Winterfell.
Sansa ached at the sight of her lost home. The loss of her family and the memories of the life they all lived in Winterfell crushed her heart. She wanted it all back but understood she never could. She was alone now. The only piece of her past she had left was the castle she fast approached.
Petyr sat in the carriage across from her, bundled securely against winter in fine silks and thick, dark wools. Sansa never quite trusted Lord Baelish, but he had made it possible to return to the place of her birth and girlhood. She didn't know what it cost Petyr to arrange it, but Sansa did understand how it put him at risk. If word ever reached Cersei about what role he played in giving the Bolton's Sansa's hand in marriage, the Lannisters would come for Petyr's head.
It shamed Sansa how little she worried about Petyr's possible fate. And it also frightened her how little she cared. She was going home. At last. Nothing mattered more.
The horns blew and there was a shout before the gates opened to let their caravan into the castle. When the wheelhouse came to a stop Petyr gave Sansa a comforting smile before he let himself out. Sansa's heart was racing when he held out his hand to her. She took it and stepped out of the carriage. The cold air should have made her shiver but in truth, as Sansa gazed up at the towers and walls of Winterfell, the air felt like a Spring wind.
I am home.
Much like when King Robert was welcomed into Winterfell by the Starks and their household all those years ago, house Bolton and its servants now lined up to greet Sansa and Petyr in the very same castle. It was a small group in comparison—only a hundred or so that Sansa could see. Sansa did not know what the Boltons looked like but guessed the best-dressed man in front of the row of people in the courtyard must be one of the Bolton lords.
It was unlikely Lord Roose, the man wearing the fine, all-black ensemble was young. Older than Sansa, but not by many years. The lord greeting them was Ramsay Bolton, then. That was a comfort in a situation sorely lacking in them. Ramsay at least hadn't been present at the Twins.
Sansa didn't need Petyr to warn her the Boltons may have played a role in the deplorable deaths of her mother, Robb, and his army. Only Roose Bolton had walked away from the Red Wedding unscathed, and with the title of Warden of the North. Benefit such as that never came free, not when it concerned the Lannisters. Thoughts of revenge danced in Sansa's head—she hadn't needed Petyr to hint at that either. But paying the Boltons back for their betrayal could wait.
I am home.
Petyr led Sansa over to Ramsay, who stood ahead of the line of small folk who had their heads bowed. To Sansa's surprise, she recognized a few of them. Servants who had served in Winterfell her whole life. Why hadn't the Boltons purged them from the castle? Was it for her benefit?
Sansa looked up at the top of the walls and openings and corners where she remembered where guards always stood watch every day. They had been everywhere in the castle as Sansa grew to maidenhood, and she'd gotten so used to them that she stopped noticing their presence. Sansa understood better than ever castles required many men to protect them and those residing within. So why were there so few guardsmen in plain sight?
"Lady Sansa," the black-haired man Sansa assumed was Ramsay Bolton said. "Welcome home."
The man bowed low as did the servants behind him.
"Thank you, my lord…" Sansa started to reply as the man straightened and smiled at her.
It seemed a pleasant smile, but it sent a shiver up Sansa's spine, nonetheless. She wasn't looking at one of Joffrey's falsely sweet smiles, or Cersei's cutting, condescending smirk, but Sansa knew the relative to those grins was in front of her. The sanguine smile on Ramsay's lips was part of a mask. Something wrong lay beneath it, Sansa felt it in her bones and its wrongness made her want to flee back into the wheelhouse.
"Forgive my poor manners, my lady. I am Ramsay Bolton."
"Pardon," Petyr said. "Where is Lord Bolton?"
"My father needed to remain at Dreadfort. Wildlings have been attacking the North in ever-increasing numbers."
Petyr's ever-present smile dimmed at Ramsay's explanation, but before he could speak, Ramsay continued.
"I volunteered to handle the business, but Lord Bolton thought the lords of the lands affected would more appreciate his hand in the matter than mine."
The hand of a recently legitimized, unproven bastard of the man who betrayed Robb Stark went unsaid. Capturing Theon Greyjoy was not enough to clean away such a stain. And nor should it be, Sansa thought.
"Is that why there's not many guardsmen about?" Petyr asked.
Petyr was still smiling pleasantly, but Sansa knew Lord Baelish well enough by then that she could tell he wanted to hear a satisfactory answer from lord Ramsay—and had yet to do so.
If Petyr didn't get the explanation he wanted from Ramsay, he might turn them around and return to the Vale. Sansa didn't want to leave, not after finally coming home after so long. But the unnerved feeling she got when she looked at Ramsay's grin frightened her. Was the joy of sleeping in her childhood bed again good price enough to marry and be trapped alone with him?
"His new Lady wife also chose to remain with her loving husband."
Petyr's smile almost vanished. That was not a good enough answer. Ramsay leaned forward and whispered in a conspiratorial stage whisper.
"And don't tell anyone I told you this: but Lady Bolton is with child! She wanted to keep her new family together and safe, I wager! How could any loving husband say no to that?"
"Oh, of course," Petyr said. Ramsay's answer didn't placate Petyr's suspicions, but his smile returned. Though it was less bright and colder around its edges than before. "Congratulations."
"Thank you, Lord Baelish. I'll be sure to relay to my Father your regards."
Somehow, the disturbing smile crooked on Ramsay's face became more unsettling, not less.
"And while we do not have a full garrison here," Ramsay continued, "I assure you both Winterfell has never been so well protected."
Now Sansa struggled to keep a polite smile. Was that slight a cut at her family and how Theon Greyjoy and the Ironborn took her home and slaughtered her brothers? Hate started to overshadow the uneasy feeling Ramsay Bolton gave Sansa.
"Now, I'm sure Lady Sansa would like to get reacquainted with her home," Ramsay said. He waved at several servants waiting nearby. "These will help move all you brought with you to your old rooms. If that pleases you?"
Her old rooms? How would he know where that was? Perhaps someone from before told him. He knew far more about Sansa than she knew about him. Sansa would need to change that, and soon.
"It does. Thank you, my lord," Sansa said with a nod.
"My pleasure. And please call me Ramsay."
Sansa willed herself to keep a stiff smile while she gave another nod. The way the man smiled when he asked her to call him Ramsay was further amiss. There was too much humor in it—as though he smiled at a joke that only he could hear being told.
The men brought with them from the Vale helped the Winterfell servants unload the wagon that carried Sansa's newly bought belongings. The small folk in line all bowed as Sansa followed behind the servants with her baggage into the Great Keep. She put Ramsay Bolton's waxy sneer out of her thoughts and let the embrace of the Keep's walls warm her. She inhaled deeply and could not stop a genuine blissful smile from taking her lips.
She was home.
They ran.
They didn't know where They ran to, but if it was far away, that was good. The elder ate Their sire and would eat Them too. Or maybe it didn't care about Them. Maybe Their grandsire didn't know They had been spawned. Either was good.
They ran.
They avoided every creature in their path, even though they were hungry. Very hungry. But it was dangerous for them. They were too young, and the host body was only dangerous when it ran with her sisters. Alone, the larger, hungry beasts would make a meal of Them. They would survive, but They didn't want to start the bonding process over again. This body was good for now.
They ran.
They ran far enough that the air became warmer, and there was less snow on the ground. Not that the cold bothered Them. They soon entered a land that frightened Them. It smelled of brackish water and decay. They searched until They found a shore bordered by salty water that smelled good. They followed the shoreline to avoid the badlands and ate birds and shelled creatures until They left the badlands behind them.
When They felt safe, They left the salty waters and followed clean, fresh rivers, leading them to lush, green forests. The animals there were not so dangerous to Them now. The most threatening of them did not stray far from the rivers. If They stayed away from those, it would be safe.
They ran.
They hunted small creatures. Sometimes They came upon dead humans and fed on them. Though they were not humans. Their sire recalled the humans from the blue world where it was born tasting different. The flavor of their flesh was not the only difference. Even rotten, the non-human brains sated Their cravings for a long time.
They ran.
They ran until bigger beasts found Them.
The bigger beasts growled and snapped at Them. The bigger beasts didn't attack because they feared Them. Their bond was stronger, and They were not easy prey now. They could make the bigger beasts Their prey even if they attacked as one.
The bigger beasts, kin to their host body, only larger and furrier, circled them but kept their distance. They snarled back at the bigger beasts and used Their power to grow to the same size as them. They made Their fangs longer, and sharper. They turned the blunt nails on the paws into claws. Let the bigger beast come at Them if they dared!
Then it came. It was big. Bigger than the beasts that surrounded Them. Bigger than humans. Big as the great horned beasts!
It did not snarl and snap at Them as it approached, it didn't need to.
The other beast grew braver now that the biggest beast arrived, and closed in. Hunger and anticipation made drool drip from their maws. Against the bigger beasts and their enormous leader, they stood no chance. They knew They must flee or be eaten.
They looked for an opening, but the bigger beasts rapidly closed any avenue of quick escape. There was no way out without a fight They could not win.
Were They about to die?
No!
Not today!
They charged at the biggest beast and knew the others would not try to stop Them. The biggest beast curled its lips and bared its fangs, waiting, knowing one chomp with its massive jaws would end Them. They stopped when They were close enough to the biggest beast and barked as if panicked. They kept barking and waiting for the moment. The perfect moment.
The moment came after the biggest beast uncurled its lip and turned its tail on Them. Not in fear, but in dismissal. The bigger beast began closing in once more, intent on ending Them and feasting on what was left.
They unspooled every connection to Their host body then burst out of its barking mouth and struck the rear of the biggest beast. It yelped when it felt Them land on its rump and then envelope it whole in seconds. The biggest beast dropped to the ground and rolled onto its back and tried to scrap Them off, but it was too late. They took it, body and mind. It was a smart beast, but it was not a human. It did not know how to resist Them for long.
The last of the biggest beast's meager resistance ended once it understood what They offered. The Speed. The strength. The invincibility. But most importantly, the security of its pack.
It would take time to grow Their new bond with the biggest beast, but once They did, They would be stronger than before. They came to Their feet and saw its pack watching Them with mewling worry. Their previous host was lying on its side, chest heaving and weakened now that it was no longer bonded. But it will survive. They will make sure the pack leaves her alone and allow her to go free after she recovers.
They ran.
They could run so much faster now, so fast the pack could not keep up with them. Cold came, and normal prey became sparse, but there were always humans to feed upon, half-buried in the dirt or floating like leaves in rivers. Others the pack chased, caught, and devoured. Their former host aided in this greatly.
Then, one cold, gray day the pack found Her.
The pack surrounded the prey that sat alone in the woods and fed sticks into a fire. The pack did not want the human. It was the beast tied to a tree they wanted. But the pack would feast on the human as well.
The beast sensed their presence first, which alerted the human, who drew sharp metal for protection. By then, it was too late—the pack encircled the human the way it had done to Them. But humans with metal in their hands were still dangerous and might injure or kill one of the pack.
They would bring down the human before that could happen.
Metal, neither sharp, blunt, nor piercing, can harm Them.
They remained hidden while the human turned about to keep track of those growling and snapping at them from every angle. When the human's back was to Them, They stalked forward and prepared to pounce. The human turned slowly to face Them, their sharp metal extended.
They expected a scream or to smell fear erupt from the human. The stench of terror rolled off the whinnying beast bound to the tree, which only drove the hungry pack into a heightened frenzy. But the human didn't appear to notice the greater danger closing in on them. The human stared into Their eyes with a gaze that was absent of fear. Then said a word.
A name. One They never heard spoken aloud before. No, not Them, but Their host body had long ago.
"Nymeria?
The human came closer, and They snarled. The human halted before kneeling and slowly placing the metal on the ground.
"Nymeria, it's me. Arya."
Somehow, They knew that word, as well. Another name. The human's name.
The Girl!
It is the Girl!
"I'm headed back North. I'm finally going home," the Girl said, her hand outstretched. "Come with me."
Since They bonded with the biggest beast, it had not shown any desires beyond wanting to protect its pack. To keep them fed and safe at all costs. But as they stared at the Girl with recognition and longing for something gone, the biggest beast, for just a moment, ceased to be We and became I again.
They understood. Of course, They did. You never forget your first love.
The Girl's hand still reached for Them with the same longing beating in the biggest beast's chest. That was good. That made it easier.
They launched from Their host's maw in ropes of red and green tendrils and took the Girl in an instant. She fought them, but she did not fight for long. Not after she understood Nymeria wanted her safe.
The direwolf had always wanted her Girl safe.
They would ensure that the girl Arya Stark always will be.