Finally updated! I feel the need to say now is when things become less than accurate, but alas that is the beauty of fiction. first off, women were only allowed to assist the war effort directly by becoming nurses. A few were spies, but not many. women were not considered competent spies. Mata Hari is one of the better known World War 1 spies. I have other plans for Arya though ;)

I hope you enjoy the next chapter :) - FlamingRose11

October 21, 1917, London

The months went by in a blur. It seemed like just yesterday Jon was on the platform, watching the families stand there forlorn becoming smaller and smaller like islands. The memory of Sansa's red hair standing out against the blue sky was fresh in his mind. Her white day dress, its skirts ruffled by the breeze off the train. Since then, he and Robb and Theon had gone through extensive training. By August Margery completed her training at the hospital, and by September she was sent to France to assist the British forces. The fortnight before she left, she and Robb spent the days exchanging as many words and looks as they could full of meaning. They spent the nights exchanging kisses and touches full of the same meaning at every opportunity. Jon couldn't help but think how lucky they were—falling into this adventure together, both scared to death.

September drug on for Robb, it being the month he was separated from Margery, but October came and they were given their day of departure for London, then France.

"European girls," Theon mused as they got on the boat that morning, "I can't wait." Some of their contemporaries laughed and smiled knowingly, but not Jon. He didn't understand Theon's giddiness. There were plenty of beautiful girls back home, and less chance of death. Home…Jon missed home. He missed Winterfell every day of summer, and now he missed his Uncle's three story brownstone. He missed his parents, and for the first time since his father's death he wasn't there for his parent's anniversary. His nineteenth birthday had come and gone. The only one who remembered was Sansa. He didn't even remember it was his birthday until one day two weeks ago he received a letter from her with an embroidery swatch: a small black coarse fabric she obviously filched from Old Nan's scraps with silver roses and dark blue stiches that resembled tiny winking gems. He carried it in his left side pocket safely kept near his heart under a firmly fastened button.

Training was hard, but after leaving everything he knew and everyone he loved—aside from those who came with him—he knew physical struggles were something he could survive. Besides, physical struggles made much more sense. There was logic to the trials of the body that didn't exist when it came to the trials of the heart. He made sure to write home at least once a week. Usually he managed more. Even though his letters weren't long, he hoped they were enough to reassure Sansa that he was thinking of her. He didn't always write to Sansa directly, but if he didn't, he always made sure to include a couple of lines addressed to her when writing to Arya. Now they were on their way to France. He'd heard things about France. Aunt Catelyn had been there once with her sister Lysa before the war. She loved it. He wasn't sure he would. When Aunt Catelyn went she wasn't asked to enter into a field of kill or be killed.

"Just imagine—walking down the streets of Paris with a blonde haired girl," Theon mused. He let out a hearty laugh and clapped Jon on the shoulder. "You walk her to her apartment, she asks you to come up, naturally you say yes. She starts by teaching you French, and one thing leads to another…" Theon drifted off with a lustful smile on his face.

"Honestly Theon," Robb laughed, "aren't you ever going to try the one woman approach?"

"Like you did?"

"Yeah, I guess," Robb answered bashfully.

"Seriously, Robb. You used to be such a magnet for women. What happened?"

"Margery happened," Robb answered immediately.

"Margery. Really?"

"Really," Robb replied, "she's—she's everything I want. Why would I look anywhere else for what's right in front of me?" Theon continued his teasing, but Jon didn't catch any of what he was saying. Jon was in a world all his own. Robb's words had him thinking of Sansa. For the first time since leaving the station that summer, he regretted not staying home, not staying with her. He looked out over the expansive ocean. He closed his eyes to bring to mind her singing Christmas night. He remembered her in her blue dress and the hair pin gleaming in her read hair. He pictured her smiles and glances, even her tears. He looked on every moment with her fondly. He remembered her lips on his cheek Christmas night, and her arms tightening around him before he left. Come back to me…

"Jon," Robb brought him back to the present, "are you alright?" He looked about him, almost bewildered. There was no sign of Theon and the other soldiers who had decided to go to the other side of the deck.

'I'm fine. Sorry, I was just thinking."

"I can see that," Robb said teasing, "Quite a lot of thinking. Anything in particular? My sister perhaps? The one with the red hair?" Jon ducked his head, momentarily embarrassed.

"There were signs here and there but it all clicked at the platform," Robb continued, "Though I did have some help. Margery is much more astute than I am."

"I was going to tell you once I figured out how. I guess you beat me to it. I was afraid of how you might react to the news."

"Well, according to Margery, not well. I was definitely confused and a little angry. Mostly because I didn't understand it, but after a while I started to understand, and I started to like the idea."

"Really?"

"I rather it be you than someone like Joffrey," Robb replied.

"You're not giving me much by way of standards right now," Jon teased. Robb laughed along. It was unbridled and booming, almost drawing the attention of all the soldiers on deck.

"You're right, I apologize. The truth is, I can't think of anyone I trust more to keep my sister happy and safe. I mean, the fact you are with me on this boat instead of back home tells me you would do anything to keep her safe." Jon stayed quiet at Robb's remark, but he smiled slightly as he put his hand to his heart, right over the pocket that held the swatch Sansa made for him.

"Do you love her?" Robb asked. Jon let his hand drop to his side.

"I don't know," Jon replied after a while. Robb watched him a moment before nodding.

"An honest answer," he remarked, "Does she love you?" Jon let out a short laugh.

"I have no clue."

"She cares for you, that's clear."

"Yes," John agreed. The elation that filled him at hearing Robb's reminder left an involuntary smile on his lips. Robb noticed it and recognized the look. Perhaps Jon didn't know, but Robb did. Jon's looks were ones of a man in love.

"I'm glad you know now," Jon said looking at his best friend.

"So am I," Robb agreed with a grin, "now I have something with which to tease you relentlessly." Jon laughed.

"I'd expect nothing less," Jon answered. He felt a weight off his shoulders, but relief was far from him. He still ached for her. Robb went to find Theon, and Jon stood where he was. He closed his eyes, recalling the feel of her in his arms. Come back to me…

He had to make it through He had to return to her.

October 21,1917, The Stark House

The papers said the troops were due to land in France today, but Sansa already knew thanks to Margery's letter. Sansa wrote to Margery constantly. Her dearest friend was across the ocean, and she wanted so badly to tell her secrets and laugh at her jokes and walk about the Tyrell's gardens arm in arm. She couldn't do any of those things, so she wrote, and Margery wrote back. Margery told her about all the places she'd been from her final training in Virginia to working in France, but most of all, she wrote about Robb, Theon, and Jon. She called them "our boys" affectionately. Of course she wrote about Robb most. Sansa could tell how much they cared for each other, how fearlessly they were falling. If only she could be so brave, less cautious, but it was not her nature. She wrote to Jon when she could, and he received word from him almost weekly, even though rarely were his letters lengthy. She still treasured every one that came through the post. Any word from him meant things were still well and he was still safe. Home was more of a challenge. When standing on that platform, she thought a lot of how life would transform, how much more she would be worrying about those that left. She barely imagined how those at home would behave.

Arya had been oddly quiet in the last months. She seemed contemplative, and Sansa knew soon she would reveal a well thought out plot of some kind. She didn't ask her what it was. She was honestly too afraid to ask. She thought the less she knew the better. Rickon remained a source of joy, though he did miss his brother. He was off at school for the first time, and Bran tried his best to look after him. Bran had grown protective of all of them in his own way. Sansa thought because Bran couldn't fight, he was trying to make up for it here. Sansa was glad he was too young. She already worried about one brother. She didn't want to worry about was tired more than before, but even so he was at the office a lot more than Sansa ever remembered in her seventeen years. With the war waging across the ocean, steel was in great demand. He had his duties as a prominent citizen, and he and Uncle Benjen were at the office frequently that summer. Sansa was impressed by Father, and proud of him. Though the steel mill would greatly benefit from a war, it was the last thing he wanted. Her father was a good man. Of that Sansa was sure.

Mother rarely smiled, and was constantly finding ways to preoccupy herself that summer. Septa Mordane had trouble keeping her out of the kitchen and eventually promoted one of the scullery maids to assist the cook so that Mrs. Stark could take on her responsibilities of scrubbing the pots and pans. The first few times this occurred the kitchen was eerily quiet, the help not entirely sure how to react to the lady of the house working alongside them. After a while, they started mundane conversation about babies, fabrics, the weather, and really anything that avoided the topic of war. Sansa was sure her mother was grateful. She just hated to see her when she came out of the kitchen. It seemed like she was happier scrubbing the pots with the maids than being with her own family. Broken family, Sansa reminded herself constantly. She saw how her mother's despondency broke her father's heart. It was too much for Sansa, and she started making a habit of going for long horse rides with Arya every morning. She would dress and then walk across the grounds to the stable in the back of the property with Arya. Sometimes she went alone. She would mount her horse and take long rides along the coastline. She heard the waves of the Atlantic crash on the rocky cliff sides and she thought of how on the other side of this peaceful scene there was a bloody one with soldiers in a strange land, not sure if the view of the Atlantic on the French coast would be the last time they saw the ocean. Perhaps it was the first. She wouldn't go home until it was time for lunch. The first few times she was sore beyond belief. It was hard to get out of bed the next day, let alone mount her horse, but her need for freedom and escape was stronger than her aches and pains. According to Ser Rodrick, the couple weeks after they all left Winterfell her horse had become restless without the activity. He'd had to have one of the stable hands ride her every morning. Now away from Winterfell, she would take long walks around the neighborhood, but on some days it wasn't enough. It didn't give her the wind in her hair, the sound of it filling her ears, the smell of ocean air filling her nostrils. She'd already gone on a walk that morning, but she was still restless. She wanted that feeling of freedom, but here she was, far from Winterfell and far from her horse. She went to Arya's door and knocked.

"Come in!" Arya called. Sansa came into the room finding Arya at her desk writing. It was no longer an odd sight. Arya wrote to Jon and her brothers every day now.

"It's a nice day out," Sansa said, "fancy a walk?"

"Alright," Arya said as she shook her letter dry.

They were a couple of blocks away from the house before Arya broke the silence.

"I want to fight in the war." Sansa looked at her sister, but made sure to keep walking. As far as plots, this was Arya's most ambitious one yet.

'Sorry?"

"I want to fight in the war," Arya repeated, "I want to do my part."

"You can't fight in the war. You're a woman."

"There are ways around that. I'll find them."

"You're not old enough."

"So I'll lie."

"Arya, you can't!"

"And why not? Jon and Robb went. Margery, too! I thought of being a nurse, but I don't have Margery's gentility. I know I don't have what it takes to be a nurse, but I do have what it takes to be a fighter. I can't just stay home anymore, Sansa. I feel so hopeless. I need to do something."

"Why can't you do something here?"

"Like what?" Sansa tried coming up with something Arya could do for the war effort, but nothing that came to mind was good enough. The only thing Sansa could see was Arya fighting in some way. It was fitting. She just didn't want it to be so.

"Arya, if I lose you…"

"I know," Arya replied, gentler this time, "but I can't stay. I have to do my part."

"But Mother and Father—"

"they won't know until I've already left. They won't know where to look for me, either. I'll make sure of it."

"You've planned this out," Sansa stated. Arya looked away from her sister.

"I've been planning for months," Arya confessed, "Ever since Robb and Jon left. I wanted so badly to be on that train with them. I've never been a lady, Sansa. Not like you. I never fit that mold."

"You don't have to fit that mold."

"No, I don't. And that's why I want to set my own path. I want to fight."

"What if you're caught?" Sansa asked. She didn't want Arya to go. If she did, Sansa would be the only one left.

"I won't get caught," Arya said, "I'll make sure of it."

"It's a good thing I gave you those trousers then," Sansa said. Arya hugged her sister tight. Arya knew Sansa didn't consider herself to be strong, but Arya thought she was the strongest of them all.

Don't tell Mother or Father," Arya pleaded, "They'll try to stop me, and they might be successful, but I know I'll regret it if I don't go."

"When will you leave?"

"Next week. Probably on Monday before the sun is up."

"Please be careful," Sansa murmured into her sister's hair.

"I will. I have the hunting knife Jon gave me and the trousers you made me. I'll be unstoppable." Sansa didn't know about the knife, but it didn't surprise her, especially now that she knew Jon better than before. The sisters concluded her walk, and Sansa went to her room to write to Margery. She wrote of the weather, her new dress, and her exhausting lessons, but it wasn't enough. It wasn't real. More than anything, she wanted a confidant, someone she could actually talk to, but when she looked about she found her friends were all gone, and she was alone.