AN: This whole chapter is a flashback, a day after Arya's coronation.
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In which the inevitable happens.
*Year 299 After Conquest (AC) – New Past (3rd Timeline)*
My name is Arya Stark. I'm a cripple. Father's dead. Mother's dead. Robb's dead. I'm the Queen in The North.
She pinches the inside of her arm, hard. The short sharp pain makes her grimaced.
This is not a dream.
She pinches herself again.
This is real.
She repeated the statements over and over again until her mind believes it and her brain memorizes it. It has become her routine now when she had nothing to do and when her mind would wander off. She needed them as much she needed air to breathe, she realized. As much as the words rang inside her head, strangely they give her some sort of an anchor so that she may know what is and what is not.
Gods know she needs to know that.
She chuckles mirthlessly. Of course, The Gods would damn well know about that.
A sudden thump sounded then, breaking her swirl of thoughts and bringing her back to the living. In this case, back to her first meeting acting as The Queen of The North. Arya looks up across the table where the lords are currently seating. Robett Glover was the one who had expressed his disagreement over something as he slams his fist against the wooden surface for the second time.
"I'll show you how well my men treat the enemy when we march to King's Landing. And then we'll see if you're going to doubt us still." He sneered making Lord Mazin flinches, although he composes himself soon after.
"You're mistaken, Lord Glover. I have no doubt about you and your men's ability when it comes down to it, but leading the vanguard is another matter entirely."
And with that, the shouting matches start again as the other lords decide to step in and present their points on why they should be the one leading the army.
Arya closes her eyes with a soft sigh, wondering why is she even here in this meeting if they didn't even want to listen to her. When she opens her eyes again, the shouting only grew and she leans back to her seat tiredly. Maester Luwin and Ser Rodrik seated at each of her sides, eyes rooted at the scene in front of them. And at the end of the table, Lyanna Mormont sat, scowling and looking more than annoyed. Arya decides she likes the girl.
"Your Grace."
Someone called her and Arya focuses her attention back at the table to find the other lords are looking at her expectantly.
"Who do you think should lead the vanguard, Your Grace?" Wyman Manderly asked.
And now that she finally has their attention, she holds her gaze and meets each and every one of them as she gathers her thoughts on what she wanted to do instead. She had discussed her plan with Ser Rodrik and Maester Luwin beforehand and they had agreed on what should be done. Their silence presence on both her sides only strengthens her decision.
"No one is going to march to Kings Landing." She said with finality.
The protest comes within second and soon becomes a garbling mess as one person speaks on top of another.
The young Stark decides she had enough of this chaos and reach for her goblet. She empties the content before throwing the cup across the room. The steel of the cup makes a deafening sound as it crashes against the stone wall rendering the surrounding into silence save for the clattering of the poor goblet. She almost feels guilty at the men flinching and startling faces. Almost.
"My apologies my lords, my lady…" She finds Lyanna's gaze, throwing the girl an apologetic look before focusing on the others again. "But, it seems like that's the only way that I can get your attention amidst your roaring yell at one another." A chorus of uncomfortable grunts make its way and they at least look ashamed about it.
"As I was saying, no one is going to march to Kings Landing," Arya repeated, daring them to interrupt before she can explain. The lords learnt their lesson and wait. "When Robb called the bannermen, he intends to free my father. But, my father is gone now, and so does Robb." She stops, swallowing the thickness that starts to build up inside her throat. "We've lost too many men in The Red Wedding… And I'm not going to send any more men blindly to the south when we can use them to secure our home instead."
"But, Your Grace…" Someone suddenly speaks up. Arya trails to find Ivarn of House Hornwood waiting and she nods for him to continue. "Your siblings are still in Kings Landing. What's to stop the Lannisters in using them as a reason to force us on our knees?"
"Nothing could stop them." She replied bitterly. "But, I've sent a rescue party for my sister and brother and now there's nothing to do but wait." There is still disapproval coming out from the men's faces. "The Iron Throne is meaningless to us and in time, when the Lannisters grow tired of waiting, they will come to us and when that day arrives we will be ready to welcome them." She explained and some of them seem to really ponder over it.
Arya leans forward then. "We will have to secure the northern borders and that means The Neck. And at the end of them are Riverrun and The Eyrie."
"I have no news of Riverrun yet, Your Grace." Brynden Tully provides, finally emerging his head from across the table. He had kept his silence otherwise. "But, it's a huge possibility either the Freys or the Boltons are going to occupy it since they still think me dead."
His eyes glazed with something dark – which Arya is highly familiar of – as he said the two houses name in disgust.
"I've sent a letter to your aunt Lysa." Maester Luwin joins in. "She has still yet to reply… Although I doubt the enemies would try and attack the castle that sits atop the Mountains of The Moon."
"That's quite true, Your Grace." Wyman interrupts. "We should direct our focus to a more important matter; namely the Freys and the Boltons. Surely, you're not going to let them be? They broke their oath. They are traitors and are still roaming freely in our lands." He finished with that same look her great-uncle just sported. They both lost their families because of the betrayal and Arya is more than capable of understanding what it is that they seek.
"The North remembers, Lord Manderly," Arya assured. "We will avenge every single one that they had betrayed and punished these turncoats properly."
Wyman looks pleased with the declaration which the others mirrored.
"Should we attack Moat Caitlin or The Twins first, Your Grace?" Lyanna asked darkly. The girl had lost her mother too, Arya remembered.
"No, we'll wait for them here instead... They'll come to Winterfell."
The other lords and lady eventually agreed to return to their respective castles and gather their men before they march to Winterfell again. Arya had convinced them that their enemies will naturally want to take over the Northern seat of power – that is Winterfell – to truly claim victory and secure the kingdom of the north for the false King Joffrey.
Since the Freys and the Boltons are still yet to be eradicated, she had a doubt that the sacking of Winterfell will bound to happen one way or another. Or perhaps she had truly change things after all; enough for Winterfell to be safe and to not experience any invasion this time around. Either way, Arya decides that it's better to be safe than sorry. And so, the Stark's remaining bannermen march out to do their Queen's bidding.
*
The Boltons, in fact, came in the dead of night.
Arya was having a fitful sleep that night before she's being roused rudely by her nightmares. Her breaths erratic and her heart beats loudly until it reaches her ears.
But then another kind of thump echoes inside her room and she finds Osha already striding inside.
"We're under attack." She said, moving to help the girl up from the bed and into her chair.
"What do you mean we're under attack?" Arya asked back, wiping the sweat off her brows that she gained from her troubled sleep. "By who?"
Osha corrects the girl's position onto the chair more comfortably, breaths still heavy as if she had run here. She snatches some random things that Arya has a hard time recognizing across the room in haste. "I don't know, little lady… Your enemies, I reckon."
"The Freys or the Boltons?"
"I don't know." The Wildling snapped. "I didn't ask since the men are busy stabbing at one other."
They're out in the hallways now and when Osha turns to a different route than the usual one to the courtyard, Arya frowns. "Where are you taking me?"
"Away."
"Away where?" Arya asked again as her mobile chair moves at an impressive speed. "Osha!" Her voice echoes through the narrow hallways loudly and it made the said girl freeze. She twists her body around to find black eyes then. "Take me to the courtyard. I'm not running away."
Osha holds her gaze. "I'm not taking you there."
A smouldering begins to build inside Arya's chest. She reaches for her wheels and steers away from the older girl before turning around to go outside by herself. But, Osha is obscuring her path. "Move."
"You can't go out there."
"I said move, Osha."
The older girl only steps closer. "Maester Luwin said you need to get away from here."
"I'm not leaving my men – these people behind… This is my last warning; move or I'll haul you along as I go."
"We don't have time for this." Osha bites back. "They already breached the castle's walls and if we don't run now, they'll capture us."
A beat passed as Arya processed the information. "We have around two hundred men strong to guard Winterfell–"
"They have more." The Wildling cuts in. "And they're inside the castle. Do you understand? There's nothing you can do."
Arya's stomach turns to knots. "Rickon… Where's Rickon?"
"Maester Luwin has him. They're waiting for us down the crypt... The old man said there are underground tunnels that can lead to outside, to safety."
The young Stark sighs in relief. Osha moves to start pushing her again but, Arya instantly stops her with a different reason this time. "Leave me and go to Rickon. You have to get him out of here before the soldiers get to him. I trust you to keep him safe."
Osha frowns, looking annoyed. "This is not the time or place to be a hero, little lady. I'm not going anywhere without you and I'm taking you away from here." She declared as a matter of fact before she closes in again.
The older girl only managed to grip the sides of the wheel-chair to turn it around again before Arya rests her hands on top, gripping with the same intensity. Frustrated black eyes against determined grey ones look onto one another, challenging each other. "Listen to me, Osha…" Arya starts, voice clipped. "If I run away, they'll kill everyone in this castle and burn it down."
"So what are you going to do? What do you think you can do out there?"
"I'm The Queen of The North. I'll strike some kind of deal with them or something. I'll figure it out… They won't hurt me."
The unspoken 'And if they do?' is loud inside Osha's eyes. But Arya doesn't give her the chance to voice it out. "Get Rickon someplace safe and far away from here. This is my last command to you and then you're free to do whatever you want."
The Wildling only glowers but her gaze softens, albeit not so much. Arya moves her hands on top of the girl's "Please, Osha. I can stop them from murdering innocent people."
Osha finally looks away, her face obstructed by the shadows. For a while, only silence accompanies them before the older girl looks down to grey orbs again. She doesn't need to say anything. Her expression betrays her reluctance in the matter and Arya tries to convey her gratitude in return.
Without another word, Osha moves pass and left her there, alone in the hallways. The young Stark takes a deep breath and begins to push her way in the opposite direction.
*
As soon as Arya reached outside, the first thing that she took notice is the foul smell in the air, making the bile inside her throat rises. She recognized that sick smell.
Blood.
And then her eyes make its confirmation. Bodies that remain motionless are on the ground, bleeding from multiple wounds injury. She sees familiar faces; Stark's men. A handful of them still remains standing, fighting against the growing enemies. Ser Rodrik is amongst the few who are still defending Winterfell. The melody of steels against steels can never escape her it seems as they ring through the yard now.
And then, she heard voices, wails and screams into the addition and that's when Arya noticed the women from the kitchens, and workers from the smiths and stables – none of them is soldiers – are being dragged none too gently to the clearing.
She pushes herself forward then, not caring that she needs to get past the soldiers currently battling each other. The thought of her concealed knives strapping against both her legs that she always wore like a second skin since Theon's failed invasion, armed her as she dives into the chaos. "Stop!" she cried out but her voice gets swallowed by the noises.
Her throat hurts as she tries again and again to get someone's attention but to no avail. It's a miracle that she remains unharmed at this point as she seems to be invisible to the other bloodthirsty men. But, then her movement stops as her gaze caught something.
Right across her, less than twenty feet away stood a man, wearing an armour of a flayed man. He is unusually clean. Not even a spot of blood adorned his attire or face and there is a bow in his hand. He noticed her too and his mouth grew wide as he creeps in closer. Their surrounding has suddenly turned to silence as the man signalled for his men to stop.
"Lady Stark?" he inquired softly, tilting his head at her. "What a lovely surprise."
Arya glances around the courtyard to find her men are mostly dead now, save for a few who are brought to their knees, with swords pointing at their throats. Ser Rodrik noticed her then. "I'm not a Lady." She said, tearing her eyes away from the older man's confused and horrified ones at her presence there. She fixed the man with pale and icy eyes in front of her then. "I'm The Queen of The North."
The man's mouth form into a smile, all teeth. "Ah, my apologies... As you can see, Your Grace, I have taken your castle and now I'm going to flay each and every one of them while you sit there and watch, and then I'll flay you last." He said still with that stupid smile.
She grits her teeth and masked her face into indifference. "What's your name?"
The man raises his brow in question before smirking. "My name's Ramsay. Natural son of Roose Bolton, The Warden of The North." He mocked bow.
"I'm going to make you an offer, Ramsay." She trailed. Not until his ridiculous smile disappears, did she continue. "Spare my men and the occupants inside this castle and I'll make you an ally to the crown instead of a turncoat."
A soft chuckle echoes. "I hate to be the one to break this bad news, Your Grace, but my men have been very busy before you arrived and we've cut down most of your men all over Winterfell." Ramsay provided. His face shows that he enjoys every moment of what has happened.
"Perhaps," Arya said, calmly. "But, you haven't cut down the men from House Glover yet, and the men from House Mormont and House Hornwood, or House Manderly, House Mazin, House Dustin, House Cerwyn, House Ryswell and House Dormund… They're coming here, as we speak, with all their soldiers to Winterfell and when they find you occupying it, you will have a lot to deal with."
For the first time that night, Ramsay looks bothered although he quickly hides it. "The Lannisters will send their army to help us."
"I don't see them here now." she countered. "Why aren't they here?" when Ramsay doesn't seem like he's about to answer, Arya goes on. "Are you a slave to the Lannister lion, tied to their fancy whip? All you get out of this is a cold, barren land in The North and they have the other six kingdoms… They make us fight one another while they watch from their seat, comfortably in the South and then claim their rights over us. Perhaps, we should focus on who the real enemy is."
"You want the Iron Throne." He accused, looking impressed.
Arya couldn't care less about the Iron Throne. But, she will say and do anything that can convince him to spare her people. And if that means offering the Bolton's pardon of their betrayal and some more, then so be it.
"The North is the largest kingdom in Westeros. I see no reason why we should take orders from the other smaller ones… We should rule over them instead."
"And you'll be The Queen that rules over them."
"I'm going to need a King too."
Her last sentence hung heavy in the air as steel grey orbs held against pale cold ones. Arya is aware of every pair of eyes watching their entire exchange.
Ramsay breaks into a small smile then. "A King? You can't possibly mean me."
"Do you see yourself unfit to rule?"
"Well, there is still my father."
"Your father is not here now."
There is an awful lot of silence as both of them stare at one another until Ramsay smiles, that wormy smile. "You're right… And you've made me reconsider and thus, I've decided."
She can feel that something about this man screams madness. And it's got everything to do with his casual yet patronizing tone. "Then, let these people go."
"You're mistaken, Your Grace. I've reconsidered letting you live and that is all."
Before Arya can say anything, he orders his men to strike and then the swords that have been resting by the defeated men's throats pierce into fleshes. Ser Rodrik falls down, his own blood pooling from his open neck as his brown eyes stare into her own with pain and acceptance until they are left empty and hollow. The remaining Stark's men suffered the same fate.
Arya breathes in real slow as she feels her insides turn jagged. She fisted the furs on her lap so tight that it hurts her fingers.
"Now, that's done…" Ramsay's voice cuts through. "Let's move on, shall we?"
At the order, one of Bolton's men reaches for one of the kitchen's maid and drags her.
When Greta's face comes into view, Arya pushes forward without thinking. Ramsay whistled at the sudden advance and in an instant, a chorus of growls stops her in her track. Four hunting hounds step out from the shadows to stand protectively around their master.
"If you wish to stay alive, I suggest you stay where you are," Ramsay said, gripping Greta by the neck of her dress now.
"You hurt her and I'll cut you," Arya growled.
"I thought we had a deal, Your Grace?" he asked, mocking. "Is that any way to talk to your King?"
The hounds creep closer towards her then, barking viciously. That is until Arya hears another louder growl from behind her. She doesn't need to turn to know what has caused the hounds to step back, intimidated by the new addition.
Nymeria moves silently – aside from her now ferocious snarl – until she stops in front, towering over the hunting hounds. The young Stark doesn't have the time to feel grateful by the direwolf's presence when the said beast pounced towards her opponent soon after. She bites one of the hounds before slapping its body with the other, sending it flying a few feet away.
At the same time, the other two hounds jumped at the direwolf and took a bite of their own. Nymeria doesn't seem to be bothered by their teeth cutting her torso as she sends the hound that she secured between her jaws, across the yard. It never gets back up again.
The direwolf then moves on to take care of the other two hunting dogs still stuck in her middle. She flicks them off as if they're nothing but a nuisance before she leaps at them and tears their skins. Blood comes out from her mouth and more from the slowly dying hounds. Turning around, Nymeria dashes towards the last threat and makes a lunge at it. The last hound fights back only to earn the direwolf's claws before she ripped its flesh open.
At the same time that Nymeria tears the hound's face, an arrow makes its way and strikes her back. A whimper escapes the direwolf for the first time that night.
It was like an out of body experience as Arya watches the scene unfolding in front of her. First, the direwolf was winning and then the next second she was not. When Nymeria growls loudly and dashes towards her attacker, Arya noticed late that another two more arrows have been planted at her torso. And when the young Stark sees that Ramsay is ready with another arrow, waiting, she moves frantically towards them.
"No! NYMERIA!"
But, her plea goes unnoticed as the arrow gets released before the direwolf can get close to him. She goes down into the ground with a thud, an arrow embedded inside her skull.
"Nym… Nymeria?" Arya looks down where the direwolf lay unmoving, her eyes closed and her breath stops.
"I loved my hounds." A disembodied voice sounded before her vision gets obstructed. She looks up to find Ramsay looking down. "Your beast started it… Now, we're even." He bends down to stare levelly with her then. "Are you upset, Your Grace?"
Her hands are trembling with wrath and something else that she cannot point out. "I'm going to kill you, bastard." She whispered.
Ramsay smile. "Well, that's not very–"
His sentence got cut short as Arya reaches for both of her hidden knives and thrust at him. He reacted faster than she would've like as he managed to catch her wrists before she gets to do serious damage. His eyes wide with surprise as he takes in the pointed blade inches from his face.
And then she slams her head on his face and heard the satisfying crack at the collision as he staggers away in pain. She wheeled towards him and knocks him out of balance with her chair next. As his legs gave out, she aims the blades at his neck again but he dodged and grabs her arms before yanking the knives away and then retrieved them to retaliate.
Arya quickly veers out of the way but she doesn't realize that he was coming at her incessantly. Another strike from him and she feels the contact he made against her head. It stings and sends her knocking back against the back of her chair at the force before something wet pours out from the top of her forehead and into her eye. She meets the cold ground soon after as her face takes most of the impact.
The sound of something gets demolished enters her ears first as she comes around. The dirt is in her mouth and she coughs it out before turning around, face up. At the corner of her eye, she saw Ramsay kicking and destroying what is left of her wheel-chair.
A moment passes as the sound of broken woods and his curses accompanying the courtyard. With great difficulty, she props herself up with her elbows as he was just finishing throwing the remnants of the battered chair at the side. Still with her knives in his grips, he stalks towards her with a taunting bloody smile.
This is it, Arya realized. She's going to die.
'Dream Bran' was right. She should've listened to him and let everything happened as it was. She should've run away and wait everything out. Wait until the girl with the silver-hair comes again. She should have saved herself because now, she's going to die without seeing Daenerys again. The Targaryen Queen won't even know of her existence this time around and the clench in her heart hurts greater than her bleeding head.
A sudden movement at the side breaks her from her self-pity and she focuses again only to find Greta and some other women break into a run towards Ramsay. They attack him from behind and he stumbles down, unprepared.
It went out like a ripple because as soon as that happened, the other workers are already launching themselves, attacking the Bolton's men with nothing but fists and legs. And just like that, the chaos starts again while she lay there, getting the best view of the people that she knows and cares about get cuts down, one by one.
A warm hands cup her face then, pulling her away from the slaughtering mess and into dark eyes instead. Arya blinks and Osha's face comes into view.
"Hold on tight, little lady. Do not let go." Osha moves to pick the girl up right after she secured the girl's arms around her neck. And then she runs.
The young Stark can do nothing but stare as the people's figures grow smaller and smaller until the dark swallowed them.
When Osha finally slows down, Arya looks around to find they're in the kennel now.
"What happened?" Osha's voice cuts through as she goes down to her knees. She was talking to someone and when Arya faced in front, Rickon and Maester Luwin are there.
But, there's something wrong with Maester Luwin because his lips are blue and he isn't breathing. There's also blood on his shirt, the crimson red is a definite contrast against his grey robes. His body leaned against the wall, unmoving. Across from them, another man wearing the flayed man's armour lay on the cold ground.
Rickon was crying and Arya knows she should say something to calm him down. But, as his teary blue orbs find hers, his sobs only grow louder.
Osha is instantly by his side. "Hush now, little lord… Everything's going to be alright. We're going to get away from here. You know how to ride, yes?"
Rickon nods before cracking a "Yes."
"Good. Now, go get your horse ready. Quickly."
The little boy gets up and runs further to the inside of the kennel then until he gets consumed by the shadows.
Rickon shouldn't go alone, Arya thought. But, she remained silent as Osha brings her to Carrot instead. The older girl works silently and with fast hands as she finished strapping the many bindings around her legs last. The next thing Arya knows, Osha is already by her side on top of another horse, with Rickon against her front.
The Wildling steers her horse closer to reach the younger girl. "Follow me close. Do you hear?"
Arya only nods and gets a squeeze on her shoulder in return. Satisfied, Osha starts to ride away until their horse gallops at full speed, leaving behind the protective castle walls and into the cold biting wind outside.
The young Stark noticed that the wind also carries the screams and cries of the people she left behind.
*
The sun is high in the sky now marking the many hours they had been riding since they left Winterfell. Their horses are tied to a tree nearby and across it, Rickon leaned against another tree, eyes closed and breaths even. Shaggydog settled by his feet – the direwolf found them in the middle of their escapade hours after.
After making sure that no one has been following them, the Wildling decides to make a stop to rest which brings them to this moment. She had cleaned the dried blood off Arya's face and now the older girl has a clear view of the wound that Ramsay gifted.
"It's going to leave a scar," Osha said.
Arya continues looking pass the older girl's shoulder instead, doesn't know what to say. Is Osha expecting her to care that she would now adorn an ugly scar when Nymeria and all the people in Winterfell are all dead?
The last images of the direwolf's act of protectiveness and of those people fighting with nothing but determination against the Bolton's men keep playing at the back of her mind. Their bloodied face and battered bodies dancing in front of her eyes. She should have done something to save them. She should have prepared an escape route for them too. She should have secured the castle more; upgrading the walls with stakes and barricade the outside gates with pits and traps.
I should have done more.
"You need stitches, but I don't have anything to do it with." Osha continues. Her face hovers near the younger girl to better inspect the damage.
I should have done more.
Osha moves to tear strips of clean cloth instead and then proceed to wrap them around the girl's head to at least stop the bleeding. Once finished, she finds grey orbs only for them to stare ahead at nothing. Empty and cold. "Arya." She calls.
At her name being mentioned, the young Stark focuses onto the black orbs in front of her. She waits but the older girl only looks back with soft eyes, neither with pity nor regret in them. Arya ends up staring at them some more, seeking the comfort that the older girl is willing to provide. But she finds none and her ghosts overwhelm her instead.
I should have done more.
"It's alright, little lady." Osha suddenly speaks up, breaking Arya's thought. "It's alright to feel whatever it is you feel, but, do not ever feel guilty. Do not blame yourself for this."
Arya disagrees. "I should have done more." She croaked. Her voice felt raw.
The gaze in front only hardens. "You've done everything that you can… It is not your fault." She placed a comforting hand on the girl's shoulder and squeeze. "It is not your fault."
The words break something inside Arya's heart and that is all it takes for her visions to blur and then the tears burst forth like water from a dam, spilling down her face. She feels the muscles of her chin tremble like a small child.
Osha moves to wrap her arms around and Arya buries herself into the older girl's chest and sobs. She cries for Nymeria, Ser Rodrik, and Maester Luwin. She cries for all the people that died protecting their home. She cries until she didn't see the dead's faces or hear their plea anymore.
*
They ride for Castle Black. The Wildling has decided that further North is the only place for them to be safe from the enemies. Arya had argued that they should ride to one of their allies' castle instead. Bear Island or White Harbor is the closest before Castle Black. But Osha dismissed them, saying that the Boltons would have expected that.
Arya didn't tell Osha that Jon may as well be dead already once they arrived there. She didn't tell the older girl that they will be finding his grave once they arrive at Castle Black exactly the same way she found him in two lifetimes ago.
She didn't say anything because part of her still hoped that Jon will be safe somehow. That foolish and stupid part of her hopes for his fate to change. After everything that has happened, she needs it. She needs him. So, she kept her silence and continued their intended path.
For three weeks they ride, rest and ride again. When their supplies finished half a week ago, the Wildling managed to catch rabbits and find some berries and also restock their water. Shaggydog would sometimes disappear for days to feed himself before he finds them again. Some days, the direwolf would even bring whatever he can hunt back to the group.But, it was barely enough for them and their horses are in no better condition.
They lost Rickon's horse two days later.
They left it behind where it lay unmoving on the icy ground and Rickon hadn't spoken a word since. Arya knew that her little brother had grown close to the animal, having trained with it almost every day back in Winterfell once he knew how to ride on his own. So, when they rest for the night and he planted himself beside her, Arya took him in. Shaggydog pressed against his back and Osha's comforting presence at her other side. She hopes their presence was enough to warm him in the harsh cold night.
When they finally arrived at Castle Black, it was three days later. She rode Carrot with Rickon at her front, trotting at a leisure pace. They could have made it earlier to their intended place if not for the declining speed that they have to keep up with Osha being on foot. She feels infinitely grateful for the older woman's stubborn presence by their side.
A single horn was blown, snapping the young Stark back to the growing castle they are nearing.
"Rider approaching!" The man inside the walls shouted and then the gate is opened.
Osha moves to walk in front of them, entering the castle first. Her hand casually resting on the hilt of her dagger, secured on her hip. She looks around the small courtyard that they reached for any sign of danger as men in black coats slowly fill in the clearing.
"State your business." A man steps in front of the line. His eyes flicker to the two still on top of the horse before settling at the lone woman on the ground.
Osha did the same, only that she eyed warily at the growing men surrounding them. "We're looking for Jon Snow." She said, finally looking to the man in front. It appeared that he would be the one in charge. "I'm Osha. And this is Rickon and Arya Stark, his brother and sister."
The man's harden gaze change to something else then. Of shocked and later pity.
And Arya's heart tugs at the obvious change. "He's dead?"
"What?" he seems surprised to hear her speaks or perhaps at the nature of her question.
"Is Jon dead?" she asked with much difficulty, swallowing the thickness building in her throat.
Did they bury him already?
"No," he said quickly. "He-He's not dead…" There was an air of uncertainty around him before he continues. "I'm Edd… I'll get Jon for you."
But he doesn't have to because Arya noticed movement at the corner of her eye and when she turns, Jon is there, as shocked as she is.
Slowly he climbs down the stairs and makes his way to the yard. His gaze not once leaving the two people still mounted on the horse. The men let him pass until he stops five feet away. "Arya…Rickon?"
At the close proximity, she can see his dark grey orbs clearly. His eyes are unbelieving and relieved.
"Jon." It was Rickon who spoke and it snaps Jon into action. He walks past Osha and reached for the boy first, pulling him off the horse before crushing him in a fierce hug. At the same time, Osha relaxes and moves to untie the strapping around Arya's legs. She is about to pull her off Carrot but Jon was quicker.
Arya falls into her brother's arms and they stay there on the ground for a long while. Cocooned in his warmth and comfort and suddenly the cold inside her comes in a wave as if the sight and the touch of him are all that is needed to break it free.
"You left me." She whispered but Jon was close, so he heard her loud and clear.
Immediately, he unwraps his hold and flinches at the sight of her face as if he's being slapped. "Arya…" He managed to say, although it resembled more of a plea than anything.
"You left," Arya said again with a chocked breath. Because that's what Jon did and it's what she had ever think about ever since she woke up from her fall.
She knows she should be thankful that her brother is still alive and not buried in the ground. But, her gratitude gets overwhelms by everything else; fleeing the Boltons', losing Nymeria, Ser Rodrik and Maester Luwin's deaths, her men and her common workers perished just because they were trying to protect her.
Their deaths had been haunting her throughout her journey to Castle Black making it torturous and long. And she's so tired.
Oh, so very tired.
And Jon is there, in front of her, waiting. Alive.
Yet all she can see is pure cold rage. He doesn't deserve any of it but Arya had a hard time to control herself.
"You left me… You didn't wait – You didn't wait until I wake up from my fall. If you were there, none of this would have happened. We could've protected Winterfell against the Boltons'. We could've saved Nymeria. We could've saved Ser Rodrik and Maester Luwin and Greta and Ronas and Lilah. We could've saved them." Her eyes are burning but she kept going. "We could've saved all those people… If only you were there – you could've done better than me. Those people might still be alive. I needed you and you left me."
Her chest rises and falls with laboured breaths and Jon looks at her as if he was being stabbed. He tried to pull her into his embrace but Arya pushes him away.
"You left me."
The air stilled as they stare at one another. She waits, dares him to say something – anything at all but his silence and his broken expression is loud enough for her.
The fight left her as fast as it came. She releases a breath that she didn't know she held. Her shoulders slump, tired and she closes her eyes and let the darkness swallowed her.
A rustle of movement is all she hears before there are hands at the side of her face and then a soft kiss at the crown of her head before she is enclosed in that familiar warmth and comfort again.
"Forgive me, little sister." He whispered and Arya hugs him back.
*
Jon told her what happened.
He told her how he became the Lord Commander. How he saved the free folk and let them pass through the wall and offered refuge because of the growing pillage and threats among the Wildlings themselves and how he announced his intention to ride to Winterfell when he received a letter from Ramsay Bolton, saying that Stannis Baratheon is defeated and Ramsay is married to Arya Stark. The self-appointed Lord of Winterfell had demanded fealty from the Night's Watch if they wish to survive.
Jon told her that he was going back home to save her from the Bolton's bastard and protect the Night's Watch from the threat as well but before he can do that, a number of men from the Night's Watch disagreed with his decision and had staged a mutiny instead.
He showed her the scars on his chest, still raw and red. Each shaped into a half-crescent moon. Arya trailed the offensive wound lightly by her fingers, knowing that each stab should have put him to his death. But, remarkably he is still here, breathing and looking at her with a calculated gaze.
"Will you say something?" he asked, growing restless by her calmness.
"I'm sorry about what happened."
He reaches for her hands. "Don't be. I would trade my life for you if that is what it takes to save you... I know you would do the same for me as well."
Jon's right. She would give her life for him without a doubt. "I'm glad you survived." She said honestly. She cannot imagine what would've happened if she had found his grave instead. She remembered the mount of dirt and the wooden marker of his name from two lifetimes ago and wonders if her brother is really inside the ground. If he can survive a knife through his heart now, surely he could survive whatever it is back then too, couldn't he?
Jon gradually relaxes as he sees the truth in her words. "As do I… I'm happy that I can see your face again." A small smile graces his lips but then it disappears when his gaze moves upwards to her forehead. It was his turn now as he traced the still-healing scar on her head. "Who did this?"
"Look at us, comparing scars… Who would've thought that this day would come."
He looks less than humoured by her remark and she wipes off the half-heart smile from her features. "Ramsay… He took the castle and murdered everyone in it."
His jaw tightens in rage at that. Arya knew the feeling well, have been living with it the past weeks since she left Winterfell. She looks away, across the room where Rickon and Osha are seating by a table, a bowl of broth that Jon provided each for them in front. When Rickon's blue orbs catch hers, for the first time in a while, he smiles. It was a small one, barely a lift from the corner of his mouth that he wiped off the remnant of his stew from, but it lit up Arya's chest nonetheless and she returns it.
"You'll never be safe while the Boltons are still here in The North." Jon suddenly said, finding who she is looking at. "We have to take back Winterfell from them."
Arya could not agree more.