A/N: I'm really sorry to anyone that I've disappointed by how long it's been taking me to work on this story. College is a lot more of a time suck than I had anticipated, but I'm going to try my best to balance my studies with my writing for next semester so that my stories aren't neglected. That being said, here's the newest chapter, and I'll be trying to get through at least one set of chapters in what remains of the break that I'm on. So yeah. Here you go. Many thanks to my beta reader (and sister) GrowlingPeanut. Reviews are appreciated.

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to George R. R. Martin and Bethesda Softworks.

Rating: T for some violence and references to abuse.

"A...dragon?"

All of the Stormcloak soldiers that had been in the unit headed for Falkreath had been gathered following Lord Ulfric's return and were quietly standing in the tactician's room as Ulfric relayed the news from Helgen to his Stormblade.

"In Helgen?"

Ulfric frowned slightly before nodding. "Yes. It swept down just as we were to be executed and turned the village to a pile of ash. Ralof remained in Riverwood for the time being in the hopes that more survivors would make their way from the ruins."

Robb sighed and ran a hand over his face before pinching the bridge of his nose and staring down at the array of blue and red flags pinned to the map on the table's surface.

"I suppose we should be glad that Helgen hasn't fallen to the Imperials, at least."

A few tense moments of silence reigned as Ulfric stared at his second-in-command before turning to the gathered soldiers. "Report to your captain in the training yard. He'll debrief you on the change in tactics and reassign you from there as need be. You are dismissed."

"Yes, my lord," the soldiers echoed, relaxing their rigid stances and exiting the room. Arya was the last to file out, and she took the opportunity to duck behind a tapestry in the throne room when no one was watching, close enough to hear the conversation that continued inside the war room.

"A dragon? Pardon me for asking, my lord, but are you mad?"

Ulfric's deep voice was curt and laced with anger when he replied. "I know what I saw and you would do well not to doubt it, Stark. I seem to recall receiving a letter from you by the hands of Ralof not but a moon ago urging me not to march on Falkreath for reasons you weren't inclined to give. Need I ask for those reasons now?"

Robb hesitated for a long moment before he replied. "I gave no reasons because I had none, my lord. I merely felt as though it was an unwise decision and chose to trust my intuition. And now, it seems that my fears were not unfounded."

Another long moment of silence fell between them and Arya took the opportunity to quietly slip from her hiding place and move toward the end of the hall. It was just as she moved out of earshot that Ulfric replied.

"Yes. So it would seem."

"Well, you heard Stormcloak, lads. There's a whole new danger here in Skyrim and for once its name isn't Lannister. It's a threat that we'll have to learn to fight if we're to survive long enough to win this thrice damned war, and I intend to be prepared." Rorge's eyes wandered across the faces of his men before settling on Arya. "Arry Snow. Step forward."

She moved forward obediently and turned to face her fellow soldiers when their captain twirled a finger. Slowly, he circled her, looking her over, scrutinizing every inch of her features. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest and prayed to the gods that the illusion would hold.

Finally, he came to a stop beside her and snorted derisively. "Does this look like a man who could slay a dragon to you, lads? I would barely trust him to be able to lift my chamber pot to empty it." A few of the men snickered and Arya had to fight to keep a sneer from her lips.

"Draw your sword, Snow."

She did as she was asked, drawing her sword from its scabbard and eliciting another round of laughter. "God, it's as skinny as he is," one of her fellow Unblooded said mockingly, earning a snort of amusement from their captain.

"Alright, Snow. I think we all know that you're the weak link in our unit," Rorge continued, drawing his own sword. "If you can even hold your own against me then maybe we will stand a chance."

Arya stayed silent, her anger growing as the older soldier turned to face her. Try as Jaqen might, she would never be able to eliminate her emotions as he had hoped. It was the anger at her father's death that had driven her to the Companions and now her need for revenge was the only thing left to keep her going. She had, however, learned to control them.

"Watch carefully, lads," Rorge commanded, stalking toward her. "This is how you beat those weaker than you."

His biggest mistake was overconfidence, and as he chose a series of elaborate attacks, Arya easily blocked each stroke. His eyes narrowed and she gave him an even stare in return. His sword struck out again and a shower of sparks scattered to the ground as their weapons collided.

Practically radiating with anger, Rorge charged toward her again and she swiftly dodged out of his way before turning to meet his furious onslaught.

Vilkas had taught her brute strength, but Jaqen had taught her finesse. Her blade easily met the strokes of her opponent's, matching each blow with precision. There was no aggression in her attacks as there once had been. She could feel the anger boiling in the pit of her stomach, but was overcome with a strange and terrifying calm. Before, she had been dangerous, now, she was deadly.

Pushing forward, she moved to the offensive and reveled in the hint of fear that flickered in Rorge's eyes. Stepping forward, she whirled her hand around and shoved the pommel of her sword into his chest, hard, knocking him flat onto his back.

A stunned silence fell over the training yard as she pressed the tip of her blade to his throat, a bead of blood pearling against his ruddy skin. Keeping her voice even and her expression blank, she turned her head to meet the shocked stares of her fellow Stormcloaks.

"That's how you beat those who believe they're stronger than you."

Looking back down at Rorge, she slowly withdrew her sword and then jerked her chin toward the dark stain growing at the front of his trousers. "Looks like you won't be needing that chamber pot emptied after all."

Arya walked slowly through the snowy streets of Windhelm, her mind far away from the shuffling of her feet. She had left the training yard behind, ignoring Lommy as he called after her. She knew she had made a mistake. Arya Stark was a young woman trained as a warrior and an assassin. Arry Snow was a green boy in the lowest ranks of the Stormcloak army. She was the most at risk when that line began to blur.

The more time she spent in the training yard, the more impatient she became. Her sword hungered for Imperial blood as much as her heart did, and she would only be able to bide her time for so long.

Just as she brought her focus back to her surroundings, a woman a few steps ahead of her stumbled and she instinctively lurched forward to steady her, her hand wrapping tightly around her upper arm. The woman flinched at the contact and looked up sharply, her hood falling back to reveal the beautiful but haunted features of her elder sister.

Arya's heart skipped a beat, but when Sansa showed no sign of recognition, she allowed her grip to loosen slightly. "My apologies, Lady Stormcloak," she stammered, her tongue suddenly thick and heavy in her mouth. "I acted out of turn. I promise I mean you no harm."

After a moment, her expression relaxed a bit and Arya could see how weary she was. It made her sick to think of what Ulfric had done to her. Though her heavy woolen gown covered her wrists and rose to fit snugly against her chin, Arya knew that beneath the fabric her pale skin was bruised and swollen. Once, she had hated her sister for working with the family that had killed their father and for being everything that she herself never could have been. But seeing her now, broken and afraid, all she felt was pity.

"It's quite alright," Sansa said quietly. "And I appreciate the help, ser. I must have lost my footing on the ice." Even as she said it, she looked away in shame, and Arya knew that she must have been thinking of the wounds between her thighs that were the true cause of her hindered movement.

"Of course, my lady," Arya demurred, lowering her gaze. "But if it isn't an imposition, might I ask why you're wandering the streets without a guard? Even within these walls, your husband has enemies that might seek to harm you."

At that, Sansa looked almost confused, and after a moment, her eyes began to well up with tears. "Wuunferth sent Samwell to the White Phial, but then Gilly needed him for something and I thought...I thought that I could do it myself. I thought I could...get away."

Her gaze turned longingly toward the heavy gates that led out of the city and Arya sighed. Though she wanted her sister out of harm's way as much as Sansa herself did, she knew that she was safer within the walls of Windhelm, and that her husband's abuse would only grow worse were she to attempt an escape.

"The White Phial was it, my lady?" When Sansa nodded, Arya offered her arm to support her and slowly began walking toward the market square. "I'll get you there safely if you promise not to leave the castle alone anymore."

Reluctantly, Sansa nodded, and her thin hand gripped tightly to Arya's elbow for guidance. Though she winced with each step, she uttered no complaints, and Arya felt ashamed for her former hatred in the face of her sister's strength.

A small bell chimed cheerily as the door to the alchemist's shop opened and the young Nord behind the counter looked up with a smile at their entrance. Upon seeing his customers, the smile wavered slightly before returning, weaker than before.

"Lady Stormcloak. How may I be of service?"

Faced with a stranger and a situation that required the courtesy she had been taught so long ago, Sansa's tired expression faded, and a polite smile took its place. Arya was amazed that despite what she had been through, she still managed to play the part of the perfect lady.

"Good day to you, my lord. I have need of a few ingredients, if you could check your stock."

"Of course, my lady," the man replied, his easy smile returning. "But please, just call me Quintus. What is it that you'll be needing today?" Sansa withdrew a small scrap of paper from beneath her cloak and slid it across the counter.

After scanning the list, Quintus nodded and ducked down to rummage through the shelves beneath the counter. "Two stalks of lavender...a bouquet of blue mountain flowers..." He moved a few more things around before emerging again and handing Sansa the aforementioned ingredients. "The wheat and garlic are in the back, my lady. It'll only be a moment."

With that, he retreated into the back room and Sansa sighed heavily and leaned against the counter, her eyes closing for a moment before opening again to meet Arya's worried gaze.

"Thank you for accompanying me, ser. I haven't been feeling quite like myself lately and the aid you've given is a blessing. Might I know your name?"

Arya hesitated for a moment before nodding from her spot just beside the door. "Arry Snow, my lady. I've come from Dawnstar not long past to join your husband's army."

Sansa sighed again. "This war has been going on for too long. I was only a girl when it started, no more than twelve. You probably don't even remember it."

Arya felt her heart clench. She could still remember the last time she had seen her father like it had only been yesterday. He had still been laughing then, amused by her newfound passion in swordplay and as happy as the High King's steward could have hoped to be. When that man had died, so too had the carefree children he had left behind. She was right. It had been far too long.

Her train of thought was interrupted as Quintus returned, struggling with a large bushel of wheat. "Here's the wheat and garlic for you as well, my lady. You're fortunate that I just got a new stock from my supplier. There wasn't much on the shelves just last week."

Sansa smiled tiredly and nodded, taking the ingredients and placing a few coins on the counter between them. "Keep any extra, Quintus," she said quietly. "And use it as you see fit."

The alchemist thanked her heartily before withdrawing again and leaving the two of them alone. Arya opened the door without a word and watched her sister warily as they made their way back to the Palace of the Kings.

The throne room was empty when they entered and Arya sent a quick prayer to whichever gods were listening that she hadn't been forced to watch in silence as her sister's new husband had done gods only know what to her.

They moved slowly to the war room beyond which lay the staircase to Sansa's chambers, and as they entered, the man leaning over the table looked up, his expression troubled. As recognition dawned across his features, they relaxed slightly and he stepped toward them.

"Sansa, what were you doing out of the castle?"

Arya kept her gaze on her boots lest she give herself away to her siblings, though she wanted nothing more than to cast aside her disguise and be reunited with her family in truth.

"I had to visit the White Phial," Sansa said quietly, not quite meeting her brother's eyes. "This soldier here was kind enough to escort me back to the palace."

At that, Robb seemed to notice Arya for the first time and he furrowed his brow. "It's Snow, isn't it? Arry Snow?"

Arya nodded.

Robb returned the gesture curtly before turning back to his sister and Arya felt a sharp pang of jealousy in her chest. She knew that what Jaqen had said would hold true. Her siblings would only ever see what they wanted to, and they had no reason to believe that their estranged little sister had returned to Windhelm under the guise of a Stormcloak soldier. Nonetheless, that knowledge did nothing to soothe the sting.

"You should rest, Sansa. We both know that you need it. I'll take these ingredients to the kitchens and send Gilly with your stew when it's finished."

Sansa nodded in acceptance and cast a cursory smile at Arya before handing the ingredients over to her brother and ascending the staircase. As she disappeared from view, Arya turned to go, but Robb was quick to stop her exit.

"Wait, Snow. I need to speak with you."

Slowly, reluctantly, she turned and walked back into the room, facing her brother across the map on the table. "Yes, ser?"

He eyed her for a moment through narrowed eyes before responding. "I saw your performance this morning in the training yard."

Arya paled and she began to feel faintly ill. She knew she had made a mistake acting as she had, but hadn't thought that the Stormblade himself had witnessed it.

"Rorge is your captain and superior for a reason, Snow," Robb continued. "He's one of the best fighters that we still have here in Windhelm, and he was beaten—rather brutally—by a green Ice-Veins."

"I'm an Unblooded, ser," Arya grumbled, trying to keep the bitterness from her voice.

At that, Robb chuckled and Arya looked up in confusion. His brows rose in amusement and he shook his head. "Not after this morning you aren't, soldier. You beat one of our best. It seems that we underestimated you."

"Th-thank you, ser," Arya stammered, completely taken aback.

"Oh, don't thank me yet," Robb warned. "As an Ice-Veins, you don't belong in Windhelm anymore, so you'll be leaving within the next few days for a new and very important assignment."

"Ser?"

Robb idly turned one of the flags pinned to the map before looking back up. "Have you heard of the Jagged Crown, Snow?"

Arya nodded. As a Nord, she was familiar with a great deal of her country's old legends, the Jagged Crown being a fairly important one.

"Then you know that if Lord Ulfric were in possession of it, it would be a significant demoralizing blow to the Imperial Legion and a rallying cry for a great number of Nords as of yet neutral in this war."

Arya nodded again, deciding that it was best to stay silent and let him explain himself.

"Just before Lord Ulfric left for Falkreath, its location was discovered." Robb turned his gaze to Arya and he regarded her solemnly. "Your mission is to retrieve the Jagged Crown and help bring an end to this war. May the gods be with you."