A/N: "How much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?" An adult woodchuck is capable of chucking three cords of dry low-grade wood per hour. Wet wood averages about one and a quarter cords per hour. Finer quality woods, however, require gentler handling and can only be chucked at a rate of one cord per day.

This has been your daily dose of nonsensical knowledge from Professor Kagirinai's Big Book of Fictitious Facts.

Now, on to the important stuff: the current list of followers and reviewers. DementedDementor101, Gloriana the Younger, CasperGhost, AlwaysGryffindor13, Darksnider05, harrylee94, & Rileyshima

Title: Winter Is Coming

Rating: T, may increase to M for bloodshed and general GoT-style awesomeness

Genre: Drama/Hurt/Comfort/Betrayal/Adventure/Action…basic ally a bit of everything

Category A: Rise of the Guardians

Category B: A Song of Ice & Fire/Game of Thrones

Characters: Jon Snow, Jack Frost, Ghost, Daenerys, probably heavy mentions of Arya because she's fabulous, appearances by assorted other characters from both fandoms.

Summary: The Stark words: "Winter is coming". But Jon wasn't a Stark. He was a Snow. A bastard. A brother to the heirs of Winterfell and a Brother of the Watch. He was a warg and a Wildling. And, unknown, but most important, he was Winter's champion.

Disclaimer: Sadly, I am not the genius behind A Song of Ice & Fire, nor one of the ones behind Rise of the Guardians. All I own is my own insanity, which I claim proudly and fully blame for this convoluted mess.

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Chapter Five: THE FACELESS GIRL

She wove through the bustling crowd that filled the docks, dodging around people in too big a hurry to step aside for the dirty girl that crossed their path. Grey eyes were wary and watchful, looking for any sign of weakness, any vulnerable spot she could strike. Her stomach rumbled, but she paid it no mind; refused to call attention to it or herself. Doing so would turn her from predator to prey. And she was nobody's prey.

But she was hungry. And if she did not find someone who kept a loose purse, she was going to stay that way through the night. Again.

She squeezed her way between two people who were wide-eyed with wonder at all the waterfront bazaar had to offer, certain she had found her mark. But as she slyly slid her knife out, both turned towards some stall or another, momentarily sandwiching her and unknowingly moving their coin pouches out of her reach. All she got was a deep slice on the heel of her hand and her own blood on the point of her knife.

"You stupid," she hissed lowly, darting out of the crowd, taking refuge from the bustle atop a pile of cages that were empty, but stank in a way that suggested they very recently were not. "Stupid," she muttered again, bringing the wound to her mouth, trying to suck the pain out. Her eyes returned to the ever-teeming mass of people, trying to spot a more likely target from her vantage point. No… no… no… there! Grey orbs lighted on a tall man who stood head-and-shoulders above the crowd. He was wide, as well, but she was not worried. Like any good predator, she could read a person and rarely be wrong. And a quick study told her that, as fearsome as he looked, the man was easy prey. Possessed of an innate wariness, yes, and the potential to be dangerous, but suffering from the delusion that people were generally good. The type that would never suspect a child could rob him blind. She hoped he would learn from her, but was also glad no one had taught the lesson before.

As silent as a shadow, she slipped back into the living sea, keeping her eyes on the tall man's head as she approached. Drawing ever closer, she noticed more details that confirmed her choice. His torso was bare - save for a strange bandolier across his chest - which meant he would have his purse on his hip, and his gaze was distracted by the crowd, looking for someone. He would never see her until it was too late; and probably not even then.

Once again, she procured her small blade, eyes dropping from the man's head to his waist, zeroing on the full-to-bursting cloth bag hanging there. At another time, she could have wept at his blatant vulnerability. Were she not so blinded by thoughts of hot stew, she might have noticed the voice of her hindbrain insisting it was too easy. As it was, all she could do was relish her good fortune and reach out to pluck her prize.

A strong hand closed around her wrist and she froze, glancing up with rebellious eyes, swearing to herself that there was no fear in her gaze. Impossibly green orbs stared back at her, revealing nothing of the tall man's thoughts. His grip was firm, but gentle, and for the briefest moment she saw black hair instead of brown and water replaced grass in the piercing stare.

Then she blinked and he said something in a language she did not know (though every carefully murdered, shredded piece of her femininity came back to life and purred at his accent), and the tug of memory was gone. "Let me go, you stupid," she snarled. Evidently, he could not understand her either, because he did not let go. Or he did and simply refused. She suspected it was a little of both.

Instead, he called out over the crowd and maneuvered her back to her pile of cages as easily as if she were a cloth doll, despite her attempts to break away and flee. Not once did his hold on her wrist loosen (nor tighten), even when he hoisted her onto one of the crates. She gave him her best death glare, but he ignored it, returning most of his attention to the flow of bodies streaming past. And though it was angry, her predator's instinct cautioned against any serious escape attempts. The man no longer read as prey, but he did not shout predator, either. So she waited, watching to see if she could spot who he was looking for.

She did not have to wait long, but she could not deny she was surprised. She had been expecting a group of men, or one at the very least, but the being that glided through the crowd was unmistakably female. And though where the man came from was a mystery, the girl was fairly certain this woman came from the Summer Islands. Not that knowing made much difference; she could not speak their tongue either.

She studied the newcomer as she approached, trying to get a more accurate read than she had with the man. It was difficult, as she kept getting distracted by trivial details. The woman was stunning and the feather she wore (which the girl had always found somewhat stupid before) suited her and almost seemed to be a part of her. She was dainty and delicate like a princess, but moved with a lethal precision and grace that made the girl's hair rise; and not entirely in unease. But, like the tall man, she did not give off any aggression or hostility.

Purple eyes found the girl, lighting up with a mix of excitement and confusion before traveling to the man. They spoke in their strange language for a moment; long enough for the girl to note the woman lacked the tall man's accent; and then, suddenly the woman was directly in front of her, wrenching her jaw open.

Deft fingers dove into her mouth and, with a quick twist, yanked out the tooth that had been wiggling around for the last few days. She bit back a cry of pain (unfortunately missing the woman's fingers) and glared sourly, raising her free hand to massage the sting away.

The woman had turned away, hands folded around the stolen tooth, eyes closed in concentration. A whisper of voices buzzed around the girl's ears and she swatted at them irritably. They quieted and the woman's eyes snapped open. Those strange violet irises turned to her and a slender hand held out a pair of golden coins. The feather-adorned head tilted to the side, studying her with a birdlike curiosity, before bobbing in a slight bow.

"A great pleasure to meet you, Arya Stark of Winterfell."

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A/N: In case there is confusion, the tall man is Bunny, though I can understand if some might have thought it was North; so did I for a minute when I reread it. Also, I'm sorry to any anti-human!Bunny people out there, but I just couldn't come up with a way to incorporate a giant rabbit into the GoT universe without every character going "What the wha-?"And no, there is not going to be any AryaBunny vessels leaving port. I am a firm AryaGendry shipper. I just defy any sane woman (other than maybe Aussie women) to resist the swoon factor of an Aussie accent. Honestly. Like the other day at work, this guy came in who was kind of on the tail-end of meh-looking, but he opened his mouth and an Aussie accent tumbled out and I just felt like, "Take me, I'm yours." Anywho, I'm closing down my computer for the night before you all decide to track me down and have me committed. Ramble transmission end…