Arya
That morning had been a rough awakening from a nightmare, a long, terrible nightmare. Arya drew up the drapes of her bed, and sat up on the edge. The beeswax candle on her bedside table had been consumed halfway. Only cinders remained at the hearth, its edges blackened with soot. It took her several minutes to truly recognize her bedchamber at Winterfell. Dawn was just breaking and sunlight slanted across the room in bright shafts that fell across the velvet carpet. She could not remember how long she had been away from her true home.
What she could remember, though, was the breezy, briny air tousling up her short, brown hair, the blue-green expanse of salt water rippling in endless waves as far as the eye could see, the unfurled sails catching the gusting wind, the creaking deck of the Titan's Daughter under her feet, as it prepared to set sail for Braavos, just minutes ago. And before that, crystal clear she recalled the terrible fight between Brienne and the Hound, and how she had finally crossed his name from her list of people to kill.
Her entire journey from King's Landing, to Harrenhal, crossing the riverlands, making for Riverrun, watching Lord Beric Dondarrion being brought back to life, getting snatched by Sandor Clegane and then taken to the Twins, and then the Eyrie, it all replayed in the back of her mind in reverse, from last to first. And then she stood at the feet of Baelor the Blessed, before the Great Sept in King's Landing, a place she knew she had never been to in her life, and yet...
Her father's greatsword, Ice, gleamed briefly in the sunlight before slicing down in a deadly arc. Yoren cut her off from the grisly view and proceeded to smuggle her out of the city, effectively saving her life.
Arya rose and padded to the window to stare out to Winterfell's yards and keeps. Ser Gregor, Dunsen, Raff the Sweetling, Ser Ilyn, Ser Meryn , Queen Cersei, she recited, watching the people she thought dead go about their usual business in the bailey below and up on the battlements. "Valar morghulis," she whispered. And then she answered herself. "Valar dohaeris."
She felt strange, different, smaller. She could barely reach over the windowsill to peer outside. And then she realized with a start how small she was. She had grown taller, and somewhat stouter along her journey, from her periodic odd jobs scrubbing castle steps, or performing as a cupbearer, and from having to survive in the wild for days straight. But now she could feel it in this body, how weak she really was, and she hated it.
She also remembered this exact day, when she was still a happy and innocent child that loved teasing her siblings, that hated having to act a proper lady, that envied Sansa for being perfect at everything, that she could wish to see her lord father and lady mother, and they would always be there for her. Today's the day King Robert feasts in our halls. When everything went down the drain. If only that could be changed…
Arya could not say how she had recalled that. Old memories mingled with the future ones to create one chaotic mess in her mind. The tiny squeak that came afterward only served as reinforcement that she had truly come back and wasn't dreaming up some wistful reverie. Her direwolf pup crawled from the foot of her bed and bounded toward her to meet her legs beside the window.
"Nymeria!" she exclaimed, dropping to her knees to stroke the puppy behind its pointy ears. The direwolf stood on its hind legs and licked at her face. "I promise I won't chase you away this time."
If she's here then that means… She had to see her other loved ones for herself.
Arya bolted out of her room, the direwolf close at her heels as she raced down the turnpike stair and pushed out through the iron-studded door of the Great Keep into the courtyard. Breathless, she stood undecided as to where to go. Father, Mother, Jon, Robb, Bran, Rickon, Sansa.
Down in the smithy she saw Mikken working the bellows at the forge. Hullen, the master-of-horse, and a couple of stableboys were watering and saddling up horses, and oddly enough, she couldn't see Hodor working among them. Septon Chayle hobbled up the twisting stairs in the Library Tower. Over at the Maester's Turret, Arya spotted Maester Luwin peering out the window. In the middle of the courtyard, men-at-arms hammered at each other with blunt tourney swords in a dissonant dance of clacking and clattering noise.
Across the yard Arya spied her half-brother, Jon Snow, striding firmly toward Jory Cassel under the armory's roof, his white direwolf, Ghost, following close behind. His eyes seemed hard, and his jaw tight. Arya raced toward them and stopped to listen just a few yards away from them. Nymeria sat on her haunches, waiting. Jon did not seem to notice them. His voice was anything unlike him, ripe with a heavy commanding tone.
"Jory, where's Greyjoy?" he demanded.
The Captain of the Household Guard seemed taken aback. "I haven't seen him today." He shrugged. "What's the matter, anyhow?"
"I know it's not my place to order anyone around, but I'm asking you as a friend. Keep an eye out for Theon. He cannot be trusted."
"A friend, eh?" Jory chuckled. He resumed strapping his gauntlets to his wrists. "All right, Jon. If you don't mind my saying, though, Theon's been like a sibling to all of you. Lord Stark has raised him as though he were his own. What brings you to mistrust him like this?"
"A suspicion," Jon said. "A hunch, if you will. Let's keep this between us for now. I don't want to start a scandal for naught. I'm just being cautious, for my brothers' sake."
"Very well, you have my word," Jory said, attaching his sword belt to his waist. "I'll have Desmond watch him over for the time being." He hooked his thumbs under the belt. "Be sure to look your best, Snow. The royal procession is nigh upon us."
Jon gave him a half smile. "I will." He turned to Arya waiting outside the armory, and their eyes met for the first time in years, it would seem. He carried a slender oilcloth bundle in one arm. He grinned. "I was just going to go look for you, little sister."
Ghost, already a tad bigger than the rest of the litter, moved to smell Nymeria. Arya gave the white direwolf a soft stroke on the muzzle before turning to Jon. She grinned from ear to ear. She could feel tears starting to build in her eyes. Heart pounding from exhilaration, she bounded into Jon's open arms and embraced him as though she'd never see him again.
"I've missed you," she said softly into his ear.
"Me too, little sister," Jon said, breaking apart just enough to muss up her hair. She missed that sorely. He brought the oilcloth bundle up before her. "Look what I've brought you."
Arya pulled out the grey leather scabbard from underneath the rags. "Needle," she said at once.
"Precisely," Jon's smile receded, his voice gone soft. He had to drop to one knee to meet her eye level. "You do remember."
Arya nodded, her fingers clenching tight around Needle's supple sheath.
"I decided to give this sooner to you, for your safety," his lips curled in a sly smile. "Still, you'd want to keep that hidden from Septa Mordane. Remember, this is no toy."
Arya chewed her lip. "I know. I've used it on some people."
Jon looked grim. "I'm sure you had to. I've done things I have regretted, and had to live with it."
I don't regret it, Arya thought, before her half-brother interrupted her musings.
He stood tall, and tugged gently at her small, child hands. "Come, Bran has asked everyone to gather."
"Bran?" Arya asked, confused. "Is he the lord now?"
"Believe me, he must be the only one who understands what's really going on, or so he gave me that impression. Come, it's important."
"But I want to see Father, and my Lady Mother, too," Arya protested.
"You will, in due time," Jon replied, smiling feebly. "I want to see him, too. But it has to wait. We have to do this before the King and his court arrives later today. We came to an agreement that this is a matter of life and death."
Arya paused a moment to think. "You said everyone, but not Father."
Jon nodded. "Yes, but not father. I meant everyone who remembers."