The Butterfly Effect

by evil.otter

She thought she was going to feel peace after finishing off her list, but she was far from it. Her family was still gone and she was alone. So, the Gods let Arya Stark travels back in time to save her family and make her rewrite the past. While doing so, she creates the butterfly effect and she soon realised that maybe things were written like it was for a reason.

29. Crown

In which Arya finally lays out her plan, properly this time and finds herself in a bit of quandary.

*Year 299 After Conquest (AC) – New Past*

Mercenaries.

That is what Arya needs. She needs men – A lot of them if she wants to protect her home. With Robb taking almost every Northmen, marching them South, she didn't have much left to work with here. It's only a matter of time now that news of Robb crowned as King will come in one of the ravens that flew into Winterfell. And with that, The War of the Five Kings will finally commence and she will need to prepare not only herself but Rickon as well – and especially the people of the North with what's to come. The people outside of Winterfell's walls will need protection more than ever.

This is the least that she could do now and she will. She decides to ignore the gnawing warning at the back of her mind – the one that comes from the 'dream Bran' as Arya would like to call him. His words are not lost on her as she can still vividly remembered what happened in her dream.

But, screw him and his warning. He's not even here so he doesn't get to decide.

She wasn't going to let anyone else die on her watch this time around. The Gods must have a reason to send her back and give her a second chance to change things. Else, why would she still be here, stuck in the past yet again?

Regardless, she will do everything in her power to save everyone that she cares. Everyone that she loves.

"We need more money." Arya started, focusing at the two people sitting across her, the table separating them in the middle. She had called Maester Luwin and Ser Rodrik for a meeting to discuss further arrangement of The North.

The two men exchanged a look before they settle at the young Stark again.

Ser Rodrik decides to respond, clearing his throat. "Money, my lady?" he looks confused at the first opening of the meeting.

Maester Luwin decides to join in too then. "The North is not exactly known for its wealth, m'lady…" he trails, and when the grey eyes in front don't waver, he continues. "But, we do have an abundance of natural resources such as timber, iron and silver. Not to mention, access to trees and game as well."

"We can sell those, can we not? Or trade them? How much worth of Gold Dragons do you think it will provide us?" She asked eagerly.

The old maester takes a second to consider it before he answered. "Ten million Gold Dragons at the very least."

A small smile spread on Arya's lips. "That's very good then." she turns to the Master-at-arms. "I want to hire mercenaries or sellswords with this money… Robb will not let the Lannisters have their way now that father is gone. And with most of the Northmen went away, we are defenceless here."

The two men glance to each other subtly, noticing how calm the young girl speaks of her father since his death. Ser Rodrik fixed his gaze back at her, nodding in understanding. "I can find these contract men, my lady. There are some here in Westeros and more across the narrow sea."

Before she can say anything to that, Maester Luwin interrupted. "I'm afraid the value of what I just said is only applicable if we manage to gather a handsome amount of labours."

Arya's shoulders slack as she realized how that can be a problem. "But, we don't have enough manpower, don't we?"

"No, we don't." Maester Luwin agreed softly. "And winter is coming, m'lady. It will poise to be difficult to work in such weather."

"How about a loan from the Iron Bank?" Ser Rodrik suggested then. Her gaze finds the older man in a snap but her mind wanders to the City of Braavos instead as she relives the canals and streets she walked through another lifetime ago that eventually leads to the massive doors of black and white that had changed her infinitely.

"We could try." Maester Luwin sounded then, successfully snapping Arya out of her thoughts.

She focuses back at the on-going meeting. "You sounded unsure." She noticed.

"The Iron Bank is well known for putting a significant amount of interest to its borrowers… We could still be in debt for the next five decades." He voiced out his concern.

Maester Luwin's last words held the silence in the room. Arya doesn't like the prospect of dealing with the Iron Bank either but, her choices are limited and Gods know they desperately need all the support to win this war. She decides to bury the unease in her gut at the fact that the House of Black and White are only a distance away. Surely, those two powerful organizations are not related in any way.

"At least we'll live for the next fifty years, once we win this war…" Arya cuts the silence effectively. Her determined gaze finds both men. "I promised Robb that I will keep Winterfell and The North safe from any invasion. And this can only be done if we have enough resources."

"Perhaps it's better to do nothing and wait, my lady? Robb may not have the experience, but your brother isn't just a boy. He's not as weak as the Southerners believe. He may surprise them yet and win the war." Ser Rodrik voiced out.

A small smile spread as she recalls the victories Robb had when he goes to battle against the Lannisters another lifetime ago – how even Tywin Lannister himself grew stressful of Robb's continued success. But, then the red wedding happened and her smile disappears. "I have no doubt that he will. The people will sing songs about him in the taverns, praise him of his winning against the Southern armies in the streets." She trails, looking at an invisible point as the memories assaulted her. "But, everything that is good will never last forever. And inevitably when that happens, we need to help him." She finished, fixing her gaze back at the two men.

Maester Luwin looks at her with an unreadable expression. "You know something that we don't." he suddenly proclaimed.

Arya blinks, caught off guard. "What?"

The old maester leans forward slowly, all the while not breaking contact with the steel grey eyes. "Your father told me that you warned him – About being King Robert's Hand and how dangerous it will be." he started, making the young girl's expression changed.

"I did." Arya clenched her jaw tight to drown out the pain in her chest. She should've tried harder back then to convince her father to stay.

"How did you know?"

She wanted to say it all then. Really, she has nothing to lose now if she tells them the truth about her time travelling. The worst that could happen is that they don't believe her and believe that she was crazy.

Nothing new there, she thought.

She caught the old maester's gaze, determined. "Because I've lived through it before." There, she had said it.

Both Maester Luwin and Ser Rodrik frown with apprehension, trying to decipher what she could mean.

"What do you mean you've lived through it before?" Ser Rodrik inquired.

"I meant exactly as it sounds."

A beat and then, "Like a vision? You had visions of these things happening?" the old maester tried again for confirmation.

"It was real." She counters but when the two men look at her like she had gone bonkers, she decides to tone it down. "At least for me, it was… It felt real."

Silence fills the room then, as both men seem to be lost in their own world, no doubt trying to imagine what she could've possibly seen.

"When do these visions happen?" The Master-at-arms asked again and quickly continues as he recalled something. "That time when you attacked Robb – does that have anything to do with it?"

Arya nods softly. "I was confused and disoriented at the time."

"The fever and headaches afterwards?" It was Maester Luwin now.

"I think it was the after-effects… I'm not sure about that."

Another beat passes. Both sets of eyes in front of her were loud despite the stillness in the room.

"What exactly did you see in these visions, my lady?" Curiosity lace Ser Rodrik features.

The young Stark blinks in a daze, startled at the question. No one has ever asked her that since they always dismissed her claim as soon as she proclaimed what she had been going through. When Ser Rodrik is still meeting her eyes, she remembered his question that she left unanswered and at once, her heart clenched painfully.

"I've seen deaths…so many deaths. Everywhere I go, the air reeks of it." And somehow she was back at King's Landing, at the Twins, at the crossroads Inn and at Castle Black. "Everyone that I ever cared about ends up dying in front of me one way or another. Father, Mother, Sansa, Robb, Jon…and–" she swallowed the bile that's threatening to come out as the image of a silver-haired girl with a bloodied knife in her chest invades her mind as well. "I couldn't save them."

The silence that comes after is so heavy that she almost lost the air to breathe. Or perhaps it was only her and the weight of the guilt that she'd lost her father again was the reason her chest constricted so painfully. "I keep failing…" she speaks so softly that if not for the silence it would be lost in their ears. "Back then, now – I keep failing, even now."

"This isn't your fault."

She looks up to Maester Luwin, eyes hard. "Was it not? I have all this knowledge and yet I still can't save him. Father should be here, governing as the Lord of Winterfell, not me."

The eyes in front of her soften. "You have an innocent heart, my child… but if you go on and keeps putting everything that everyone did on your shoulder, you'll drown."

Arya wanted to laugh at the absurdity. Her heart is far from being innocent. She had done her share of killing and taunting people who deserve to die and people who are not. If anything, her heart is blasphemous. Her disapproval must have been obvious because the old maester harden his gaze as he decides to speak again.

"Your mother tried to stop him too, but your father was adamant in going to Kings Landing…" he trails. Seeing that he caught the young girl's attention now, he explains further. "I believe he was going to stay in Winterfell, especially after your fall, but three days before he left, I received a scroll in the middle of the night. There was no addresser, only that it's addressed to the then Lady and Lord Stark. I don't know the content but whatever it was, the next morning your father gave the order to ready the entourage to go South."

The young girl takes a moment to process the information. She wonders who gave the letter to her parents and what was written on it. But, it seems that the only answer she can get is from her mother which she still hasn't received any news from yet.

"He made his choice and you're the last person to blame, Arya." Maester Luwin voiced out then, successfully breaking her train of thoughts.

She can feel the back of her eyes is starting to burn. It didn't help when both Maester Luwin and Ser Rodrik keep looking at her with such tenderness and care. Gripping her fists tightly, she finds a new wave of rage at the new information. "Whatever was written in that letter, it was enough for father to accept Robert's offer… Father chose him over mother – over us, his family. I guess we meant nothing to him." The words taste bitter in her mouth.

What she said seems to ruffle the two men as they look at her incredulously. It was Ser Rodrik who decides to speak. "You know that's not true, my lady… Lord Eddard may have been a stern and cold man, but everyone in this castle knows how much he loves his family – his children."

Of course, Arya knew that. Her shoulders sag as she looks away, ashamed. She didn't really mean what she said before. "It doesn't matter now… He's gone." She said, suddenly tired.

"I've been the maester of this castle since Ned was a young man." Maester Luwin started. Only when the dejected grey eyes look back at him did he continues. "He will always put his family first in everything that he does back then… So, there is no reason to believe that he would ever stop."

Arya's heart sank at that. She remembered how her father had confessed to the crime he never committed at the Sept of Baelor, admitting to the claims that no doubt a man of his honour would've never said. Deep in her heart, she knows who her father ultimately chose.

She always knew.

*

After the meeting ended, Maester Luwin had agreed to send a raven to the Iron Bank in Braavos, officially requesting for a loan on behalf of the Lady of Winterfell, the Lady Paramount of the North. The young Stark hopes that the letter arrived well and a meeting will soon be arranged for both the Iron Bank representative and herself.

But that wouldn't happen in a day.

And waiting Arya realized is torture.

She had no choice but to go about her daily lives and that means going back into becoming the Lady of Winterfell. Though she was busy day and night, Ser Rodrik and Maester Luwin have been making it easier for her. She doesn't know what had changed but after what she said of her visions, both men were more receptive of her decisions to govern the castle and its occupant. It was like they think she holds all the answers to every problem.

Which she doesn't.

And she had told them as much. But, it doesn't seem to affect them since they still treated her – albeit much less obvious now – as if she was a higher being.

Arya doesn't know how to deal with this peculiar treatment. Especially, when the people inside the castle had also started to look at her with more or less the same expression – both with awe and wariness. Though it bothers her about the change, she decides it is way better than being pitied at.

It was late at night as she hunches over a large tome placed on her desk. She had tried lying down to sleep but again, her nightmares had woken her up. The Dream Bran is there again in her sleep. She doesn't remember what he said this time but she remembered feeling scared and helpless. Perhaps he's angry that she hadn't listened to him or perhaps she was afraid of what's to come with her trying to meddle in with things again.

When her mind seems to wander into dangerous territory, she shakes off the thoughts of losing every person that she loves again as she focuses into the words written inside the pages, getting lost in the sea of sentences instead of a sea of crimson and everything that is horrible.

A sudden creak sounded then, making her snaps her head up to her now open door. Osha stands there with a raised brow as she looks back silently.

Arya only leans back to her chair slowly, quirking her eyebrows in response.

The older woman rolls her eyes before she sighs, turns around and closes the door behind her.

Exactly three seconds pass before a knock – too loud than usual – can be heard. Arya leisurely waits for a moment before the older woman outside knocks again, frantically this time.

"Come in." The young Stark finally said.

The door cracks open for the second time and Osha comes striding in. "Well, that only takes about an eternity." She smiles softly, putting a washbasin and a few clothes down at the bedside table.

Arya glances to her open window where the skies that she last saw dark are already bright now. And suddenly she feels very tired imagining the long day ahead. She closes the tome with a thud, not even bothering to mark the last place she read, knowing that she will revisit everything again tonight.

"Those bags under your eyes are becoming more obvious by the day." She heard Osha commented then.

Her hand that was rubbing her weary eyes stilled as she slowly looks up. "Spare me your nags, Osha… At least until I break my fast."

"If you can't stand my nagging, then you'll have a harder time getting through this day." The Wildling woman quipped as she moves to organize some of the scattered clothes the young lady left on her bed.

Arya decides to flutter her eyes close instead, trying to find some peace for a while. Even though her vision darkened, her ears still hear the swish of the other woman moving about to clean the chamber. She sighs. "Can I just stay in my room today?" she opens her eyes to capture the dark ones. "You can tell Maester Luwin that I'm sick or something."

Osha moves closer. "You want me to lie to a Maester?" before Arya can reply, she continues. "And what happens when I said you're sick? Who do you think will tend to you then?"

"Alright..." she admonished. "Just forget I even asked."

Arya can feel the heavy stares from the other woman but she busied herself with arranging the books and letters on her table instead. When the silence has stretched too long to her liking, she finally looks up. Osha was already standing opposite her, giving her famous stare that speaks volume.

"What now?" The young Stark sighs.

"You should ask the old man…he might have something for you so you can sleep easier."

"I'm fine," Arya said quickly. To think that she would likely have to face the Dream Bran again only makes her shudder.

The older woman clearly disagrees but Arya ignores it and continues to mindlessly arrange her desk. The fight eventually left Osha as she starts helping the younger girl too.

The silence lasted only for a while though when the older woman caught an unopened scroll. "Why haven't you read this yet?"

Arya tensed as she recognizes which scroll that is. It was the one that Tyrion had given to her – The one from Jon. She instantly snatched it from Osha's fingers. "Because I don't intend to read it."

"Why not?"

"Because it's not important"

"How would you know if you haven't read it yet?"

The young Stark throws daggers through her eyes making Osha stops her quest in pursuing answers anymore. At that, the tension instantly leaves Arya's body as sadness takes turn instead. Jon is the one thing that she can't change in this timeline. He's the man of the Night's Watch now and not even the King of the seven kingdoms has any power to interfere with the institution.

And to think that she could have saved Jon if he only waits for her to wake up from her fall only makes her riled up all over again. She felt betrayed, disappointed and above all helpless. She tightens the grip on the scroll before she puts it away among her other organized books.

"So, do you have any interesting news to share today?" Arya asked, slicing the heavy silence as she wheels her way to the bedside table. She really needs a wash now, at least to clear her face if not her mind.

"What, you think I'm one of those girls who gossip when their mistress is not around?" Osha instantly answered as if nothing had happened and that is why Arya always feels grateful for the other woman.

"No, of course not." She looks over her shoulder with a small smile which Osha mirrored.

"Well, they think if you look long enough into their eyes, you'll know how and when they're going to die."

Arya snaps her head upwards, taking some of the water in the basin where she had dipped her face along with her. "What?" She frowns as heavy droplets trickle down her chin and onto her dress.

Osha repressed a smile as she moves closer. Taking one of the face cloth to wipe the young girl's face dry, she hums. "Oh yes… According to the people inside this castle, apparently you can tell their deaths and secrets just by looking into their eyes now."

Absentmindedly, Arya murmurs a quick thanks to the older girl as her mind revisit what has just been said.

"Where did they get that idea from?" She asked, curiously. That would explain why everyone's been looking at her differently for the past few days. Some wouldn't even look into her directly when they're talking to her.

Osha just shrugs in reply as she moves down to clean the young girl's feet. Arya has a guess as to who might be the one spreading the absurd rumours about her but even then she doubts they were responsible. Anyway, she will have to talk to Maester Luwin and Ser Rodrik about it later.

"This is great – as if I need more reason for people to stare at me." Arya sighs softly.

"Don't worry little lady, they got something else to talk about today," Osha said, squeezing the warm water out of the cloth before wiping the girl's other feet.

"And what could possibly be more exciting than a crippled witch?"

Osha chuckles at that. "A red comet appeared in the skies today… They say the red colour represents the blood of Eddard Stark. Some seems divided on it being an omen of your brother's victory or indicates a triumph for the forces of House Lannister."

As Arya looks to the open window, she can't see the sightings from where she was but she still remembers how it looked like from her previous life. "Perhaps they were right."

"No… Stars don't fall for men, little lady." The Wildling woman stands up, having finished her task.

Grey eyes look up to find dark ones. "Then, who do they fall for if not for men?"

Osha smiles softly. "Dragons."

*

Arya really is not the kind of person that thinks everything revolves around her. But as she stared at the red comet up in the skies, the only thing that crosses her mind is Osha's last words.

As if the young Stark needed any more reason to remember Daenerys Targaryen by.

She felt personally attacked by the Gods thinking that they are probably mocking, taunting, and torturing her all the same from up the clouds. And of course, they would do it in the grandest way possible, smearing the reminder of her pain up in the skies.

Or perhaps she was just being a little dramatic of it all. But either way, the clench in her heart is still there and the red comet is doing everything but making it go away.

The day went by a blur that she didn't even remember what happened. Her body seems to work and response on its own. She might have been doing nothing but wandering around the castle for all she knows with the image of a certain silver-haired queen having occupied most of the space in her mind. But, she did remember having confronted both Maester Luwin and Ser Rodrik about the rumours she learned from the Wildling woman.

"Have you told anyone about our discussion the other day?" Arya had asked. When the two men only look back confused, she clarified. "About my…visions?"

Understanding spread across their features.

"No, of course not, my lady." Ser Rodrik quickly assured.

"How about among yourselves, then? Have you discussed it outside my room?"

Maester Luwin shifted. "We did… But–" he trails exchanging a silent look with the Master-at-arms.

Arya sighs softly as she finally got her answer. "People think I have some kind of unnatural ability now. Words have spread and I guess we can do nothing about it any longer."

Silence ensued as Arya looks away lost in thought. The two men clearly are uncomfortable by the thick stillness before the older man speaks up.

"I'm sorry, Arya… We should have been more careful."

"We were just hoping to find a way to help you." Ser Rodrik said in regret. "I should've been more aware of the surroundings before we discussed anything at all."

Arya doesn't really blame them. It was true that it bothers her so in the first place to have an entire occupant of Winterfell to have knowledge about her 'visions' – albeit a much different version. But, what's done is done and the only thing to do is to let it go. As with everything else, people will find something else intriguing to talk about and eventually this will pass.

Besides, it wasn't nearly as bad as everyone thinks that she has gone crazy. If anything, it was a step up from before. So, she assured both men exactly that. When they were able to look her in the eyes again, she feels a little bit better too.

That occurs a few days ago and today is another brand new day. The red comet has long gone now and in its place is a clear sky as if it was never there.

Arya was at the Great Hall attending court for the people as they list their concerns. And Rickon sat beside her having nothing in his schedule for the day. He was strangely docile as he minds his own business, with Shaggydog and Nymeria lying comfortably down the steps in front of their master and mistress. Arya focuses on listening to the man still eagerly talking across her. Complaining about the lack of his harvest and therefore couldn't afford to produce more for Winterfell.

The man's speech, however, was interrupted when a sudden thump sounded, echoing loudly in the hall. He tried to continue talking his points over the still on-going noise, stuttering until Arya decides to save him and turn to the youngest Stark who is drowning in his own world of destroying walnuts, a stone in his grip.

Where did he even get this from? Arya wondered.

"Rickon." She starts, reaching for his arm nearest to her. Instantly, he stops and catches her gaze. "We have guest… Do you think it's polite to make so much noise when he's talking?"

His gaze flickers to the man standing across before he finds grey eyes again. "I'm bored." He stated with a huff.

"What do you want to do then?"

He takes a moment to think of an answer before he finally spoke. "I want to play outside."

His face lit up at his own suggestion and Arya can't find it in herself to disagree, so she nods her approval and the boy shoots up from his chair and run towards the door, leaving the mess of cracked shell and nuts behind him. Shaggydog bolts after him, not a moment after.

Arya looks over to her shoulder beckoning Osha to come close from where she was standing. "Can you make sure he doesn't wander off outside the gates?"

The Wildling woman gives a short nod before she too was gone.

Now, that's settled, the young Stark focuses back onto the man still awkwardly standing across her. "My apologies, my lord… For such a small man, my brother tends to leave quite a mess behind his wake." She offered a smile.

The man relaxes as he chuckles softly. "That's alright, milady… Boys their age will always be in a quest to explore everything. My two boys are already giving me a headache to last a lifetime."

Arya reached for a piece of paper then, dipping the feather in ink and starts writing. "I'm glad. Not of your headache, of course." She trails, looking up from her paper to catch his eyes. "But of the nature of boys. I thought there's something wrong with my brother… He always is quick on his feet, and I can't seem to control him."

"It's best that you don't control him, milady. Let him makes mistakes and then he'll come running to you for answers."

"Thank you for the advice. I'll keep that in mind."

Arya continues writing the letter, allowing a comfortable silence to envelop them. For a moment only the scratching sound of her feather can be heard as she diligently finished the last sentence of her letter. Signing her name, she looks up again. "You can take this letter to the Right Wing of the castle and asks for a man named Ronas. Tell him that you require three good and able men from his group to work for you in your farm and one cart full of manure to be taken back as well."

He shifted his weight uncomfortably at that. "But, milady…I don't have enough money to buy a full cart of manure."

"That's fine. Your produce is much more important right now." She assured. "We're in a war and winter is coming… Besides, I don't know why we impose for people to buy this. It's rather stupid, don't you think so? Buying shits with money?"

He repressed a smile, looking conflicted whether to answer the question or not. Arya saves him the trouble. "Anyway, we have a lot in abundance and I fear if we don't get rid of it soon enough, the whole castle will reek… So if you need more, you need only ask."

He moves closer then, taking the letter from her and bow low. "Thank you, milady… May the Old Gods protect you and your family and everyone in the North."

With a last smile, he turns and walks out of the hall. Arya leans back to her chair relieved that that's finally settled.

A sudden sensation of being watched registers then and she looks to her left where Maester Luwin is looking at her with an unreadable expression. She almost forgot his existence as the old maester tend to only sit silently during most of her session with the villagers. She knows she has done nothing wrong in her previous decisions. If she was, Maester Luwin will no doubt intervene.

"Is something wrong?" She asked anyway, doubts still linger inside her.

"Nothing… Nothing at all." he moves to assure, making the young Stark relaxes. "I've just realized now how much you've changed." He said softly, almost saddened. "I still remembered you running around the castle, your dress smeared with mud and dirt, hairs tangled, looking for your father to give him your favourite winter rose that you plucked from the glass garden."

A slight tugging spread at the corner of her mouth. "I remembered. And then after, mother would chase me down." she chuckled, though it sounded more pained than joy. "That felt like another lifetime ago... I'm not that girl anymore."

Her last words hung heavy in the air as the older man seems to search for words to say. He doesn't get the chance though when Nymeria suddenly moves from her resting place and whines loudly. A beginning of a commotion can be heard from outside before someone comes barreling in, interrupting their moment.

"Ser Rodrik?" Arya calls as the man moves closer to them.

The Master-at-arms takes a second to gather himself before he spoke. "Lady Stark, Torrhen Square is under siege."

Before Arya can address about it, Maester Luwin jumps in. "Torrhen Square is barely forty leagues from here. How can the Lannister strikes so far North?"

"There are raiding parties led by sellswords… Perhaps by the order of Tywin Lannister." The Master-at-arms supplied.

As Maester Luwin had said, it's only forty leagues from Winterfell. Why would the Lannister decide to attack Torrhen Square and not Winterfell itself? Even if they did want the smaller castle, surely they'll know Winterfell will send troops to retake it again. Either way, they have to help them.

"How many men do we have, Ser Rodrik?" Arya finally asked.

He looks pleased with the question. "Your brother has taken most of them, but, I can gather two hundred decent men."

"And how many are the enemies?"

"Unsure, my lady. Conflicting reports said fifty or one hundred."

A beat passes as Arya weighs on what to do. Should she send one hundred men or more? Will it be enough for Ser Rodrik and his men to outnumber the enemies? Or will she send them to their early deaths? But, she needs men to protect Winterfell as well, as this might only be a diversion. The sacking of Winterfell has yet to happen in this timeline and Arya will make sure that it will never happen, especially not under her watch.

She straightened her shoulders, finally deciding. "Leave fifty men to guard Winterfell and use the rest to retake Torrhen Square."

"It won't take long my lady… You know Southerners don't do well here." With one last smile, assuring the young girl, he turns to leave.

Arya can only hope that she had made the right decision.

*

It was early at dawn and outside, the silence was deafening. The devoid of everything, both animals and people are almost disturbing. But for the young Stark, the wariness inside her overpowers everything else at the moment.

She couldn't let herself to fall asleep when Ser Rodrik alongside a hundred and fifty Stark men is still out there. Ser Rodrik should have long arrived at Torrhen Square by now since it usually takes less than a day on horseback. And perhaps, they're already succeeded in retaking the castle from the enemies and now are heading back to Winterfell to deliver the good news.

When she's able to reassure herself that everything will be alright, for the hundreds of times she tried reading again. But, a page or two will always be as long as she can get before her mind drifts off to the inevitable again. Sooner or later, the book finds itself unattended on her table as it remained in the now darkening room. There are little lights that pour from her opened window and the last candle she has, had long died hours ago. She will have to ask Maester Luwin for more.

A burst through her door snaps her from her reverie then. She looks up to find Osha standing there as usual. The chiding of the older woman's lack of knocking is already at the tip of her tongue but it dies down when she finally notices how anxious the older woman is.

Before Arya can ask about it, Osha spoke. "You're needed outside."

Arya didn't ask for what as she has a feeling of what it would be. Besides, someone will no doubt fill her in on what has happened and perhaps she should relish the rare moment of not knowing, even for a little while.

Without another word, Osha moves behind her and starts pushing her wheeled chair. The Wildling woman stops at the middle of the room though, making a quick grab of the fur on the bed before she gingerly places it over Arya's lap. "It's cold outside." She reasoned.

The young Stark murmurs her thanks and Osha continues to push her out of the room. They pass through the same hallways that they use from their everyday usage. Only this time, the heavy silence and the thick tension are the ones that accompany them and not the usual banter.

Before Arya knows it, she is struck by the cold wind as the walls move past her and openness greets her instead. Osha proceeds to take Arya further which the young girl guesses are to the main gate.

She heard the murmuring of voices first before she finds a small group of men up front, lights from the torches near the gate and walls envelops them and its surrounding. Maester Luwin was there too, talking something of importance. When the noise from her wheeled chair scrapping against the small stones is finally loud enough to make its appearance, the group fall in complete silence before they turn and waits for her to come.

"Lady Stark." A man steps out from the line to address her.

"Ser Garrel." Arya greets back. Ser Garrel Hardy is a young man, probably just a bit older from Robb. He's one of the knights that had trained under Ser Rodrik and with the older man's absence he had appointed Ser Garrel as the man in charge of the fifty men to protect Winterfell.

"I have put men watching over the south gate, the hunter's gate and east gate as your command, m'lady… Ten men at each bridge and we have not encountered anything amiss." Ser Garrel started.

Arya, of course, knows this. After Ser Rodrik had left, she ordered for Winterfell to close its normal operation. No one can go out or come inside the castle without her permission, to reduce the risk of possible unforeseen attacks against the castle.

"But, just a while ago, we have visitors from the main gate." He continues then.

She was about to ask who it is before they were interrupted by a shout from the other side of the castle. It sounded muffled through the huge wooden door and the thick castle walls. But, nonetheless, it sounded less than friendly.

"Theon Greyjoy is outside, m'lady… He said King Robb ordered him to come to Winterfell to protect the castle from the Lannisters and he demands entry. He has thirty men with him."

Arya chance a glance to Maester Luwin then. "They are all Ironborn men." He provided.

"The last time I recall, House Greyjoy hasn't declared for us… Am I wrong?" she asked, trying to stay calm.

"No, you're not. But, your brother could have sent Theon to make an alliance with Balon Greyjoy."

A beat passes in silence but her mind is far from it. A million thoughts cross her mind of what could go wrong at this moment. "An alliance of only thirty men to protect Winterfell?" she voiced out.

No one can seem to answer her question.

"Ser Garrel." She calls then. "Are your men all here?"

The young knight moves closer. "Yes, m'lady… I've called for them to gather since there are no more sightings from the other gates."

Arya nods in gratitude. She will need every man to protect the castle.

"Send twenty archers up on the main gate and around it. Make sure they have a clear view of the ground… They should remain hidden but ready to attack until I gave the order. The others will stay here with me."

Ser Garrel doesn't need to be told twice as he moves and shouts the commands. Arya can only watch silently as the men scatter in an organized manner in front of her. Letting the thudding of heavy boots pass by, she turns to Maester Luwin then. "Rickon?"

"In his room, sleeping," he assured.

"Can you stay with him?"

The old maester looks conflicted at the request, no doubt wanting to stay. But, Arya needs him and Rickon safe if this thing turns south. The rest of the people will be protected within the inner castle. And with the still considered ungodly hours, they should still be in their respective quarters as their routines don't start only after sunrise.

As Arya and Maester Luwin silently battles through their inner monologue, eventually he caves in when her pleading and resolute gaze wins out. "Look after her," he said one last time to the person behind her before he walks away.

"Osha." Arya starts.

"You heard the old man, little lady." The older woman moves around to stand beside her mobile chair. "I'm not going anywhere." She declared, catching grey eyes.

Arya felt a slight tugging at the corner of her mouth. "Good… I wasn't going to ask you to leave."

Osha rolls her eyes at that.

Now that the older woman is within her sight, Arya notices the long shaft she held against her frame. "And where did you get that from?"

"Oh, this?" the wildling leisurely twirls the spear that she has with both her hands before she firmly grips it again with her right. "I reckon I should at least spend some of the money that you gave me."

Any more words that about to come out from them stops when Ser Garrel presented himself in front of the Lady Stark again. "M'lady, the men are ready." He stated, his hand resting at the top of his pommel as his determined gaze catch hers.

Arya looks up the bridge and walls to find the archers but cannot find one that is visible. On the ground thirty men stand at each of her sides, splitting themselves equally. Osha is on her left and Ser Garrel is on her right. Satisfied, she ordered. "Open the gate."

Two men move to pull the main door of the north gate. The creak was loud as inch by inch it opens wider revealing the outsiders. She notices Theon first who is at the centre and in front of his group. When it was big enough for them to enter, Theon marches in with his head held high. But, it lasted only for a moment because as he walks closer, his gaze shifted to the men on each of Arya's side who are armed and present. His steps falter and eventually, he stops twenty feet from her.

"Theon," Arya calls. His gaze finally flickers to her. "Why are you here?"

He looks to the Stark men again and then some, as the Ironborn grew restless behind him. One of them leans and whispers something to Theon's ear where his once uncertain and conflicted look now suddenly turns decided after that.

Theon squared his shoulders, catching her gaze again. "Balon Greyjoy, my father, has declared himself King of the Iron Islands." He starts. His voice was unnaturally loud. "King Balon Greyjoy, first of his name, claims the north by right of conquest."

So, there is no alliance after all. She reckons Theon lied to get his men and himself inside. "Is that so?" Arya asked back, calmly.

He looked slightly – if not more – bothered by her composure at his declaration. "Surrender Winterfell and I'll let your people live, Arya."

She ignores him, saying instead, "Remember that one time, Theon? When I was ten and you trick me into going to the kennel before you lock me inside? I tried climbing my way through the small window and ended up with a split wrist… Gods, I hate you then."

"I'm Prince Theon now." He hissed, agitated as his hand moves at the pommel of his sword. "I'm taking Winterfell one way or another, and you should order your men down or else." He commanded again.

"I was sure that I could not hate you more than that day…" She trails anyway, not giving him the satisfaction. "But, now here you are, proving me wrong again."

Theon looks further annoyed at the remark if that was even possible. Instinctively, he steps a few feet forward. "This will be my last warning, Arya. Surrender–"

"My men and I will never surrender Winterfell." She cuts in. "This is their home as much as it is mine, and as much as it was yours, once too."

He huffs breathlessly. "This was never my home. I was a hostage!"

"My father raised you, fed you, and provides for you the same way as he did his other children. You grew up here in these walls. You trained and sparred here in the courtyard with Robb."

"The Seven Kingdoms are at war." He said through a clenched jaw. "I cannot fight for both Robb and my father."

When she didn't provide any response for a long while, Theon takes that as a challenge. He slides his sword out of its sheath and soon every Ironborn follows. The Stark men, however, remained still, only moving their hands into gripping their hilts tighter, waiting patiently for the order.

She looks at Theon with a dark gaze. "Do you think you can conquer Winterfell with thirty men?"

"I can and I will," he said without second thoughts. "One Ironborn fights with the strength worth of ten men. We will cut every one of your men down and then we'll kill everyone else in this castle before burning it down!"

The Ironborn roars as they raise their swords in the air. That was the last strain that Arya had as she looked on the display. The once smouldering inside her chest now has burned with great intensity and it continues to grow into more by the second.

Theon smirks as he slowly creeps further, leaning slightly to match her eye level. "Now, for the very last time, Arya, surrender–"

"Archers!"

Arya's voice carries through the court and up the walls and within seconds, men come out from their hidings and arrows rain down the centre of the ground. The useless chatter from before is now silenced by the whoosh of arrow splitting air and hitting flesh. One by one, the Ironborn falls down and the noise of gurgling and gasping takes it turns instead. Just after the third waves, she signals her archers to stop.

In front of her, most if not half of the Ironborn are now on the ground with arrows planting through their necks and unguarded faces and heads. Some have it in their legs. The blood from the fallen men seeps through the soil and moving onto the shadows that cast on the ground. The shadows have grown smaller now, even though the sun has yet to make its appearance. She finds Theon still standing where he last stood, baffled as he looks about his fallen men in a daze.

"You have less than thirty men now, Prince Theon…" she drawled, and when he finally looks at her, continues. "And because my father raised you as his and you grew up with my brothers and sister, I will give you a chance to turn around and walk away. Leave now, and never set your foot here or anywhere else in The North for as long as you're alive."

Theon didn't get to answer though as a tall and burly man from behind him staggers forward. His right leg limping as two arrows stuck on his calf and thigh. "You little cunt!" he screams before sprints with his raised sword.

For a split moment, the man that charged at her seems uncharacteristically slow. That is until a spear makes its way straight through his neck. All hell breaks then as the other still standing Ironborn storm with war cries and the Stark men meet them with the same eagerness. Osha quickly retrieves the spear from the dead body and stands in front of the young Stark in protective mode.

Arya, on the other hand, has her eyes rooted on Theon who is helplessly watching the outbreak from the side-line. He looks so out of place with the chaos that surrounds him. But then, so does she.

One Stark man finds his way through and hacks his sword at the Greyjoy then, instantly releasing him from his daze. Their swords clash and tear at each other before Theon gets the best of his opponent and slashes his blade along the man's neck.

Arya flinched at her fallen man. Theon looks around in frantic as he finally realized what is happening around him. His chest rises and falls in ragged breathing and his face spotted with blood. But, his men are in much worse condition.

And then, his dark eyes flicker towards her and he stilled. And then he moves. Slowly at first but then it grows faster, his gaze never falters. Arya realized then that he is coming straight to her. She glances to where the Wildling woman was standing before but finding her now in the middle of the on-going battle among the few last Ironborn instead.

A knife or two could benefit her at the moment, Arya thought. But, she was unarmed and Theon is now five more steps to get her. His sword arm points forward and then a flash of grey so fast – that it came out as a blur – pass by her, taking the man in front as well.

She snaps her head towards where the moving thing might be and found Nymeria dragging the now screaming Theon by his right arm. His sword lay motionless a few feet from her wheeled chair. The direwolf growls louder as her head snaps sideways viciously, no doubt trying to tear the arm from the body while she's at it.

As much as Theon deserves it, Arya needs him alive. "Nymeria." She calls and the direwolf doesn't let go until her name is called the second time. "Good girl…" she coos, caressing Nymeria's head gently as she rests it over her lap.

"What should we do with this one, Lady Stark?" a voice sounded then, breaking their peaceful moment.

Ser Garrel points his sword to Theon's neck where the man is still moaning about his now bleeding and torn arm on the dirt. Across the yard, battered bodies – all thirty Ironborn – occupied the ground. At some point, the archers have come down and provided assistance to their fellow men and Osha is standing tall with them.

But she realized with a pang of sadness that six Stark men are not treated to such liberty. Their lifeless bodies remained on the cold ground.

And Winterfell still stands.

*

A raven was sent out. Tied to its leg is a scroll of news that Torrhen Square has been retaken from the enemies and Theon Greyjoy is captured because of his betrayal in a failed attempt of conquering Winterfell. It also seeks guidance as to what the King of The North would see fit the punishment of the traitor.

And now Arya waits for the reply. She had put the Greyjoy in a cell after Maester Luwin patched his wounded arm. They had cleaned the yard and rid the enemies' bodies. The people in Winterfell had woken up and resumed their duties as nothing had happened and she did the same, opening the castle to its usual operation again.

Even with the wreckage gone, the news still spread. Words bounce off around the castle of what had happened. People talked and the story somehow grew more ridiculous as days went by. Osha gladly provides the details of what the occupants of the castle believed had happened.

It ranges from her being the one killing the enemies with her witch powers to her riding at the back of her direwolf as they both ripped apart every single Ironborn in their way. To say that she was bothered by it was an understatement. But, Osha assured that "You're not an object of ridicule, little lady…on the contrary."

Arya felt a bit better after that. And the rumours seems to further help when Ser Rodrik comes with good news saying that he's able to gather a fair amount of sellswords as the men believed they're on the winning side.

In the end, they successfully hired two hundreds of sellswords of all kinds. Some from the Riverlands, some from Dorne and others from everywhere else. Arya had met with them all, promising payment and much more should they succeed their mission.

She sent a hundred men down to Kings Landing, separating them into five groups, not wanting to draw that much attention. They were to infiltrate and rescue Sansa and Bran, bringing them back to Winterfell and Arya hopes that her sister and brother are still alive and well by the time the men got to them.

Though, sometimes she has the strangest feeling whenever she thought of Bran, as the one from her dreams always comes at the forefront of her mind instead. She shakes it off, convincing herself that the Bran that trapped in Kings Landing is her brother and needs saving. So, she hands out three thousand gold dragons to each of the hired men before they march out to do her bidding.

The young Stark sent another hundred men straight to The Twins. She knew Robb would be there regardless but she doesn't know whether her men would be there in time. Nevertheless, their order was simple. Protect The King of The North and his closes entourage against the enemies. She tried her very best to not sound like a crazy witch when she specifically asked them to not trust Boltons' and Freys' men and should any kind of event happening at The Twins is a red flag. She deemed her effort as successful when her hired men voice out their understanding as they too march out.

And now she's left waiting again.

*

Two weeks after her last letter, Arya had received a reply from Robb. He asked about her well-being and praised her for keeping Winterfell safe and for the Greyjoy traitor to be punished as she sees fit because he's her prisoner and Robb believes in her.

That had made Arya smiled. At the bottom of the letter, another form of writing that of her mother was written saying that she was sorry about leaving and that she will be coming home soon.

Her smiles only grew.

Days turn to months and the weather grew colder as everyone in Winterfell went about their business. Merchants and traders come and go, trying to make a living even though outside the North, the War of the Five Kings is still raging. Arya tries her very best guarding the Northern borders against any enemies with what she has and provide for the people with basic needs as her duties should be.

But every day is a torture for the young Stark because as time passed, the inevitable event that befalls her family is now closer than the last. She still hasn't heard any news from both her groups of sellswords.

One night, she had woken up from her fitful sleep. But this time, it was different than her usual nightmare, because it wasn't horrible at all. In her dream, her parents and her brother, Robb had come home and she was running towards them giving each one of them a long and hard squeeze. Their face was radiant with smiles as they look at her silently. And then she had woken up with tears streaming down her face and sweat trickled down her forehead as she sobs quietly in the dark.

She doesn't know why but she had that sinking feeling of something bad had happened.

She was right.

The news came three days later when she's in a meeting with Maester Luwin in the Great Hall. Ser Rodrik interrupts them to inform that some of the sellswords have returned. And Arya instantly directs herself outside hoping to see some of her family among them. Not only after she's outside does Osha caught up and continued pushing her mobile chair.

They arrived at the courtyard in record time to find groups of men standing about. As she wheeled closer, Arya noticed how ragged and worn out they look. Some of the men she recognized as the men that she hired but some of the older men's faces didn't ring any bells.

They all turn to her when she's in front of them.

"Lady Stark." A man, probably slightly older than his father addressed her. Seeing the confusion on her face, he continues. "I believe we never officially meet. I'm Brynden Tully, your great-uncle Blackfish. I reckon you heard of me?" he offered a smile.

Of course, Arya had heard about him. "Yes, I have… Welcome to Winterfell great-uncle." She forced a smile. Her gaze flickers to the other men behind him before she focuses on him again. "Is my mother and Robb with you?"

The cold air seems even colder as the silence envelops them. Even the murmurs from the other men had stopped.

"We were tricked… The Freys and the Boltons, they betrayed your brother. They betrayed The North." Brynden trails. His eyes glazed over as he relived what had happened. "I was lucky. I went out to relieve myself and that's when they started the killings."

"My mother and Robb?" she questioned again.

He shifted uncomfortably. "I couldn't save them… I'm sorry."

And somehow Arya finds herself there, at The Twins where the massacre had happened. Greywind's whimpering and the chanting of 'The King in The North' echo loudly in her ears. Their mutilated bodies were sewn together and her mother's open neck flash at the back of her eyes. "I see." Her voice sounded so far away.

The others exchanged worried glances among themselves but the young Stark was too preoccupied to notice. After an awful lot of quietness, the grey eyes shifted to catch blue ones. "You may stay here as long as you like, great-uncle… the invitation extended to all of you as well." She said, looking pass Bryden and at the bewildered men who thanked her in return. "I have to go now."

Without waiting, Osha swiftly turns Arya around and takes the young girl as far away as possible.

*

Nothing.

Arya feels nothing at all as she stares vacantly at the open window in her room. She used to believe that nothing can be better or worse because nothing is just nothing.

But, she was wrong, because the feeling of nothingness is heavy inside her and it was suffocating. It covers everything in its path as there is no room for light or emotions. It eats away her flesh, tears it apart and then leaves her with only an empty shell. It was the worst thing that she had ever experienced.

"Arya."

Someone calls her name and she turns to find Maester Luwin close, with Osha standing a few feet behind him.

"Maester Luwin, I'm sorry about leaving… Do you want to continue our meeting here?" she didn't know why her voice sounded different, distant.

"Arya." He calls again. His voice comes out impossibly softer than the last as his face changed. "We'll do it some other time." He finally said.

The young Stark nods, leaving the room void again.

"I should go and tell Rickon about mother and Robb." she suddenly declared, ready to wheeled her way out before the old maester stops her.

"He can wait a little longer… I'll tell him myself, later." He assured, smiling sadly.

She reluctantly agrees. "How about the lords that survived? Have they settled in yet? Do they need anything?"

"They're being well tended to… You don't need to worry about it."

She nods again before her gaze drifted to an invisible point, lost. Bereft of any wind from the opened window or even the movement of the people inside, the quietness is bare and visible even to her.

"What should I do now?" Arya slowly shifted her eyes to find the brown ones.

Maester Luwin steps closer before occupied himself with a chair in front of her. "I don't know." He sighed, looking away to gather his thoughts. "We can hold a ceremony for them," he suggested.

"We don't have their bodies."

"We'll make do with what we have. The people need to grief as well… We'll hold a memorial to all that is lost in the war. I'll send ravens out to inform the lords and ladies of The North about it. They can pay their last respect to the fallen and we'll open Winterfell for the common people as well."

A beat of silence passes as he waits for the young girl.

"Will that be enough?" she finally asked.

"It will, for now."

*

A week later the remaining lords and ladies of The North arrived at Winterfell for the memorial service that Maester Luwin had planned. As the Lady of Winterfell, it was Arya's duty to receive and greet each and every one of them herself and provided the accommodation for them and their entourage.

Truth be told, she wasn't sure anyone would be coming at all, especially with the war still raging. But, they had left their castles for the time being and present themselves at Winterfell making the Guest Tower filled with occupants. And even until the last day, she still has so many things to do that she didn't have time for anything else.

Perhaps that's a good thing.

When the day of the ceremony finally arrived, it was a cold one befitting of what Arya was feeling. By midday, all the preparations are readied and everyone gathered at the courtyard of Winterfell where a platform was raised earlier. On top of it, the lords and ladies that matters were seated in a line and Arya were there at the centre with Rickon beside her.

The common people were standing at the bottom of the platform. There are bonfires lighted at every corner for warmth and banners of every House in The North rose against the castle walls. Ser Rodrik and his men are there too, guarding the people.

Maester Luwin opens the memorial service, praising the Old Gods and Arya stopped listening. She chooses to stare ahead at nothingness as the lords and ladies take their turn to speak of their loved ones.

"Little lady?" Osha whispered, breaking her from her reverie.

Time must have gone by because the bonfires are getting smaller than the last time Arya saw them. She looks ahead where Maester Luwin is waiting expectantly.

"Lady Stark, a few words if you will?" he asked softly.

Arya wheeled her way upfront then, dismissing the help that Osha offered. She stops at where the old maester is standing before he pats her shoulder, giving it an assuring squeeze and left her there. Nymeria provides a silent comfort as the direwolf sat by Arya's feet.

As her grey eyes wander off into the faces of the old and the young below her. She finally noticed just how many were present. There are children younger than Rickon and men and women older than Maester Luwin among the sea of people. She recognized some of them but a lot of them she did not.

"I don't know what to say." She finally starts, studying the many faces in front of her. "Some of you probably knew my father longer than I have and you probably got to spend more time with him than I ever did." Her eyes start to burn. Squaring herself, she continues. "He wasn't Lord Stark or the Lord of Winterfell to me. He was just my father… And he acts as any other father would. He scolded me when I did something wrong, he smiled when I finally did something right and he praised me when I did something worthy." She swallowed the thickness down.

"And my mother…" she smiled painfully. "She gets angry every time, and I don't blame her. I gave her a hard time." She stops then, remembering all the time that she covered herself with scratches and bruises and mud. "But, she's gentle and kind and I will never be as good as a Lady as she was."

She looks away from all the grieving faces. "And Robb…." she breathes out with a pained laugh. "He annoyed me constantly–" Everyone chuckle at that. "And I love him."

She didn't realize that the tears had escaped her eyes as she looks on to the many people, wearing more or less the same expression. It hits her then what this memorial could mean – That this will be permanent because she might not have any more chance to go back and save her father, mother or Robb again.

This is it. This is the end. She failed and this time it's going to be marked and carved inside her heart forever.

She wipes the unintended tears angrily. "I made a promise." She said, a little loud and cold making the people paid attention to the sudden changes. "I promised them that I will keep Winterfell and its people safe… They're gone now but my promise still stands."

The faces of the people present soon changed to match hers, of resolute and determined. "I know you have lost your loved ones too in this war – a father, brothers, or even uncles – and I cannot assure you that everyone will be safe… But, The North is my home as it is yours and your families and everyone else that has lived here for as long as they can remember. I will not let anyone or anything jeopardize and harm my home and my people. This is my vow."

The silence for once doesn't feel suffocating at all. Arya felt like a weight has been lifted off her chest because she meant everything she had said and somehow it felt liberating.

"Forgive me Lady Stark." A voice suddenly cuts in. Brynden steps forward then, presenting himself. "But, I have with me your brother, King Robb Stark's last will," he said aloud for everyone to hear.

Arya glanced down to the unopened scroll in his hand and then at Maester Luwin, who the same as she, is confused as well.

"If you will allow me to, my lady, King Robb would want everyone to hear what his last testament is."

How can Arya not allow that? She gives her consent.

Satisfied, he moves to her side then. "I'm Brynden Tully of Riverrun, uncle of Catelyn Tully-Stark, great-uncle of the Lady Stark… This is the last will and testament of King Robb who made me and a few other lords signed and sealed his testament." He broke the seal then, opening the letter as he starts reading.

"I, Robb Stark, King of The North, First of my name, by the grace of the Old Gods, hereby declare this to be my last will and testament. I have committed the arbitration and my administration of my testament to the trust and to the legitimate of my faithful men whose names are written below.

Should I perish and no longer able to protect The North, I ask, that my youngest sister, Arya Stark, the acting Lady of Winterfell to be my heir. She is of my blood and I believe that she will continue my effort in protecting the people and The North from its enemies.

I ask, furthermore, that whoever shall give counsel and assistance to my next heir shall receive the grace and favour of the Old Gods.

May the Old Gods protect The North and its people.

Robb Stark,

King of The North."

The murmurs after were deafening as Ser Brynden walks to the remaining lords and ladies to pass them the will. To say that Arya is bewildered was an understatement. She couldn't believe what she just heard because it can't be right, can it?

But the people's chatters in front of her and the soft discussions from the lords and ladies behind her swallowed everything else and Arya can't think pass the noises.

"King Robb's last will is clear." Someone suddenly spoke, cutting the murmuring down. Arya turns so that she's now facing the lords seated.

At the end of the line, a young girl, Lyanna Mormont stood tall. "House Mormont has allied with House Stark for thousands of years and we will not break faith today. The North will win the war, together... I have not known any ruler in The North whose name isn't Stark." She fixed Arya a fiery gaze. "She is my Queen, from this day until her last."

Arya opens her mouth to say something but it got cut short when another stood as well.

"The Freys and the Boltons already have my son killed." Wyman Manderly voiced out. His voice booms around the courtyard. "They will not have my allegiance and The North too…" he trails as he slides his longsword out. "There, sit the only Queen that I will bend my knee to, The Queen in The North." He finished, kneeling in front of her.

Another man stood. "My sword is yours." Lord Mazin said, planting his sword on the ground before he too, kneels down. "In victory and in defeat, until my last breath."

Robett Glover was next. "I never thought that I could find another King worth kneeling to after your brother…And I was right." he steps closer, sheathing his sword, making Nymeria stands on all four, guarding her mistress. But, he doesn't seem to be bothered by it, on the contrary. "You protected your people, you protected Winterfell all on your own."

"I didn't do it on my own. I had help." Arya blurts out the truth.

He chuckles. "There will be more fights to come; House Glover will stand behind House Stark. And I will stand behind Arya Stark, the she-wolf of Winterfell, the Queen in The North!"

That is all it takes for the chanting to start. The people from behind her shout first before the remaining lords move to stand and point their swords up in the air. The words 'The Queen in The North!' comes out from their lips and it resonates and bounces off the stone walls.

Arya noticed late of the snow falling around them.

*

It has been two days now and the snow still hasn't stopped. Arya had taken refuge in the Godswood, trying to find some form of peace. And strangely, the Gods' face carving on the weirwood tree makes her calm. She wonders why the face carved was a crying one instead of smiling.

Is it one of the warnings from the Gods that life will not be easy? That people will cry and suffer? That blood will be spilt?

"Your Grace." Someone calls her then, breaking her train of thoughts.

"I said stop calling me that," Arya said back.

Osha moves to stand beside the younger girl then. "What else should I call you then? My Queen?"

The young Stark glares, making the older woman grinned. "That's worse."

"Well, that's what you are now." Osha smiled softly.

Arya knows that well than anyone and the thought alone terrified her. "Just…call me by my name." she offered.

Osha smiles wider. "Your coronation is about to start, you know."

"Let them wait, perhaps they'll change their mind and don't want me as Queen anymore."

The Wildling bends down, reaching for Arya's cheek; she forces the younger girl to look her in the eyes. "You'll be fine, Arya."

Arya leans at the warmth, trying to believe it herself. "Thank you, Osha." She smiles in gratitude.

"I'll come and get you later," Osha said then, leaving the younger girl to some solitude that she will probably not going to have much in the future.

When the silhouette of the Wildling woman is finally gone, Arya focuses her attention back at the Heart Tree. With the snow still falling down, it created a beautiful image and odd serenity of the place.

She takes in a deep breath, closing her eyes to savour the moment. When she opens her eyes, she feels the sudden change in the air first. Noticing that it has stilled and the once peaceful moment shifted to eeriness instead. Her eyes flicker to her surroundings, only now noticing that the snows were no longer falling from the sky, but stopped.

They stopped mid-air as if they were hanging by invisible threads and her hairs stand at ends. The Gods' crying face is now looking at her and the breath left her lungs. Suddenly, she can't breathe and the world spins around her before everything swallowed her with it.

~~~

*Year 305 After Conquest (AC) – New Future*

Her eyes shot up, her heart and lungs expand, taking a mouthful of air before releasing it in a shudder.

A moment passes as Arya takes her surroundings. She was lying in a bed and her breathing still ragged as if she had run a mile. The weirwood trees were no more and in their stead are walls and more walls. She was in a room decorated with extravagant furniture and paintings, she noted.

Propping herself up, she tried to even her breathing but the nauseating feeling at the back of her throat comes in waves. Her hand reaches methodically at the sides and before she knows it, she was gulping a generous amount of water, washing the bile down completely. She sighs softly in relief, putting back the now empty goblet down at the bedside table.

Now that her throat is cleared, she looks around her unfamiliar room trying to make sense of what was happening. She was supposed to be at her coronation ceremony, was she not? Or have the lords and ladies finally changed their mind about wanting a crippled queen as their monarch?

Her busy thoughts were interrupted by a sudden knock at the door. Not until the third knock sounded did she finally ordered, "Come in."

A building smile makes its way onto her face as a familiar face comes inside then. "Osha." She had never been happier to see the older woman.

"Sleep well?" Osha asked, mirroring the smile.

"Where are we?" Arya asked instead.

The older woman quirked her eyebrow at that as if there's a trick to her question, but seeing the honestly curious displays from the younger girl she answered. "Kings Landing, of course."

A chill courses through Arya's body. The sensation of confusion and uncertainty felt awfully familiar. "Can I have a mirror, please?"

Osha moves across to the dresser and brings back a small mirror in her hand. The young Stark murmurs her thanks as she reached for it and put it in front of her. The air stilled as she sees the face that is looking back at her.

It was hers. There is no doubt about it. But, it wasn't the face that Arya last saw as she prepared for her coronation. This one is much older and her hair longer. There is a small faint scar on her right forehead. A short, inverted 'y'. She touches it and felt the bump of her uneven skin there.

"Are you alright, Arya?" Osha voice sounded concern.

And so does Arya as she realized she had gone forward in time again.

A mirthless chuckle left her softly. It seems that the Gods are a sure bunch of sadistic egomaniacs higher being – the whole lot of them. Perhaps they have discovered their enjoyments by fiddling and flicking her through space and time as they see fit. As if they heard her defiance, a short sharp pain stabs at the back of her head. She hisses in pain.

Osha is at her side within seconds. "I'm fine." Arya dismissed. Her anger overpowers everything else.

"Are you sure?" Osha places her palm at the young Stark's forehead, checking for a fever.

Arya relishes at the familiar warmth of the older woman and nods. "It's just a headache."

The older woman doesn't look at all convinced but she was too preoccupied with the even weirder behaviour from the younger girl since she came to the room, so she lets it slide. They fall into their routine in silence. The wildling stealing occasional looks to the younger Stark who was still frowning slightly as she readies her for the day.

"You're scaring the servants, little lady. Lose your frown."

Arya blinks a few times, finding herself wheeled away through unfamiliar hallways now. A few young lads walk in a hurry from the other way, bowing in respect before they scurry from the two women. She didn't even realize that they were already outside.

"Where are we going?"

"To break fast… Are you sure you're alright?"

No, Osha. Honestly, I'm not. I don't know why I'm here in Kings Landing of all places. I have no recollection of my past years and everyone else is probably dead and my head feels like it's about to explode. But, Arya only answered. "Yes."

They continue along the hallways in silence before Osha makes a turn to enter another room with bigger doors. There was a huge dining table in the middle of the room. A few plates filled with fruits and assorted pieces of bread are served on the table. And a young man is already there reaching for the grapes.

When he realizes someone else is there, he turns around, surprised as if he is being caught stealing. But, then his shoulders rest and a smile form on his face. "Hey, Arya."

"Rickon." Arya smiles wider, relieved. A big part of her worries completely gone now as she looks up to the now young man. He was taller than the last time she saw him another lifetime ago. His auburn hair is darker now and its all tangled and messy but it was shorter hence it looks much more orderly. He pops a grape onto his mouth, walking closer to her.

"Here, look." Rickon moves behind, taking the wheels from Osha. "They've got bread rolls with all kinds of fillings. Pumpkin, cheese, meat… Do you think we can make one with carrot fillings?" He explained animatedly, showing the range of bread on the table.

Arya couldn't help but laugh. Her chest feels lighter as she looks up at her little brother. "Yes, I think we can."

Rickon's face brightens at the declaration.

"I see you find your way just fine." A disembodied voice joins in then. Arya tilts her head to the source, finding another familiar man walking his way towards her. "Good morning."

Her breath hitches. "J–Jon."

The sight of him, alive and well caught her by surprise. A welcoming one. A sense of solace envelops her whole and she can even ignore the relentless thumping inside her head.

"Arya?" he raised a brow, noticing her slight distress earlier. He was always so perceptive of her. And he's alive and here.

"I think she's coming with a fever." Osha decides to join in, making the other two men look at her. "She's acting strange."

The younger girl could have rolled her eyes at that but, she's afraid that it would make her headache worse. "I'm acting fine." She retorted instead. Everyone is safe as they should be. Although the question of why they're in Kings Landing still remained. "I'm just worried about Winterfell… Maester Luwin and Ser Rodrik will no doubt take good care of it during our absence but, I'm still worried." She tried, gauging from them the answer as to why they are here, so far South.

Instead of a reply, the three people in front of her only stared back, alarmed and the worry they wore before tripled. Rickon steps closer, kneeling in front of her. His hand reaches for her face where it settles on her forehead. "You're a bit warm." He stated.

"It's because of the weather here…" she reasoned, effectively dismissing him. But, no one seems to be convinced. "Why are you all looking at me like that?" she asked irritated. Was there something wrong with what she said?

"Maester Luwin and Ser Rodrik are long gone, Arya." Rickon finally answered. His blue eyes glaze with sadness and he suddenly looks much older than his age.

And she finally understands why they reacted the way they did a while ago. "Oh… I–I'm sorry… I was just…" her words died down in her throat as the memories of the old maester and the Master-at-arms are still fresh at the back of her mind. Everything seems like a dream. Because it was only yesterday Maester Luwin had worked with her on the ceremony and Ser Rodrik reporting of their success in keeping the Northern borders safe from the enemies and now, she's being told that they're gone.

"I know that." She still not. In her memories, they were still alive. But, she doesn't want them to worry. "There's a lot in my mind… It just slipped, I guess." she lied.

The concerns on everyone's face at least simmer down at that. Rickon stands up then offering a smile. "Well, you should stop worrying or else your wrinkles will show sooner rather than later." He quipped, trying to lighten the mood.

Osha takes the cue. "Aye… Though I think some lines might have shown itself over your eyes there."

"You should lose your frowning."

"That's what I said."

Jon moves closer too, smiling a little timidly at the friendly banter happening in front of the younger girl. "I'm sure Sansa will take good care of Winterfell." He assured meeting grey eyes.

The last sentence made Arya's world stop for the many times that day and it's only in the morning still. She doesn't have the luxury to revisit the fact that Sansa is alive and well in Winterfell when a flash of silver caught her eyes at the entrance. Everyone else noticed the new presence as well and they turn to accept the new addition.

"My apologies for being late..." Daenerys smiles, walking closer. "But, I was having a hard time choosing an attire that befits the attendance of the Queen in The North." She japes lightly and bringing her in tow is a smiling Naathi that Arya had never thought she would meet again.

The breath completely leaves her lungs. She couldn't believe her eyes. Daenerys is here. Missandei is here. Both are alive. She knows she should say something back because the violet eyes that Arya always dreamed about are looking back at her, waiting. But, Arya couldn't form any coherent words. She couldn't think. Not when the silver-haired woman is in front of her, looking as beautiful as Arya last remembered her to be.

And Arya can only stare helplessly.

She studies the older woman, trying to find anything amiss. But, Arya couldn't find one. Daenerys is perfect. Her skin glows, her lips full and her violet eyes are still on hers despite that Arya had done nothing but stared unashamedly.

The silence must have stretch too long because Jon suddenly steps up. "I'm sure Arya approves of it… You look lovely even in a sack." He japes back earning a smile from Daenerys.

There is a quiet apprehension beginning to build up inside her chest as she sees the changes of those violet eyes when they find the darker grey ones of Jon. She knows that look because she used to see it when Daenerys looks at her another lifetime ago. When they lay in bed, side by side, their face so close, that there's nothing else Arya could see but that tender violet gaze. Even when Daenerys is mad at her, the older woman still had that look. And when Daenerys said that she loves her, in the Godswoods, she was sporting it ever since Arya can remember.

And now, Daenerys wasn't looking at her.

Her mind was in a daze as the people around her continue to chatter. Their conversations float about her head and the throbbing at the back of her head has progressed to the front now. But she held it back.

Absentmindedly, Arya notices that Rickon had placed her by the table where he takes a seat beside her. Jon and Daenerys sat across them and Osha and Missandei proceed to tend to each of their sides respectively.

"Are you quite alright? You look a bit pale." Daenerys suddenly said, meeting the expressive grey eyes that still haven't look away since she arrived.

Frowning – more because of the headache than anything – Arya finally breaks her gaze, looking down to her already filled plate as she still doesn't believe herself to be able to speak up.

Rickon replied instead. "I think it's because of the warm weather. We Northerners are too used by the biting cold and the dry wind."

Daenerys smiles softly, not looking quite convinced but taking it regardless. They continue eating and Arya looks up again naturally to find the silver-haired girl, afraid that she would vanish. If this is a dream, then Arya should take Daenerys in as much as she can.

"I know it was a hard and long journey…" Daenerys trails, looking up to meet Arya's eyes. Apparently she noticed that she was being watched again.

But, Arya doesn't care. Not when she can see that enchanting violet orbs looking back at her. Not when she can get lost in the tranquillity the depth of the violet provides her with.

"But, thank you for coming all the way regardless." The older woman finished, gauging for another reaction.

Arya hasn't had a clue of what Daenerys was implying and she knows that she should say something anyway because there is a tension thick in the air and everyone's waiting.

"You're divine." She blurts out the first words that come into her mind when she first saw the silver-haired queen. And you're here.

Daenerys blinks a few times at the sudden and out-of-nowhere outburst. She cleared her throat softly then. "Thank you." though her tone came out more like a question than anything as she held the now sad grey orbs.

The tension instantly dissipates and Rickon leans forward with a grin. "So, Jon, how do you feel now that you will become the King of the Six Kingdoms in less than a fortnight?"

Jon chuckles. "I'm scared to the bone… Dany has been a great help, though. I only wish that I can match her reputation."

Dany? Arya snaps her head to Jon.

"You'll be a great King," Daenerys assured, her hand reaching out, taking his. Jon smiles, his fingers lacing with hers before he kisses the back of her hand.

Arya watches the display with a frown because of the apparent affection that the two unashamedly paraded and also more because of the now nasty throbbing of her head. She looks away, eyes squeeze shut, rubbing her temple to ease the pain to no avail. When she flutters her eyes open, the bread roll on her plate has two spots of red on top before another one makes a splash, marking the colour more.

She groans softly as the pain only doubles. Perhaps her head is starting to burst and the blood was coming from her cracked head. Not a moment after, she feels her shoulders being pulled by someone. Too weak to even form a word, she only manages another grunt as the movement caused her head to spin.

Osha's alarming face comes into view as Arya senses the older woman's hands on her neck, keeping it upright or else she would have wilted away. There was a noise somewhere and movement too loud and too fast for her to acknowledge. With being the only sound she can hear is the impending thump inside her head.

Arya opens her eyes – she didn't even realize she had close them – to find her favourite violet orbs looking down at her in fear. And she hated it because all she wants is for those lovely eyes to look happy again. Why does it seem that she will always be the person that causes Daenerys distress? She closes her eyes again without an answer.