A/N: Another speedy update - don't get used to this, I'm not usually this proficient, but I've had this story in the back of my mind for months now, so these first chapters have been dying to get out for some time I think lol

Thanks again for all my reviews, you guys are gret :) and thanks for adding me to favourites and alerts, it's awesome.

Last chapter's song lyric was: 'You know I'm such a fool for you, you got me wrapped around your finger.' (Aegon says it at the end) and that was from Linger,by The Cranberries. This chapter, there's a little something from Fleetwood Mac(yes, I have a very ecclectic music taste...this is just the beginning lol)

xBx

Chapter 3: Arya

It took a full moons turn and ten days more to sail from Braavos to Oldtown, and that was quicker than anyone could have hoped for. It seemed the Gods favoured their journey, and they sailed over relatively calm seas, with perfect winds to hurry them, and no winter storms to hinder them.

At first, all the crew were wary of Arya, unsure if she were a danger to them or not, but the longer they were at sea, they more they got to know her and the more they got to like her. On the first day, many avoided her, and Arya spent most of the time in the small cramped cabin, polishing Needle for the first time in years.

"That's some good steel you've got." Young Calloway commented.

Arya looked up, giving him an empty smile, "It is." She agreed simply.

"Where did a girl get good steel like that?" He asked shrewdly.

"My Lord Father's forge. My brother ordered it made special for me." Arya said truthfully; Calloway still didn't know her true identity, Big Al had kept his assumptions quiet, and for that Arya was grateful. "And I'm no ordinary girl." She added.

"Your Lord Father's forge?" He repeated, "You're a highborn? A Lady?" He asked sounding shocked.

Arya rolled her eyes and looked back down at her work, "I am Arya Stark." She said, the words felt strange on her tongue as she had not introduced herself as such for a long, long time: She told the truth now, knowing he would find out sooner or later, and if she were going to trust anyone with her identity, what better place to start than with men of the Night's Watch, who took no part in the wars of the Seven Kingdoms.

Calloway snorted, "Pull the other one." He said. Arya looked back up at him with cold eyes and a blank expression, so that his smile faltered. Calloway looked over at Big Al who rolled his eyes and shook his head in despair at his brother's ignorance.

"You're serious?" Calloway breathed; "I beg pardon, m'lady, I never knew… never thought…" he trailed off, clearly unsure what the right thing to say was.

"It's fine, you won't be the first who doesn't believe me. I disappeared long ago, there are only a few people left who will know me." Arya returned to her sword. "And I'm not a Lady." She added.

"Right," Big Al spoke up, "You're a Princess." He reminded them all and Arya visibly scowled, but didn't respond.

"Do you know how to use a sword, milady?" Calloway asked, suddenly.

Arya looked up at him once again, and grinned, "Better than you, I'd wager." She challenged, a tiny piece of her old self coming through. "Care to test me up on deck?"

Calloway looked over at Big Al in alarm, clearly torn: did he refuse a Lady's command, or fight with a girl? Whichever way he went, it went against custom and could get him in serious trouble.

"Are you a Crow or a Chicken?" Arya goaded, standing up and walking to the door, "On deck and show me how well you can protect the realm of men." She commanded, a hint of authority finding its way into her voice.

"Best do as Lady Stark commands, son." Big Al smirked, as he lay down on the bed to rest.

Up on deck, Arya waited in her stance, the way Syrio Forel had once taught her, and Calloway reluctantly drew his sword.

"Don't go easy on me," Arya warned, feeling the tingling of adrenaline beginning to course through her; it had been so long since she had wielded Needle. After waiting long enough for Calloway to make the first move, Arya decided he was never going to make it, and lunged. Calloway blocked her hit, but lightly, and Arya knew he was holding back his strength. So she lunged at him again, this time with more force, forcing him to defend harder. She danced around him easily; all her lessons come back to her vividly, blocking every one of his cuts that he made for every ten of hers.

It wasn't long before the singing of their steel drew a crowd, and soon most of the crew were gathered around them, calling out in both the Common Tongue and Braavosi, but Arya ignored it all. The more they fought, the more Calloway let go and soon he began to give as good as he got. Out of nowhere, Arya was accosted with a memory of one of her first lessons; smiling, she began to call out where she was striking.

"Left, left, right, low, left." Arya sang in time with the steel. Calloway grinned, and Arya knew he was listening to her words more than her sword now. "Right, high, low, left, right, right, left." But this time she went right, even though she spoke left, and got the first hit, striking Calloway on his arm, cutting into his sleeve and even drawing blood. A cheer went up in the crew, and Arya took a step back, looking smug.

"You lied." Calloway accused.

"My words lied," Arya said, repeating the words Syrio had once told her, "My eyes and my arm shouted the truth. Look with your eyes." She told him.

Before he could retaliate, the captain appeared, shouting in Braavosi for his crew to get back to work, giving Arya and Galloway a quick glare as his men scattered.

"Perhaps we should leave it there for today," Arya said to Calloway, "Maybe tomorrow you will fight with your full strength from the very beginning." She told him, sheathing her blade.

"As milady commands." Calloway said with a grin, and a small bow.

"Don't say that." Arya said, her smile dropping. "Never say that to me again." She commanded, before turning away from him and moving off toward the bow.

Only one person had ever spoken those words to her in such a way: The one person she had tried the hardest to forget because remembering him hurt the most. She thought he had been her friend, her best friend, part of her pack, but he had grown tired of her in the end and left her for the Brotherhood. She had tried to forget him, tried not to think of him, but it had proven impossible – something would always happen to put him in her mind.

Movement at her side pulled her thoughts away from memories of the boy with jet-black hair and piercing blue eyes, and she turned to find one of the crew standing by her side, his was a middle-aged man, with a weather-beaten, but friendly, face.

"You dance good," he spoke in the Common Tongue, "How is it a Westerosi girl knows the Water Dance of Braavos?" He asked.

"I had a Dancing Master when I was a girl. He could only teach me for a year, but I remember it all." Arya smiled, "I tried to practice without him. And I've learnt a little more since being in Braavos."

"Braavos has been home for a long time," The sailor commented, "I hear it in your accent. How long?" He asked.

"Four years." Arya answered, this time in Braavosi, causing the sailor's smile to widen.

"You speak Braavosi, too?" He asked her, switching into Braavosi also, and Arya nodded. "I teach the captain's sons the Water Dance: every evening we have a lesson on the lower deck. Would you care to join us this evening?" He asked.

"I would be honoured, thank you." Arya responded. And so, for the first time since leaving King's Landing, Arya had regular dance lessons: every evening she and the captain's sons (Daryo and Naethanyal) would train under the guidance of Rikaro, and slowly but surely Arya felt more of her old self coming back to the surface. For the first time in years people were calling her 'Arya' or 'Lady Stark', and while at first it sounded strange, it soon began to feel somewhat normal – well, 'Arya' did at least; 'Lady Stark' would take a lot of getting used to, but as the last Stark and rightful heir of Winterfell, Arya supposed it was a title she better get used to quick. And she certainly preferred 'Lady Stark' to 'Princess Arya'.

On her first evening aboard Summer's Snow, The captain's youngest son, Naethanyal, gave Arya a pair of breeches and a spare tunic, they were a little big on her small frame, but they served well enough, and Arya felt more comfortable in them than the dress. She still kept the dress, however, it was the only other item of clothing she owned, barring her smallclothes, and when it came time to wash one set of garb, it would be useful to have the other at hand.

The captain's daughter, Catalina, was also on board the ship, and Arya found her to be a nice companion to have and although a young woman, she was not particularly girly: growing up on a ship, with two brothers and no mother, meant she was more like Arya than any other girl she had met. When they had first met, Catalina had stumbled upon Arya trying desperately to braid her hair tight enough that it wouldn't fall out. The winds on deck were bitter cold, and forever blowing stray locks into her face.

"May I be of assistance?" Catalina had asked, in Braavosi, for she could not speak the Common Tongue.

Arya sighed in defeat, briefly taking in Catalina's tight braid, "I was never good at doing hair. Help would be great. Thank you Catalina." She answered.

Catalina smiled, and moved behind Arya, taking up her hair and deftly running her fingers through it to untangle the mess Arya had made. "Call me Cat," she insisted, before pulling and tugging with such a force it made Arya's eyes water.

By the time cat had finished, Arya was certain that the pain she had just endured was even worse than the pain she felt when she had her face changed. But to Cat's credit, the braid staid in perfectly, and lasted a week before it needed to be redone.

During her days on the ship, Arya would spend a lot of time with Catalina, teaching her the common tongue, and soon enough she began teaching some of the crew as well. She also taught Calloway and Big Al a few words and phrases of Braavosi, so that they could understand at least some of what the crew were saying. She joined in with Dario, Naethanyal and some of the crew in playing dice and throwing daggers on an evening – often winning a fair amount of coin and hitting the target better than most.

One of the crew asked her if she could shoot a bow and arrow, to which she responded, "Better than you, I would imagine," the same way she had to Calloway. The man had taken her up on deck, and given her his bow to try, and she struck the target dead centre with her first arrow, and hit the same spot with her second arrow, splitting her first in two. After that, she had been taught how to shoot a gull at the perfect time so that it would land on the deck and not in the sea. Roasted gull was considered a delicacy on board the Summer's Snow, as only a handful of archers could aim with such perfection so as not to lose a quarrel and a bird into the ocean. Arya mastered the art with ridiculous speed: she had been taught much and more as an apprentice of the Faceless Men, and speed and precision came naturally to her now. Every gull she aimed for she hit, and every hit landed on the deck. But on her third attempt, she displayed just how good she truly was.

"Now, Lady Arya." One of the crew said, "Loose now, or you'll lose her."

"Not yet," Arya said slowly, following the gull, a breath later she loosed: she aimed it just right and the gull landed right in front of her feet. "Beat that." She said to Grynn, who had been teaching her, with a smug look on her face.

"I don't think anyone can, My Lady." Grynn said with a smile, "I fear it would only end in embarrassment if I try." He admitted, and Arya knew he was telling the truth, not simply flowering his words to flatter a lady.

The crew soon knew her well enough to know, that while she was technically a Lady, she certainly didn't act like one, and they therefore didn't really treat her like one, and for that Arya was thankful. During the voyage, Grynn had made her a bow of her own after showing such splendid skill, and taught her how to fletch her own arrows. And when the ship had pulled into the Whispering Sound, making it's way up to port, he had given her a quiver of fifty arrows already made, and a small purse full of an hundred more arrow heads,

"Find some good steel for your next lot, and an even better smith to hone them. Your fletching is good, make sure you never lose that skill." Grynn told her. "And practice this as often as you do your sword."

Throughout the journey, the captain and some others had also given her the odd gift: After seeing how comfortable she seemed to be in boys garb, Naethanyal had given her another set of breeches and a tunic, which Cat happily sewed up to fit her perfectly. Cat also gave her one of her dresses; it was plain and thick, but the colour was a steely grey, the perfect match to Arya's eyes. And Cat had rightly pointed out that, while Arya was more comfortable in breeches, it was sometimes easier to get what one wants when dressed as a woman. Rikaro had given her some boiled leathers to wear while they trained, and had told her to keep them, as well as a silver dagger with a coral handle.

"You were born to be a fighter, girl," Rikaro told her only a week into the voyage, "That much is plain to see. If you are going to fight, it's best you have the right garb. We have no spare mail and plate to offer, but boiled leather will serve as well for now."

And the captain had given her something of sentimental value: his bird. It was apparently a raven – though not any kind of raven Arya had ever seen as it was neither black nor white. It was grey, the same grey as that on House Stark's sigil, and the bird had taken an instant liking to Arya, much to the captain's amusement and everyone's surprise.

"He hates everyone, that bird does." He had warned Arya, the first time she had come across it, her first week aboard ship. Cat, who had asked her to eat with her and teach her the Common Tongue, had invited her into the captain's quarters, and the bird had squawked particularly loudly at her entrance.

"What bird is he?" Arya asked.

"A raven. Though a freak of one, I admit: too big, and the wrong colour." The captain had said, "I can shut his cage if he bothers you?" he suggested.

Arya shrugged, "Makes no matter to me." She had said, moving over to the table where Cat was sat. No sooner had she taken her seat, than the bird had stretched it's wings, gave a squawk, and flown from it's cage to land on Arya's shoulder, much to everybody's surprise.

Arya turned her head to look at the bird, which cocked it's head and looked back. "Corn." The bird spoke, much like the ravens at Winterfell used to do – though this bird spoke Braavosi.

"I thought he hated everyone?" Arya asked, looking back to see the Captain and Cat looking slightly dumbfounded.

"He does," Cat said, "I've never seen him do that before."

"I need to return to the deck," The captain said, leaving the girls after giving the bird one last surprised look.

From then on, the raven took to leaving the Captain's quarters more often, finding it's way to Arya, on whose shoulder it now spent most of it's time. Halfway into the voyage, Arya wondered if slipping into the bird's skin would be as easy as when she had done it with the cats in Braavos. It was certainly a strange sensation at first: with Nymeria, the bond they shared was such that slipping into her skin felt almost natural, but there was no such bond between her and the bird, and as such it's skin felt foreign to her. But with enough practice it soon became more natural, and by the end of the voyage she had become so confident with consciously slipping her skin that she even began consciously reaching out to Nymeria.

Arya discovered quickly enough that distance was an important factor in slipping one's skin: while slipping into Nymeria was easy when she dreamt, reaching out in her waking hours was difficult at first, despite the strong bond she knew they shared. But before long, she had mastered it, and every afternoon she would sit below decks and practice slipping her skin, seeing through the eyes of Nymeria for an hour, before reaching out to the bird, which she would send flying over the ship and through the rigging.

No one on the ship was aware of what she was doing, and she preferred to keep it that way. The black brothers, she supposed would not be to phased, especially not after coming face to face with the Others and White Walkers, but regardless, Arya didn't want to risk it.

When Summer's Snow finally came within sight of land, and began to push up the Whispering Sound, Arya felt the first fluttering of nerves in her stomach. She had never been to Oldtown, she knew the Hightowers were the family that held the seat in Oldtown, and they were supposed to be loyal to the Tyrells of Highgarden – that much she remembered from her lessons. But after the War of the Five Kings, Arya had no idea how anything stood right now. She had asked Big Al just this morning, about who was sworn to whom in the realm nowadays, but he could give little information.

"As to that, I couldn't tell you. Sorry My Lady, but when you reach the North, you'll understand why matters south of the Neck are ignored by the Nights Watch." He told her, not unkindly.

"How long will you be staying in Oldtown?" She had asked then.

Big Al shrugged, "However long it takes Sam to ready his things and leave. We'll not stay longer than a week, that I can promise." He said.

"Would you permit me to travel a way with you? After all, we are both headed north, and some company would be welcome." She asked.

"Of course, My Lady." Big Al said, "If you don't mind my asking, what do you plan to do?" he asked slowly.

Arya sighed, she had thought about it long and hard: to take back Winterfell and the North she would need an army. But finding an army would not be easy, and finding the right place to start was harder still. "First, I need to discover how the land lays: Who is sworn to who. I'll need to distinguish between those who would welcome me and help me, from those who would turn me over to Queen Cersei."

They came upon the port as the sun was setting, she and the two brothers were gathered at the rails, all their belongings in hand ready to disembark. Arya had her cloak fastened around her shoulders, her spare garments rolled up in thick sleeping furs that had been another gift. The dagger and Needle were fastened at her waist, and the grey raven perched on her shoulder. As Summer's Snow was pulled into port, the full enormity of what she was about to do began to sink in, and for the first time she fully accepted that she was now Lady Stark of Winterfell.

"Winter is Coming." She whispered to the wind, and anyone who cared to hear. And suddenly, another memory came upon her, clear as day;

"Ser Gregor," she whispered, the names coming back to her as if it were only yesterday that she last spoke them, "Dunsen, Raff the Sweetling, Ser Illyn, Ser Meryn, Queen Cersei." She paused for a second, and then added two more names to the list. "Lord Walder, Theon Greyjoy. Valar Morghulis." She finished, running her thumb over Needle's hilt.

When Arya disembarked, many bid her farewell, and asked that she remember them kindly. She smiled and thanked them all, for bringing her safely home and for her gifts. When she finally set foot on Westerosi land she took a deep breath, the fluttering in her stomach multiplying. She reached out to Nymeria, feeling her presence somewhere in this landI'm back, Nymeria She thought, wondering if the Direwolf would hear her, I've returned. Will you ever find me? She wondered.

She followed Big Al and Calloway away from the pier, drawing up her hood as she went. Crunching through the fine layer of snow, they made their way to the inn that sat in the middle of the Honeywine, which wound through the city. Just as they stepped foot off the bridge, and were about to enter into the Quill and Tankard, the woods on the other side of the river erupted with the howling of wolves.

All three stopped and turned their heads toward the sound, just as a man left the inn.

"Seven hells," the man exclaimed, upon opening the door. Behind him the inn fell quiet, listening to the howling. "I haven't heard wolves howl like that for years." He slurred, before taking himself off along the bridge.

Arya allowed herself a smile, It's as if they're welcoming me home, she thought, before following the brothers into the inn, where she finally let down her hood and revealed her face. The conversation that had started to pick up, once again dropped, as many of the patriots took in Arya's appearance from top to bottom. She tried not to feel too conscious, but it was difficult: Big Al had already told her she was the image of her Aunt Lyanna - were these people under the impression a ghost had just come through the door?

Before she could let the whispers faze her, a woman came towards them, "Can I help you?" She asked with a polite smile.

"A couple of rooms if you have them? And some ale all round would be good." Big Al asked.

"I can manage that, if you got the silver for it, mind." The woman said. Arya reached into the purse hidden in her cloak and fished out the required amount, ignoring the objections of the other two.

"You're allowing me to travel with you for a good part of your journey." Arya said, "And after everything the Watch has done for me, this is the least I can do." She told them, remembering Yoren from long ago.

"My name's Emma," the woman smiled, "I've been running the place a couple of years now. Let me bring you that ale, you three take a seat." She said, turning back to the bar.

The three made their way to a table in a corner with a good view of the door. When Emma returned, she gave Arya a searching look.

"My I ask what a young woman like yourself is doing with two men of the Night's Watch?" She asked carefully.

Arya smiled that serene smile that she had perfected in Braavos; "We travelled on the same galley from Braavos." She said simply, and Emma gave her a confused and surprised look.

"You have a Braavosi tone to your voice," Emma said with surprise. "But you look like-" she stopped herself.

"Like who?" Arya asked, still smiling.

Emma shook her head. "Never mind, it's not my place." She said, "Can I get you anything else?" She asked politely.

"Information would be good." Big Al asked, "We're looking for a Maester, recently trained."

"Well, you've come to the right place," Emma laughed, "The citadel is full of 'em! Or are you looking for one in particular?"

Big Al nodded, "His name is Sam. Sam Tarly. He's already a sworn Brother so he will be the only Maester all in black." He told her.

Emma nodded, "Big lad?" she queried, and Big Al nodded, "I seen him, comes in here regular with another 'prentice who goes by the name of Pate. Stay where you are, you'll probably see them tonight. When you're ready for your rooms,either me or my daughter Rosey, will show you the way." And with that Emma disappeared. As promised, they had been sat less than half an hour when the man Arya recognised from Braavos years ago entered the inn in the company of a pale young man who looked barely older than twenty and had a rather pasty face.

"Slayer!" Calloway called out, causing Sam to start and look around. When he spotted his brothers in black, he smiled and waddled over.

"Jon sent word to expect you, but I didn't think you'd be here so soon." Sam said as he took a seat, finally noticing Arya. "Have we met?" He asked, "You look familiar?"

"This is-" Calloway began, but Arya spoke over him.

"We met briefly when you came to Braavos." She said, "Cat of the canals I was called." Arya then looked at Calloway with warning, subtly shaking her head. He frowned but thankfully didn't elaborate on what he was about say.

"Oh, yes." Sam smiled, looking slightly nervous, "I think I remember you."

As Sam had been walking to their table, Arya's attention had been focused on Pate: there was something about him that didn't sit right, but she couldn't quite place it. One of the many things she had learnt in Braavos was how tell the face from the man beneath, and while she wasn't an expert at it, she knew enough to recognise that the face of Pate did not belong to the man beneath. Who the man beneath was, she didn't know and until she could ascertain how much of a threat he was she intended on keeping her name to herself.

As if sensing her thoughts, Pate smiled, "A girl has many names." He said at her, and while the accent was Westerosi, there was a stirring of something underneath the tones that Arya found familiar.

It can't be, she thought. "Many and more." Arya spoke aloud, then feeling reckless she added: "Much the same as a man has many faces."

Pate smiled at that, "A boy becomes a girl, a girl disappears and returns a woman. But still she is that fierce little wolf she always was, perhaps even fiercer than before."

"Time makes you bolder, even children get older." She said, ignoring the questioning looks of the others, her attention wholly on the man in front of her now. She knew it was he, but she still had to ask. "Jaqen?" She whispered.

Pate smiled, "Jaqen is dead, girl, this you already knew. He is as dead as Arry. Now tell me, where is it that Arya Stark has been hiding these past four years?"

Arya scowled, ignoring the wide-eyed look of wonderment from Sam.

"Arya? Jon's little sister?" Sam asked with something close to awe in his voice.

Arya looked at Sam, "Forgive me for holding back, I was unsure of your companion." She told him, with an apologetic smile.

"Sam," Pate spoke, "Why don't you go see about some food?" he suggested. "I'm sure your brothers will assist you."

"Oh, alright." Sam said, sounding unsure, but he left his seat. Big Al and Calloway looked to Arya, who nodded telling them she was perfectly safe.

When the were left alone, Arya looked at Pate, or Jaqen, or whoever he was, "I went to Braavos. You told me if I ever wanted to find you again, to give that coin to a man of Braavos and he would take me where I needed to go." She reminded him, accusingly.

"And you have found me, have you not?" Pate smiled, though he was beginning to sound more like Jaqen with every speech.

"Yes," Arya admitted ruefully, "But not in Braavos. Have you been here the whole time?"

"You needed to go to Braavos to learn." Pate explained patiently, "Tell me, would a girl have recognised a man as a lost friend if she had not learnt all she has learnt in Braavos?" He asked.

Arya thought, and realised he was right. Pate spoke again, "You wear Arya Stark's face."

"Because it is my own." Arya said.

"But you have worn others," Pate said with a smile, "Did you learn to change as once you saw Jaqen change?"

Arya shook her head, "I left before I could master it." She admitted. "What do you know of the wars in Westeros? Who fights for whom at the moment?" She asked him.

Pate smiled a knowing smile, as if he heard the question she really wanted to ask, "I know that the young Dragon has a strong army. I know that the Lions will soon lose the throne. And I also know that the wolves howled for the first time in four years this evening and if a girl looks carefully she will find many friends in this city." He told her.

Arya frowned, "What do you mean?" she asked warily, just as the others returned with trenchers of stew.

"Can I ask, where you've been My Lady, were you always in Braavos?" Sam asked as he retook his seat, "Jon thought you were in the North somewhere, we all did. How did you escape Bolton?"

"I never married Bolton. That was never me." Arya said shortly, tucking into her food. "Where I was does not matter right now. What matters is that I have returned. I plan to take back Winterfell, and for that I need friends." She said, quietly so that only those sharing her table could hear.

"I know a few people in Oldtown who came down from the North when the snows began to get too bad," Sam said innocently, "They're always nicer to me than other people are: I find that a lot, that people of the North tend to be more friendly to the Watch than those in the South. If you like, I could introduce you to some, or rather introduce them to you." He offered.

Arya smiled, "Thank you, Sam."

Sam was as good as his word: they only stayed in Oldtown four days, but in that time Arya found herself being approached at the inn by a number of curious Northerners, who had been sent there by Sam and Pate. Many were common folk, from small towns and villages, who had stayed together to escape the worst of the winter and the Iron Islanders. But there were also a few members of the lesser houses whose names Arya recognised and by the time she was ready to leave the city, the Knotts, Liddles, Norreys and Wulls had already sworn their swords to her and vowed by the Old Gods and the New, to fight with her to take back Winterfell and the North.

Within a couple of days of arriving at Oldtown, whispers began to spread that the Ghost of Lyanna Stark had been seen at the Quill and Tankard, and this helped draw out more Northern men than even Sam knew were hiding in Oldtown. It also drew a certain Maester, with a newly forged chain, to visit the inn with Samwell the night before they were intending to leave. He was rather small, and very skinny, though not unhealthy looking. He had brown hair and green eyes, and Arya thought his look familiar somehow, though she couldn't place it.

"You look exactly as my Uncle described Lyanna to have looked." He had said when they met. "If you would permit me, I would be honoured to leave with you on the Morrow and serve as your Maester." He said.

"Who are you?" Arya asked, wary. Although Maesters were supposed to shed their surnames, the last thing she wanted was this man to be a member of some house sworn to the Lannisters or Greyjoys.

"Mathos Reed." He smiled, and Arya returned it. "My Uncle is Howland Reed, of Greywater Watch."

"I would be happy to have you with me," Arya said, "No doubt we will need your expertise along the way. But it will be a long road." She warned. "We set forth at noon."

And so they had: with the silver Arya had earned in Braavos, and some of the coin she had won on board Summer's Snow, she had managed to acquire a decent horse and some passable plate and mail. It wasn't brilliant, but it would serve for now. She had also been gifted a longsword by one of her men, which she now had strapped to her back as she was too short to carry it at her hip, where Needle sat on her left and the dagger on her right. Her bow and arrows hung from her saddle on one side, a pack containing the sleeping furs, spare clothes and food hung from the other.

She mounted her horse and turned to survey the men behind her who had promised to follow and fight for her. She was surprised at the size; already she thought she was close to an hundred men. And what was more surprising was the number on horseback, almost half.

"I can not promise you a safe and easy journey. Westeros is in the grip of Winter, our way is long and hard. But if you're with me, I can promise that what we will gain will be worth it. Let us show Westeros the real meaning of Winter!" She called out, and was heartened by the shouts of 'Winter is Coming!' that were returned to her.

She looked back to her companions who would be riding at her side: Big Al, Calloway and Maester Mathos were smiling at her, Sam just looked nervous, but he managed a small smile.

As they left the city, Arya caught a glimpse of Pate in the shadows of the city walls; he gave her a nod and a wink before disappearing.

Their journey was long, but not uncomfortable. Despite the cold, the snows were not too deep this far south, which meant their pace was fairly efficient. They travelled along the Roseroad for a time, but turned off before they could reach Highgarden, choosing to take the country roads through small towns on their way to Storms End.

Arya had soon learnt that Prince Aegon was rallying his armies their, ready to take King's Landing. She had also learnt that he had tried to make a much needed alliance with the North, but that the North were too busy fighting themselves and Wildlings to help. Arya also knew the North need a Stark to unite them – that was, after all, the reason she had returned to Westeros. Arya needed men to help her take back the North; Aegon needed the support of the North to help take the throne – Arya was sure they could come to some sort of agreement.

And so she had decided to go to Storms End. The Brothers had decided to join her on the journey, hoping to take new recruits from Prince Aegon's dungeons, and trying to convince any lads they came across along the way to take the black.

The group had one large canvas tent between the lot of them, and every night they all slept under it, sharing body heat, with a large fire burning at the mouth. Arya took her fair share of watches, tended the fire if needed and even helped cook what food they had. Many of her men were shocked at first, and tried to treat her as a 'real Lady.' But they soon learnt that Arya Stark, though a Princess of the North, and a Lady of Winterfell, was more of a Lord, and they respected her more for it.

A week into their march, they came across a frozen stream. Upon breaking the ice, they found the water to be flowing fast beneath and after filling up their water skins a few men who could, fished the stream and found it to be generous with its spoils. That night, after making her round of the camp she found Sam near the fire, struggling with a fish.

"Here," Arya said, kneeling beside him, "Let me." She took the fish, de-boned it and filleted it with perfect precision speed.

"Where did you learn to do that?" Sam asked, clearly impressed.

"I've been in hiding many years, and I've had to learn many things to survive." Arya told him truthfully. "Why do they call you Sam the Slayer?" She asked him, curiously. She had heard the nickname many a time, but she didn't know the story and it confused her: Sam had already confessed he was a craven, so the name didn't seem to fit.

"I stabbed an Other with an obsidian dagger. It destroyed the Other, so now they call me Slayer. Even though it was the dagger that slew it, not me." He told her.

"That doesn't sound like something a Craven would do." Arya pointed out, "You're braver than you think Sam." She told him. "Being brave isn't about not being afraid. A man is at his bravest when he's most afraid." She said, remembering something she had heard her Father once say, "Doing something even though you're afraid to do it, that's what bravery is."

"You sound like Jon," Sam said, "He tries to tell me the same thing. You look like him too. I can't believe I didn't see it, when I first saw you in Braavos." Arya smiled at that. "He misses you the most, you know. Jon does. He told me you were his favourite sibling." Sam said after a moment.

"Jon was always my favourite, too." Arya said, "I looked more like him than my other siblings, and he seemed to understand me more than the others. I miss him the most too. He gave me Needle." She said suddenly, looking at Sam and grinning.

"Needle?" He frowned.

"My sword. He had it made in secret, even father didn't know." She admitted, "I will see him again." She said adamantly, "Tell him that, when you see him. Tell him I still have my Needle and I will see him again."

"I'll tell him." Sam agreed, before moving off to the fire to cook the fish Arya had prepared. Arya continued sitting there, her grey raven coming to perch on her shoulder.

"Don't be annoying too many people," she warned him, having noticed that he had spent a lot of evening pecking at the men's feet looking for food, "Otherwise you'll find yourself being cooked over the fire, in place of the fish." Arya glanced around: she was alone for now.

Every evening, she would slip her skin and enter Nymeria's mind, and every evening she would see different scenery. She tried to communicate with Nymeria, telling her to bring her pack South: Arya needed Nymeria with her on her journey, and she was trying her hardest to make it happen. Every evening Arya would focus on the land surrounding her, willing Nymeria to see her surroundings so that she might find her better.

Every night for three weeks, Arya went through the same process, and by the end of the three weeks, she was hopeful it was working: When Arya had been aboard the ship; Nymeria was pushing through snow that almost reached her belly. Now, however, the snow was thinner on the ground: she had come south, that much was certain.

Halfway into their fourth week of travel, as they were readying camp for the night, the horses began making a nervous ruckus: whinnying and stomping their feet. In the woods near them they could hear a couple of wolves howling and Arya felt excitement coursing through her veins. Immediately she slipped her skin, and went into Nymeria's mind. Through Nymeria's eyes she saw a fire burning, she saw men moving around it, she saw horses tethered to nearby trees.

Wrenching her eyes open Arya moved quickly towards the trees.

"Be careful, My Lady." Mathos called, "Something's got the horses spooked, and can you hear the wolves?"

"Stay your weapons!" Arya called, loud and clear, noticing many of her men had drawn their swords, "I know what's out there, and I can promise you, she will not harm you."

She stood at the edge of the tree line, looking through the branches. She saw movement, and soon enough a pair of yellow eyes moved toward her, and out of the shadows moved a wolf, bigger than any Arya had ever seen. She was almost as big as Arya's horse, she moved warily, and Arya took a steady step forward, holding out her hand.

"Nymeria." She whispered, "It's me."

Suddenly, the wolf lunged, bounding into Arya and flinging her to the ground. Shouts rose in the camp, but Arya managed to shout out: "Stand down! Stand down!"

Her men soon realised that Arya was laughing, that the Direwolf was licking her face and neck as the pair rolled and wrestled in the snow. "I'm sorry I made you leave, Nymeria," Arya said, "I'm so sorry! Seven Hells! I've missed you." And for the first time in four years, a single tear escaped.

A/N: Ok, so that ended up being longer than planned, but the words just kept flowing. Let me know what you thought, and next chapter we venture into the Riverlands. Yep, that's right, we get to see our favourite Blacksmith. I'm excited :)

If you want to keep track with next chapter's progress, you can follow me on twitter CelticPagan3

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