Another three hours passed before they could hear the noise of the company approaching their location. 'Finally.' She thought to herself. She was more than ready to get back on the move, and if not for the value of the supplies they stood guard over, she might have gone on ahead anyway. She stood to await their arrival on her feet, feeling odd to still be draped in the white cloak of the Kingsguard with naught else but her breeches and boots beneath.

She'd gotten up and cleansed her soiled shirt and cloak with more snow when the tedium of sitting had gotten to be too much. She managed to get most of the blood and filth off the fabric of the cloak though the shirt was a lost cause. Jaime promised her one of his spares when the company joined them and he had access to his bad that was loaded in the wagon carrying his tent. The wet clothes had frozen over before they'd even started to dry and so she still found herself unable to put them on. A fire would have much helped the process, but they were hesitant to build one before the others arrived for fear of drawing another wave of bandits to their location.

And so they waited, until the first of the army appeared around then bend. Lord Tywin wasn't the first man in sight, but he was never one to ride very far back and so was soon in sight himself. When he saw them stopped there, he nudged his horse into a trot and approached much more quickly. "What happened here?" He demanded when he pulled up between his son and Arya where they waited for him. Jaime explained the events and reason for their delay succinctly, gaining his fathers thoughtful nod once he had finished.

The elder man dismounted and moved across to look at the line of dead men, studying them closely. Arya moved to stand beside him, waiting for him to speak. "This is an Ironborn raiding party." He finally announced. "See this sigil?" He asked, pointing at lone patch sewn into a single cloak bearing a sigil, a white scythe against a black background. "It belongs to house Harlaw of Ten Towers."

"We're quite far from the Iron Islands." Arya commented, trying to pull what she remembered of Westeros geography after so many years had passed since she'd studied the maps and house seats with her Septa to try and judge the distance in truth.

"Mmm, they likely sailed up Blazewater Bay and the Saltspear. It comes out just west of here. Common enough play for the Ironborn. It's lucky you arrived when you did. Supplies are always needed. They will be useful to the gathering alliance- much more so than they would have been to our enemies. Dare I ask why some of these men seem particularly torn apart?"

"They were set on by a pack of wolves, it was the oddest thing." She explained calmly, tone innocent of any further knowledge. Still, he shot her a piercing look before his attention to drawn away.

"Why remove their boots?" Tywin's brother questioned from behind them, taking in the scene with distaste from his mount's back.

"Good boots are always needed in the North." She responded. "As is good steel."

"You would have us steal from dead men?"

"Dead men have no possessions. Possessions are for the living. The dead have no need of boots or swords or gold." Arya replied coldly. "We do."

Kevan scowled down at her from his elevated position and then looked to his older brother to see if he would back him in shunning the idea. Tywin was obviously listening to their conversation but he didn't immediately speak up. When he finally did he said, "The girl is right. We'll take it with us. No point in losing good leather or steel. Have them men load it where they can in the wagons and prepare to move out. I don't want to linger here any longer than we have to. Burn the bodies."

The younger spun his horse around and moved to give orders, though he clearly still wasn't happy even as he relayed his brothers words. Tywin glanced over at her and then paused to take in what she was wearing, though she suspected he had noticed immediately had had simply focused on the more important matters first. "My son's cloak suits you." He quipped with a raised brow before he too turned away. "Even if it is white."

The remainder of the trip passed much the same as the rest had, and they were soon only days from Winterfell. Arya had noticed Jaime watching her even more closely than he had before and it caused something of an – uncomfortable feeling to settle in her belly- a feeling of which had been present since Tywin made his comment about his cloak.

Though she didn't think that she'd ever actually attended a Westerosi wedding, she of course she remembered the symbolic custom of bringing a woman under the man and his families protection by cloaking her in the symbol of their House. It brought her mind back to her own family and the knowledge that she was still technically betrothed to a nameless Frey. She wondered how her mother and siblings would react when she arrived with the Lannister army. She wondered what she should tell them, how much of her life she should share. A thousand stories she could tell crossed through her mind and she became even quieter the further north they travelled.

Finally came the night before they would arrive and Arya hadn't spoken since they'd broken their fast. She was sitting beside a brazier further down the camp than she normally wandered in hopes of remaining undisturbed. Her hope was moot as a familiar gait approached and a body dropped heavily beside her. A wineskin was held out to her and she accepted it with scarcely a glance.

"Whatchya doing all the way down here? Lots of unsavory sorts this far from the head. If you're not careful, you could be marked unsavory by association" Bronn commented blithely, accepting it back after she had taken a drink and using it to gesture towards one of the nearby whores who traveled with the camp.

She smiled slightly, but remained gazing blankly at the fire, mind a thousand miles away. It wasn't her family that she thought of just then, she'd decided stubbornly to shut them out of her thoughts until at least dawn the next day. No, she instead was thinking about the warmth of Braavos, of the scent of exotic spices and roasting meat in the air, the feel of sand under her bare feet as she learned to truly swim in the sea, of the gentle crash of waves against worn cobblestone and of the quiet stillness of the House of Black and White.. She allowed herself to wonder, just for the night, what her life might have been if she hadn't come back home, if she'd killed the actress as she'd been bid and then returned to Jaqen for her next instruction.

"I'm just thinking." She finally replied quietly.

"Bout anything important?"

Her life as an acolyte had been difficult and challenging, often leaving her to feel like she simply existed to undertake one test or trial after the next, constantly judged and critiqued, never praised for her successes but rather often struck for her failures and imperfections. It was a grueling life, one filled with pain and hardship, of adaptation and determination, strength and skill, failure after failure and then eventual hard won success.

She needn't have worried about feelings of betrayal or upholding one alliance or another. She needn't worry about honor nor dishonor, for when one lived a life dedicated to serving death, dishonor held a different meaning than it had for her as a child, daughter to the ever honorable Ned Stark. Her perception was different, her many lessons having chiseled away at parts of her and shaped her down until she resembled someone else almost completely.

She'd grown used to discomfort long ago and had accepted it as her norm, but there she learned to use every hurt as yet another weapon in her already expansive arsenal. There, she didn't have to worry about avoiding strife nor seeking personal happiness, for every part of her had belonged to He of Many Faces. The only things she need worry about were improving herself every moment of every day, and the next name she would offer to her God. It had been a difficult life, but somehow also a simpler and more honest one.

"No, it's not anything important. Not anymore."

He glanced at her from the corner of his eyes, humming quietly in understanding and passing the skin over again. "Tell me, 'Sir Bronn of the Blackwater,' why are you part of this fight? Why do you serve the Lannisters?" She questioned, turning the conversation on him.

"They pay well." He responded automatically.

She turned to head to face him fully for the first time since he joined her. "Liar." She denied shrewdly. "You could make more selling your sword in Essos and be warmer besides. Why are you here, why with them?"

"Aye, that's true." He admitted, not answering the ladder part of her statement. "Why're you heading back then? Why not stay wherever it is you've been hiding out all this time?"

"My family is here."

"Liar. There's more to it than that." He taunted back, taking another swig. Still, he didn't press, instead continuing on himself. "I hated my own family. Bloody awful people they were, toasted when they died, I did." He paused and tilted his head. "Well, my brother wasn't too bad I suppose. When he was around at least. He was older than me, see, and hardly ever at home. Dunno whatever ever happened to the bastard- He split before ma was even in the ground, left me to deal with the unsavory sort they owed money to."

"That doesn't make him sound too good." She remarked, watching him.

"Meh, he didn't know any better than I until they showed up. Da had left a bottle of Run and I was three sheets to the wind already when the knocking came. I stumbled my way over to the door- I was only five, mind, hadn't ever been properly drunk before- and I stumbled my way over to the door and pulled it open, and I saw the craziest looking bitch I'd ever seen before standing in the rickety doorway, two men twice her size standing behind her."

"What happened?" Arya asked when he didn't continue.

"She asked for my da. Wasn't much pleased when I told her he croaked two days before. They forced their way in and tore up the house. Weren't any more pleased when their search turned up empty. She decided the only action to take to get her money back was to sell me. I wasn't much inclined to cooperate. Don't quite remember what happened, but the next thing I knew she was coming for me throat with her ax. I grabbed my da's sword, managed to stab her in the gut. Got free of the house and never looked back."

"That's awful." She commented, still watching him thoughtfully.

"That's life. Life's awful. Most of the time, anyway. When you manage to find a piece of it that's not awful, you should hang on to it."

Arya dropped her eyes back to the fire. The skin passed twice more before she spoke up. "I was one and ten the last time I saw most of my family. It doesn't sound like that long ago but it feels like a lifetime. The girl I was then- I haven't been her since they killed my father and called it justice. A friend of my father's found me in the crowd and took me from the city. For months I though of nothing but returning home to Winterfell, of running away and finding the Northern Army, finding my brother Robb."

"I almost made it once, did you know?" He shook his head silently. "We were less than a days ride, camping just past Castle Cerwyn. Some men from the Northern army were camped nearby. They were talking about the Starks and the war when we rode past. I heard one of them mention how much of a shame it was for the youngest Stark daughter be given to the Freys... See, it was always assumed that Sansa would wed a more distant family to form a new alliance and that I, as the second daughter, would be married to one of sons of Father's loyal bannermen- one with a Lordship, obviously. They felt cheated that I was being wasted on a family so lowly and disgusting, a family who had only gained their seat through treachery against their former liege lords and my Mother's family, House Tully."

"I was so angry when I realized what they were speaking of. I'd spent so long trying to get home, it was almost devastating to know they planned to ship me back off if I ever actually made it. I figured, if they planned to send me away anyway, why should I bother going home in the first place? I surely wouldn't agree to marry a Frey, so I decided to choose my own destination. I waited until my traveling companion was asleep and then I snuck away, stole the Northern soldiers horse and left to make may way in new direction…. Now that I'm here again, I don't really know what to think about it all. A part of me feels like turning and running away again." She finished softly, knowing she could trust the man who'd become a friend to her over the past weeks spent in close company.

"No one knows you're with us." He offered, voice just as soft. "They wouldn't know if you left."

She smiled, though it didn't quite reach her eyes, and shook her head. "I need to go home, I can't keep putting it off. It shouldn't feel this difficult though, you know? I'm not a scared little girl anymore, so why do I feel so much trepidation at knowing I'm going to see them again tomorrow?"

"Anything that feels easy isn't worth the effort to do it. Things that really matter are always the most difficult to do."

"You're just full of insight tonight, aren't you?" A familiar voice spoke up from behind the both of them. They tilted their heads in sync to see Jaime standing behind them with a hand resting lazily on the hilt of his sword, the other clutching a fresh skin. He took a seat on the other side of her and held it out in offering.

"I don't think I should have anymore." She declined, waving him off. "My head's already a bit buzzed."

"Why not?" He questioned back. "Got somewhere else to be tonight?"

"Hardly," She scoffed. "but I know better than to get too far in my cups. It's a thoughtless risk to take."

His blond head tiled and gleaming green eyes flashed to her with a hint of mischief. "Have you every actually been drunk?"

"I've been tipsy enough for my taste."

"But not drunk."

"Not drunk, no." She was forced to admit, feeling a rush of embarrassment despite herself. Not getting drunk wasn't anything to be ashamed of- drink made men stupid and slow, so why would she want to over indulge? Especially considering she almost always felt the need to look over her shoulder?

He held the wineskin out again and she accepted it with an eyeroll but still didn't move to drink. "You're meeting your family again on the morrow, but tonight you're under the personal protection of Lord Tywin Lannister, in the center of the biggest army in Westeros, sworn tell death to serve my family, and you have the two of us by your side. There's no safer time for you to get well and truly sloshed at least once."

She glanced around at the pockets of soldiers sitting together on all sides of them and knew it was true. She didn't know how many more peaceful and safe nights she would be granted, so why not try it at least once? She should at least know what it felt like should she ever need to know in the future. Plus, it might help get her out of her own head and depressing loop of thoughts if nothing else. She opened the skin with a mental shrug and took a deep swig, only to choke and cough on the horrid burning. "That's not wine." She managed, voice almost sounding normal.

"Rum. Thought you could use something stronger tonight."

Perhaps she could, indeed.

~*~An hour earlier~*~

They watched the slender woman move through the soldiers like a wisp, deeper and deeper into the camp and farther from the safety of their swords. That wasn't to say the petite Lady didn't pack a punch of her own, but war made men do crazy things and they preferred to keep her within sight for their own piece of mind if nothing else.

"You know," The sellsword began. "you should probably stop staring' at her so much if you don't want everyone to know how much you want her."

"I don't know what you're talking about." The blond dismissed without hesitation, gaze never wavering.

"I'm talking about you wantin' to fuck her." Bronn responded bluntly and rather louder than Jaime would prefer.

"I don't want to fuck her." He received he retorted quieter. Bronn scoffed in turn and Jaime corrected his previous statement. "Okay, I wouldn't say no to fucking her, but it's never going to happen so there's no point in talking about it."

"Why won't it ever happen? I see her looking at you too you know. She's better at hiding it than you are, but I've still seen it- She'd fuck you too I'd wager. Why not give it a go?"

Jaime shook his head and shot him a dark look. "She's a highborn lady- a princess, if you want to get technical, she's not the kind of woman you just 'fuck.' She's the kind that's expected to save her maidenhead for marriage like it's some grand gift for her highborn husband on their wedding night."

"I don't think she's that kind of lady." Bronn stated doubtfully.

"Ladies don't really get a choice in the matter."

"I'd like to see you tell that to her."

Jaime shook his head again and turned away. "I'm getting something to drink. Watch her, won't you?"

"Aye, I'll watch her." He promised and watched him go.

When Jaime returned he found the two sitting side by side, carrying on what seemed to be a serious conversation- odd for the two of them, who more often fell into insults, banter, threats- or a combination of the three- when left alone. So distracted were they that he was able to approach them both without being noticed- a feat that hardly ever happened with either of them. Not wanting their last night free of dealing with the Northmen, who weren't at all fond of himself or his family, to be marred by seriousness, he convinced interrupted their talk and convinced her to get sloshed with the two of them for a change.

It might not have been the best idea considering the conversation that led up to it, but as long as he controlled himself it would make no matter. He'd been forced to control himself his entire life- this should be no exceptional challenge. And he truly hadn't spoken false- they were likely sitting in the safest place in Westeros just then, surrounded by so many loyal soldiers and approaching a truce rather than expecting a battle. There was no better time, and so they began passing the much stronger flagon of alcohol between the three of them.

The atmosphere lightened the more they drank, and they spent what felt like hours talking and trading stories. "-… an' the poor bastard was hoping around with an arrow sticking out of his arse yelling 'not the daisies, not the daisies!" Arya tipped her head back with the force of her bright laughter, feeling tears of mirth pool in the corner of her eyes at the story she'd just heard. It took her several long moments to calm herself and she had no idea how flushed her cheeks were nor how bright her eyes glowed in the firelight.

It seemed to grow late all too soon and then men surrounding them began to disappear into their tents to take their rest. The rum was gone and the fire burning low, so they decided perhaps it was time for them to turn in as well. When she stood, Arya found she had a hard time walking in a straight line, no matter much she thought she had her muscles under control. Jaime graciously accompanied her back to her tent- though in truth he wouldn't have risked letting her go on her own with how drunk she clearly was, even had she tried to turn him away.

They were talking quietly when they arrived and so it felt natural for him to duck through the door behind her. One of the servants had lit the smaller brazier and so it was pleasantly warm inside. Arya immediate stripped her cloak off and lifted a leg to wrestle off her first boot. Her balance was more off than it'd ever been- even when she'd been blind- and so she ended up having to plop down to manage the task.

Seeing that she was still having difficulty, Jaime dropped to his knees before her to assist, much more practiced at maneuvering under the weight of the alcohol. She wiggled her toes once her feet were finally free and then lay backwards across the bedroll his her arms stretched up above her head. "Thank you." She slurred slightly as her eyes closed, though she remained awake and drifting slightly in the buzz.

Her eyes opened and she glanced over when she felt his much larger bulk lay down beside her, though his own hands were folded behind his head and his gaze rested on the fabric above them. "What will you do when you see your family?" He asked her, tone curious, in a low voice some time later.

"I don't really know yet." She admitted in scantly more than a whisper. "This should be a happy occasion, I should be ecstatic to be going home, shouldn't I? Despite everything?"

He hummed lightly and took a moment to think before he responded, hearing a true note of unease in her tone. "I think you're a different girl that the one who left gods, was it really almost eight years ago?" She nodded beside him but didn't speak up and so he continued. "Mothers always seem to consider their children to be children, no matter how old they grow. You'll simply have to show them the woman you've become. If they're smart, they'll be proud of you. I don't pretend to know all you've endured, but not many could have survived the bits I do know about."

"Because I'm a woman?"

"No, you being a woman has no bearing on my opinion of you. I'd be just as impressed by you if you were a man- … Though you wouldn't be nearly as nice to watch if you were."

She elbowed him for the last remark though she felt a buzz of warmth at his words. "Are we friends Jaime?" She asked in contemplation.

"I like to think so, though I can't speak for your opinion on the matter."

"It's been a long time since I've had any friends, I'm not sure I remember how to do it."

"You're doing a pretty good job so far. There aren't really any rules, you know."

She smiled slightly and turned onto her side to face him, propping her head up on one hand and gazing at him, needing to see his face for the next. "I've been in Braavos." She admitted in the quietest whisper yet. His head turned to look at her in turn and she could see the surprise in his green eyes. "Training at the House of Black and White to be a Faceless Man. I left for home when I heard of the Great Gathering of armies."

"Well…" he began clearly at a loss for words, though he didn't seem disgusted with her as she thought he might- for the Faceless Men had a certain reputation throughout all the realms. "That explains quite a lot, actually." He settled on, waiting for her to continue.

"I'm… worried of how my family will react if they find out, once they do see the woman I've become. I think my father would have understood to a point, but my mother and sister won't. I'm not sure about my brothers, really. Eight years ago I think they would have supported me, but they'll be men grown themselves and will likely have the thoughts of men grown on the place of a woman."

"You don't have to tell them you know."

"But you knew there was something off, even before I told you. You don't think they'll be able to sense it, too?"

"I wouldn't say 'off,' necessarily." A note of teasing taking residence in his voice before he sobered again. It took a moment for him to continue, trying as he could to organize his thoughts. "You've heard the story of the Mad King, haven't you?" She nodded at him and he encouraged her to lay back down, not wanting her perceptive eyes to observe him so closely as he shared this piece of himself with her. "My father told me he spoke to you about it a little already? Of how I came to be a Kingsguard?" She nodded slightly still gazing up at the side of his face as she could from where she'd lain her head back down to rest beside his.

"You've heard of wildfire? I'm sure you have considering where you studied?" She nodded again and he continued. "The Mad King loved wildfire. He loved to watch people burn, watch the way their skin blackened and blistered and melted off their bones.. He burned everyone- he burned lords he didn't like, he burned hands who disobeyed him, he burned everyone who was against him…. Before long, half the country was against him."

"He saw traitors everywhere, so he had his pyromancer place catches of wildfire all over the city. Beneath the Sept of Balor, in the slums of Flea Bottom, under the houses and staples and taverns… Even beneath the Red Keep itself. Finally the day of reckoning came. Robert Baratheon marched on the capital after his victory at the Trident, but, my father arrived first with the whole Lannister army at his back, promising to protect the city against the Rebels."

"You know my Father better than that- he's never been one to pick the losing side. I told the Mad King that, I urged him to surrender peacefully but he didn't listen to me. He didn't listen to Varys, who tried to warn him, but he did listen to Grand Maester Pycelle, that prayer-sunken cunt. 'You can trust the Lannisters,' he said. 'The Lannisters have always been true friends of the crown'. So, he opened the gates… and my father sacked the city."

"Once again I came to the king, begging him to surrender. He told me to.. bring him my fathers head.. And then he turned to his Pyromancer. 'Burn them all,' he said. 'Burn them in their homes, burn them in their beds..' Tell me Arya, if the king you were sworn to serve and obey to your last breath told you to kill your own father and then stand by why thousands of men, women, and children were burned alive, would you have done it?"

He shook his head slightly and she could see the lines in his forehead as he remembered the scene he was describing to her, dying fire casting eerie shadows to dance across his weathered face. "I.. killed the Pyromancer first, and then when my King turned to flee I.. I drove my sword into his back. 'Burn them all,' he kept saying. 'Burn them all.' I don't think he expected to die… I think he wanted to burn the rest of us and rise again reborn as a dragon turning his enemy's to ash. I slit his throat to make sure that didn't happen. That's where your father found me."

"No one seems to remember how despised the Mad King was by the end, the horrible way he slaughtered his enemy's, the awful things he did for his own entertainment.. I still see them sometimes when I close my eyes at night. It doesn't matter what he did, it doesn't matter what he planned to do, I was a Kingsguard sworn to protect him with my own life if need be and instead I took his with a sword through his back."

"Kingslayer, they call me now. Oathbreaker, coward, a man without honor. It's been seventeen years, and the only thing the people seem to remember of the Mad King is my part in his death… All except my Father. Say what you will about the man, but he loves family. He took me back to Casterly Rock despite those calling for me to answer for my treason and he betrothed Cersei to Robert to strengthen the Baratheon/Lannister alliance even further. He saved me and then he guaranteed me my freedom and my life. I should have hung for what I did. He called me a fool for swearing myself to another fucking king, but I couldn't let my sister go live in that awful place without me there to protect her."

He shook his head again and continued in a forced lighter voice. "The point is, family is there for you when no one else in the world is. Your mother's a Tully: 'Family, Duty, Honor' in that order, yes? I think you owe it to them and to yourself to at least try and reform those bonds. If you find you can't than you can't, but at least you won't spend the rest of your life wondering what might have happened if you tried."

He trailed off and seemed to be done speaking, so Arya moved slightly closer. She found herself at a loss of words, unsure of the correct thing to say after the raw emotion he'd shared, but needing to say something through her tight throat. "Honor isn't always an easy thing; it can be more than a word spoken or an oath given for some. It's rawer than that, more visceral and authentic. I don't think what you did makes you a coward, I think you choosing to break a single oath to a madman to save thousands of lives makes you one of the bravest and most truly honorable men I've ever met."

"You actually mean that, don't you?" He questioned in disbelief, looking over at her.

"I do."

He smiled at her and shook his head, turning on his side to mirror her and then brushed back a strand of hair to tuck behind her ear. He stroked his hand over her hair and then cupped the back of her head to hold her while he pressed lingering lips to her forehead in expression of his thanks, however much he'd rather have pressed his against her own lips instead. He pulled away a long moment later and moved again to his back where he closed his eyes. Alcohol still infusing their veins, they both eventually drifted off to sleep atop the Knight's bedroll, tucked close together.

To be continued

Notes:

This chapter had all the feels! I know I said they would make it to Winterfell, but this felt like a natural stopping point. I will try to have one more chapter out before the next episode releases tomorrow but I'm not sure I'll make it. After that the pace will likely slow to one or possibly two per week to match the release of the season.

I hope you enjoyed this chapter, please let me know what you thought! Thanks for reading!