Arya

No One was cold. It was the only identifiable thing she felt stepping off the ship and on to Westerosi soil again for the first time in two years. She had expected to feel more emotions returning to the land that had once been the home of Arya of the House of Stark. No one had landed in Karhold, the port town and stronghold of the Karstarks. No one knew that they were bannermen to Ned Stark, and that they had marched with Robb Stark when he gathered his men and declared himself King of the North. No One remembered hearing that Lord Karstark and both his sons had died in Robb Stark's rebellion.

Still as No One looked over the port town, with each of its thatched roofs covered in a thick layer of snow, she felt nothing. Lords died and were born, and still the smallfolk went about their daily lives. Maybe that was what Jaqen wanted her to internalize? Ambivalence about Westeros? Well if that's what he wanted to see from her when she returned, No One could deliver.

Besides, barring a few things Karhold, which had escaped the fighting, really didn't look all that different than it did when No One had been there before. No One told herself that it didn't matter that more than one of the roofs had caved in, having fallen into disrepair after its owner had disappeared, off killed in one battle or another. No One told herself that the people had always been this quiet, going about their business with no joy in the air and guarded looks on their faces. And as she passed through the gates of the town, No One told herself that it didn't make any real difference that the Flayed Man Banner now hung from the gates of the town next to the Karstark's sun of winter signet, rather than the Stark banner that had accompanied it for the last 700 years.

It took eight days traversing across the frozen countryside of the North before she came sight of the Dreadfort. It was hard going, harder than she'd anticipated because of the annoying challenge of passing unnoticed through snow. The only way to do it, without leading a trail for everyone to see, would be to take the roads, where her footprints would blend in with the prints of other travelers. But while the roads decreased the chances of her trail being noticed and followed, it increased the chances of her being set upon by others and being unnecessarily waylaid. Still, it would be easier for her to switch faces after an encounter with travelers than it would be for her to cover 58 miles worth or her footprints, so the road it was.

She was short, even for a woman, and so she could rarely successfully assume the guise of a fully grown man. Still, that was not to say she could not have gone that route (she had before) or even travelled as a woman of any age, but there was something that always drew her back to these disguises. She supposed a part of her just felt most comfortable, most at home, posing as a young lad as she had before she became No One. Arry had been her first face to wear other than the one she had been born with, and she by now she felt not only like she could slip into the face of a boy and wear it well, but that it could almost be genuine.

This lad had been sandy-haired, with soft green eyes that crinkled in the corners and sharp, high-set cheek bones. It was a good face, one that held the false promise of the future, prophesizing with every contour about the man he would become. That future had never come to pass—the boy had been stabbed in a tavern fight and stumbled into the House of Black and White nine days later, riddled with blood poisoning begging for the quick and painless death of the gift.

Though she passed a few other travelers on the road none of them took much note of the boy, shuffling along in the snow, his head bent against the wind. No One was always ready for things to turn violent in an instant whenever other travelers were about but her state of tense apprehension began to feel more and more unnecessary with each passing person. The North seemed weary of violence.

About an hour before dusk on the fourth day of her trek No One heard the distant sound of horses coming up from behind. She quickly got out of the road, hiding behind two evergreens which had grown up so close to one another that the space between them was an impenetrable mess of branches. From the sound of the horses clopping hooves it was likely no more than a party of four of five, but still, she thought it best to hide rather than greet the men directly. These days parties of men were trouble more often than not; and while No One did not fear them in the slightest killing five would be messy work and would likely not go unnoticed. For the hundredth time since the beginning of her trip she cursed the snow. It was bad enough she had to hide her footsteps but gods she didn't even want to think about how much work it would be to hide bloodstains. Plus, even if she did manage, five men going missing was likely to cause something of a stir. The last thing she needed was for the Boltons to be on high alert.

Within ten minutes she began the first rider came around the bend, seated on an enormous charcoal colored stallion. There were three other men close behind, all on respectable but far less imposing beasts. Every one of them was clad from head to toe in black.

Night's Watch. She thought to herself, watching them through the branches. They didn't talk much mumbling in low voices every now and again but otherwise keeping their peace. Her view was so obstructed that she couldn't make anything out about them, except for that she was pretty sure the one with the bow slung across his back was little more than a boy, with tousled close cropped brown hair.

Somewhere inside the part of her that No One refused to acknowledge, something squeezed in what she thought must be buried sorrow. No One knew that Arya of the House of Stark had once been saved by Yoren, the lead recruiter for the Night's Watch who had passed her off as a boy recruit and promised to take her to her brother Jon. Yoren had died defending her and Gendry from the Lannisters who had come after them. Something deep inside No One's mind wondered momentarily if Jon Snow had survived, but she quashed the thought at once. She was No One – and it was no business of hers who had gone to meet the many-faced god and who still had time to wait. Besides, Jon's location had not been a secret, and the Bolton's had held the North for nigh on two years now. Even is No One did care, which she didn't, Jon Snow was likely long dead.

Still she watched the disappearing backs of the wandering crows with interest. Had they taken to doing all recruiting missions in such large groups? Could that have perhaps been a result of what had happened to Yoren? Still, four seemed like a lot for a recruitment mission. Perhaps things in the North were not as subdued as they appeared after all.

She waited about a half an hour after she had lost sight of them before coming out of her hiding place and continuing on. There was little chance they'd look back, but she wanted to be sure they'd be far ahead of her. Though Yoren had been a fair minded sort, and had only taken involuntary recruits who had been sentenced to life at the Wall, No One was not sure that all recruiters were so picky. She had no desire to be forced to kill any crows to avoid taking the black. Not that it would likely get that far; even if no one discovered her tightly bound but still existent breasts, suspicions were bound to rise after she failed to pee standing up. Having passed as a boy before, No One was aware of its practical limitations. In a larger group such things could go unnoticed. But with only four…

Best to wait for them to get well enough ahead.

And so she waited before slowly beginning to trudge through the gathering darkness, her mind empty but for the thoughts of her increasingly cold toes. She was just thinking that it was time for her to find shelter for the night when she saw the light of a fire ahead flickering orange in the dusk.

Damn. All her waiting had been for nothing if the watchmen had simply stopped less than five miles from where they had passed her. She couldn't just pack down here for the night, not when they were so close that she could see their fire. There were enough of them that it was more than possible that some of them were spread out now, hunting for game in the surrounding woods. No One scanned around, looking for some way to make herself unobtrusive. Her eyes fixed on a marshy area surrounding a streambed about halfway in between her and the campfire. It was dark enough now that they'd not see her approaching if she went through the woods, and though it would be miserable, she knew she'd be able to hide in the tall reeds without being disturbed by any of the men. No hunter, no matter how zealous would push his way through the reeds, to potentially sink into the partly frozen mud to hunt after the small rodents that would be found there. It would be a miserable night, but she'd be safely hidden away.

Slowly No One made her way through the trees that lined the road crouching low to try to stay below the range of sight of any lookouts who might be posted. It was dark enough that they'd have to be looking right at her to see her movements, but her heart was beating fast all the same—not with fear but with anticipation. She didn't want a fight, but if one came she was more than up to the task.

No need arose though and she made her way into the reeds without any difficulty. The mud stunk with the putrid smell of fishy decomposition but was mostly solid in the freezing temperatures. Still the damp seemed to penetrate her clothing everywhere she touched the ground, and she settled in cold and hungry to stay the night. By the time night truly fell she was so miserably uncomfortable that she considered revealing herself to the watchmen that she'd so carefully avoided simply for the warmth their fire would offer but still she stayed put.

At some point she must have drifted off because sometime around midnight she heard a small crack nearby and her eyes flew open. While the sound had been innocuous enough, No One had a creeping feeling running down her spine. Something was wrong. A few feet away, the reeds shifted, almost imperceptibly, rustling lightly despite the windlessness of the night.

Very slowly, No One slipped a dagger from her belt, and raised herself up into a crouch. She had no doubt that there was someone, or something, in the reeds just a few yards from her. She could almost hear them breathing. But why? Even if they had seen her earlier it couldn't possibly be worth their time to hunt down one lonesome boy sleeping off the side of the road in the middle of the night…

The reeds shifted again; and No One adjusted her hold on the knife. She wasn't scared, per se, because she didn't fear death but she was unnerved. She felt… hunted.

Finally unable to take it any longer, she straightened and unsheathed her sword, slashing away the reeds with a casual flick of her wrist. Whoever it was, No One would meet them face to face rather than wait for them to strike.

Less than four feet from her, the wold loomed, his glossy coat shining in the moonlight. He was bigger than she remembered—bigger than any wolf she'd ever seen—but his pink eyes and flawless white fur were unmistakable. His behavior made it even clearer. Though she'd cut the reeds away mere inches from his snout his teeth weren't even bared. Instead he just stared at her, head cocked to the side questioningly.

"Ghost."