happy?"

"Yes." He went down to one knee. "Now, Dickon told me that you asked to spend the rest of the journey with him, which I have no problem with, so long as I see you, Arya. I just want to know my little sister hasn't been completely lost, that there's still a chance to find her again."

"What do you mean?"

"I know what you did in the Twins, and Jaime told me of what you did in King's Landing."

She herself tighten up. "And?"

"There will come a time when you will have to answer for killing innocents, but that won't be until the White Walkers are dealt with, so fear not on that account for the nonce. What I worry about is how you'll act when we get home. Jaime has expressed an intention to prevent you from killing Cersei, so I need to know that you won't pick up a knife at dinner and walk over to cut her throat."

"She helped kill Father."

"I know," Jon said, softly. "But she is currently facing her sentence for that crime, Jaime has told me so. She has been stripped of all lands and titles, and is to accompany him everywhere he goes, doing nothing of consequence. That will be the slowest and most gruelling torture for her to endure."

"But how can you trust a Lannister?"

"Because he accepted my request to talk to him when he didn't have to. He didn't have to come north. He could have squabbled with Daenerys about who gets to sit in that blasted iron chair, but he didn't. He answered my call for help, bringing my little sister with him." Jon offered her his hand. "Now, I know you're having trouble coming to terms with the fact I'm your cousin by blood and have married Sansa. I never expected you to do so immediately. But if you stick your head in the snow, and refuse to spend any time with me or Sansa or even Bran, you never will come to terms with our new situation. The world will not accommodate for your stubbornness, Arya. Sansa and I do plan to have children together, it's our duty to, and you'll have to meet them when that time comes. Making strangers out of me and Sansa will not make it easier for you to live with us again. We cannot go back to being the children we were, as much as I would prefer to. I'd give anything to be your brother by blood, even if I were just a bastard, but that won't ever happen. I've accepted that. Sansa accepted it. Bran accepted it. Now you have to as well."

He didn't continue after that, instead letting the silence breath. Arya looked into his eyes and down at his open hand. All I have to do is take hold of it. It was more difficult than it ever should be, taking hold her big brother's hand, but the situation being what it was made it such. She didn't know what to do.

After letting out a sigh, "Thank you for not approaching me throughout the week," she managed.

"You're welcome. I knew you needed your space. Hells, I needed it when I found out about my true parentage." Again, the silence breathed. Arya knew she would have to leave this room one way or another, and she'd rather it not be over the shoulder of Jon or whoever he asked to carry her out. "Oh, one more thing," Jon said suddenly, his eyes lighting up. "Jaime gave me Needle. I oiled the blade and gave it a sharpen. I'm surprised you still have it."

Arya couldn't help smiling. "Father found out about it."

"And did you tell him I gave it to you?"

Shaking her head, "I didn't, but I'm starting to wish I had, if only to see his reaction." Jon let out a chuckle. "I think he might have ridden north just to give you a talking to."

"Maybe. Maybe not. I'll ask him whenever I meet him next, many years from now, at least I hope it will be."

Still his hand remained open, offered to Arya, hers to take.

She flexed her fingers, lifted her arm, and placed her hand in his.

"Come on then, little sister," Jon said with a warm smile. "It's time to take you home."