[content warning: The following chapter contains attempted rape]

Craven's hooves plodded along the path to the camp of the Red King. Arya could not bear to call him Robb. Robb was dead, and she would not let this stranger use his name, no matter how many he commanded. Nearly a thousand men covered the hillside, poorly armed and poorly shod, with mudstained banners and eyes carved from stone. Supposedly the Red King had a score of forces a numerous as this, and Arya did not know if she wanted those tales to be true or not. She would have to get the measure of this pretender first.

Her sister rode ahead, well away from the Hound and his squire. Arya could see her sometimes, a thousand paces away, a slender form upon a white horse. The might of the Vale rode about them as her guard, a hundred and fifty knights in gleaming plate, with squires and men-at-arms in attendance. They make the Red King's guard look like beggars and thieves, Arya thought with pride, Sansa has more power than this false Robb a thousand times over.

Baelish had revealed Sansa's true name to the assembled Vale Lords the eve before. There had been shock at first, and disbelief, but all those had been cleared away shortly. The Hound had been called forth as a witness, as had Kettleblack and a dozen of the captured Westermen from Harrenhal. Once convinced, the Valelords had become merry indeed, and though Arya could not partake in it… she was happy as well. Happy that the Starks still had friends in the world, that Royce and Arryn and Waynwood had not utterly forgotten their former alliances. Even the smiles of the Blackwood boy had seemed sincere.

But that had been last night. Today the clouds covered the sky like green-grey slate and the air was warm and so thick it cloyed at her throat and made her want to vomit.

They stopped. The Red King rode to meet him, banners of Piper, Umber, and Bracken behind him. Arya's mouth was dry, and she along with every knight and squire strained to see him. Her stomach turned over and over and her thumbs rubbed against her palms in agonized anticipation. If he is dead, then why should you be afraid? Do you fear the dead as well as the living? Are you that much a craven?

But then the Red King's face came into view and her heart stopped cold.

Robb.

Hair of ash and a face full of fire, with a circlet of steel around his head making his hair seem like smoke billowing out of a brazier. The color, the expression, the garb was all wrong, but Robb it was underneath it all, his bright blue eyes blazing like stars. She wished she could deny it, wished she could say that she had never seen him so proud, so cruel, but that would be a lie. Jon and Robb used to battle up and down the training yard, cursing and swearing as the tack-tack-tack of their training swords went back and forth. They had always come away laughing and hugging in the end, but sometimes in the middle, sometimes in the midst of the battle… she had seen the Robb that sat before her now. Was he stuck eternally amid battle now?

No, no, no… Robb is dead, she repeated, but her repetition did not make it true. Arya grit her teeth and drowned a scream in her throat. I will be still, I will be calm.Fear cuts deeper than swords. Sansa was up ahead, holding herself together far better. She is depending on me, Arya reminded herself. She was Sansa's eyes and ears in the Vale host, and she could not disappoint her older sister, not now. Baelish sat next to Sansa on his grey mare. Too close for Arya's liking.

Robb was speaking now, his voice low and almost incomprehensible on the winds. Again Arya's heart ached. Did he not see Sansa before him? Did he not see Sansa sitting right there? How could he remain so calm? Arya's anxiety burned away leaving nothing but rage and fire in its place. Did he not know what they'd been through to get this far?

"As you must surely see," Lord Baelish said, his voice loud and clear over the winds. "I have now returned your sister Sansa to you. Keeping her safe and secret from the Lannisters was no easy feat, your Grace, but it was all worth it to protect her. She is given to you… unspoiled."

Robb said something. 'Thank you for your service,' or something of that kind, Arya could not make out the words.

"Alas that my lady wife is not here to treat with you," Baelish continued, "She very much desired to see you, as did my stepson, your cousin. Unfortunate circumstance has kept them to their beds much of late, and so I am the only one left to carry out their will. It has been hard to keep everything in the Vale afloat. I have had to make so many sacrifices, so many hard choices... I had even arranged a match for your sister with Lord Arryn's nearest kin, in hopes that she might bring more swords to your cause… It was her aunt's wish, and at the time she was her nearest kin. I hope that you will find it in your heart to forgive me."

Something kindled in Robb's blue eyes and his red face split into a smile. "There is nothing to forgive," he said, loud enough to be heard. "My sister will marry Lord Arryn's kin and strengthen the bonds between Stark and Arryn. Is there any reason this cannot be done tonight?"

Murmurs rippled through the ranks of Vale Knights. Tonight? So soon? Impossible!

Baelish only laughed, "Are you so eager for your sister to be bedded? What fervor you young folk have! But there are preparations according to her station that must be made, Your Grace. To have her married tonight would be-"

"Tomorrow then," Robb replied. "Even now the Lannisters plot against us while half my army is tied up near the Twins. We must be together and we must be strong, and I begrudge every hour we spend here waiting."

Silence. "As Your Grace wills it," Baelish said. "Your sister will be married on the morrow."

***

Arya came to Sansa later that evening. Sansa had been given the chambers normally reserved for the lady of Raventree, filled with fine oak furniture and Myrish carpets. They both sat on Sansa's bed, a plate of lemon cakes sitting between them.

"-I'm telling you, that isn't our brother," Arya insisted, "Do you think Robb would be so cold to you after everything that's happened? He should have thought you were dead!"

Sansa finished swallowing a lemon cake and shook her head. "Well if he isn't Robb, then who is he? He has Robb's eyes, Robb's face, Robb's..."

"Beric Dondarrion," Arya said, an idea coming to her after the name was already out of her mouth.

"What?"

"You know who he is?" With each passing moment, she grew more confident.

Sansa's nose wrinkled in confusion. "The Marcher Lord with the lightning bolt? Father sent him to the Riverlands and he was with the Brotherhood, I thought. We kept getting stories he'd died, but..."

"I met him," Arya said, touching the handle of the knife she kept in her belt. Back when she had been with the Brotherhood, it had been Needle at her belt, but like so many other things she had lost that along the way. "He did die, more than once even. There was a red priest with him who kept bringing him back. Thoros of Myr. But every time he came back he could remember less and less. They say the Brotherhood pulled Robb out of the Trident so maybe..."

Sansa sighed and massaged her temples, "Magic?"

"I saw it with my own eyes."

Sansa sighed. "I suppose I shan't doubt you now. But what difference does it make whether he remembers us or not?"

"What difference does it make?" Arya bit her tongue, restraining herself from saying more.

"I'm still to marry Harry, that was always the plan. We need to win the war first, and figure out what happened to him after."

Arya crossed her arms. "Well, I'm not sneaking over to his camp to speak to him, anyway. I'd rather stay with you."

Sansa smiled sadly and drew her into a hug. "I can't be mad at you for that."

Arya frowned, unsure of what to say. She knew Robb was gone, but how could she prove it? She thought of the dream she kept having of her brother sitting beside the fire, with a sad smile and eyes like father. If Sansa had seen that, surely she would not... But it was impossible. She closed her eyes and wished he would appear to her too, wished that he could be there with them. She could see him so clearly in her mind's eye, his surprised smile, his auburn curls… so different from the creature of fire and ash that she had seen a few hours ago.

But her focus shifted and then she was seeing Jon, his face weathered and hard, raw from the wind and the rain. Then it was Bran, lying cold and alone underground. Was she remembering the crypts? Bran turned to look at her and smiled and then the wolves were howling the wolves were howling and something was shaking her. Bran's expression turned to one of fear, and then they were separated by a gust of snow.

She opened her eyes. "Arya!" Sansa hissed. She was leaning over Arya on the bed, her eyes wide with fear, "What happened? It was like you fainted! I think I almost fainted too, I was seeing spots!"

"I don't..."

"It doesn't matter, you have to hide! Someone is coming!"

Without a word, Arya rolled off the bed and crawled underneath. This was not the first time they had done this. Sansa was never alone, not for long. There was always some maid, some hairdresser come to attend to her, and Arya always had to hide. Sansa could not be seen with a… with a boy. A common boy no less, or so they would think.

She could hear the footsteps outside the door now, and she felt grateful that Sansa had shaken her. Why had she not heard this man coming? If it was a man. It sounded like one. He was in Sansa's chambers now, heavy footsteps creaking on hardwood. Harry Hardying? Arya's nose wrinkled in disgust.

"Lord Baelish!" Sansa cried in surprise, "Whatever are you doing here?"

Lord Baelish! Arya could just make out the bottoms of his slippers through the skirt that hung down from the bed. What was he doing here?

"I came here to comfort you," He said, his voice smooth as silk. "I cannot guess what your brother is thinking. Moving your wedding to tomorrow morning, then riding off without further contact… Do you mind if I sit?" Arya heard the bed frame creak slightly as Baelish sat down on the bed next to Sansa.

"Petyr!" Sansa squeaked, "What are you doing here? The guards will hear, the guards will talk, they'll-"

"They'll hear nothing and say nothing. I've sent them far away. I wanted to be able to talk to you today, just you and I, without any fear of what rumors might spread. Speak your heart to me, scream it even, and have no fear of being overheard."

"I am not afraid," Sansa said, with just a hint of defiance in her voice. "I have been married before, to worse men than Harry."

Baelish chuckled. "Aye, aye… I wish that I could have done more for you then. You do not know how painful it was for me to see him take you away, to think of all the defilement he was heaping upon you..."

"He… he let me be, in the end."

"Oh, I know that now, my sweet, but I did not then." A pause of silence. "Did you hear he had died? The Imp, I mean. The dwarf fought Balon Swann in a trial by combat and lost his head for the trouble. His own whore betrayed him before that. I wonder if Tywin had to pay her, or if she offered up her testimony freely. Come on now, this news must bring a smile to your face."

"I suppose," Sansa said, and Arya felt much the same. Tyrion had never been the focus of her anger, just another Lannister. She supposed she would rather have him dead than alive, but it made little difference to her in the end. She needed to get back to Jon, she needed to get Sansa to safety, and Tyrion's death changed nothing.

"But come," Baelish said, the sheets shuffling slightly. "Surely you must be nervous. Harry will not be rough with you, but neither will he shirk his marital duties. You need feel no shame! You are but a young maiden, it is only natural that you should have fear."

"I am past fear," Sansa said, her voice as cold as steel. "I will make him love me."

"Such confidence," Baelish said with appreciation. "I have taught you well, and your mind is strong. I could not be prouder. You know what you must do tomorrow, then."

"I do."

"Good girl, smart girl." There was a sound then, like two sheets of paper sliding against one another. The bed creaked, and Arya's heart leapt into her mouth. He was kissing her.

A small eternity passed and then the sound stopped. "Lord Baelish..." for the first time terror had entered Sansa's voice, and Arya found herself reaching to her belt. She could almost smell the mint on his breath, feel his touch on Sansa's arm.

Baelish chuckled. "And here I thought you were past fear?"

"It isn't right," Sansa began.

"Why not? We are not father and daughter, are we?" The bed creaked again and Arya's heart lurched. "You played your part well, but we both know that we never saw each other as such. No, you have always seen me as a man… and I have always seen you as a woman."

"Lord Baelish, please,"

"Hush, now, sweetling, I will be ever so gentle, and more-"

Whatever he said next, Arya did not hear it. Something deep and feral and raw broke loose in her and she sprang from her hiding place, knife in hand and a cry in her throat. Baelish was sitting abed with Sansa, leaning over her with the ties of his silk shirt loosened. Stick them with the pointy end. Baelish turned in surprise and she slid the knife between his ribs, then pulled back and stabbed again. Baelish caught the knife on his arm and punched her in the mouth. She fell back.

Baelish towered over her, blood leaking from his arm and a wild light in his eyes. "Clegane's boy," he spat, producing a thin dagger from thin air. "The dog thinks to turn me over to the Lannisters?" He kicked her in the ribs. He kicked her again before she could recover. "He should have come himself."

"No, stop!" Sansa screamed, dragging at his shirt and trying to pull him back to the bed, "I'll do whatever you want!" Baelish threw her aside. Arya scrambled away. Fear cuts deeper than swords, fear cuts deeper than swords, but what was she to do? This was just like when Joffrey had chased her by the Crossroads, but Nymeria was nowhere near. She ducked behind a low table, Baelish tossed it aside. She backed up again but now she was trapped in the corner with no way out. What could she do? What could she do?

"Stop!" Sansa pleaded again. "That's not who you think it is, that's my-" Arya's eyes locked with Sansa's. She couldn't be revealed, not now, not...

And then all at once, they knew what they had to do.

Arya threw her knife to the floor where it clattered behind Baelish. "Yield!" she squeaked. "Yield, I yield! It was Clegane's scheme! I'll tell you whatever you want to know!"

"Interesting proposal," Baelish said, chuckling slightly. He flicked his wrist. Pain exploded in her shoulder where his dagger had embedded itself. "Unfortunately, there's nothing you can tell me that I don't already know." His face was pale and wan, the wound between his ribs staining his silk shirt black with blood, but he seemed to barely notice it, producing another dagger and advancing.

"I yield!" Arya screamed again. "I yield I yield!"

"Too late," Baelish snarled, and brought his leg back to kick her again.

Arya winced but the blow never came. Baelish convulsed suddenly, screaming and dropping his dagger. It fell to the floor with a thud. Sansa stood in his place, Arya's bloody knife in hand, her red hair a rising flame. She dropped the knife with horror.

"You..." Baelish slurred, his voice thick and heavy. He tried to rise and failed, falling back onto the bloodstained carpet. How many times had Sansa stabbed him? Three times. Baelish's fingers shook, he opened his mouth to scream...

Arya did not hesitate. She caught up the dropped knife in her hand and jumped onto his chest, cutting his neck with a single clean slice. Baelish's eyes widened with horror just a moment, and then he was still, his eyes rolled back into his head.

Sansa collapsed in a heap next to her. "You shouldn't have," she said weakly. "You shouldn't have done that. I could have-"

"No," Arya said with a scowl. "No. I'm done letting my family suffer."

Sansa covered her face with her hands. "This doesn't stop here Arya. The guards were sent away for now, but soon they'll be back, soon people will come looking for him. They'll find the body, they'll say I killed him."

"The Vale Lords love you!"

Sansa shuddered. "It isn't that simple! They'll lock me away as a madwo-"

A shrill, hanging shriek came from outside the door, distant and piercing.

Arya's heart sank to her feet. "Who is that?"

Sansa's eyes widened in horror. "It's the Lady Lysa. It's our aunt, she often screams at night like this. But why? Why now. It's almost as if she knows what-"

Lady Lysa's words came back to Arya, the words she had said as the blue potion dribbled from her mouth. Who did you kill with that bloodied knife? Could it be coincidence? She looked down at the knife she held. No, Arya thought, Lysa knows. She knows what we have done here, and I think she always did.

Men and women were yelling in the distance, calling for water, calling for a maester. Then one voice raged above them all. "They killed him, they killed my sweet Petyr."

Arya felt lightheaded. Her shoulder was bleeding slowly, her ribs ached with every breath. She felt tears leak from her eyes. "We need to get out," she said, "We need to run." What was she saying? She could scarcely stand, let alone run. "Sansa," she pleaded. "Please. You need to leave me behind."

Her sister turned to her. Sansa's hair was all in a mess, her nightclothes streaked with blood, but her eyes were filled with ice and resolution. "No," she said, her voice determined. "Never again. I'm never leaving you. Come on." She threw a cloak over herself and hooked her arm under Arya's good shoulder, half carrying her, half dragging her forward. She's strong, Arya realized with surprise. Sansa had always been taller, always been prettier, but their years apart had widened the gap even further.

Baelish had spoken truly, there were no guards in the hall, nor on the staircase down to the great hall. No doubt any that had been on duty had gone to attend the Lady Lysa, though that was small comfort. They could hear her behind them, screaming like all the seven hells. "They killed him! Alayne and that wretched boy killed them! I saw it!" Arya fell in and out of the waking world, tripping and stumbling as she moved. Sometimes she could see Lysa coming after them, huge and obese, clothed only in silk with cold blue lips and eyes full of hate.

She couldn't follow the twists and the turns, but soon they were outside, the cool wind bringing her to wakefulness. "Where are we going?" she asked Sansa weakly, her feet fumbling on the uneven terrain. They had nowhere to go, no one they could trust except for Jon, and he was a thousand miles away.

"Shush, be quiet, there are guards nearby," Sansa replied.

They stumbled and tripped for what felt like a year, passing into the courtyard where the knights of the Vale were encamped. Smells of woodsmoke and roast pork and unwashed men filled the air, and she felt like lying down on the ground and retching. Her shoulder throbbed with pain, every step was an effort. But she had to keep moving; she had to stay standing, for her sister's sake if not for her own. She was a Stark, she was a Wolf, and she would not fail her pack.

Then all at once, they stopped, and Arya nearly collapsed. They were in front of a small crude tent, a tent for one man… Sandor's tent.

There was a clink of mail and Hound himself stepped out, drawing himself up to his full height and towering over them.

Sansa shed her hood, letting the wind take her hair.

"Sandor Clegane," she said, "We need your help."