*EDIT* 23/06/16* As it's been a while since I posted this chapter, I did a quick read-through before finishing off & posting the next one. There were a couple of things I weren't happy with; bacause of that, and from taking on board some of the reviews, I've edited a couple of parts - nothing major, just an amended to the reaction of Walder Frey's death, and I tidied up a few typos and bad sentencing. - next chapter will be up within the hour

A/N: Apologies for the delay, work and illness hindered my progress and when I started writing again I ended up getting a little bit carried away. Bad news, I could have had this up last week, but good news: because I had to cut the chapter in half, the next chapter should take too long to finish now :)

Last chapter had the lyric: 'I'm a million different people from one day to the next' from 'Bittersweet Symphony', by The Verve. This chapter has a Miranda Lambert lyric in there - yep, I've gone country :)

Thank you for all my reviews, and to all my readers thank you so much for sticking with me this far :) You guys are the best!

xBx

Chapter 19: Arya

Getting out of the Twins wasn't as easy as getting in. When she left Walder's bedchamber she was covered blood, her hands practically dripping but she didn't wipe them off just yet. Once outside the door, she removed the now bloodied cloak and returned it to its owner. She wiped the blood onto the guard, flicking droplets onto his face and smearing it on his neck and finally his hands. She then planted the dagger in his right hand, before adding a final touch to the tableau: from her sleeve she pulled out a piece of fabric, torn from one of her smaller banners, the grey Direwolf of house Stark clearly depicted. She stuffed it into the guard's left hand, clamping his fingers tight around it, just as he began to stir.

She couldn't exit the same way she had entered; she had managed to retrace her steps halfway when the guard fully woke and raised an alarm, his shouts drawing others in the direction of Lord Walder's chamber. Arya never panicked, simply changed direction and moved swiftly and silently through the shadowy hallways; she moved around for some time before finally admitting she was well and truly lost. She went to the nearest window, she was now only a couple of floors up, the fall would be minimal; leaning out she could see the West tower to her left – she was at a North facing window then, this was good. She reached out quickly to Nymeria, summoning her to run to her, and then jumped. Nymeria was with her within a moment, Arya's cloak tight in her jaws.

Arya took her cloak back, swirling it quickly around her shoulders as she jumped up onto Nymeria's back.

"Quickly," she urged. And Nymeria set off, once more bounding through the snow at an impressive speed, back to their camp.

As they ran, the freezing wind whipped through Arya's hair; she hadn't put her hood up, and her hair soon fell loose from its braid. The freezing wind, and her proximity to Nymeria, slowly thawed the unfeeling, revenge-driven persona, and she began to worry that maybe she had gone too far. She had never been taught to seek revenge, to kill for personal gain, and what had just transpired was spurred on by hatred – hatred she could still feel coursing through her veins. This wasn't how she was supposed to be.

When Arya entered back through the rear gap into her tent, Lommy was asleep by the entrance. She woke him immediately, sending him out to get her water to wash in, something to break her fast, and to tell the men to start packing up ready to march.

"I want to try and re-join the river before sundown, so the earlier we start out the better."

Lommy left at once; in his sleepy state he hadn't taken much notice of Arya's appearance, and so overlooked the blood still smattered across her skin.

She removed her cloak once more, and was setting to work on removing her dress when the tent flaps rustled and Gendry entered.

"Lommy said you were back. Where -" he stopped when he saw her, taking in the blood and her dishevelled appearance. His eyes widened in shock and concern; he crossed the distance between them in a stride.

"Arya what happened?" he asked, his hand coming to her cheek, and touching down her neck. "You're hurt-"

"I'm fine," Arya muttered, ignoring the flutters in her stomach that had been triggered by Gendry's touch and concern.

"You're covered in blood!" Gendry held up his own hand - the palm red with the blood he had wiped from her neck - in front of her to make a point, before grabbing her bloodstained hands, to drive the point home. "A lot of blood!"

"It's not my blood," she told calmly without looking him in the eye, and taking back her hands.

"Whose blood is it, then?" he asked warily, but Arya shook her head.

"The less you know, the better. As far as anyone needs to know I spent the entire night here."

"What have you done, Arya?" Gendry asked warily. "Seven hells, you have a reputation to uphold, more so now than ever."

"Can't get revenge and keep a spotless reputation. Sometimes revenge is a choice you've got to make."

There was a moment of silence and for a fleeting moment Arya thought that Gendry was actually going to let the subject drop.

"What in seven hells happened out there? You won't even look me in the eye," Gendry said quietly.

"I need to change; Lommy is spreading word to pack up camp, I need to be ready to march," Arya said, deflecting the question and still not meeting Gendry's gaze.

The truth was, Arya knew that in this moment she was the woman whom she had been in Braavos, not the woman who had slowly been opening up to Gendry. It was that person who Gendry wanted to see looking back at him, not the soulless no one standing there in that moment. He wanted his friend back, the girl who had disappeared many years ago, but was she even still in there somewhere? Arya was beginning to doubt that, but Gendry seemed to think it so, and he was trying valiantly to bring her back - the stubborn bull was not taking no for an answer.

As if she had spoken aloud, Gendry brought her out of her reverie by voicing his own thoughts that had been running in the same vein as her own.

"I thought you were slowly coming back; since King's Landing you were becoming more like yourself, more like you used to be, the girl I used to know."

"You need to stop looking for the girl you lost all those years ago, I don't even know if she exists any more. I've changed."

"No. You adapted, you grew, but you are still the same," Gendry stubbornly contradicted. "I've seen it, you try to hide it, but you're still in there somewhere."

"Braavos has changed me," Arya said, desperately wanting him to understand that she might not be able to be the person he was wanting her to be. "And I don't know if I can change back."

"Braavos," Gendry said softly after a moment, and Arya thought he almost smiled. "That's the first time you've actually told me where you went. You mentioned taking a boat across the Narrow Sea, but you never said where you stayed. You were in Braavos the whole time?"

"Yes. For the most part. I did spend some time outside the city during my apprenticeship."

"You were an apprentice? In what?"

Arya didn't know what to do. She had started talking now, and she knew Gendry would not leave her now until he got some answers. But if she told him, she was afraid he would turn, leave, and never look back.

"I had nowhere else to go," she started, hoping if he understood how she ended up there, he might understand why she had stayed. "You were part of the Brotherhood, I had no idea you were looking for me. And even if I thought the Brotherhood might have followed at first, I figured you would have stopped after the wedding: they wanted me to ransom, what good was I if there was no one to pay for my return?

"So I made my way to Maidenpool, and tried to get a ship to take me North to Jon, but no one would. In the end I found a galley headed home to Braavos, and I remembered the coin Jaqan H'gar gave me. I did as he had instructed: gave the coin to a man of Braavos, said the words "Valar Morghulis", and just like Jaqan said, I was taken to where I needed to go."

"To Braavos?"

"To the House of Black and White," Arya admitted. "I was taught many things there. I learned to become no one; I became a servant to the house of Black and White, an apprentice, and after proving myself I was allowed to go forth to deliver a gift to those who earned it."

"What does that mean?" Gendry frowned, sounding frustrated. "For a minute, I actually thought you were going to be honest with me, but you're just being cryptic-"

"Because if I tell you exactly what that means, if you truly understood all the things I did, you would never look at me the same way again," Arya finally admitted out load, with a sigh of defeat. "Even though I know you'll find out soon enough, I can't say the words to you. Not yet. But if you really want to know, I'm sure you'll figure it out, and I won't stop you."

They were interrupted then, when Lommy returned with a ewer in one hand and a plate in the other, no idea that he had interrupted a rather deep conversation. Gendry left without a word, presumably to help the camp ready for departure. He didn't look Arya in the eye, but there was a thoughtful look on his face as he left. Gendry would undoubtedly ask questions, and it would be a matter of when, rather than if, he learned the full truth of what she had become, but only time would tell how he would feel about it.

Right now, Arya had other things to focus on: she needed to wash away the last of Walder Frey's blood that was still clinging to her, and get her men moving as soon as possible.

They kept a good pace once they started, navigating their way back around to the frozen river, passing through a handful of tiny hamlets along the way. They had passed through some on their journey north, spreading news of Aegon's successful conquering of King's Landing, subsequent coronation, and alerting people that the Kingdoms were once more under Targeryan rule. In return, Arya and her men were sometimes lucky to hear gems of information about the activities of the Ironmen and the Freys. Of course there was some delay with news reaching out into the depths of the countryside, and so no one as yet seemed aware that old Walder Frey had finally departed this life.

Once out of sight of the Twins, the Stark banners were once more unfurled, and the further north they travelled the more curious the occupants of the seemingly empty farmhouses and hamlets seemed to be. The further along they moved, the more people would come to their doorways, bundled in cloaks and furs, to see the wonder of an army marching in such unfavourable conditions.

They managed to reach the banks of the river just as the sun was slipping down past the horizon. They made a final push for another hour or so, surrounded by torches, before making camp for the darkest part of the night.

After their rather candid talk back in the tent, Gendry had kept his distance. Not in a physical sense – he still marched by Arya's side for the most part – but he was less talkative than usual, and when they halted for food, he spent the brief respite talking quietly with Maester Mathos. When they stopped for the night, along the river bank, Gendry once more sat a little away from the others with Mathos as his sole companion.

Every night, when camp had been set up, Arya had taken herself away from the camp with Gendry by her side, to reach out to the Raven that was now somewhere out at sea. Usually, Gendry would accompany her, but tonight he seemed too absorbed in his conversation, or he was purposefully avoiding so much as looking at her. Either way, Arya had Nymeria by her side this time, holding her back from hunting just long enough for her to lay by her when she slipped her skin.

It took a little longer than usual, but she finally found her way into the grey raven's skin. Once more the raven was on Anguy's shoulder, except this time he was alone, standing on a small protrusion surrounded by water, the smell of salt heavy in the air. Next to him was his bow, and two arrows: one with a tip bound in oil-soaked rag, the other tipped with steel and three words etched along the shaft.

In the distance, the outline of the Greyjoy stronghold towered into the skyline, the lights from the windows throwing into relief the many masts of the ships docked safely. Through the sharp eyes of the raven, Arya could see two small vessels moving silently through the waters, between the anchored ships. They came together, at the centre of large vessels, and then moved away from port and further out to sea. One changed direction after a few moments, and came towards the rock where the raven was waiting patiently upon Anguy's shoulder.

"Looks like our pick-up is on its way," Anguy said. "Time to light a little fire."

Anguy looked at the bird, which turned its heard and gave him a piercing look that made Anguy frown.

"Maybe I'm just tired, but sometimes I swear you look at me the same way Arya does. Princess Arya, I still can't get used to that," he muttured, kneeling down and making a start on striking a small fire. "Not that you can understand me, I mean she'll never know what I call her." He laughed then, as he struck a flint, sparking the small amount of kindling he had brought with him. "It's hard to call her princess when I remember her getting into fights with Gendry, back when I first knew her. Five minutes in a dress and it was ruined – least ladylike little lady I've ever met – ow!" Anguy jerked his head around to frown at the raven that had just savagely bitten his ear; Arya could taste the blood that the raven had drawn. "Maybe you can understand me," he muttered warily, as Harwin rowed up behind him.

"You talking to the bird again?"

"One has to have an intelligent conversation every once in a while, or a man'll lose his wits."

"Some would argue when a man starts conversing with the wildlife, his wits are already lost."

Arya willed the raven to fly from Anguy's shoulder and move to perch on the prow of the small row boat.

"We've tossed a couple of jars onto each ship, and emptied the rest into the water around them. We should be a safe distance away now; it's now or never," Harwin said, keeping his seat, and getting back to business.

Anguy gave a curt nod, picked up his bow, and lit the kindled arrow. When the arrow caught, he snuffed out the small fire with his feet, before taking his stance and carefully aiming. He had one shot at this, he had to be perfect.

Naturally, he was: There was a reason Arya and Harwin had recruited him, purposefully for this task. The arrow curved gracefully through the air, a streak of orange rising high in an arch, then falling gracefully in between two galleys. When the arrow hit the water, the orange flame was extinguished in a blaze of green: it flared bright, illuminating the night, and spread as fast as legend told it did.

"Let's go," Harwin ushered.

"One second, I have a message to send," Anguy said, picking up the second and final arrow, the one with the words etched into the shaft. He took his stand once more, this time with a small smirk; Arya had given him this arrow specifically for this next task.

"Winter is Coming," he whispered as he let the arrow fly. It arched higher than the first, soaring over the green flames that now surrounding almost all the ships in sight, and landing on the banks, where it would be in plain sight to the first people who came to look at the destruction unfolding.

Arya struggled to pull herself back, the exhaustion from lack of sleep added to the difficulty of the distance between herself and the bird. The last thing she saw before slipping out were the first two ships to explode in a blinding blast of green.

When she finally pulled herself back, it was to discover she was no longer alone; she was sat leaning with her back against Nymeria, who was laying alert beside her, and in front of her sat Gendry.

"Gendry," Arya said with surprise and made an effort to sit upright.

"I saw you leaving the main camp with Nymeria, I thought you might be coming out here to…well, to do this. Why didn't you come and get me like you usually do?"

"You looked deep in conversation with Mathos, I didn't want to interrupt." Arya desperately wanted to know what they had been talking about, wondering if Gendry had been asking questions about the hints she had given him earlier about her time in Braavos. Had he found out what she was really meaning? What she had really been, what she had done? It seemed possible, he seemed more distant than usual.

"We were just discussing forging," Gendry shrugged.

"Forging?" Arya repeated with genuine surprised that she failed to hide.

"Yes," Gendry smiled. "What did you think we were talking about?"

"It doesn't matter," Arya smiled with a shake of her head. "I didn't know Mathos knew much about forging."

"Of course he does, he forged his own chain didn't he?"

"Of course," Arya allowed.

"Technically, Maester Mathos has worked more kinds of metals than I have. Though I think I might have more finesse when it comes to the finer parts of forging armour and weapons."

Arya smiled, remembering the bull's head helm he had brought with him from King's Landing. "I remember your work of art in the form of a helm," she told him. "I'm sorry you lost it; it was fine craftsmanship, some of the best I've seen. Why did you never make another?" She asked curiously, and Gendry shrugged.

"I guess there was never the right time? And after everything – Harranhall, travelling with the Brotherhood – it seemed pointless to make something so ornate. It was more fancy than useful, and there were bigger things to worry about. That helm belonged to the green, summer boy of King's Landing - I've grown up and changed since then. A bit like you."

Arya gave a sad smile. "But not as much as me."

They were within reach of further discussing Arya's time in Braavos, and both could feel it. Arya wanted to if he'd asked anyone about the House of Black and White, but she wasn't sure if she wanted to know the answer yet. Before she could make up her mind, Gendry changed the subject:

"You were out a lot longer than usual, you seemed to struggle coming back."

"It gets a little more difficult when I'm tired. And I was distracted,"

"Something wrong?" Gendry frowned in concern. Arya smiled.

"No, they've done it."

"You saw it?" Gendry asked, his voice suddenly hushed, and Arya nodded.

"A sea of green. It was blinding, but beautiful. They won't be able to save a single ship. Anguy performed his tasks to perfection. They'll be returning back to land now, I estimate they'll be about 10 days behind us at most. We need to reach Greywater soon, the men are becoming tired."

"We're making good time," Gendry assured her. "But you need to sleep just as much as everyone else – maybe more so, as you didn't sleep last night."

Arya took Gendry's advice without question and the following morning, before the sun had risen, Arya led the continued march North up the river, with more energy. They travelled relentlessly along the frozen Green Fork, stopping only to eat and sleep, and coming across no one along the way. Arya didn't reach out her raven as often now, only slipping into it once to discover that Harwin, Anguy, Lady Stoneheart, and the rest had reached land and were departing Seaguard to take the road North.

Each night, Arya slipped into Nymeria, who took her pack ahead of the men to hunt what limited game they could. If they were prosperous, Nymeria would be sure to leave something for Arya and had men to retrieve the following morning. As of yet, they hadn't come across anyone else out in the snow, but on the fifth night of travelling up river Nymeria caught a new human scent that was unfamiliar to her.

Arya had just called a halt to their march; the river was getting narrower, and Arya was certain they could not be far from Greywater now. As some of the men were readying to light the fires, there was a commotion at their perimeter, and two of Arya's out-riders, who were now lighting the perimeter of the camp, marched towards her with two smaller men between them.

When they came before Arya, the two smaller men went to their knees.

"Your Grace," said one. "I am Rickard Blackmyre, sworn to House Reed, and so sworn to House Stark and the Queen in the North. We have been long awaiting your arrival."

"Welcome to our camp, or what will be – we have only just called a halt for the night. My apologies for keeping Lord Reed waiting, we spent some days in King's Landing, for King Aegon's coronation and wedding."

"Forgive me, I didn't mean – I only meant, we have eagerly awaited your arrival: The North has been too long without a Stark. I can see you are weary, but if you and your men have it in you, Greywater Watch is little over an hour away. When Lady Mormont returned and told us of our intentions to march to us, we readied what rooms we had available, and extended the camp to prepare for the arrival of you and your men."

Arya smiled gratefully, "what is another hour when such hospitality waits for us at the end. Thank you Ser, if you will lead the way, we will follow you gladly."

Arya gave the command to keep moving, and the message wound its way back through the ranks that an extended march would be rewarded with finally reaching their first main destination.

It was a long hour, but they eventually made it within the walls of Greywater Watch. It was a lot smaller than Winterfell, but large enough to accommodate them – indeed, it appeared Lord Howland had gone out of his way to ensure Arya and her men would be sheltered. What seemed to perhaps have been the tilt yard had been transformed into a make-shift canvas barracks: rows of tents crammed together so close they could almost be one large structure, layers of snow of differing thickness suggested some had been erected longer than the rest. Fires burned throughout the site, a welcome warmth after the long day's march, and the Stark banners flew high and proud. A quarter of the camp was already occupied – these must be Robb's men, those who had bypassed the Twins and escaped the Red Wedding. She wished to speak with them, but now was not the time.

Despite the lateness of the hour, there were a decent number to welcome them into Greywater; the holdfast had been just visible for the final quarter of an hour of their journey, which would have been enough time for the guard on watch to alert those still awake of Arya's imminent arrival. She thought back to the one time she and her family had welcomed visitors to Winterfell: such a long time ago, late summer, when the King had come to take them South. His royal procession had been much grander than hers, and perhaps more jovial – or at least a different kind of jovial. There had been more horses back then too.

They had lost many on their travels north; many were too undernourished to last long on a long cold march, though the men treated them with great care and compassion. They had left a few back at the Crossroads Inn, ones they knew would not survive the trek, but with a warm stable and enough food might survive the winter, and be useful to those of the Brotherhood who had remained in the Riverlands. Only the large, strong, and hardy horses had made it this far; those that perished ensured the men did not go wanting – the meat was eaten and the hides were worn.

The horses were very rarely rode, used instead to primarily carry provisions. On this occasion, however, more were being ridden to create a greater spectacle; Gendry, Ned Dayne, Maester Mathos, and Thoros of Myr, were among those who rode with Arya at the head of the procession. Usually the head of the party would be riding the largest steed, however in this case Arya was seated slightly lower than the rest, though not by much, as she was mounted on Nymeria.

Many of those who had emerged to greet them hung back, cautiously in awe, at the sight of the direwolf, but there was little, to no, fear among them: of course, many of these men had seen Robb with Grey Wind.

At the front of the greeting party was a familiar face: Lady Maege Mormont of Bear Island was stood next a man of small build, with a similar look to Maester Mathos – Arya assumed him to be a Reed, though not Howland given his age. They went to their knees as Arya dismounted into the snow in front of them.

"Your Grace," the man spoke. "Welcome, Greywater Watch is yours."

"Thank you for opening your gates to us, and welcoming us at such a late hour." Arya said, as her party dismounted and gathered beside her.

"I must beg your forgiveness on my uncle's behalf: Lord Howland retires early, given his age and health. He is already sleeping, and as of yet, unaware of your arrival. I am Gellert Reed, his nephew and heir, and apologise for his absence."

A waved away the apology, "No apology necessary: I am at Lord Howland's disposal; I am more than happy to wait until he is ready to receive me. Lady Mormont, it is good to see you once more."

Directions were given to various bodies to assist Arya's men with settling into their new quarters, fetching refreshment, and housing the horses. Gellert Reed then escorted Arya, and those men closest with her, into the keep. Before Arya was taken to her rooms, she asked Lady Mormont to gather some of Robb's men.

"I wish to see them all at some point, but for now just those closest to him: those of his council, who were privy to his meetings and intentions."

"Of course, your Grace. I shall gather them, and fetch them to your rooms, if you will permit?"

These rooms, to which Arya was now taken, had been intended for her brother and had not been used since, as those of his men who had arrived before him were already housed when news of the red wedding came.

They were small, but functional: a simple bedchamber with plenty of room for Arya, Lommy, and Nymeria, and a small sitting room which could comfortably seat at least a dozen men.

Gellert arranged for food and drink to be brought up, as Lommy unpacked her limited possessions and parchments, and Nymeria laid in front of the bed carefully watching Arya's every move.

"Thank you, my Lord. Will you join us? I doubt the others will be long," Arya invited.

"Thank you, Your Grace."

As they waited for the others to join them, Arya moved to the windows to look out into the night. Her room looked out over the main working area of the holdfast: she could dimly see the outline of the kitchen gardens, there was smoke furling from the large chimney, but not a lot of movement as the main dinner would have been over hours ago. Further back was the stables, the yard just visible behind. Unlike the kitchens, the stables were a flurry of activity as the stableboys moved to and fro relieving their new charges of the burdens they had been carrying, while a handful of Arya's men assisted and dogs sniffed around their feet. There was a large building to the side of the stables, large and round, and dark.

"Perhaps not the most scenic views Greywater has to offer," Gellert began, coming to Arya's side and looking down.

Arya smiled. "I always liked the kitchens and the stables," she told him, thinking back to her childhood in Winterfell. Arya Underfoot she had been called then. "Lots of bustle and excitement; always working, never a dull moment – everyone had such a sense of purpose. What's that building?" she asked, indicating the abandoned looking building.

"The forge. It's rarely used these days; it was only really ever used for shoeing the horses, and of course now that winter is here the horses are never used. Your brother's men used it when they first arrived, to fix armour, and mend swords."

They were interrupted then, by the arrival of Lady Mormont in the company of only two others: Galbert Glover and Ryon Forrester. They each went to their knees and addressed Arya as "your Grace", but Arya could sense some reluctance among the group, clearly unsure of her.

"Thank you for humouring me, and coming to sup with me," Arya welcomed them, as Lommy poured them all wine.

"Are none of your men joining us?" Glover asked.

Arya shook her head and took a seat, inviting the others to follow suit with a wave of her hand. "They are tired, it's been a long march, and they do not need to be here. I only want to know about my brother." A few exchanged wary glances, but remained silent. "You all rallied when he called the banners, you marched south with him as your liege and crowned him your King. You were there for all of it, I'd like to know about it. I heard little on my travels, and all of it varied depending on who told it. They say he won every battle,"

"He did," Forrester confirmed, and went on to talk of some of Robb's finer accomplishments on the field. It became clear to Arya that her brother had had good instincts when it came to the battlefields. But it had all ended with him losing his head at a wedding, and Winterfell overtaken and burned.

"So how did it all go so wrong?" she asked. "He lost Winterfell to Theon, is that true? And the Freys, I thought they were sworn to him?"

There were a few more exchanges of wary glances. "We do not wish to criticise His Grace, he believed he was making the right decision at the time. We trusted his judgement."

"Everyone makes mistakes, and my brother obviously made some, otherwise he would still be alive. What were they? Please, speak freely; I want you to be completely honest with me."

"Alright," Lord Glover spoke up first, with a determined air. "King Robb made very few mistakes he was a good leader, a good liege Lord, a fine king. But his main mistakes were the ones with the worst consequences. Sending Theon home to Pyke as his envoy was risky, however, in Robb's defence, many of us believed Theon would stay true - they were like brothers, at least that's what it seemed. But I suppose as soon as he was home again, he forgot all the Starks had done for him. Lady Catelyn was the only one who openly spoke against it, may the Gods watch over her," He added, raising his cup in a toast to her memory.

The others at the table followed suit, and Arya gave Lady Mormont a quick, inquisitive look. Had she not told them, then, about Lady Stoneheart? Maege gave a subtle shake of the head: no.

"He turned his cloak, and invaded the North," Glover continued. "The Ironmen have held holdfasts ever since. We ventured north, to try and take back what we could, but our host was small then and it is even smaller now: the lesser lords of the smaller holdfasts, who could slip easily past the Ironmen returned home before winter set in."

Arya could sense the conversation was moving into tactical territory: she didn't need to hear this now, nor did she want to start a discussion without her own men here.

She brought the conversation back on the track she wanted, "So trust in Theon was one of his mistakes, what was the other? What did he do to make the Freys turn against him?"

"He married Jayne Westerling," Ryon forrester said simply.

"Westerling," Arya frowned, thinking back. "Weren't they sworn to the Lannisters?"

"They were, and I believe they were again, after Robb's death."

"And all still alive? How very forgiving of Lord Tywin," A commented dryly. "But why did that marriage anger Walder Frey? What am I missing here?"

"You don't know about the agreement Robb made to pass through the Twins?"

Arya made a face which negated the need for her to say obviously not.

"Lord Walder would only let us cross through the Twins on certain conditions, which Lady Stark agreed to on Robb's behalf. The first was that you would be married to one of his sons."

A rolled her eyes, "that's twice my mother has tried to marry me off without my knowing." She was suddenly accosted by another memory she had long forgotten: Back in Harrenhall, she had known a squire; a young Frey boy who had liked to boast about being a son of the Lord of the Crossing and that he was to marry a princess. She remembered one of the last times she had seen him: there had been tears on his face as he'd told her his family had been dishonoured and he would no longer be marrying a princess. She also remembered them arguing, and her yelling at him "I hope your princess dies". In hindsight, Arya now sorely regretted that particular outburst as it seemed she had unwittingly wished death upon herself.

"The second condition," Maege was saying, bringing Arya out of her memories, "was that Robb should marry one of his daughters."

"So when he married the Westerling girl, he broke his oath," Arya finished for him, finally understanding. "I thought Robb to be a man to honour his word, did he truly love her that much that he would put his campaign in such jeopardy?"

"I think honour, had more to do with it than love, my lady. She helped nurse him back to help, after a battle," Maege quickly explained. "I believe she was there with him when news reached him of Winterfell, and the death of your brothers, and..." she trailed off, seeming uncertain.

"He bedded her," Arya finished with a sigh. "And then did the honourable thing in marrying her. Walder Frey felt cheated and betrayed, and so joined the Lannisters."

"Things began to unravel quickly after that," Forrester moved the conversation forward. "The Freys departed almost immediately after his wedding, and then your mother released the Kingslayer in the dead of night, going against your Brother's command, and to the annoyance of the Karkstartks,"

Arya nodded, "and everything just unravelled from there."

There was a lull in the conversation then, but it didn't last long.

"We heard you were married to Ramsey Snow?" pressed Rylon Forrester suddenly.

Arya shook her head, "That was not me. I think I was somewhere in the Riverlands when that marriage took place?" It came out sounding like a question, rather than a statement. It was hard to remember those days that she had worked so hard to try and forget. "Or maybe I had left by that point, I honestly can't remember."

"How did you escape from King's Landing? From the Lannisters? We were led to believe they had you well guarded," Forester hedged.

"They never had me," Arya corrected them. She paused for a moment, she hadn't really spoken to anyone about her final weeks in the capitol, before leaving the city, but she knew now she would have to say something. And so she gave them a brief recital of what had transpired that day the Lannister guardsmen came for her during her dancing lesson with Syrio Forel: how he had held the off while she ran, escaping the keep with nothing but Needle, the clothes on her back, and some trinkets. How she lived on the streets of Flea Bottom until the day her father was beheaded. She told them how she was then taken from the city by Yoren, disguised as an orphan boy, and how he intended to take her home to Winterfell. She ended the narrative with the unfortunate run in with the Gold Cloaks that lead to her, Gendry, and other survivors being left to fend for themselves, and continue on north alone.

"How old were you then?" Glover asked after a moment, seemingly unable to stop himself.

"Ten, or as near as makes no matter."

"You fought in a battle against the Gold Cloaks at age ten?" he pressed, somewhat disbelievingly.

"Yes," Arya assured him. "I wasn't the best fighter there, but I was far from the worst. My steel was good and sharp, I was quick on my feet; I had been taught how to use my blade and I poked a fair few holes in the bastards that came too close."

There wasn't much conversation that followed after that. The hour was incredibly late by now - so late it was almost early. They drained their cups, and departed for their own rooms. Arya wandered back over to the window as Lommy cleared around her. All was still outside, the rest of the holdfast long asleep. She noticed that the forge was no longer abandoned: smoke furled furiously from the chimney and a warm glow now emanated from the windows, suggesting a fire was burning bright.

Gendry, she thought. He had clearly found his way to his refuge. Arya sighed, they had still barely spoken since that morning she had returned from the Twins; he had been a lot more thoughtful than usual. But it was too late to dwell on it now; they had plenty of time here in Greywater for her to confront him if she had to.

The following morning Arya broke her fast in her rooms and waited for a summons to meet Lord Howland. Instead of receiving a summons, however, she received Howland Reed himself. He was smaller than his nephew, and clearly frail, but the smile he bestowed upon Arya was genuine, and full of warmth and life. Despite his supposed weakness, he managed to kneel and return to his feet, with grace and without assistance. They broke their fast together, and Howland entertained her with the story of how he had first met her father and his siblings, during the great tourney at Harranhall. He looked almost wistfully at Arya when he talked of Lyanna.

"You are very much like her, you know," he finally said, with a sad smile. "And just as fierce in spirit too, it would seem. Lyanna knew her mind well enough, it's true, and often did what she pleased. But I don't know if she would have been able to command an army."

"She was in time of relative peace back then, and had three brothers for that," Arya reminded him. "Perhaps if she was the last Stark, she would have lead with ease."

Lord Reed looked as if he wanted to say something more, but appeared to change his mind at the last moment, instead he offered to give her a small tour of the holdfast. Her morning with Howland and his nephew passed pleasantly, and Howland told her of his son and daughter who had travelled north to assist Bran.

"I have not heard from them, or of them, since the news of Winterfell's fall," He confided. "I know not if I will ever see them again, and I am not long for this world I fear. Which is why I have named Gellert as my heir, and instructed him, ready to take my place."

Early in the afternoon he returned to his bedchamber to rest. That evening there was to be a feast in her honour - modest, given that they were now in winter and provisions were closely coveted, but a feast none the less.

At some point in the afternoon a couple of men who had been travelling to towns on the border of the neck returned, and news finally reached Greywater of Walder Frey's death. Arya was in the training yard at the time, taking on one of the newer men to her cause, when the news broke among them.

"Your Grace," it was Thoros who brought the news to her, going to his knee as he approached. "News from the south, from the Twins," he said, rising to his feet at her behest.

"Good or bad?" Arya asked, giving no hint that she knew what he was about to tell her.

"Walder Frey is dead. Murdered in his own bed, by his own guard, in your name. The guard was found with the weapon in his hands, bloodied, and clutching a scrap of banner bearing the Stark direwolf. It was clearly done in retribution for your brother's death, may the Lord of Light watch over him. Frey was found in his bed, his head severed, tossed aside and replaced with that of his dog."

The news was greeted gleefully by those in the yard around her, and Arya allowed herself a small satisfied smirk as jubilant yells and cheers erupted around her.

"Thank you for bringing me the news, be sure to spread it."

"I think this news will spread itself quickly - Walder Frey wasn't a popular man," Thoros smirked at her, and Arya laughed.

The news did indeed spread quickly throughout Greywater, and it added an extra sense of celebration to the evening's feast. Arya had dressed up for occasion, in a rich, thick gown she had brought from King's Landing. It was a deep, midnight blue, but the sable cloak she donned over the top was the grey of house Stark. On her head, her circlet of steel and bronze glittered in the candle light, standing out against the dark brown of her hair that was braided and pinned-up at the nape of her neck. When Arya entered the hall, those already gathered were well on their way to being merry, and she half suspected that many had been celebrating this afternoon's news for a few hours now. She was escorted by Howland Reed, and followed by those who would be seated at the head table with them including Howland's heir, Gellert Reed, Lady Mormont and Lord Glover, Ned Dayne and Gendry. She still had barely spoken three words to Gendry since their arrival, but she had purposefully sought him out this afternoon to make sure he would join her table with the intention of hopefully being able to talk how they used to. The truth was she missed him, and if she hadn't been so busy trying to get to know the men who had followed Lady Mormont and Lord Glover, as well as keeping up with her own men, and becoming acquainted with the Lords Reed, she would have marched to Gendry's forge before now and made him speak with her.

When they were all seated, Howland Reed remained standing to formally welcome Arya and her men to Greywater, granting her full liberty of his home and pledging himself and his men to her cause as the last Stark of Winterfell, and their liege, queen in the north.

"Thank you, my Lord, for your gracious hospitality," Arya stood, raising a glass in toast to Lord Howland. "You generously opened your home to my brother's men years ago, and now you have opened it to me and mine, and I thank you. But we will not trespass on your hospitality for much longer. It has taken me many years to get here, and the roads travelled have not been easy, nor very direct, but I have finally crossed The Neck back into the North where I belong. But the North is still cluttered with people who do not belong. If you will pledge me your swords, we will continue to march north, and we will take it back! We will take back our homes and our holdfasts; we will throw the krakens back into the sea where they belong, and send the Bolton's running!" Her voice had grown stronger, and her words were being met with murmurs of approval that had grown steadily louder and could now be described as roars.

"There must always be a Stark in Winterfell: Here I am, and I will take it back and claim my seat. The blood of the first men runs strong and true in my veins - I will rule the north, and we will continue to be an independent kingdom; we have not, and we will not, kneel to the Iron Throne. I helped Aegon take the Iron Throne, but I did not swear him fealty - neither mine, nor yours. I told him the north would never kneel to the Iron Throne again, and at his coronation I kept my promise. I gave him my friendship, and alliance, but nothing more. The North is ours to govern and rule; Robb named me his heir, to take up his crown after his death, but you were the ones who gave him that crown in the first place. I am asking you to follow me, to help me take back my home - your homes, the north. But whether you follow me as Lady Stark of Winterfell, or as your Queen, that is up to you."

She hadn't been intending to reel off such a speech, but once she had started the words just seemed to flow. There was a brief silence, barely half a second, but it felt like a lifetime to Arya. What if they actually didn't want her as a Queen?

It was Maege Mormont who moved first, moving from the table and going to her knee. "I had faith in Robb, and I have faith in you. The Queen in the North!"

All those at the high table echoed her movements, kneeling and taking up the cry, "Queen in the North!"

"What do we care about the south?" A man joined in, at one of the tables below. "They never bothered about us for hundreds of years! I knelt at Robb's feet, and called him my King, and so now I kneel to you," He drew his steel and went to bended knee, laying the steel across. "The Queen in the North!"

Slowly, more people went to their knees, until all gathered were swearing their fealty.

"The Queen in the North!" echoed loudly through the hall. "The Queen in the North! The Queen in the North! The Queen in the North!"

A/N: Thanks for reading - not sure how long the next chapter will be, it might be a little shorter as I cut if from this one, but I will hopefully have it up very soon :)