Arthur watched the hunt ride out from the highest floor of the library tower.

The sun still sat low on the horizon, casting long lavender shadows over the snowdrifts, glittering orange through the pines beyond. Despite the tension of the past days, the king had insisted on setting the wild boar recently spotted near Winterfell on the table for dinner, and so this morning, Stark, Baratheon and Lannister men rode out through the gates once more. Fewer Lannister men than had come with the king, Arthur noticed.

The Lannisters had only ceased their search for Amma's wolf days before. Everyone could see, as the days passed, that it became a task more to ease the queen's injured pride than anything else, and the Lannister men, perhaps unused to the terrain of the North, were falling off their horses and injuring themselves in numerous freak accidents.

Served them right. How dare they hunt their direwolf, and how dare Joffrey try to hurt Arya? When the prince had rushed at his sister with a sword, Arthur had wished like never before that he was a giant with infinite fighting abilities. He'd wanted to chop the golden knave in half. If Robb or Jon had done it, that would have been just as good.

Arthur could feel, too, the unease humming just below the surface every time he entered the Great Hall for meals, and his parents wore strained expressions for days. When he had asked if they would still be going south, however, his father had only placed a hand on his shoulder and told him that nothing had changed. And yes, they could still bring their wolves along. He'd had that determined set about his eyes when he'd said it, so Arthur knew Father would not even hear arguments against it.

Their parents had even allowed Arya to ride out with the hunt this day, and his sister seemed fully recovered from her encounter with the prince and his burned knight. She had looked more frustrated and angry about the whole event than anything else, but she, too, did nothing save seethe and whack harder than usual at the practice dummy. Arthur didn't really understand how it was that his parents could just let this go, and especially how Arya could keep calm with the prince around. Surely Joffrey needed to be punished. That would be justice, wouldn't it, and fair?

Theon and all his siblings save Jon and Sansa had ridden out for the hunt. Sansa was in her chambers practicing her harp, while Jon had mumbled something about teaching Ghost tricks in the godswood, though Arthur knew it was because Jon was a bastard, and Father did not wish to offend the Lannisters by having him show his face. Poor Jon. He could ride and shoot on horseback better than all of them, Theon included, but nothing was fair.

Arthur and Sam had stayed in the castle, of course, as they always did. Neither had any appetite for shooting arrows at animals, for all that Arthur still ate their meat. Every so often, he could hear Sam turning the pages of his massive Chronicles of Craftsmanship book in the companionable silence of the library, punctuated by Septon Chayle's occasional snore.

Arthur had half expected his mother to join the hunt too. She hadn't had the chance to ride for months, he knew, but she had only given him a defeated smile when he'd asked.

"It would be terribly rude of me, I'm afraid, as the queen is not attending." And that was the end of it, though he understood this was yet another strike against the Lannisters in general and wondered how his parents would fare having to temper their distaste for the queen at court.

On the seat beside him, Dawn gave a hopeful little yip, demanding pets, and Arthur gathered him onto his lap so he could give him a good tousle between the ears.

He had not intended to name his direwolf after the famous House Dayne sword. When he had awakened from a fantastical dream of snow on fire and woods engulfed in swirls of flame, his pup had been hovering over him—backlit by the rising sun, his fog-grey fur gilded in light—and Arthur had known that Dawn was his name. It was only when he told Lia and she had given him a strange look that he realised the implications.

He had felt slightly embarrassed. He never dared ask his mother precisely why she named him for her renowned brother, but Arthur sometimes felt shamed that, not only would he never live up to the name of Ser Arthur Dayne, but never in his life had he wished to. He thought, then, that perhaps he should not name the wolf Dawn, but it had seemed the only right name, and so he had shyly informed his mother at supper the next day.

She only smiled and kissed his forehead, telling him that it was wonderful.

Arthur supposed it was. Much better than the name Lia had given her wolf, in any case. He understood that she had named Mouse after the woman captain Marilda of Hull—she was quick to correct anyone who raised an eyebrow—but as he'd told her, anyone normal would only assume she had named her wolf after a rodent. She had responded with a sardonic smile.

"They can think what they want. If they dare laugh, I'm sure Mouse will correct them."

Arthur had always known Lia was a bloodthirsty little fiend.

Dawn leapt up then and nuzzled into his neck, climbing halfway onto Arthur's shoulder. He was getting too big to do such a thing, but he had not yet realised, and Arthur was forced to turn away from the window and steady himself lest he be pushed over by the wolf's weight.

"If I come over there, he won't attack me again, will he?"

Arthur looked up. The voice belonged to Lord Tyrion. He stood perhaps ten feet away from Arthur, a wine goblet in one hand and a flagon in the other, looking at him with hesitation. The previous day, Dawn had leaped upon Lord Tyrion in greeting, toppling both man and wine. It had been a rather messy affair, the wine narrowly missing the scrolls on the shelves nearby, and Arthur was grateful his mother did not find out.

"I don't think so," he answered now, hopping off the window seat and coming to meet Lord Tyrion at the nearby table, making sure to hold on tight to his wolf. The Imp set his wine down, then peered at Dawn, who was eying him back, amber eyes curious and innocent.

"Do you think…would he let me pet him?"

"I don't see why not. He wasn't trying to attack you yesterday, I promise. He was just being friendly. He just doesn't understand his size yet, and still thinks he's a newborn pup."

"So you say," remarked Lord Tyrion dryly, but he nonetheless set down the book and approached slowly. He held out a hand for Dawn to sniff, then tentatively reached out a hand. Perched on the leather chair beside him, his wolf was of a height with the Imp, but Dawn only narrowed his eyes happily at the pat on his head.

"See? He's really well-behaved most of the time." Lord Tyrion smiled, and there was a sort of pleasantness about his sunken face. Arthur was angry at the Lannisters, but not at Lord Tyrion.

The Imp then withdrew a thin worn book from inside his doublet.

"I must say, Lord Arthur, your suggestion yesterday was excellent. This History of the North at the Time of the Dance was certainly more engrossing than most histories I've encountered in my time. Really brings Lord Cregan to life."

Arthur felt his eyes grow wide.

"You read that all in one day?" It had taken Arthur three days, and he had been voracious for Cregan Stark's exploits.

Lord Tyrion shrugged.

"An afternoon and a night. As I say, most engrossing." He set the book down.

"You mean you stayed up all night to read?"

Lord Tyrion coughed.

"Well, yes, but you shouldn't do that, Lord Arthur. No, certainly not, and please, don't tell your good mother I've suggested such a thing. I've kept up this bad habit since I was a boy, and thus my growth was stunted."

For a moment Arthur froze, nearly trembling with repressed laughter but not wishing to be rude. Lord Tyrion grinned then, and the laugh burst from him like a little forge explosion, the sound sharp enough to jerk Sam's head up from his book.

"What? What's happening—oh! Lord Tyrion! Good morrow."

Sam smiled, marked his place on the big tome, and walked over to them. Dawn yipped, wagging his tail, and Sam gave him a rub about the neck.

"Ah, Lord Samwell. Still working at the Mordican I see. I admire your tenacity. I found it dry as dust and impossible to trudge through.

Sam spread his hands.

"Nothing for it but to persevere, really. It's really interesting once you get past the language."

Lord Tyrion gave him a wry smile.

"I'm sure they could use men like you at the Citadel, Lord Samwell. They quite value tenacity there, I've heard."

From the look on Lord Tyrion's face, he realised he had misspoken the moment the last words had left his lips. Sam had frozen in place. Lord Tyrion gave an exaggerated cough.

"Right, stupid of me. Of course you would be needed back at Horn Hill. Eldest son and all that. My apologies."

Sam shook his head mutely, and for some moments the air hung awkward and thick.

Finally, Arthur could stand it no longer.

"Lord Tyrion, if you liked that book, I can suggest you look at Maester's Anson's work on Aegon III and the demise of the dragons next," he said, his voice excessively cheerful in an attempt to dispel the tension. "It's, uh, down two flights with the other books on zoology."

Lord Tyrion finally turned to him and nodded resolutely.

"Yes, very well. I shall venture down to the works on the sciences. Most grateful for your recommendations, Lord Arthur. Lord Samwell." He gave them both a stiff nod, picked up his wine, and marched purposefully to the stairwell on his small legs.

Arthur turned back to Sam.

"You know, he didn't—"

Sam shook his head.

"There's no need for concern about my injured sensibilities," he sighed. "Lord Tyrion didn't mean any malice, but he was right. I am more suited to books and the Citadel, not a lordship."

"Perhaps if you wrote to your father…"

Sam gave him a sad smile.

"That's not how these things work, Arthur. And my father isn't like Lord Stark. He'd never agree. And I am still his eldest son at the end of the day."

And with that Sam returned to his massive tome, leaving Arthur to frown and pet Dawn between the ears.

000

He was at the wooden table, well engrossed in an account of Corlys Velaryon's second voyage to Essos, when he felt a tickle on his neck. On instinct, Arthur reached behind his head and scratched absently. A moment later the tickle was back. Frowning, he turned around, his gaze reluctant to leave the page, but let out a yelp when suddenly Lia's big eyes were before him, glittering with mirth.

She had a huge, self-satisfied smile on her face, and in her hand was a bit of frayed rope.

"Sis! What the—aren't you supposed to be on the hunt?"

She slipped into the seat next to him, and Arthur peered around until he spotted Dawn looking resigned as Mouse sat on top of him, wagging her tail and looking innocent.

"I was, but I decided to stay last minute," she said, absently brushing at his hand with the end of her rope. He shot her a dark look, and she grinned and blew on the frayed ends.

"We're leaving Winterfell soon. You and I have a treasure waiting for us."

Arthur followed Lia through the inner bailey, stopping first at the forge to borrow a variety of tools from a head-scratching Mikken, then into the armoury the nick a couple of water skins and rucksacks.

He wasn't even annoyed that Lia had come to disrupt one of the rare chances he'd had for reading these past weeks—Father had insisted he spend much time training with Prince Tommen since the royal party arrived—for though he'd quite forgotten about the bronze knob buried in the ruins of the Broken Tower, now that Lia had reminded him of it, he felt that eager flutter in his belly at the prospect of long-lost treasure. But, of course, he had made sure Lia carried her share of the water.

In the godswood, (Jon was nowhere to be seen), they had (with certain difficulty from Mouse) instructed their wolves to stay put. Then Arthur led the way, shimmying up the tall sentinel by the wall, and they were off to the First Keep.

The stones under his bare toes were rougher than usual—the consequence of his neglected climbing these past weeks—but the air was fresh like biting into a fall apple, and Lia's laughter swam around him like a gurgling stream.

As they crossed the rooftops of the armoury and guard halls, Lia ran ahead of, giving him a wiggle of her eyebrows as she spun in a circle before vaulting over the parapets on the First Keep, her hair trailing like an inky cloud behind her.

Arthur sped up his pace and joined her atop the ancient stones, poking her ticklish side before darting away so she could not poke his.

"Arthur Stark, you'd better watch your back!"

"I'm wide open now. Come get me if you're so sure of yourself!"

She chased him around the round fortress, both leaping over the familiar breaks in the stone until she finally caught up to him by swinging in a precarious arc off the inner edge of the walls and coming up in front of him. They tackled each other—rucksacks sliding off their shoulders, both trying to prod the other in the ribs—until Arthur finally managed to extricate himself, panting and stomach aching from exertion or laughter it was impossible to tell.

"You win…you win," he panted, his hands raised high in surrender. She stopped midway to him, leaning against the wall, cheeks rosy and eyes bright.

"I'll let you off the hook this time," she said in triumph, then jutted her chin towards the tower. "After you, big brother."

Arthur made his way up the tower, swinging from one snarling wolf gargoyle to the next until he landed on the loose debris atop the tower with a soft thud. Lia had not yet reached him, and for a moment he peered out over the broken edge, watching the people milling about below.

Extra hands had been hired in the kitchens for the king's visit, but he still recognised Sal, who always had her red hair piled like a sugar bun on her head, and Minni, who always stood with her weight on one leg and her elbows sticking on like a chicken.

There were the gardeners too—the one who liked to sing bawdy songs while he worked had taught Arthur and Lia nearly all the curses they knew—and the brewer who always snuck them samples of his strong beers, and the smiths' apprentices who worked at the forge and used to chase Arthur when he hopped up on their roof, but always bowed deferentially when Lia was around.

Wylla was by the glass gardens, a basket overflowing with sprigs and jars tucked under her arm after a visit to her grandmother, no doubt, and beside her, little Gala skipped with her own basket swinging about her fat little legs.

He turned his head, and there was Hodor, a sack of feed over his shoulder, bending low to listen as he guided the blind Old Nan back to the castle door. Arthur could almost hear his contemplative reply of "Hodor" carried on the wind.

How long would it be before he could see this view again? How long before they returned to Winterfell? Father would have the position of Hand for years and years, and Arthur would surely be a man grown before he came home again.

"What are you staring at? You look like your mind's flown out with the crows."

His sister had come to sit beside him, placing her chin on his shoulder. Arthur shrugged with his other side.

"Nothing in particular, really. Just…everything here, all the familiar stuff. We won't see it again for a long time."

"You're really going to miss home, huh?"

Arthur turned to her.

"You're not?"

It was her turn to shrug.

"Maybe. But it'll always be here. The world is so big and there are so many things we haven't seen yet. I can't wait to ride through all the new places on just the road alone."

Arthur frowned, and thought with a pang of old Flea, whom he would also be leaving, riding instead a younger horse who would adapt better to new environs down south.

Lia nudged him.

"Don't look so glum. Flea's old, but not that old. He has ten years left in him at least. You'll see him again."

"I suppose," he said.

"Oh, buck up. Didn't you tell me there are poppy and daisy fields as far as the eye can see in the Riverlands, and actual rubies in the Trident from Rhaegar's armour? And in the Neck, there are those huge man-eating lizards and bats with wings so thin you can see through them? Oh, and that fungus that glows green when you burn it! Come on, Artie, aren't you excited to see the things you've only read about?"

Arthur gave her a little smile then.

"Aye, I do want to see it all."

"So, lucky us. Right, up then. Now I want to see this treasure."

They poured water from the skins around the bronze half-circle, working away at the softened debris before pouring more water to loosen the next layer. It was slow and tedious, but Arthur fell into recounting some of Corlys Velaryon's adventures for his sister, so the work was bearable enough. After what seemed like hours, they stood up and stretched, and Arthur could feel the small of his back aching.

They had uncovered enough of the object to see that the round bit was just the tip of it. It had an intricately carved cone shape attached to the end of the round tip, and runes ran along the exotic patterns, the edges worn smooth by time. It was still too deeply buried to pull out or even wiggle, and Arthur was beginning to doubt if they could finish this all in one day.

"I'm going to copy some of the runes down," he said, retrieving the parchment scraps and wrapped charcoal he had remembered to pack.

"Fine. My neck hurts, anyway," said Lia, and she did a handstand against one of the higher broken walls, shaking her legs before coming upright again. Arthur raised an eyebrow.

"And that is why your head is so big," he mumbled to his parchment, feeling his mouth twitch when she darted close to him.

"What was that you said, Artie? Hmm?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all."

"Ha ha, so clever Arthur. Why don't you call my head big to my face?"

"You said it, not me." Her eyes grew huge.

"Well, you can—" Suddenly, she froze like a startled deer, and Arthur watched as a tiny line appeared between her brows.

"Lia—"

"Sh! Listen!" She ran over to the lower edge of the tower and tipped her head over the edge. Arthur frowned. He followed her and stuck his head out as well, but there was nothing on the ground.

"Don't you hear that?" she whispered. "There's someone in the upper room." And as soon as she said so Arthur heard it too. Two voices, it sounded like, drifting jumbled and wordless up from the room. He felt a jolt up his spine. There had never been anyone up in the remaining tower rooms in all the years they had been climbing here.

"What is anyone doing in there?" There was nothing in those rooms save dust and mice and spiders.

Lia bit her lip, then, to Arthur's abject terror, made to swing her legs over the side. He gripped her arm like a vice.

"What do you think you're doing? You can't climb down the side!" The windowed face of the Broken Tower had been worn by the wind and snow over the centuries, and the only grips wide enough to bear their weight were the gargoyles that jutted sporadically around.

Lia scowled at him.

"I want to hear what they're saying," she pouted, but Arthur could see that she was hesitant about climbing down that way too. "No one's ever been down there. Aren't you the least bit curious?"

He was. Arthur felt like his skin was crawling for need to know why there were suddenly people in the tower room. He chewed the inside of his cheek.

"How about this," he said finally. "You hang off the ledge with your feet, and I'll hold on to them so you don't fall." Hopefully Lia was just tall enough that her head would hang at a place close enough to make out words. Lia put on her shoes and tied her hair into a knot.

Carefully, she leaned out over the edge, her hands gripping each brick as she slowly inched herself lower until she hung off the broken wall by the backs of her feet. For some moments she stopped and listened, and Arthur could see her head moving, considering. Finally, she twisted her neck to look up at him.

"I need to be lower," she hissed up at him, gesticulating so she was understood. "Grab my feet and lean over."

Arthur opened his mouth to protest, but thought it best not to contradict her when she was hanging upside down on a wall. Gingerly, he gripped one ankle, easing it off the ledge and shifting the weight into his arm, then did the same with the other. Damnation. How could Lia weigh so much?

And yet the curiosity burned, and besides—Arthur was no weakling. He had trained in the yard just like his brothers, and surely he could hold his sister's weight for a little bit of time. Slowly, he lowered his arms then his torso, his stomach tightening as he planted his feet and dropped her as low as he could. The edge of the tower had been worn smooth, but the stone was hard pressed up into his stomach.

Still, Lia made no more effort to hiss up at him, so she must be able to hear now, her head seemingly only inches away from the top of the window.

The voices were those of a man and a woman, Arthur could almost be sure, but he could only hear the rising and falling tones, one pitched higher than the other, carried over the breeze. His arms and belly were burning, and he was beginning to feel pins and needles in his right hand, but no, he could hold on a little longer. Lia likely hadn't figured out the—

She gasped, a sharp, piercing sound. The voices inside stopped, then suddenly one drew close.

"Pull me up, quick!" his sister cried in alarm, but for long moments his arms were stiff as leaden rods and his torso like jelly.

"Artie, quick!" but the more she tried to struggle up, the heavier she became. He could feel Lia's panic wash into him, but tried more than anything to hold it at bay. Finally, Arthur ground his teeth so hard he thought his teeth might crack.

With a heave so painful he saw stars behind his eyes, he pulled her up and jerked her over the edge, falling backwards. There were thumps as she landed, but Arthur could barely move, bright spots and black clouds exploding over his unseeing eyes.

He did not know how long he lay there, his frantic heartbeat the only thing filling his ears, but when his head cleared, he seemed to feel, even before he sat up, that something was terribly, desperately wrong. Clouds floated against the vivid blue sky, light and easy, and the air was silent save for the distant caw of a crow.

"Lia?"

His arms still burning and weak, he scrambled over and pushed himself up, shaking with the effort. His sister was slumped on her side against the wall, arms limp, eyes closed, an angry red patch on her forehead.

"Lia!"

His mouth was dry, his throat seemed to close, and distantly his hands tingled painfully. Arthur clambered over to her, tapping her cheek, shaking her shoulder.

"Lia? Lia, this isn't funny, damn it! Lia! Can you just bloody open your eyes, please!"

Arthur's heart was in his chest, choking out the air, and rush after rush of nausea flooded his head. He shook her and shook her and pleaded that she wake, but her ears were deaf to him, and she did not open her eyes.

A/N: Sorry guys.

Just to clarify, if FFN is placing ads in the story, I certainly can't do anything about it. No author makes money from writing fanfics, (copyright and all that), and I, too, wish there were no ads. If they really bother you, please consider either using the FFN mobile app or switching to reading on AO3. My username and the story name are all the same over there. Just google search :) They have a much nicer UI anyway.