With that, Arya changed her mind about the horses: "We must leave as much coin in this town as possible. More coin spent means more goodwill and less chance of anyone here following us to rob us. The faster we get to Winterfell, the better. My luck cannot hold much longer. My luck never holds this long."

They bought strong horses, well-conditioned against the cold, blankets and saddles, and provisions. They rode hard for the north. Arya had grown up riding, but Gendry had very little experience, limited to his time as a captive. As a blacksmith, he'd been a good ferrier, though, and was good at getting horses to trust them, and checking and cleaning their feet—an act most horses did not enjoy. Arya taught him the best ways to brush the horses, places they liked to be pet or scratched. She was good at knowing when the horses needed rest.

"Are you sure?" Gendry asked once. "It seems like this horse would keep going."

"Some horses are too loyal for their own good. They love to run and they love to please. They would run for you until they fell down dead. It is our job to care more for them than they care for themselves." She said this with her forehead touching the horse's.

They got to know each other, day by day, telling stories to pass the time. One night as they rode through glinting, moonlit snow, Arya told him the story of how she'd earned the ire of Joffrey Baratheon.

"You didn't! He was a prince!"

"I did: chucked his sword right in the river."

"How is it you waited this long to tell me this story?"

"Because of what came after. Joffrey made The Hound kill Mycah because of my stupid temper. Mycah was the only boy who didn't laugh when I asked him to practice sword fighting with me, and the Hound ran him down because Joffrey claimed we ambushed him and beat him. They made Father kill Sansa's wolf, Lady, in place of Nymeria. It's the one thing I ever did to her that I am truly sorry for. At first, I blamed Sansa because she lied to the king about what had happened. I know, now, that she was stuck. She was supposed to marry Joffrey. She couldn't publicly call him a liar. Lady really was a lovely wolf—loyal to my sister, and gentle. I wonder whether she can ever forgive for it…or for escaping without her."

"Could you have gotten to Sansa and taken her with you?"

"I just ran through the tunnels, turning away from the sounds of voices and blades. I didn't know where she was. I barely knew where I was."

"There you are," Gendry said, as though it were settled. As though hearts never bore unjust anger.

Arya had chosen the flashier conveyance, but compensated by staying in barns instead of inns, giving coins to farmers for their hospitality or game when the farmers expressed a greater need for food than gold.

After a few days of travel, they reached the edge of Winter Town. It was not the merry, bustling place she remembered. There seemed to be far fewer people, and all window shutters and doors were closed to the cold. Arya left Gendry and their horses in a copse of trees, then went alone on foot to see the state of things. Arya felt a weight lift as she saw the Stark sigil hanging from the high walls of Winterfell. The nearest gate was heavily guarded, and guards were questioning any who would enter what business they had with the King.

Arya leaned against a big, beautiful pine and wished she could pray, now, to the heart tree for advice, but it (like her siblings) was behind the walls of Winterfell. She listened to the wind through the pine tree's needles, then shook off her reverie and began walking back to Gendry and the horses.

Arya heard something faint behind her. She turned, but saw nothing. Arya crouched and held very still—as still as she'd be taught in her dancing lessons long ago. After what felt like an hour, she saw the eyes staring at her. "Nymeria?" she whispered, though the eyes were too red. Then, the creature stalked out of the trees: a direwolf as white as snow and the size of a small pony.

"Ghost?"

The direwolf proceeded cautiously. Arya was shocked by just how big the beast had gotten. It was one thing to see in your dreams and another to actually feel, looming over you with fur and claws and teeth. When the direwolf reached her, she rose slowly to her feet. The creature sniffed Arya, then nudged her with his nose. Arya laughed. "Let's go, boy. We'll fetch my husband and introduce him to the rest of family."

The horses were restless, for some reason. Gendry was using every trick he knew to calm them. He was thankful for his strength, for he barely managed to keep hold of the rearing horses when his wife came into view with giant smile on her true face a huge, furry beast by her side.

"Th-that's Nymeria?"

"No," she said. "This is Ghost—Jon's direwolf. The runt of the litter. Do you realize what this means?"

"That your wolf is even bigger?"

"Ha! Maybe, but more importantly, it means is that Jon truly is inside, and that we can get through the gate. When they ask what business we have with the King of the North, we say that we have his direwolf."

"What if Jon isn't really inside? What if Ghost is all that's left of him?"

"Then I'll be glad to have Ghost at my side when I fight whomever killed my brother."

Gendry sighed. "Well, at least you have a plan."

Arya looked at him sharply. "Do you have a better plan?"

"I have a safer plan, but I don't think you'd be happy with 'safer.'"

She smiled and gave him a quick, fierce hug. "Let's go," she proclaimed.

They took to their horses and rode for the gate, Ghost running alongside.

AN: Okay, so I promised Winterfell, but it needed a little more set up. We made it at far as the outside wall. Close enough, right? No? Well, next chapter is Winterfell FOR REAL.