AN: Hey guys! Glad you guys have been liking the story so far. Sorry about the spelling mistakes, I'll try to do a more thorough spell check from now on (although, full disclosure, I'm an American, so some misspellings may just be differences in language (we freed our colors and flavors from the tyranny of the U long ago)). If there's any specific GoT thing I'm getting wrong (that my Microsoft Word isn't going to catch) let me know and I'll fix it! Also some of you have asked if this is going to be following the books or the TV show. I'm pulling almost everything from the TV show, including the ages of the characters, but I might throw in some Book stuff occasionally. As always let me know what you think, and thanks for reading!

Jon

The boy proved to be a good travel companion, quick and quiet with his chores, never complaining about the discomfort or monotony of the road. He showed little interest in Olly or Vero and Maddox (the two guardsmen who had accompanied them from the wall) but always seemed ready to listen to any word that Jon said. Still he didn't press him for conversation, only listened with an intensity that made Jon curious. When Jon wasn't speaking, which was by far most of the time, the boy gave all his attention to Ghost.

Jon had never seen the direwolf like this. Half the time the boy was dismounted Ghost was there, like a shadow, padding along behind the boy. The boy was absolutely unafraid of the wolf, feeding him scraps directly, oblivious to the perilously sharp ivory teeth which could easily have taken off his hand along with the morsels it held. Yet with the boy Ghost was gentle, gentler than he was with Jon most times. But the most peculiar part was how obsessed Ghost seemed to be with the boy when he was sitting down. Then the giant wolf would trot over to the lad, and stick his great snout right in the boy's face and hair, sniffing and licking him obsessively until Jon called him off.

Olly, who was already put off by having to ride with the boy took every opportunity he could to tell Jon that he thought they should be rid the newest addition to their party. Jon agreed, but as the days progressed, the boy continued to give them nothing to complain about, save an odd nagging feeling that something was odd about the lad.

Jon felt like he was going crazy. He was sure he'd never seen the boy before, knew that he didn't recognize his face, and yet there was something so undeniably familiar about him. The way he moved, the movement of his head when his name was called, even the expression of exasperation that would cross his face from time to time all struck him with such a powerful sense of déjà vu that he found himself feeling inexplicably homesick.

"Do you hail from Winterfell Arry?" he found himself asking on the third morning of their trek. Jon reasoned that perhaps there was a chance that he'd been the child of some tenant of his father, whose face may have changed in the past five years but whose mannerisms were the copy of some man he'd known as a boy. He meant to find out more about the lad, and so he'd told Olly to ride with Vero for the day to give the spotted gelding a rest for a bit, and more importantly, to give him the opportunity to get the boy on his own. He hoped it would be worth it, as he knew his Steward was none too pleased with being the one required to double up of the two.

"No Sir. I'm from outside Karhold myself," Arry said casually. There it was again. It was a perfectly reasonably said answer, with no affection that should give him suspicion, and yet in the boy's eyes there was something, some strong emotion that had flitted across them at the mention of Winterfell.

"Have… have you been to Winterfell sir?"

The boy's question came out waveringly.

"Yes." Jon said gruffly.

"And how did you find it sir?"

"When I was there it was the best place on Earth, though at the time I was too pig headed to appreciate it. But I've not been back in some years, not since the Starks fell," he spoke the words lightly but for some reason they felt like a confession. He glanced over to see the boy's eyes locked on him, absorbing every word.

"Has it, that is, have you heard anything to suggest, that it's changed much since then sir?"

Jon sighed. Much as he'd tried to keep thoughts of Winterfell from weighing on his conscience he was capable of reciting every change that had been reported to Castle Black over the last five years.

"Aye well, the Iron Born did little to encourage loyalty from the people thereabouts an' after they… after a time the old Stark tenants wouldn't work for them or serve them, and so things began to fall into disrepair so far as I hear. Then the Boltons came; and from what I heard they converted one of the barracks on the grounds into a great kennel for Ramsay Boltons hounds, an' that apparently made the whole keep stink of dog. Then Stannis came and things mostly were put back as they had been, except," he always had to remember to keep his temper at this point, and could NOT let it show in front of this strange lad, "Except the Lady Melisandre burned the old weirwood in the Godswood. Said it was an offense to the Lord of Light."

"SHE WHAT?!"

The anger in the boy's voice startled him. It was the only genuine emotion he'd shown thus far on their journey and it made him, if possible, even more familiar.

"A fan of the Old Gods are you?" Jon asked half bemused, half hoping to finally get an ounce of truth out of Arry.

"More a fan of people not destroying what they have no right to be touching in the first place," he shot back, his eyes flashing. Jon cocked an eyebrow, what he said was akin to treason if you believed that Stannis was King. Perhaps the boy had had family who had marched with Robb, after all the Karstarks had all joined his cause. Perhaps this by had lost as many loved ones in the Red Wedding as he had. Either way Jon had now gleaned that he was a Northmen, and one loyal to the Starks. It was a start, for now.

Arya

She was in trouble. She was No One no longer, but had become Arya Stark once more, and the disguise she wore was chafing against her nerves with every mile. She was having a hard time not revealing herself to Jon, not going into his arms like she had as a girl and sitting their sobbing in his embrace until all the pain and confusion of the past five years was completely cried out of her system.

What was she thinking bringing up Winterfell? Good God her reaction to the news about the Weirwood, she may as well have drawn a target on her back. It was like in shedding the veil of anonymity, the comfort in nothingness that the Faceless men had given her, she was now intentionally punishing herself twofold opening up old wounds simply to feel their sting again and know they exist.

This trip was ripping her apart. And here he was, her brother, maybe her only family in the world, not four feet in front of her and she had to remain silent; an outcast among their party, suspected by everyone and trusted by none. She'd never felt so alone.

And yet like a kicked puppy she kept coming back to Jon, trying to will him into talking when she knew she had no place asking him questions. They already suspected her, she knew, and any excessive questioning would raise a red flag and might just get her killed.

In thinking about the prospect, she realized for the first time in two years that the idea scared her. She didn't want to die, she was afraid of dying, without telling him the truth. She'd noticed how he'd avoided saying what the Iron Born had done when he recounted the changes at Winterfell. She knew the deaths of Bran and Rickon must hang on him as that had on her, and she so desperately wanted him to know that he was not alone in his suffering.

She'd started falling behind Jon a bit after their exchange about the weirwood and was now between him and the two other horses carrying the three watchmen. Jon was out ahead, by about twenty feet, regal and imposing on Bjorn, his great grey warhorse. Gods he was something to behold.

All of a sudden out of the corner of her eye Arya saw a flick of movement in the trees to his left, accompanied by a faint metallic shimmer. Her heart was in her throat and she was shouting and digging her heels into the gelding side before she had time to stop and think.

"JON! Watch Out!"

Men exploded out of the trees, falling on him just as he pulled his sword from his belt. He dispatched the first one with haste, but the second one was lunging for his exposed side when Arya rode up. Without slowing she reached for the man and dragged him away by the hair, before slitting his throat with Needle. She flung his limp body aside, shoving it towards a man on the ground who was going for her horse. The body of his companion distracted her latest attacker long enough for her to slide from her mount before he could react. She parried his blow with ease and then caught him on the side beneath the ribs, his middle parting like butter beneath her glass-sharp blade.

Jon had disposed of another man and the last companion was attempting to flea when an arrow from Olly, who had ridden up seconds after Arya, caught him in the back.

"Right," Jon said his voice a bit gruff and his eyes flaring with the adrenaline of battle. "Olly, Vero, you go check out the runner see if he's got enough life left in him to tell us who sent him. Maddox, see to the Gelding and Bjorn, make sure they took no injuries that we don't know about. And you. You come with me."

He said the last words with more menace than Arya had ever heard from him in her life. Wordlessly she obeyed, following him off the road about twenty yards until they came to a clearing in the forest.

"Now Boy," he said his voice low with threat and the great sword still clenched in his left hand.

"Now you'll tell me how it is you came to know my given name. And by the Old Gods and the New, you'll tell me where it is you got my sister's sword, or I'll have you begging for mercy before I'm finished with you."