First of all a MASSIVE thank you to everyone who commented liked and encouraged me with this fic. It really is appreciated and helps me go on. Especially when people drop a few ideas for me to go along and helps me to continue on with this fic. And also I've had a couple of comments about Arya being Mary-Sueish which I have to admit that I had to look it up to find out what it meant. And once I found out what it meant I realized that I actually had made her to be that. Whether I intended to or not but I should've said that this was an Arya-centric fic. I really wanted to write an Arya-centric fic where it was Arya who everyone looked up to and loved, and was in love with. I have read a lot of really awesome fics about Sansa and Jon being the special ones and I wanted Arya to have her time in the lime light. Maybe because she is my favorite character and for me supersedes all others. I do have a few outline chapters already written out for other characters where she is in the background but most things will lead back to her. Sorry… but I hope everyone else enjoys this!
He reminded Jon of Robb. With his shock of red Tully hair, his bright blue eyes and his tall stature.
And he was tall for his age, being that he was only ten and four; stood at least shoulder height with him, with wide thin shoulders, large hands and a deep voice that seemed out of place in someone so young.
His youngest brother had grown up and if those hands were any indication still had more growing to do.
But Rickon was home. He was finally home. As was Arya, and Sansa.
They were slowly pulling the remnants of their family back together, more broken in one way or another, all changed from before but at least they – the last of the Starks – were finally coming together, at Winterfell, where they belonged.
They only awaited Bran, who according to Arya travelled with Howland Reed's daughter and would be with them before the next new moon.
Winterfell was finally back in the hands of the Starks.
There must always be a Stark at Winterfell… his father's words echoed in his ears as he took a deep breath.
It had been but a week since they had regained their home and during that week Jon had seen his siblings for who they were now and not how they had been when he had left them.
Sansa had been the one to eventually take Ramsay's life.
Jon had been watching from the shadows, his stomach twisting as he watched Arya torture the man to the point of insanity, Jon finally seeing – and accepting, albeit reluctantly - the extent of his sister's special gifts.
But it had been Sansa's part in it that had almost broken Jon's heart. His once regal, gentle and quiet sister stabbing Ramsay in a frenzy, lost in her own pain as she wept for everything she had lost at the hands of a madman.
It had been Arya to call her name softly that had stopped her. Arya who had taken their sister in her arms and half carried her out of the dungeons, past a silent Jon and away from the dead corpse of Sansa's tormentor.
Both his sisters had gone through so much just to survive.
He had not seen them for a full day after that, but suddenly the morning two days after, both Stark women had shown up for breakfast, taken their seats beside Jon and acted like nothing even happened.
But there was a definite change in Sansa from that day on. As if a great weight had been lifted off her shoulders. Her head held high, the Stark pride stamped back in her features. She spoke like a true lady of Winterfell, the servants obeying her without question and she set about the changing their home back to the good memories she held and not the bad.
And then there was Arya. Jon did not know if he knew of a more dangerous person in all of the Seven Kingdoms.
On the surface she seem like just another lady of Winterfell, with her astounding beauty, her reserved manner and her soothing words. But over the few moons that she had stormed back into his life, Jon saw the many facets of her personality that Sansa had spoken of, pull together.
Assassin, lady, wildling… sister.
It had been the last one that he had feared he would not see again. He had missed her warmth and her teasing. Missed her temper as well as her hugs.
But with the return of both Sansa and Rickon, that little sister from his childhood peaked her head through every now and then, lightening his heart.
Rickon, Jon found was a quick learner, eating Arya's training up like he were starving. They two usually could be found together in the training yard, or speaking to the wildlings in the Old Tongue, helping to rebuild their home, brick by brick.
He made friends among the wildlings easily, more easily than Jon did, and in turn they treated him like family.
Looking at him was like looking at Robb at that age. Strong, confident. So Tully looking.
But there was this - wildness in his youngest brother that had never been in Robb. Seven hells, if Jon were honest it had never even been in Arya, and growing up she had more wildness in her than all the Stark kids put together.
But with Rickon now it was like – just there. In his eyes, in his growing body just beneath his skin waiting. For what Jon did not know, but he was sure that he never wanted to find out.
Because directed correctly, its destruction would lay waste to all their enemies. Directed INcorrectly it would bring them and everyone around them to their knees.
Jon sighed as he watched his youngest brother battle with Tormund in the training yard. The bigger man easily overpowering his younger brother by picking both boy and staff up and throwing him a few feet from him, causing him to tumble into the training yard fence with loud thwack that had him staring up at the sky in a daze.
The wildlings around them laughed. Deep belly-like laughs that had Rickon scrambling to his feet, his face red as his hair, fists clenched in anger.
Jon then watched as his dark sister stepped forward drawing their brother's attention. He listened intently to whatever she said, nodding as his eyes darted from a grinning Tormund back to their sister, before she stepped away.
"Are you telling him my secrets, little wolf?" Tormund bellowed, pointing a finger at Arya who gave him a secretive smile.
"Of course not Lord Wildling. That would be cheating." She told him softly as she fell back into the crowd, giving the large man a mocking bow.
Tormund threw his head back and laughed, pointing his staff at Rickon.
"Then come at me Wild Wolf. Let us begin this dance of warriors."
Jon watched as Rickon moved towards Tormund again, swinging and twirling his staff in intricate circles, causing Tormund to watch him closely his eyes never leaving Rickon, his body swaying with the staff.
Suddenly, without warning Rickon launched himself at the larger man, the end of his staff coming up with hit Tormund's wrapped ribs and the top of the staff jarring the larger man between his shoulder and his neck in quick succession, causing Tormund to lose his grip his staff.
Rickon's movements were short and sharp causing Jon to believe that he had only been playing with Tormund before as he hit the wildling commander in the ribs, kidney, belly, elbow, neck on his left side before repeating it on the right.
Tormund grunted, falling to his knees, his head lowered and Jon watched as Rickon – who looked as if he were lost in his own blood lust – bought the end of his staff down towards Tormund's head, only to pull himself up short, inches away from his intended target.
The wildlings roared with laughter, all cheering his younger brother's victory over Tormund, who threw his head back and laughed himself, despite his pain.
"You learn fast, Wild Wolf!" Tormund chuckled, accepting Rickon's offered hand to get to his feet and clapping him on his back. Rickon stumbled forward from the strength of Tormund's affection, grinning up at the wildling commander. "Come!" he clapped his hands, grinning like a fool. "We dance again."
Jon shook his head as the two red-heads went at it again, the clash of wood echoing above the sounds of the men's cheers.
"Jon." Blinking Jon turned to stare as Sansa drifted towards him, a large wolf close to her side.
Not as big as either Ghost or Nymeria, this new wolf, Asander, was from Nymeria's closely knitted pack. Larger than the average wolf, though still smaller than a direwolf, Arya had presented him to Sansa a week before for her protection, knowing her sister's uneasiness around males that weren't her brothers or Grey Worm.
And the wolf hardly left his mistress's side, his warning growl echoing menacingly at any male – not deemed pack - that dared to get too close, trailing after her wherever she went.
Besides Sansa, the wolf obeyed only Arya. And Jon would not have it any other way.
"Arya tells me the Dragon Queen arrives in Dragonstone Island by the new moon." Sansa mentions softly, coming up to stand beside him.
"Aye," he replied, turning to view the fighting once again. "Grey Worm left last night to meet them in time."
"Our sister tells me that the majority of the queen's army will stay on Dragonstone Island. The Queen, a few members of her council and her family will be accompanying her to Winterfell." She paused, reaching out to sink her fingers into Asander's fur as he leaned against his mistress in silent comfort. "I have set up mother and father's rooms for her and her Khal as it would be the warmest room for them both. The room opposite them is for the prince. The others will be housed in the new guest rooms within the castle." Sansa told him, her eyes watching their younger brother closely.
Jon watched her closely, noticing the tension in her face, and the coldness in her eyes. The last few days there had been a lightness in his auburn-haired sister that had made him smile, but today that lightness was not there.
"What is it?" he asked her softly, worried for her.
"I just received a raven from Petyr Baelish." She told him, her tone as cold as her face. Reaching within her robes she pulled out a parchment offering it to him.
Staring at her Jon silently took the parchment, trying to read her face. Beside him he felt Arya, idly wondering how she got from one end of the yard to his side in a manner of seconds.
"What is it?" she asked softly, echoing Jon's words from a moment before.
Sansa's eyes met Arya's and something passed between the two sisters as Jon offered her the letter from Little-Finger.
"My dearest Sansa," Arya read out loud, a slight sneer tilting her lips.
"- to write this and to know that you are in the arms of your loving family does my heart well. I feared the worst after hearing the stories of the brutality you suffered at the hands of Ramsay Bolton; you have no idea how happy I am to know you are with your loved ones, safe and unharmed." Beside them Asander growled softly, picking up the emotions coming from his mistress. Ghost bared his teeth causing a servant who was walking pass give the great white beast a wide berth. "And knowing that I – your ever loving servant, had a hand in your pain, distresses me so. So much that I in fact was about to ride north with the knights of the Vale to come to your aide! I can't begin to contemplate what you went through but please know, beloved,that I admit to making a mistake. A horrible, tragic mistake to which I have no words for. I know that your forgiveness is too much to ask but please believe me beloved when I say that I did not know what a mad-man Ramsay Bolton was. If there was anything in my power that I could do to show you how very sorry I am for what you went through please do not hesitate to inform me. I would do anything I could do to undo what has been done to you. I wish to meet with you, beloved Sansa, to express in person my remorse and possibly discuss our future. Because I still believe that we have a future. Together, like how the gods deemed it to be. Your servant in life and death, Petyr Baelish.
"Son of a fucking bitch!" Rickon snapped, enraged, having come up half-way through Arya's reading. "No. You're not meeting with him!" Rickon snapped at his older sister, echoing Jon's thoughts.
"Rickon." Arya said softly.
"No Arya, our sister is not meeting with the son of a bitch! He sold her to Ramsay!" their younger brother ranted, his face as red as his hair. Shaggy Dog, who they found had been kept in the dungeon kennels – snarled viciously, his eyes shifting from one Stark sibling to another.
"It's not our decision." Arya said firmly, turning to Shaggy Dog and staring at him. Jon watched as the usually temperamental dire wolf settled slightly, lowering his body, but snarling in defiance. "The decision is Sansa's." Arya told him. "And we will support whatever decision she makes."
Rickon threw his hands up in frustration, turning to Jon.
"Jon! Do something!" he demanded, blue eyes alight with fire.
Jon paused staring at Sansa's tense face.
"What is it you want to do, Sansa?" he asked her softly.
Cold blue eyes turned to Jon.
"Meet with him." She told them, her voice firm and unyielding the look in her eyes reminding him of Robb. "I want to look him in his eyes and see for myself if he knew what kind of man Ramsay was." she paused, her face so cold. So hard. "He had to. There is very little a man like Petyr does not know."
"And when you do see him, and you see that truth in his eyes." Jon asked his sister.
A cold smile crossed Sansa's lips.
"Then he will know what it means to betray a Stark." Her fingers sank back into Asander's fur, the wolf growling with the same menace in his mistresses' face. "Then he will know what it means to betray me."
