A/N: Thanks for the support

Our Blades Are Sharp 2: The Red Reign

By Spectre4hire

Fourteen

Jon:

He had lost his shadow. It was a few days ago, mayhaps a week, he could not remember.

Jon had ordered the men make camp on solid ground, atop a few rolling hills. The Neck was thick with dense trees and treacherous with its watery ground. It looked solid to the eye until you placed your foot upon it. Then it would latch onto your leg, sucking you down like some hungry beast. He did not think they would be in the Neck for much longer. They would go north of it, travel a route that ran alongside the Fever River until they reached the Saltspear. That was Jon's plan, but these past few months had taught him that plans could crumble just as easily as this watery quicksand.

It would still be another hour or more before true night was upon them. He had thought it better to make camp with more sunlight than usual given the black bog they found themselves traveling through. Now, the sun hung in the sky like a red smudge, a lazy trail of light skimming across the horizon. He had set up his tent quick enough, but he could not slip into it and settle for the night like the soldiers. He had a night of duties to tend to before he could even consider sleep.

"Ghost," He called out in the waning light, knowing his direwolf was near, "To me."

The white direwolf slipped between a thicket like water. Red eyes on Jon, tongue lolling out, Ghost came to him. Jon rubbed at the fur behind his left ear, already feeling better with his direwolf beside him. "Let's see to the others." Ghost didn't raise a protest.

These were his men, Jon was still not used to it, to such responsibility. When he had considered the Wall, he knew a bastard could rise high through their ranks, but that was years. Jon had ascended to his new position in months. The rows upon rows of tents and makeshift camps stretched out before him until they became large dots in the backdrop. The small puffs of black smoke, the orange curls of fires, the noise of laughter and conversations. There were patrols pacing through their camps as well as some crude constructed watchtowers. Much of the north had gone with Robb when he went to the Westerlands to put an end to the Lannisters. His brother Robb was facing a very real threat while Jon wasn't sure if there would be any enemies in their travels.

That doesn't mean we won't be ready for it. He wanted his men to be alert and not be comfortable. He did not know if there would be an enemy waiting for him on this journey, or just a new wooden hall, and the bare bones of the rest of his keep. He hoped it was just his home waiting for him and Dacey to start their new life.

A new home, a new keep, a new name, it was getting closer with each day, but Jon could not allow himself to be distracted. We're not there yet. If Father thought, there was a possibility of trouble then Jon would prepare like it was a certainty. Father trusted me. Jon looked out at the men his father gave him. He saw banners from some of the houses who were marching with him. The silver fist of House Glover, the three trees of House Tallhart, the black horse head of House Ryswell, the gray stone hand of House Flint of Flint's Fingers.

It was at Moat Cailin where he regrouped with many of the men and supplies that were waiting for him. They had been led by Roose Ryswell, a man who shared little in common with his namesake. He was quick to smile and had no inclination to hold his tongue, preferring to talk then to think. He was amiable, and Jon found himself liking Domeric's youngest uncle, whose talent on a horse made him the best rider among them.

That was where he lost his shadow. Arya had wanted to go with him. She asked and she asked and then she begged wanting to be there when Jon finally reached his seat. She wanted to see his home, but those weren't Jon's instructions. Arya was to go to Winterfell not Sea Dragon Point. Still, they served as a poor shield when he saw the hurt flash across her face or the tears in her eyes. Cold had welled inside him at the sight. Then she was gone, off to sulk, and he wanted to follow her, wanted to try to cheer her up like when they were children back at Winterfell. After she would get into a squabble with Sansa or get in trouble with the Septa, she would always go to him or he would always find her, but he couldn't this time.

The worst part was that he knew where she was going, who she was looking for now that it wouldn't be him. It would be Greyjoy. And to Jon, that felt nearly as worse as him being the reason why she was upset. He did not like or really understand this new friendship between his sister and Greyjoy.

His thoughts were interrupted by Ghost, who nudged him. He looked down see Ghost's red eyes were to Jon's left. He turned to see it was a messenger who faltered to the point of nearly stumbling when he saw Ghost watching him.

"Ser Snow," the messenger's voice was high and quivered, "You're needed. There's been news."

Jon dismissed him. The relief was plain on the man's face. He hastily turned around, still a bit pale and beat a quick retreat towards the encampment. "It would seem Ghost, home will have to wait."

He was the last to arrive, so he didn't waste time. "I've been told we have news?"

"Yes, Ser Snow," Galbart Glover had traveled with Jon from Riverrun. Father trusted him and told Jon that he was a good and loyal man. His praise had been made in front of the Master of Deepwood Motte. Jon would not forget the effect it had on his father's bannermen, another example of how to lead and instill trust and confidence from those around him.

"We've received riders from Saltspear. There have been sightings of ships. A lot of them."

"Ironborn!" Ser Wendel Manderly's outrage was loud and clear.

"Yes," Galbart only glanced at the knight before returning his attention to Jon.

Jon didn't react. He stayed quiet. Their council were a handful of men and Dacey. They had either come with Jon from Riverrun or had ridden to meet him at Moat Cailin. These were knights and lords and masters and heirs, and Jon was a bastard made knight made lord. He intended to tread respectfully amidst them, but he also would not allow himself to be hindered if he believed it was a detriment to their success.

While the others showed their outrage and cursed the ironborn, Jon couldn't help but think of Greyjoy. He had seen him a week or so ago. He suspected Greyjoy understood why he was being sent to Winterfell. He may have been arrogant, but he was not a total fool. He had fought with Robb, Jon would give him that, but that was against Lannisters. Would he be so willing to fight his own? Jon did not know. Greyjoy had been at Winterfell for years, but he'd often speak and boast about when he would be the next Lord of the Iron Islands.

Now, he may never see it, it was a dark thought, but Greyjoy had come to Winterfell not as a guest, but a hostage. A warning to deter his father from further acts of rebellion. In the end, it seemed Balon Greyjoy valued the old ways over his son and heir. Jon hated Greyjoy, but even he felt some hesitation and pity towards him for having to lose his life because of his father.

Was that not why Lord Stark claimed him as his own? I would've been killed if he hadn't. I would've died because of what my father did. He then remembered that day before King Robert's visit, where that Night's Watch deserter was executed. It had been Greyjoy who had presented Ice to father while the deserter knelt. It had been Greyjoy who laughed and kicked the man's head after Ice had severed it from the body. However, in his mind's eye it was not the deserter's head Greyjoy was kicking, but his own. It rolled across the wet grass, laughing...

"I imagine several ships have already sailed up the Fever River to scout the bogs and the castle," Mortimer Fenn had been assigned as their lead guide to get them through the Neck. The crannogman was short with a wide face. He had large black eyes that seemed to stare for far too long before blinking. His hair was brown and messy. There was a grouping of warts on the left side of his chin and under one of his eyes that had spawned the cruel name-Warty Morty. Jon had done his best to suppress the name from spreading.

"They'll find Moat Cailin is more than ready for a fight," Jon's confidence earned him a round of agreement, nods and murmuring.

"My uncle has already put the chain up. He did so as soon as he got Lord Stark's letter," Benfred Tallhart was the heir to Torrhen's Square. He was two or so years younger than Jon, closer to Sansa's age than he or Robb, but they were the same height. And he was larger and wider than Jon.

"Good," That was one problem that they would not have to worry about. During the Greyjoy Rebellion, Lord Tallhart with father's permission and help had commissioned a river chain to be built to protect Torrhen's Square from unwanted ships sailing upriver. The ironborn would find it impassable. They were about to discover that the north was ready for them. Ready to push them back into the seas.

"What about Greyjoy?" Roose Ryswell wasn't wearing his usual smile at the mention of the ironborn hostage. "Should we send a rider to retrieve him?"

"No," Jon answered, "Greyjoy is on his way to Winterfell. By the time he reaches it, Sansa will have already been informed of what is happening here."

"Is she to execute him?" Ser Wendel didn't hide his dismay at the thought of a woman doing such work.

Roose didn't agree. "My nephew will see it done."

"We are to follow my father's instructions," Jon guessed correctly that invoking Lord Stark would stymie any further protest or need for discussion. He made sure to look around the assembled to remember and note their reactions.

Benfred as the youngest was the one who looked the most willing to want to press the issue. His thick neck and ears reddened. He had often been the brunt of Greyjoy's japes during his visits to Winterfell. Jon did not doubt Benfred would not weep if Theon was to lose his head.

Galbart put a calming hand on the young man's shoulder. He looked ready to brush it off, but after a dispel of an angry breath, he gave a curt nod.

Jon had braced himself in case his words received a different response. He knew that some would not take well to be given orders by a bastard. That a lord's pride was not an easy thing to overcome, but these men respected his father and his family. Jon was determined to make sure it remained earned.

"Mortimer," Jon knew the crannogman would be only more important in the days ahead. The maps in this area were unreliable and few. The Neck was dangerous and seemingly always changing. The crannogman hid themselves in reeded villages and the waterways of the Fever River were not beholden to any drawings on a map. They were known to move and change. Afterall, Lord Reed's castle was famous for its supposed ability to move throughout the Neck.

"Yes?" Mortimer's large black eyes had already been on Jon. As if waiting for him to be called upon.

"I need a spot where we can fight them," He said, "A spot that could lure them off their ships."

Mortimer cocked his head to the side, and Jon thought of a toad when he did it. "Lure them?"

"Yes, off their ships," Jon had the seed of an idea. "I want them to know where we are."

Dacey grinned. Pleased at the thought of not just openly challenging the ironborn, but for the fight itself.

"You'd have them ambush us?" Ser Wendel's large mustache twitched as if showing its displeasure at the idea.

"I'd have them believe that" was all Jon said. Hoping that it was enough. He was not ready to reveal all his plan but did have some to divulge which he did to Mortimer and the others. Trying his best to describe the details of a place that would be most ideal to spring this trap.

Mortimer was picking at one of his warts under his chin. His squat face lined in thought. "I know an area that should work."

"Could we get there before the ironborn?" Galbart Glover had correctly guessed that it would do them no good if the ships had already sailed past them.

"Yes," Mortimer bobbed his head, "not much time," he licked his lips, and Jon had to suppress the image of a toad that came to him while watching the crannogman. "They'll already have scouts further up Fever River, but if you're willing to push your men, we can make it before the bulk of the Iron Fleet can pass it," His eyes looked like two murky black pools. "They're likely to raid passing towns and fishing villages."

"They'll find them abandoned," Dacey spoke before the guilt of not being there to protect them weighed too great on Jon's mind. "The people know to go to the hills. Those watchtowers and beacons your father put up will give them enough time."

Jon nodded, grateful for her insight on not just the ironborn matter, but on him. He dismissed them after that, but not before making sure they passed the message to the men of the early morning start and the rough path ahead of them.

"You look surprised."

Jon didn't try to deny it. This had not been their first council together, but the ironborn's emergence and proposing his plan did make him ready to face possible resentment or disrespect. They had shown him neither. They had listened to him, and they had obeyed him.

"They respect you," Dacey told him. "The men too," her eyes glittered when she added, "or just fear me."

He smiled. She made it so easy. She made it so simple. "Our home will have to wait."

"I'll be sure to give my complaints to the ironborn," her fingers resting on the haft of her axe. "We still need a name, Longstark."

"Longstark?"

"I hope so," she winked.

He felt the creep of a flush, but it didn't touch his cheeks. He reached out to grab her hand before she could leave. Jon wouldn't let her get the last tease this time.

She smiled, playfully, raising an eyebrow as if in challenge. She looked ready for this spar of teases that more often left her the victor.

Jon did what she wouldn't expect. He kissed her, and feeling her reaction to the kiss, she didn't seem to mind having lost this time.

Arya:

"That's not one!"

"Yes, it is," Arya was certain it was.

She and Lyanna were crouched in some underbrush, looking out at the water. They were trying to spot lizard-lions. They hadn't had any luck until now. She had seen it. The ripples in the dark water, and now its head resting just above the surface. "See!" She pointed to it.

"That's not a lizard lion." She shook her head. "That's a log."

"It is so," Arya said, "Just watch!"

The buzzing of bugs around their eyes made it a more frustrating ordeal. Clouds of flies that followed them closer than their own shadows. Lyanna's hand cut through the swarm, eyes squinting, lips pursed, as she stared at the lizard-lion that Arya had discovered. She looked about ready to say Arya was wrong again when the log opened its mouth, a flash of sharp teeth could easily be seen before it closed its mouth from its yawn. A second later it went under, disappearing into the murky water, a few ripples the only evidence that it was ever there.

"Told ya," Arya smiled, not trying to hide the smugness since Lyanna had bet, she would spot one first.

Lyanna took her defeat with a pout. "Lucky," she dismissed with no real venom. They were silent for a long second before she asked. "Where do you think it went?"

The two friends were standing close to the shore of the river, but they were well concealed behind tall reeds. The muck around the feet made loud suctioning noises whenever they tried to move. It took a lot more effort to take a lot fewer steps in the Neck.

"We should get going," Lyanna's concern was partially hidden under the squelching sounds the mud was making as she pulled her feet out and began a slow backpedal.

"The lizard lion won't get us." Arya's little display of confidence wilted at the rustling to the left of her position. The large blue flowers trembled at the movement as if afraid of what was brushing up against their stems.

"Hurry!" Lyanna hissed, she was out of the muck and on solid ground. Or the sturdiest they could find in these lands.

Arya didn't need her friend's encouragement. She took another step, grunting at the exertion while scanning the river for any tell of a lurking lizard-lion. They're too sneaky for that, stupid, she berated hersef. Another foot back, the distance between her and Lyanna was relatively small, but in this muck, it felt like there was an unsurpassable moat between them.

Fear slithered in her belly. She gritted her teeth while trying to pull with what felt like all her strength to get her foot out. She did, but she didn't sigh in relief, because she still had the other one. She planted the now free one as far back as she could while still keeping her balance.

She froze when she thought she heard a splash. Panic climbed her throat and tried to seize it. Another step, and another grunt. "Lyanna?" She called behind her. "Do you see it?"

"No," Lyanna's voice quivered. "But I can almost reach you!"

Arya looked back to see Lyanna had her arms outstretched trying to grab her. Another step, and another grunt and she could feel the brush of Lyanna's fingers against the hem of her tunic.

"Almost." Lyanna's voice strained.

SQUELCH, a long-wet sound followed as Arya made the last back step, feeling Lyanna's hands curl around her arm. The tug followed as Lyanna pulled. Arya tried her best to help her friend, but her eyes were darting all around them for the lizard-lion. She could hear the blood pounding in her ears. Her heart fluttered like a frightened bird. She finally heard the sweet sound of her legs breaking free, followed by a grunt by Lyanna and then Arya was falling backwards. She landed on her butt, Lyanna beside her and panting.

There was no lizard-lion in sight.

"Thanks," Arya murmured, the word sounded louder over her thumping heart.

"You're fatter than you look."

Arya scooped up a piece of muck and hit Lyanna with it.

Lyanna laughed. She grabbed her own and threw it.

Most of it whistled past her, but she could feel specks of mud against her ear and side of her face. Arya was about to grab another handful when they heard a rustle of the reeds near them. She immediately dropped the mud, and scurried to her feet, Lyanna was up too. Their game forgotten.

It wasn't a lizard-lion that emerged, but one of the guards assigned for her protection. "You two about done rolling in the mud like pigs?" Jacks was leaning on his spear, "M'lady," he amended, with that toothy grin of his revealing he was missing a few teeth.

"Where were you?" Arya looked behind her to see the other guards were there, but none of them had come forward to help with that lizard-lion scare. "We could've been eaten!"

Jacks didn't look worried by that. "It would've spat ya out," he made a face as if pretending to gag. "You're all bones, m'lady." He was grinning, "those creatures like meat, not little jagged bones poking its gullet."

Shadd and Quent were behind them in a few steps. They both were holding spears. It was the latter, who spoke. "Pardon, m'lady, but that lizard-lion you spotted went that way." He pointed down river, "Saw with my own eyes, you two were safe as can be." He spat something out, "The only thing that could bite you are these damn bugs." He slapped his arm as if to prove his point. The hit was in vain since the fly buzzed away, louder and more indignant than before.

"Really?" Lyanna asked.

Jacks nodded, "Old Jacks wouldn't let Lord Stark's daughter get gobbled up by a lizard-lion," He let out a wet huff. "May let her get a bit muddy," he winked at her, "but that'll be our secret."

Arya grinned, "Thanks." Now that she saw herself around her family's guards, she felt suddenly foolish in thinking she and Lyanna were in danger. They had let themselves get carried away.

"We should be heading back," Shadd's mouth made a nervous twitch, "Don't need Hal to chew us out."

Jacks made a flemmy noise in the back of his throat. "Suppose you're right." He turned to Arya, "with your permission, of course, m'lady."

Arya rolled her eyes. Instead of answering him, she just started walking, Lyanna followed. She heard the guards' amused chortles before their heavy footsteps to signal they were behind them. They soon started conversing among themselves, barely paying her and Lyanna any mind.

"My brooch," Lyanna bemoaned before unpinning her bear brooch. She tried to wipe the specks of mud off of it, but with how dirty her own hands and sleeves were, she wasn't having much success.

The ground they walked on was wet and slippery. Their path had patches of overgrowth and reeds and rotting logs obstructing them.

"I hope they caught a rabbit," Lyanna was saying after climbing over a small stump instead of walking around it. "I'm hungry." She stood atop the stump for a long second to look out at the surrounding lands as if hoping to catch a glimpse of their supper.

Arya's stomach rumbled.

It had been some time since they had eaten. It had been a slow day and they hadn't traveled as far as they would've liked. Two of the soldiers had a fever, their captain, Hallis Mollen blamed the flies. They had decided to make camp early, hoping the rest would allow the soldiers' fevers to break, so they could continue in the morning.

That was when Arya had gotten the idea to go exploring, Lyanna had quickly latched on. She thought to ask Theon, but she knew him, and her friend didn't get along well. Arya got permission since these guards knew her well. They knew the freedoms she still enjoyed. Having been entertained by her muddy appearances in the past when they were still at Winterfell. As long as I'm clean and presentable when Winterfell is in sight. Arya looked down at herself to see her trousers were caked with mud, moss stains covered parts of her legs and arms. Her arms and tunic were spotted with specks of dirt and wet earth. Her fingers had dried mud stains.

Mother would faint, she thought, Father would laugh. She knew she was a woman, a maiden. Her face scrunching at the word and all it entailed. With a betrothed, her belly rankled at the thought of the Frey. He wouldn't wish to marry me if he saw me like this. His frightened face flickering across her vision made her grin. I'll wear a dress of mud that'll make him run at the sight of me. Arya tried not to think of Mother's disapproving stare or even Father's tired sigh at those antics since she didn't want to disappoint them.

The weight of these expectations was beginning to press down on her, each day the pressure got a little heavier. She was lucky that the guards with her now were agreeable to her little exploring. Many knew and loved her Aunt Lyanna and would not begrudge Arya some last freedoms before they reached Winterfell.

If only I could walk through Winterfell like this, Arya felt more like herself with a little dirt on her, wearing a tunic and trousers then the dress she knew she'd wear when she rode back through the gates of her own home. It was the stillness of the reeds that stopped her thoughts. The silence of the guards who were no longer conversing, Jacks and Quent were moving forward to put themselves between the mystery and Arya and Lyanna. Reminding her again how silly she had been in thinking she and Lyanna were in any danger before from that lizard-lion.

Nymeria slipped into view. Her fur was coated with mud, rising well above her legs and her underbelly. Her golden eyes stared at the guards who had their spears leveled. The direwolf, unbothered by the gesture, looked merely curious.

Jacks snorted, lowering his spear. He even tipped it slightly in the direwolf's direction. "Welcome back, m'lady," he said to the direwolf as if speaking to the lady of the castle.

Nymeria preened a bit, sending the guards into guffaws as they moved back to take their positions from before the direwolf's arrival. Arya was smiling too, she then wrapped her arms around her direwolf, uncaring of the new mud she felt pressing into her face and tunic. It wasn't until she leaned back did, she notice the red trail around Nymeria's muzzle.

She had been hunting.

There were footsteps, hurried ones coming towards them now. They all looked up at the rise to see who was coming down their path. The figure was standing with the sun at his back, making it difficult to see his features, but in a few steps, it was plain to see Theon smirking. He had shouldered his bow, whistling as he approached, she saw the reason for his good cheer at the string of kills he had caught with his bow, noticing rabbits and birds. He was wearing a small feast. He stopped whistling when he was close enough. Theon looked her over, that smirk still playing over his mouth.

"That's a good color on you," He japed. "Is this a new hair net?" Before she could stop him, Theon reached over to grab something out of her hair. It wasn't a hair net, but a tangled twig that had been stuck in her hair. He tossed it aside before looking away from her and towards Jacks.

"You owe me," He held up one of the rabbits.

Nymeria made a slight noise that could've been an indignant protest.

"You owe us," Theon amended, flashing the direwolf a grin.

"Alright, Greyjoy," Jacks stepped forward, "I should've known you'd hit a few."

"Nymeria flushed them out." Theon handed Jacks one of the birds.

Jacks raised it up to inspect it. "Looks tasty, can cook it nice and juicy." He then turned to the hares, "Can make stews out of them."

"I leave them in your capable hands," Theon peeled off the rest, at this point Quent and Shadd had moved forward to grab the kills including the bird Jacks had been holding. "While you have something to give me."

Jacks grumbled, but he was smiling when he did. He dropped a few copper stars into Theon's outstretched hand. "Last time I make a bet with ya, Greyjoy"

"Wait," Theon stopped Quent before he could grab the last bird that Theon had been carrying, "That's her fee." He gestured to the direwolf, who was waiting patiently.

None of the guards argued. None of them thought it wise to stand between a direwolf and her food. Theon took the bird and presented it to Nymeria without hesitation or fear. The direwolf licked his fingers and then took the bird from his hand. The sound of crunched bones followed as Nymeria enjoyed her fee.

"Are you going to share with the rest of us, Greyjoy?" Lyanna had tried to sound polite since she was so hungry.

"With some of you," Theon's eyes touched Arya, before shifting to Lyanna, where he was wearing that smile, "others are going to have to beg."

"We need to go, Arya!"

She felt her friend tugging at her sleeve, but she didn't budge. She couldn't look away.

Their camp was on fire. What was left of their camp, a detached voice corrected. Under the black sky, the flames grew hungrily, consuming everything in its wake. Their tents, bedrolls, supplies, the bodies…

The cold sunk into her heart, hitching it upwards with violent force. Jacks, Chadd, Quent, the names flickered before her like the rain of ash.

"We can't go," Arya's voice was rough. "We need to help!"

"Help?" Lyanna coughed out the word. "You heard Jacks, he wanted us to go to Moat Cailin." She pulled Arya's hand this time.

Jacks had woken Arya in the middle of the night. Had gotten her out of her bedroll, pushed her into the darkness, and told her to run up the hill. That's where Quent would send Lyanna, together, the two of them were supposed to return to the Moat. There were still men and supplies and horses there. They could protect them, and they needed to know about this attack. The Moat was only a day or so away, but, she paused, what if that's where their attackers came from?

Nymeria felt so far away from her. She was hunting, Arya knew, because they were hunting. Before Jacks woke her up. Before her whole world changed.

The time seemed to slow at an astonishing pace. It felt as if her and Lyanna had been up on this hill for hours watching this unfold, but it was only a few passing heartbeats.

Disoriented, but not disarmed, Arya had grabbed Needle even as Jacks was shoving her away. "Who's doing this?" She had asked him over her shoulder. Her feet stumbling over each other. I was just walking. The sleepy cloud of haze was lifting. On four legs.

"Ironborn," Jacks pushed her hard, "Now go."

"Theon," she mumbled the name when the memory ended.

"Arya!" Lyanna's voice had a whining plea to it. "We need to leave. Now!"

"You can go," Arya felt stronger when her fingers found Needle's hilt. "I want to fight." She made to run down the hill, but she felt a pair of hands grab her, she stumbled, kicking up dirt and could hear the tumbling of rocks beneath her feet. Arya couldn't abandon them. Jacks, Shadd, Quent, Hallis, Theon. Jacks face hovered over her vision, Ironborn. She couldn't believe it, it was them. It had to be a mistake.

"He's ironborn, Arya!" Lyanna hissed, after hearing Arya say his name, "He probably led them to us!"

"No!" Arya nearly shouted, "He wouldn't do that!" She shook her head. Refusing to let the idea even have a second to breathe before stomping on it with all her might. That was when she remembered, she had dreamed of him. No, she corrected herself, seen him.

"Theon-"

Whatever she was about to say was cut off by a shrill whistle, she heard a gasp, a hand on her shoulder and then Arya's world was spinning. She was falling down the hill, grunting every time she hit the hard ground. Again, and again and again, she tumbled, feeling fresh pain each time, hip, head, back, leg, until she rolled to a stop and groaned. She was on her back looking up at the clear starry night above her head. She must have reached the bottom of the hill. The edges of her vision blurred and when she tried to rise from her sitting position she winced. Pain threaded down her side.

"Lyanna," she coughed into the darkness. "Lyanna?" The silence made Arya scramble up despite the immense pain blooming from all the spots she hit during her fall.

"LYANNA!" There! A little bit above her was her friend an arrow lodged in her chest. No, no, no, Arya felt the cold seeping through her ribs, swirling in her chest. She crawled through the mud to reach her. It was cold and slimy, feeling worse in the darkness.

Lyanna didn't stir or speak.

Arya fell to her knees beside her still friend. Her muddy hands were frantically touching Lyanna's shoulders, trying to shake her. "Lyanna?" She whimpered, "We have to leave!" Her vision blurred, and she scrubbed at her eyes with the back of her muddy sleeve. "Lyanna!"

Arya tried to pull her, but her friend's body was heavy and unmoving. "I'm sorry!"

Lyanna Mormont never heard her apology.

Arya heard the footsteps, saw the light descending down the hill, coming after them. No, she corrected, there's only me. She saw that Lyanna was wearing her brooch, she grabbed it, remembering that ironborn stole trinkets from those they killed. They won't take this.

She got up, turning to run, ignoring the burst of pain stemming from her hip. One hand on Needle, something to hold onto, to stop herself from drowning in her despair. She started to run, but she hadn't gone a few steps before she hit something hard. She fell to the ground with a groan, thinking she ran into a tree stump before it started to laugh.

"Look what we got here!"

Arya's anger pulled her arms like strings, she felt no pain, only the hot rage that burned in her belly, she raised Needle and attacked. The ironborn met her strikes with laughs, she tried to hit him again and again, but he blocked every strike, yawning after the last one.

"Enough," he sounded bored, lazily deflecting her last strike and hitting her with the back of his hand. She stumbled, the stinging pain in her cheek made her wince, unable to keep her balance, she fell on her back.

"What did you find, Grimtongue?" A pair of footsteps followed the voice. "One of the-'' The rest of his question stopped when he appeared. He was holding an ax in one hand and a torch in the other, revealing a young face with long brown hair.

Arya met his curiosity with defiance. "I can speak for myself!" She ignored the slight throb from where she had been slapped. "You killed her!" She tried to rise, but the young man before her, didn't hesitate to lower his axe towards her neck.

"I wouldn't try that," he warned, "And who did we kill?"

"Lyanna!" Arya shouted, hating how they didn't even know her, but they still killed her. They killed all of them.

"What's this?" The young man saw the bear brooch in her hand.

Him spotting it only made Arya's hand clench around it tighter, until Grimtongue's dagger made her stop. She reluctantly let them peel it out of her grasp, glaring at them the whole time.

"This is a Mormont bear," The young man said, but he wasn't looking at her. He looked back at the shadow of Lyanna's corpse that could still be seen from where they were standing.

She saw him thinking and she knew she had to say something. "It's mine!" She blurted out.

"Yours?" The young man didn't look convinced,

"Yes," Arya was struggling to wrangle her rage, trying to grab it like it was a dagger's hilt, needing to sheathe it, because she had to think clearly. "She was my sister, Lyanna," she lied, "I'm Jorelle Mormont."

"Shield maidens from Bear Island?" Grimtongue grunted from where he stood behind her. Arya could feel his eyes on her and shivered at the roughness in his voice when he added, "Well, she won't be a maiden for long." His calloused hand brushed her cheek, and Arya recoiled as if burned.

"Don't!" she growled, trying her best to sound brave despite him holding a dagger to her while his other hand was in her hair.

That just made him laugh. "You're mine, bitch."

"No," The young man intervened, "She's not to be touched."

Grimtongue growled, "She's mine, Qarl."

"You're not the captain," Qarl barely acknowledged him. "Why were two Mormonts traveling north in the company of Stark guards?" He was watching her closely.

"I'm betrothed to Cley Cerwyn," she answered, "I was to meet him at the Harvest Feast at Winterfell. The Stark guards were going home." She knew parts were flimsy, but she wouldn't break to his questioning or his staring. "My mother took our men to the Westerlands under Lord Robb," she buried any familiarity at the mention of her brother, "Lord Stark was sending more men to Winterfell because of the wildlings and had my sister and I travel with his men." She wanted to add, because he is a good lord, but stopped herself, fearing that could be too much.

"Were they, now?"

"Do you think Lord Stark would let one of his daughters dress like this?" She gestured to herself, in a shabby tunic and muddy trousers and then to Needle. She doubted her father's indulgence would ever reach the ears of those dwelling on the Iron Islands, believing it now was key in her pulling off this deception and hiding who she really was. But I'm still Arya Stark. They can't take that from me.

Qarl's brow furrowed, looking at the sword she had dropped when she had been hit. "Describe Mormont Keep."

She did, and in great detail, remembering every step, every room, and the land all around it, while meeting his inquisitive stare the whole time. Arya pulled at her memories and made sure to put in names of guards and servants who dwelled there. She spoke calmly and confidently the whole time and only stopped when Qarl raised a hand, looking mollified. Or at the very least not as suspicious.

"Sounds like a bear to me," Grimtongue said, "could ya imagine the Lord of Winterfell having a muddy whelp like her?" He pulled at her hair, laughing when she hissed in protest.

Qarl didn't say anything for a long second. "Pity about your sister," he said, but there was no malice or mockery in his tone. He almost sounded remorseful not that Arya would believe it. He's only sad because he can't get a ransom for her.

"We thought you were guards," he said, as if that should make their attack, and her friend's death easier to accept. "Bind her hands, we're leaving."

Grimtongue did the task roughly, chuckling at her discomfort, but she was determined to stay quiet, refusing to entertain him.

You don't listen, Arya, Robb's earlier words swirled in her mind, thick as smoke. If you can't follow a simple rule, how can I trust you? Arya hadn't listened to Lyanna's warning. She glanced at her friend's body. One second, she was standing beside me, and the next, she stopped, feeling the swell in her throat.

"Get going," Grimtongue shoved her from where he was walking behind her.

Arya stumbled, nearly losing her balance with her hands bound, but she caught herself. She could hear her captor's amused guffaw, but she didn't look behind her. She felt their eyes on her, Jacks, Shadd, Quent, Hallis, and all the others, the ghosts of the men who fought to protect her, only to fail because of her. Lyanna, the name sent a cold pang through her. Arya Stark, she had to leave behind who she was, and then she thought of Nymeria still out there, could feel the pull of the tether that tied them. She couldn't slip into Nymeria not now, but she still knew what she'd see, who she'd see, and that was the only comfort she could find when they took her way.

A/N:

I'll admit I probably don't write a very good or compelling Jon despite my best effort and struggle to try to stick more to his book counterpart then his show. I know they'll be some OOC b/c of just the different changes he's gone through in this story, but I do still try to stay true to the spirit of his character. So if it falls flat then I'm sorry this is sadly, the best I can do.

This is an AU but Balon is still spiteful and short-sighted. While the Baratheons fight, he tries to settle old scores especially when one of them is the king who smashed his fleet. Still, not all is the same since that wouldn't be so fun. Such as the river chain protecting Torrhen's Square. I know the unreliable narrator makes the ironborn's presence unexpected and a bit murky, but subsequent chapters should help to clear that up when our POV characters get more info.

Thanks for the support.

-Spectre4hire