Ned Stark waited patiently for Maester Luwin to be done dressing Arya's hand. All the hell Cat would be giving him later that night running through his head, and making him wish Luwin would never be finished. His youngest daughter hadn't looked him in the eye yet, not since her mother left the room, but Ned didn't think it was shame or fear of punishment. Her eyes were downcast as Luwin worked, hardly even wincing from the needle being dug in her hand. It was slightly unnerving, as was the anger still brimming in her eyes.

No, Arya wasn't scared, not that she ever easily was...but this was different. She'd never spoken to her mother like that, and she'd never sit there ignoring him when it was clear there was a storm raging in her mind. By the time Luwin was done Ned had come to the conclusion it wasn't just her mother she was angry with. "Come on" he guided her out of the room, one hand on her back as they strolled through the garnet halls. He half expected her to apologize as they walked, to give him an excuse for her actions. Usually the silent treatment from him had Arya desperately trying to fill in the void, but not tonight. The remorseful little girl he knew had left, and the one before him was silently seething.

When they entered her room she threw her cloak on the bed, finally turning to face him and look him in the eye. "Well?" she said quietly, clearly expecting some kind of rebuke.

"Well?" he repeated annoyed "You can't speak to your mother that way."

"But she can treat Jon however she likes?" she challenged, the anger he'd sensed before breaking above the surface once more.

"Arya-"

"and you just let her." she said exasperated. "I don't get it, he's your son as much as Robb is."

But he's not. Ned could see her then, his sister, bleeding to death in the bed Jon was given life. Promise me, Ned. Arya just looked too much like Lyanna did. "I love Jon, Arya, don't you ever think I don't."

"Then what is it? Are you ashamed of him?"

"I'm not ashamed." his voice rose without him meaning for it.

Arya wasn't deterred, "Then what?"

"Despite what you may think, this castle doesn't answer to you, and no one owes you an explanation for their actions." he told her sternly. "And it's different for your mother, when you're older you'll understand better how she feels about him."

Arya smiled bitterly, so bitter it almost seemed wrong on the face of a child. "When I'm older." she repeated with a slow nod. "A few more years and I'm sure it'll all make sense."

"It will." he half growled, "and you'll apologize to your mother first thing in the morning."

"I don't have anything to apologize for." His daughter glared at him, with an anger he'd never seen directed at him before. "If anyone should apologize, it's you."

"Don't push it." he warned her.

"I just don't get it. You'll father a bastard but still die for your honor?"

He shook his head, now more confused than upset "What makes you think I'd die for my honor?"

"Are you saying you wouldn't?"

"Go to sleep Arya, and you will apologize to your mother on the morrow" Ned walked to the door, glancing back a moment. For the life of him he couldn't figure out where all this rage had come from, and where his carefree willful daughter had went. The girl before him was braver, fiercer than she'd been before, a fury burning in her eyes she felt no shame for. The girl who'd bite her lip and let her eyes drop to the floor was gone, the girl before him was hardened and unyielding.

"You should tell him." she whispered.

"Tell who what?"

Those grey eyes were piercing, so much like his sister's it stilled him. "You should tell Jon who his mother is, gods forbid something happens to you and he dies never knowing."

Ned left without another word.

Jon pulled up the blankets to fight off the cold breeze that was sneaking in through a crack in his window. Yet no matter which way he turned, sleep would not come. Every time he closed his eyes he saw Arya standing by the door of the crypts, blood all over her hands and clothes, eyes distant and staring at nothing. He could hear her shouting at her mother too, "He's more of a Stark than you are!" Jon loved her all the more for saying it, but he wasn't quite sure where her sudden courage had come from. Arya had always been brave, but never so bold as that.

As if she knew he was thinking of her, he turned to see her. He hadn't even heard her come in, but there she was, silently closing his door. She turned and stopped when she saw he was awake. "Can I sleep here?" she asked, voice a whisper.

"Your mother told you the other week you had to stop." he reminded her.

Arya looked almost indifferent. "It's not as though she can be any more mad at me."

He moved over and lifted the covers with a small smile, "Last time then, come here." Arya crawled up on the bed beside him, pulling the blankets around them she leaned back and sighed, as though the whole world was resting on her chest. "You didn't have to do that."

"Someone had to." she said, "It's not fair how she treats you."

"Life's not fair." he reasoned.

"I know that." It seemed to him Arya was still angry, just as angry as she'd been when she was snapping on her mother.

"What did father say?" he ventured.

Arya snorted, "He wants me to apologize. I won't do it."

Jon gave her a long look, "Maybe you should."

"Seriously?"

"I don't want you fighting with your mother because of me." he insisted.

"It's not about you, it's about her. It's her wounded pride she lets rule her, it's her willful ignorance to anyone else's feelings but her own, and her...why are you looking at me like that?"

"Im..." trying to figure you out. It wasn't as though Arya being upset about his treatment was hard to wrap his mind around, it was her sudden passion about it. It was as though she'd been mad about this for a decade and was finally snapping. Like her fury was a quiet whisper on a mountain he'd never heard, finding it's voice now and launching an avalanche of cold buried rage. Arya sighed once more as if trying to push away the anger, but avalanches don't climb back up.

"How's your hand?" he asked, trying to get her away from her rage.

"It's fine." she said and Jon became painfully aware again of how unsure he was around her, the girl who's sentences he used to finish not a few days before. Now he'd no idea what was going on in her head, or behind the vast depths of her eyes. There was a long pause, the both of them staring up at the ceiling as if it held all the answers they were searching for. "You were right." she told him solemnly.

"About what?"

"My dream." she muttered while sitting up and leaning against the headboard, defeat clouding her gaze. "I can't get it out of my head Jon."

He pushed himself up, so they sat shoulder to shoulder, "What happened in the dream Arya?" he asked wearily, the smallest ember of hope in his chest, the hope she'd tell him what had changed her so drastically.

She bit her lip then, the bottom getting caught painfully between her teeth. The familiar sight lessened the weight in his chest; he hadn't even realized she'd stopped doing that. She looked up at him, grey eyes round with emotion. "You died." her voice was hoarse when she spoke. "You all did, Father and Mother, Robb, Bran, Rickon...I don't know what happened to Sansa, but she was gone too." her eyes shone with tears in the dim moonlight of the room.

Jon reached over and pulled her against him on instinct, "It's okay" he whispered.

She shook her head, "You don't understand, it wasn't..." she sighed and deflated, "It...felt real."

"No one's dying, do you hear me?"

Arya shook her head against his chest, "No. They're not." she agreed with quiet resolve. "Jon...I had a chance to fix it, to save all of you." she paused, sniffled. "But to do it...I had to lose you all over again." Her voice broke and her fingers tightened around his shirt, he knew she was crying. "Would you do it, give up everything and everyone to save us?"

"I'd give up everything and everyone just to save you." he told her. The words were meant as comfort, but her tiny body shook with sobs. Jon held her as tightly as he could without hurting her, trying to picture what she saw in her dream, what could have his fearless little sister in tears even days later.

"I know you would Jon, I know." her whisper was smothered in his neck, her tears damp on his skin.

"It was a dream, no matter how real it felt, it's not going to happen." he assured her, intertwining his fingers with hers.
"What if it wasn't?" she breathed.

"Arya-"

"If."

"Then...then you'd do whatever was right. You'd save father and your mother, Robb, Bran, and Rickon, and even Sansa from whatever trouble she'd got herself into."

"And you."she said, pulling away to look him in the eye, "I'd never forgive myself if something happened to you."

"First, nothing is going to happen to me. Second, it would never be your fault."

"Until it is." she said looking down, but glanced up quickly. "Promise me something." Her eyes were rimmed red and her hair a little messy, with tears still drying her cheeks but his heart skipped a beat by the seriousness in her gaze.

"Anything."

"Don't trust anyone, okay? Forget about honor, and vows, or whatever you believe binds a man. I don't care how loyal you think they are, never turn your back on them."

Jon's head tilted as he attempted to understand her, "Arya..."

"Promise me." she pressed, "We're not going to be in Winterfell forever, and I need you to be careful when we leave."

"Okay, I promise. I'll never trust a single friend I make." she gave him a little glare for his sarcasm.

"Jon-" she started, annoyed.

"I promise, okay?" he tightened his grip on her hand. "But you have to promise me something too."

"What?"

"That tomorrow morning when we wake up, I'll get my little sister back."

He never knew a smile could weigh so much, the corners of her lips pulling upward almost painfully. Arya nodded, eyes cast down. "Okay" she whispered, laying down beside him.

He wrapped an arm around her and held her as if he'd never get the chance again. "You can sleep here whenever you wish to Little Sister, it doesn't have to be the last time."

She sighed, and closed her eyes. "It will be."

When the light crept through Jon's window, Arya wanted nothing more than to ignore it. To will the sun back under the earth so she could spend one last night beside her brother, her very much alive brother. Instead she sat up, wiped the sleep from her eyes and pulled the blankets off. Jon stirred beside her, rolling over with half closed eyes, dark eyes like hers. "What are you doing?" he muttered.

"I should get back before mother wakes me, that's if she bothers to." she told him climbing off his bed.

Jon blinked the sleep away, "What are you going to tell her?"

Arya paused, looking out his window at the snowy rooftops, taking in the view. "I don't know." She could apologize, she knew there was a good chance she'd regret it if she didn't, yet if those were the last words her daughter ever said to her, might be Lady Catelyn would actually hear them. "I'll see you at breakfast."

"Okay, see you." Jon watched her as she sneaked quietly out of his room.

Arya's intuition was correct, her mother never came to wake her, only Septa Mordane showed her face in Arya's chambers. The guilt tugged at her heart, the look on her mothers face playing on repeat in her head, but the idea of apologizing when she knew she was right made her skin crawl. Now who's pride is getting in the way? A small voice scolded in the back of her mind, but she ignored it.

All feelings of guilt fell away faster than the rain when she sat down for morning meal with her family, and Jon wasn't there. Arya sat as far from her mother as she possibly could, even a fair distance from her father after their last encounter.

"Where's Jon?" Bran asked, with all the innocence of the eight year old he was.

"Jon's eating in the kitchens this morning." Her mother answered coldly, sparing Arya an icy glare. A look like that would have struck her terrified before, but Arya met her stare with just as much fire. Robb and Theon exchanged a knowing look and Bran just glanced sadly back down at his plate. Arya's grip on her fork tightened and she glared at the table, an all too familiar fury boiling under her skin, the bitter drink of injustice. She tasted it on the Trident where Mycha was murdered, drank it in when Joffery called for her fathers head, swam in it when in the Riverlands and Harrenhal, and almost drowned after Red Wedding.

It took nearly everything to sit through that meal, but she held her tongue. Even knowing she'd never apologize to her mother, knowing she'd never feel her embrace once more. She might have cried if she hadn't learned to shove her emotions back, deep inside her chest, all in another life. Once everyone was done eating Arya made her way out of the hall without being noticed, another talent she learned in another life. She knew she'd be expected to go to her stitching lessons in about an hour or so, but she'd be damned if that was how she'd spend her last day in Winterfell.

Outside the armory stood Sansa and Jeyne whispering to each other, with the boys circling around in the yard. Robb was paired with Theon, and Jon was giving little Bran pointers. Sansa looked up as she approached, "Arya." her eyes were dripping with interest, "What happened with you and mother?"

"Did she say something?"

"No, but I overheard the Septa saying you crossed a line, and both of you hardly spoke at breakfast." Arya sighed, knowing exactly who's side this Sansa would take. Part of her wondered for the hundredth time what had became of her in the timeline Arya was from, would she have become more understanding? Would she have cared less about titles and more about the people carrying them?

"We fought about Jon." she confessed, not caring to lie.

Sansa's voice was almost patronizing "He's a bastard Arya, when will you just learn to accept it?"

"I don't have a problem accepting that" she growled back, "But I won't accept how he's treated for it."

Her sister only shook her head in disappointment, but Jeyne filled in the response. "I wouldn't expect Arya Horse-face to understand anything." she sneered.

Arya looked up and watched as Bran sat down on the sidelines, glancing back once more she spoke calmly, the last words Jeyne Poole would ever hear from her. "Go fuck yourself Jeyne." Both girl's mouths fell open slightly, Arya only smiled politely and walked off toward her younger brother. Stopping on her way as she passed Theon taking a drink of water on the edge of the yard.

"Hey, can I talk to you a second?"

"Depends, is that a command for your hostage?" he asked sourly.

Arya smiled sadly, looking down at her feet a moment. "Okay, I deserved that." Theon didn't answer her, he only frowned, waiting for her to continue. "I wanted to apologize for what I said the other day."

"Well go on then." he squinted at her suspiciously. Must he make this harder? Her pride was already a bitter enough bite to swallow without his arrogance piled on top of it.

"You're not a hostage, anyone who says different doesn't know what the hell they're talking about. My father raised you with the rest of us, you...you're as much a Stark as you are a Greyjoy." It definitely came out a little more awkwardly then she had hoped, and Theon looked as uncomfortable as she felt.

"Are you making fun of me?" he asked, anger in the corner of his eyes.

"No! I'm serious, just...whatever okay? Can we just forget it?"

Theon nodded, "Done. You're being weird as hell, you know that?"

She grinned, "I thought you didn't swear in front of Ladies?"

"That was before they started swearing in front of me" he teased.

Arya gave him a warm smile, feeling slightly better for the first time that day. "Goodbye Theon."

"See you later." he said, and she didn't correct him.

Arya sneaked up behind Bran and tapped his shoulder, he jumped, startled. "What's going on?"

"I wanted to ask you a favor."

"What is it?" he asked as she climbed over the bench to sit beside him.

"We both know, you know Winterfell better than any of us."

He smiled with triumph, "Obviously."

"I want you to show me the best view in the castle."

"Don't you have sewing lessons soon?"

Arya gave him a look, "please?"

"Fine, come on, before we're noticed." She nodded, sparing the training yard one last glance behind her. Sansa and Jeyne were still off to the side, giggling about something Arya was sure she wouldn't find amusing, Ser Rodrick was lunging at Theon with a blunted sword, and Robb and Jon were sparring once more. Her brothers danced around each other, their eyes were gleaming with challenge but their smiles were laced with an unspoken respect and what Arya knew to be affection. They both laughed when Jon almost landed a blow on Robb's chest, the kind of careless laughter she was going to miss.

Robb and Jon were both men grown, according to her mother and father and most everyone else in Westeros, but Arya knew better now. They were only children, playing with swords, never truly being forced to wield them yet. Boys whose breathless laughter was made of an innocence she found herself longing for. She stood there, holding onto the sight as for as long as she could, willing herself to never forget it. Jon and Robb dancing in the yard, laughter filling the air already littered with snowflakes.

"Arya" Bran hiss impatiently. Jon looked up then, catching her eye and smiling.

She smiled back, giving him the smallest of waves before turning around. "Coming."

The Broken Tower was where Bran had brought her. "Are you sure about this?" she'd asked, dark eyes searching the crumbling stone, a deep feeling of forbidden holding her to the earth.

"Like you said, I know best." he grinned, "Not scared are you?"

She was sure those words would have had her racing him to the top in another life, instead she only studied him, fearing the fate he'd met before. "No. Just be careful." she'd waved a hand, "after you, oh wise one."

Bran laughed, digging his small fingers into grey stone and hauling himself upward, with startling grace for an eight year old. Arya scurried up behind him, eyes on her brother's movements as a bottomless pit formed in her stomach; if she were the reason Bran fell from this tower in this time, she wasn't sure how she'd live with it. Yet he was as sure footed as she always remembered him being, as agile as the monkey her parents had always said he was; and with the extra experience under her belt, she knew it to be true, though Bran had far less hair.

Arya copied her brother's movements, keeping pace with him all the way. It seemed to her she was finally getting used to this body. What little strength she had rendering in her mind, teaching her the bounds and limits of her capabilities. Even with this realization, she was breathing heavily by the time they reached the top, her muscles throbbing under her skin with complaint.

"You're getting better! Have you been practicing climbing without me?"

"Wha?" Arya took a deep breath to steady herself; she was exhausted. "Hardly, look at me, I can't even breath over here."

"Still, you're twice as fast as you were before." he countered.

"I just put my feet where you put yours." she told him, walking over to the edge of the tower's roof. The view stilled her to the core, if her heart wasn't pounding from exertion it might have stopped. The sight from the top was all she could of hoped for and more; she could spot the men working in the yard, mending and shaping steal, the clanks ringing queerly through the air and off the walls. Pinpoint half the rain-wore gargoyles that were lined all around the Firstkeep, and see the blurry shapes of dogs running back and fourth beside the kennels, howling and yelping for more bloody meat. The shapes of the roofs sticking up inside the castle walls, dressed in crowns made of snow. The most beautiful part, was the tips of the heartree's branches gleaming above the Godwood's shadowy forest. Almost like the pure hands of the gods reaching up for the heavens, grasping their way above the surrounding black stained branches.

For a moment she imagined she and the heartree were the same. An anomaly in it's own habitat, something right where it was meant to be, but not in the same certitude everything else was. The people around her and the pines and ironwoods surrounding the weirwood, were standing tall and strong, their roots clinging to the earth and their beliefs for security as tightly as they could. But the heartree's roots ran deep, deeper than any tree's in the forest. The pale tree saw as much as the Old Gods did, and maybe that's why they were destined to cry forever; tears the color of all the loss they'd bared witness to.

"Are you alright?" Bran asked.

Arya wiped the tears from her cheeks, taking a glance at her hands afterward. Her tears were nearly invisible, just a catch in the light. Not near so profound as the Old God's, yet she could feel it, the loss and pain, and it felt like she should be bleeding. "I'm fine, Bran. Thanks for this." Arya reached over and took his hand, gave him as reassuring as a smile as she could manage. "I love you Bran."

He gave her a long look, confusion and empathy glowing in those blue depths. "I love you too Arya."

Arya inspected the branches once more and squeezed his hand tight, dreading letting go, and wondered if the heartree would bleed as many tears as she would that night.

The next morning when Lady Catelyn went to wake her, Arya was gone.