Slightly large but very important A/N: so to start things off I must apologize for what probably seemed like my abandoning this fic. Not the case, I assure you! Right now, I'm applying for college, and it's my senior year, so apps and schoolwork and preparing for the holidays had to take center stage. I simply had no room to write, but that won't be for long because I'm almost done! Enough apologizing, moving on to the story. I know you all waited so long, and you're probably going to flay me alive because I have to tell you that this chapter is a split POV between Sansa and Jon, and I know this is an Arya/Gendry fic but I had lots of loose ends I had to tie up, and this chapter is how I'm doing it. That being said, fear not! I did this so that all chapters, from now on, will be purely arya/gendry, and to get the story to pick up a little bit, and get you guys to the good stuff, I've decided to combine POV'S for chapters so that more will happen in each chapter (all POV'S from now on will be Arya and Gendry's). Also: I'm almost done with the next chapter, so more Arya/Gendry very soon!

Jon

The static of the intercom crackled dully in the background as Jon sat there, gazing absentmindedly at the growing darkness of the woods. Every so often he would feel a shutter of cold, and realize the space heater had been turned off, and then turn it on again. He thought, from time to time, to turn on the portable television, but every time he went to do it, he would lose track of time, and plunge into his thoughts until the space heater would go out again, and then he would be forced to turn it on. He just couldn't seem to get ahold of the thoughts tangling in his head, or the worry knotting itself at the pit of his stomach.

It had been three months, exactly, since Arya had gone missing, and no one had seen hide nor hair of her. Not even a whisper. In the beginning Cersei had tried to cover up her escape, but Robb assured Jon that his spies said otherwise. The only Stark girl held in the Red Keep was Sansa.

There had been talk of getting her out, but the authorities were all in Lannister pockets, and if Robb had gone to the police, he would have certainly been arrested. Jon had tried to go in search of Arya himself, but Robb had insisted that he couldn't let Jon abandon his job and throw away all the good he had done just to be on the wrong side of the law.

"Dad wanted better for you," Robb had said over the phone.

What about you? Jon had wanted to say, but he knew better. It wasn't his place to avenge the horrors that had been done to his family.

So he sat. And he waited.

It seemed like the whole world was going insane, and here he was, with his space heater, worthlessly guarding a border no one cared to cross. Beyond the border (nicknamed the 'Wall' by everyone because it was apparently impossible to cross over. Save for one, feisty and impetuous red-haired girl) was only ice and dust and poverty.

Why are we guarding it anyway? Jon wondered to himself listlessly.

It had been well over three weeks since he had talked to Robb, and so far no progress. Well, not from Robb's point of view anyway. According to him, they'd have the Lannisters taken care of in a month or so, and the family safely back together. But somehow Jon wasn't lulled by Robb's words of comfort.

"Still no sign of Arya?" He had pressed Robb hopelessly.

"No," Robb sighed. "But we'll find her Jon. I promise. If Arya's anything, she's a fighter. She knows how to take care of herself."

That was true. Jon supposed it would be far worse if Sansa was the one missing, but somehow that didn't make him feel any better. The thought of Sansa alone and afraid... And who knew what Joffrey was doing to her, the twisted little shit.

"What about Bran and Rickon?" Jon demanded. "I switched on the television the other day and saw Winterfell burnt to a crisp! Are they all right?"

"Rickon's nanny, Osha, is looking after them I think," Robb said, and for the first time Jon heard strain slip under his brother's usually so comforting and confident voice. "We'll bring them home Jon," he vowed. "We'll bring them all home."

Jon had clenched the phone, and though the words were supposed to give him hope, they gave him a certain poison as well. As if they were cursed.

The poison spread when Robb admitted some news of his own.

"That's a bad idea," Jon said at once.

"You sound like my mom," Robb had snapped. "Now's as good a time as any."

"Now is the worst possible time," Jon snarled. "You have to wait until this blows over Robb. Marriage right now should be the last thing on your mind!"

"Well it's not," Robb had said firmly. "You could at least pretend to be happy for me."

"What about Arya?" Jon had shouted into the phone. "What about Sansa and Bran and Rickon?"

"I'm doing everything I can!" Robb shouted back. "You're not here, you don't understand-"

Jon had slammed his phone down so hard it had shattered. He instantly regretted it. His few seconds of anger had completely cut him off from the rest of the world. Now, he had no clue of what was going on, with the faulty phone lines at the border outposts.

There was a crackle on the intercom, and then a voice. Jon jumped.

"*zap* Snow! There's been a breach of security on the west flank! *zap* back up needed *zap*! Now!"

Jon leapt to his feet, grabbed his gun and hurried out of the booth. It was growing increasingly dark out in the woods, and as he locked the door, he was glad he had remembered his flash light. As quick as a flash, he darted into the thick of the woods, quickly engulfed in shadows. There was silence; the only sound was his heart, pounding in his chest as he hurried towards the west flank of the wall. Turning his flashlight off, he wrapped his fingers around the hilt of his gun-

"STOP! STOP OR I SHOOT!"

Up ahead, through the blur of trees, Jon saw his coworker, gun pointed... And a flash of red hair-

BANG!

There was a scream, and then Jon was running, running like mad and like the devil, and his gun was out, and Qhorin was turning around, but Jon's eyes alit on the mess of red hair, and the blood that mixed with it... Qhorin was aiming his gun, the girl lifted her head and looked straight into Jon's eyes-

"She tried to kill me-"

BANG!

She screamed again. And then there was silence.

Jon's hands shook and the entire world seemed to collapse around him as Qhorin gave a start, and then the gun slipped from his fingers, and his body fell like a great weight, blood gurgling in his mouth, twitching...

"You killed him," Ygritte gasped in shock.

"He was going to kill you," Jon said numbly. But he couldn't understand... It had all happened so fast... He never meant to... The gun slipped from his fingers as well and he sank to his knees.

"He already did," Ygritte groaned, and there was a twinge of annoyance to her voice, as if she was annoyed with him for being so naive. Come to think of it, she probably was. Even when in extreme pain, Ygritte was still... Ygritte.

"No," Jon said furiously, and he went to her, kneeling by her, gently removing her trembling hands clamped against the wound at her side, blood sticking to his flesh... She was right. It was bad. "We're going to get you back to the booth. I have medical supplies there, and I'll call an ambulance..."

But with what? His phone was gone. He had just shot Qhorin in cold blood. He would go to jail. Or maybe even die.

"Don't be stupid," Ygritte snarled, clamping her hands back over the bleeding hole in her side. "Run. Run as far and as fast as you can. It's over for me now, just go."

"I can't."

She blinked in surprise, and looked up at his face, and through the amount of pain shimmering in her eyes that seemed to glow blue in the dying light, he saw a real tenderness and sadness flash beneath.

"You stupid idiot," she said with a sigh. Blood formed at her lips. "All right."

She clenched her teeth hard as Jon helped her to her feet, but no matter how hard she tried, she could not fight the yelps and gasps of pain with every step. Tears began to stream down her face as Jon half-supported, half-dragged her back towards the booth. Night fell around them as her feet wobbled and gave out, the blood draining from her face...

It felt like whole years had passed when they finally reached the booth, and Jon was able to open the door, and she collapsed against the floor, her breathing ragged, her fingers leaving trails of blood...

Jon hastily went to the cabinet and got the medical supplies, going to her and taking out everything and anything that might be useful. His hands were trembling.

"We have some good memories in here, don't we?" Ygritte asked as he mopped up the blood with a sterilized wipe. Or at least tried to mop up the blood.

"Don't remind me," Jon snapped, getting gauze and then pressing it to the wound. He held it down with one hand to stop the bleeding and fished around for some tape. She would not die. He was not going to let her die.

"You're still angry," she said, shaking her head and then wincing. Her face was as white as sleet and sweating feverishly. Jon found the tape.

He didn't say anything.

"I didn't use you, you know," she said softly. He raised his eyebrows.

"Didn't you?" He asked as he put the tape over the gauze. "If you hadn't... Well you know... You'd have never gotten away."

"Fucked you?" Ygritte gave a coughing laugh. Blood dribbled into her hands. "You are such a virgin, even now."

"I am not," Jon said childishly. "As you just pointed out."

Ygritte smiled at him, and then, ever so gently, she cupped a bloodied hand to his face. The tape went lax in Jon's hands.

"I'm sorry I left you," she said quietly.

"Never mind that now," Jon sighed, clasping her hand and then setting to taping the gauze. It was beginning to flower red with blood. It was getting harder and harder for Ygritte to breathe... Every gasp for air was shallower and shallower...

"I had a mission," she said, tapping on the strings of her backpack. There must have been something of import inside. "It seems stupid now."

"You were going to save the world, weren't you?" Jon muttered softly, spilling out some antibiotics in his hands, and then giving them to her. She could barely swallow.

"Hundreds of people are dying over there Jon," she croaked. "I couldn't just sit there and do nothing."

Jon stopped and stared at her. It struck him, just then, at how different they were. She would die for what she believes in, Jon thought, and I'm just sitting here, useless, as everyone dies around me. I can't even keep her alive.

Tears rolled from his eyes.

"You're brave," she told him, reaching up a trembling hand and tracing patterns of blood against his face in wonder.

"I'm not," he said, turning away. "I'm a coward."

"No," she said. "Just stupid."

It was a joke, and she smiled her crooked smile, but the light was going out of her eyes, and she was letting go.

"Don't bury me," she insisted softly. "I hate the idea of worms."

"Don't be stupid," Jon snapped. "You're going to be fine. I'll use my dispatcher to get ahold of someone for help-"

"I don't want you to stay here," Ygritte cut across him. "They'll find out you shot him-"

"I never meant to," Jon said, tears again pushing from his eyes as he clasped her hand. It all seemed like a dream. It wasn't real. Only a half an hour ago he was sitting with his space heater lost in his head...

"I know," she said gently. "But it's been done, and you can't change it. So run. I have a huge packet of money in my sack, take it. Run and save your sisters."

Jon looked over at her, and again, there was a crooked smile. He didn't want to let her go. He never had.

"You'll come with me," he said earnestly. "And I'm going to show you the world. We'll go to all sorts of fancy hotels, and eat stupid French food we can't even pronounce, and then I'll show you all the big beautiful houses in Westeros and you'll never be hungry or want for anything. We'll even go to the moon if we want to."

"Oh Jon Snow," Ygritte sighed. "You know nothing."

And he held her face to his hand as she died.

ooooooooooOOOOOOOoooooooo

Sansa woke up that morning as if she was still dreaming. Her entire body was cold, like ice, and when she finally moved to sit up, her limbs seemed to crackle, brittle and weak. Blood barely pumped in her veins.

As she went to the bathroom and stared in the mirror, she hardly recognized herself. She was still pretty, it was true, but none of that mattered now. Thinness had crept into her body, and her cheeks had a certain hollow to them that seemed to scoop out the liveliness that had once been so omnipresent. She couldn't remember the last time she had smiled a real and true smile. It used to matter to her so much in the beginning, her unhappiness. Now all she felt was a strange sort of survival. Nothing mattered anymore.

Because today was the day that everything ended. Today was the day that she turned eighteen.

And now you can legally be my wife, Joffrey had snarled at her with a leer that made her skin crawl the night before at dinner.

There was no escaping. She would marry a monster and live with a monster and sleep with a monster... Joffrey had never tried to touch her, or really touch her, but she knew he was waiting. He was waiting for this day, and she saw the grotesque and sick hunger on his face that grew with every approaching day. He would devour her.

"Mary had a little lamb," Sansa hummed absentmindedly to herself, her voice horse in her throat as she turned on the water to the shower and slipped inside. "Whose fleece was white as snow..."

She missed the snow, she decided, as she threaded her fingers through her wet hair. That was what always made Winterfell so beautiful. Even if she hated being cut off from everything exciting, when it snowed... It was like something out of a dream... And the heart trees leaves were always so red... Like blood against the white.

She stepped from the shower, shivering and naked, and wrapped a towel around herself mechanically. It had been months since she had been out of doors, and her skin was white, almost like the porcelain under her feet, so thin she could see the blue blood of her veins. I'm might look thin and weak and brittle; she decided as she looked at her shadow in the mirror, but underneath that I am a Stark. And Starks are made of steel.

No matter what would happen that day, she would never let them take that away from her.

After she dried herself off, she braided her hair and then pinned it up, sinking a clip that Joffrey had bought her into the folds of hair. He would like that. He liked it when she wore the things he bought her. Next, she did her make-up, and then clasped a delicate bracelet around her wrist. It had been her mothers. She wondered where her mother was now.

Does she miss me? Is she looking for me? Does she even know I'm alive?

Getting up, Sansa picked out her dress, white as Joffrey had requested last night, short, flowing and delicate with a skirt that swirled around her knees and a bodice sewed with lace. If she didn't look so dead, she might have thought she was lovely. But as it was, only sunken eyes stared back at what once was Sansa Stark.

She had slept in late, but no one had come to wake her. She wondered if Sandor Clegane had anything to do with that. He had been strangely kind to her those past three months, in his mean, frightening way. But there were no knights in shining armor anyway, and Sansa had learned to take whatever she could that wasn't a beating.

Or maybe it had been Littlefinger's doing. He was an odd one. He had promised to get her out, but... Well here she was, opening the door to her room, dressed like a child bride, and he was nowhere in sight. She had thought, after she spoke to him that day long ago, that he would seek a secret meeting with her... But he did not. When she spoke to him next, it was of the new refurbishment's Joffrey had done to the Keep, and then after that her mother. He told her often she looked like her mother, and she did not like it. His gaze made her skin itch. But she would gladly have him make her skin itch all he liked if he could just get her out of Joffrey's clutches.

"My beautiful bride!"

Joffrey looked pleased with her, but Sansa could barely breathe. Every step down the stairs seemed to bring her heart crashing down lower and lower in her body until it spilled from her feet at the bottom and rolled away, crashing in her ears. Next to him, Cersei pursed her lips. She hates me, Sansa knew. She thinks I'm stupid and weak, but she cannot resist spitting in Robb's face.

She smiled brightly at them all.

The priest stood on the stage, and the only people there were Cersei, Joffrey, and the rest of the Lannister men. As Sansa joined hands with Joffrey, her palms shaking and her head swimming as if in a dream, she spied Littlefinger looking on with a blank expression on his face. The lying bastard.

It all happened in such a blur that Sansa was sure it was a nightmare, but when Joffrey kissed her, she didn't wake up gasping for air. His lips were real and horrible and slimy, and she felt like she was swallowing a mouthful of worms. She wanted to scream, but she could not make a sound...

"And now, we should celebrate!" Joffrey laughed triumphantly, yanking her off the stage and towards one of the tables. There were already wine glasses laid out for them, filled to the brim. Sansa's throat was dry and scratched but she could not drink a thing.

"You are mine now," Joffrey hissed, squeezing her hand so hard he might have crushed the bones. "And I can do whatever I want to you... And no one can touch me... Not even your stupid brother..."

When they reached the table, he let go of her and she fell into a chair uselessly, the world tilting around her so fast and furious that she thought she was surely going to faint. It all wasn't real. It all couldn't be real. And yet...

"A toast," Joffrey said, flinging his glass to the heavens, a look of utter demented happiness across his face. He didn't have to say the words. Sansa could see them. I will devour you. "To my bride!"

"Indeed," Cersei said drily, and she took a sip of her wine. Joffrey threw his back. It sloshed down his neck.

"Another!" He shouted happily.

Sansa curled her hands into fists.

"Ms. Stark."

It was Littlefinger, strangely enough. He put his hand on her shoulder, and she almost shook it off, but caught herself. She looked up at him, and he stared down at her calmly.

"I think you should stand. Let me help you."

She did not argue, but she did not understand. His hand looped through hers, and he helped her to her feet. Her knees knocked together. Joffrey coughed loudly.

"Don't *cough* help her," he snapped at Littlefinger, his face going slightly red. The doors for the Red Keep opened, and people started streaming in. "She already *cough* acts *cough* too *cough*-"

He gripped the table, and his face began to bypass red and turn purple... He was beginning to make horrible choking noises...

Joffrey's body contorted, and his fingers snapped around the table cloth but he went crashing down, head first. Cersei screamed.

"This way Ms. Stark," Littlefinger said calmly as Sansa watched in horror, her entire body numb. Joffrey's body twitched on the ground... They rolled him over and his eyes were bulging out of his head... Foam forming at his lips...

People started screaming, and suddenly they were everywhere, flying past Sansa as this horrible, choking and screeching noise swelled up around her, until Sansa realized it was herself. She was screaming and crying, and all the while being dragged, people tearing past her, her hair falling from its braid... The clip cascaded down into the sea of people...

"This way Ms. Stark," Littlefinger said calmly as they swerved around the spilling crowd like shadows. No one noticed them. No one saw them. They were invisible.

Tears nearly blinded Sansa as they pushed to the entrance, and then suddenly they were outside, and it was dark out, but the air... The lovely air... It felt like she hadn't breathed in months...

There was a car, and somehow she managed to be swiftly led inside it, only aware of the fact that she was in it when the door slammed shut. Then there was silence.

"Ms. Stark dry your tears."

Sansa looked up as the car began to move, and looked overat Littlefinger, who was as calm as ever. He even dared to smile at her.

"He... He was poisoned," she gasped out in shock.

"Yes."

"You poisoned him!"

Littlefinger continued to smile pleasantly.

"Not myself," he said. "But I did tell you I would set you free, didn't I little dove? And now here you are. Free."

Sansa couldn't form a coherent thought in her head. Everything was moving too quickly.

"Where are you taking me?" She sputtered out. Littlefinger shook his head.

"It's not a question of where" he said to her knowledgeably. "But what we are going to do when we get there."

I know that was sad but don't hate me. Next chapter soon promise =)