A/N: Longclaw: Hi all. Due to other projects for both of us, the next few updates may take a bit longer to come out than the last ones. They'll also be slightly less exciting, but don't worry - epic stuff coming out. Epic stuff.

BRuh4: Thanks for the support guys, it really helps out.

Kind of a smaller one in terms of events but still a very important one. That being said there's also a pretty big introduction of a character y'all love.

Hope you enjoy it.

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Chapter 9: Not Her

"To King Stannis! To Lord Stark! TO VICTORY!"

A loud chorus of cheers boomed from the courtyard of Winterfell Castle, the sounds of joy and merriment returning for the first time since heralding King Robert's visit so many years before. And now, with Summer giving way to the snows of late autumn - with peace having morphed into war - the conquering heroes and their civilian admirers exalted in the arrival of the old King's younger brother. And the son of their beloved Ned Stark along with him.

All was right in the world once more.

The feast was strung out far, from the great hall, through the grounds of the castle, and even to Wintertown. Stores opened and meat and bread loaded onto tables for the Baratheon liberators. Stormlanders, Northerners, and Wildings alike raised mugs of ale high as the Stark Direwolf banners returned to the places of honor on the castle battlements, Bolton banners tossed into the bonfire to resounding hollers of approval. Grateful maidens showed their appreciation for the victorious bannermen, many a whore plying their trades to men that hadn't seen a willing woman since Braavos - the apothecaries preparing vats of moon tea for the morn.

A few lucky souls tried for Wilding women, while far fewer left them with a smile rather than a black eye. Cheers rang out when Karsi, rather drunk on the remaining wildling ale left from Hardhome, dragged a quiet Podrick Payne into a storeroom for rather… obvious activities. Quiet, but not complaining.

Even King Stannis joined in the festivities, the Queen Selyse by his side while his Lord Hand Davos kept a close eye on the Princess Shireen - the young girl having a blast interacting with such interesting characters as the Lady Lyanna Mormont and Tormund Giantsbane. However, one person was absent. The Lord of Winterfell and guest of honor himself, Jon Stark.

Taking a spoonful of the piping hot concoction, Jon's mouth quivered in a grimace. "Dear gods." He was tempted to toss the bowl's contents into the hearth of the Lord's solar, letting the roaring fire purify it. "Even the Night's Watch had better cooks."

Even after all of the day's events, Sansa giggled at her brother's face like the innocent children they had been the last time they had quarters in the great castle of the north. "Roose and Ramsay had more important things to worry about than the cooks." Watching him down another bite, the grimace didn't disappear. "Oh, Jon, you probably had your share of rancid meals at Castle Black."

"Perhaps. Seal blubber north of the wall was pretty bad." They shared a chuckle, at that moment just two siblings enjoying being together after a long absence. "But Winterfell for me always involved the best of food." He smiled at the memories. "Remember those kidney pies Old Nan used to make?"

"With the peas and the onions? Gods, those were delicious." Just the thought brought joy back to Sansa, the joy of a life long gone… Joy soon turned to sadness. "We never should have left Winterfell. Don't you wish we could go back to the day we left? I want to scream at myself, 'Don't go, you idiot.'"

"How could we know? The threats? The evil that would be unleashed?" Jon hung his head. "Well, at least you would have stayed here had you known."

Sansa furrowed her brows. "What do you mean?"

"You had a place here. A family that loved you, a bright future as the cherished bride to some dashing Northern Lord. I…" His name may have changed, elevated from the muck into the pantheon of greatness by the mere decree of King Stannis, but Jon never forgot his true origins. The true source of his life upon this earth. The bastard son of Eddard Stark, a stain upon the great man's boundless honor. He wore it like armor, but at times the armor felt more like an iron maiden. "I was just the bastard of Winterfell. Hated by all, considered the disgrace of the family by Lady Stark. By…"

He was cut off by a hand resting on his. "Please, Jon. Stop." Sansa watched him with unshed tears in her eyes. Over the years, Sansa Stark learned never to cry, or to show emotion - but finally reunited with her family, she could finally let spill everything she had held in for so long. "You are my brother, and nothing can change that." There was a silence, the two eating their - albeit unappetizing - meals and drinking their warm ale by the fire. "I spent a lot of time thinking about what an ass I was to you. I wish I could change everything…"

"I don't blame you, Sansa. We were children."

She gave him a sidelong look. "I was awful, just admit it."

Jon chuckled. "You were occasionally awful." He shrugged, looking away at the fire. "I'm sure I couldn't have been great fun. The quiet brother, always sulking in the corner while the rest of you played."

"Can you forgive me, Jon Stark?" It was the first time she allowed herself to say his new name, and frankly to her, Sansa felt it sounded rather perfect on the tongue. 'House Stark reborn.'

"There's nothing to forgive…"

"Forgive me." Insisting upon it.

"All right. All right, I forgive you." He grinned at her. "You've changed too. Like your mother, strong and decisive."

"So have you." Jon tried to deflect it, but Sansa insisted. "No Jon. You are a natural leader. Seized the opportunity King Stannis gave you, brought the Wildings south of the wall - gods, that will get you in the history books in and of itself - and taking Winterfell back from the damn Boltons?!" Hearing her anger starting to get the better of her, Sansa took a sip of the warm ale, allowing the heat down her throat to calm her. "Father would be proud of you. So proud of his trueborn son."

Hearing it from his family, from the sister he had loved but that had always been so cold to him… Jon felt the happiness, at least some of it, that he had always thought would come from being able to call himself Jon Stark. The son of Eddard Stark. He could feel tears of joy prickling his lids. "I do miss him." A thought came to mind, one that would likely cause his sister pain, but it had to be done. "If I don't watch over you, Father's ghost will come back and murder me. But…"

Sansa's brows furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"Stannis won't be content with just the North. He wants the Iron Throne."

"For what he has done for us, I will gladly support his claim." Her conviction was of sharp steel. No longer a frightened girl, but a strong, determined lady of the North. "As will the northern houses."

"I'm going with him."

A sudden tension descended over the solar. Sansa felt her blood turn cold, a sudden fear creeping back to her. "You can't."

Grim determination formed on Jon's face. "I must. I swore it to his Grace that I would fight for him. Such was the price for avenging father and Robb."

Sansa stood, defiant. "Winterfell is our home! It's ours and Arya's, Bran's, and Rickon's. Wherever they are, it belongs to our family! We have to fight for it, not have its Lord ride south only to die as Robb did!"

"I will not die like Robb did." Pain stabbed through him at the thought of his brother, never to be seen again. Body dumped into the offal pits of the Twins, never to have a proper internment in the crypts with the other great Starks of old. "I will come back to you, sister. Come back to our home."

"There must always be a Stark at Winterfell… And there shall. You, Sansa." She blinked at him, disbelieving his words. "As long as I am absent, you are the Lady of Winterfell." He held up a hand as she tried to object. "No, it is already my decree. His Grace will not object, for I am sure he finds me in the highest esteem for this victory."

"You just got here, and you're already leaving?" Sansa sighed. She reached for his hand. "I don't want to be alone again."

"What'd you mean? Alone?" Jon smirked. "You're home."

"I've been home for months," Sansa avoided his gaze, lowering her voice. "But it didn't feel like it."

"I don't understand."

"Ramsay-"

Jon visibly stiffened, hearing that name. Hating that he wasn't able to shield his sister from the the man. He'd heard such horrible rumors. Praying that they weren't true, but seeing his sister now. He knew that they had some merit. He held his hands up, "I don't want to hear about him."

"He… he did unspeakable things to me." Sansa gulped, fighting the trembling that was threatening to overcome her. Looking at Jon, she felt calmness ghost over her. Jon won't let anyone hurt me again. "Ramsay would have done more had Theon not killed him."

A mix of emotions crossed Jon's face at the memory of Theon Greyjoy - or whatever the beaten wraith called himself these days. Anger, gratitude, hate, familiarity… He settled on begrudging gratitude. "If it wasn't for what he did for you, I would have him killed for what he did… killing Bran and Rickon…"

"Those weren't Bran and Rickon." Wide eyes found Sansa's. "They were two smallfolk boys. Evil, I know, but our brothers could still be out there, alive." She sighed. "Theon is a lost soul, prone to good or evil from his desire to belong. I pity him, anger at him sometimes, but he's still family to me." Her gaze hardened. "But Ramsay was nothing but evil. He should have been fed to his own hounds." Icy hate swirled within her.

Jon felt hate swirl within him as well, but it was more a burning rage. "I would have killed him myself." Hands tightening around the arms of his chair, Jon gritted his teeth, "How did he even get a chance, Sansa? How did you get here?"

"Littlefinger."

"That swineherd? I must confess I don't know much about the man," Jon shrugged, calming down a bit.

"He…" Sansa blinked, mouth falling open, raking her brain for an accurate description of the man. To be honest, she couldn't fully reel in her feelings. The man had saved her from Cersei, only to give her away to a situation almost worse. Her time in King's Landing was horrible, but it wasn't even close to the horrors she'd endured in her own home. Littlefinger took her away only to hand her back over. She thought she knew what he wanted, after seeing what he did in the Vale. Tossing her aunt from the moon door, watching as she fell, no remorse. At first, she thought that he did it in defense of her. But now she knew his reasons were only for his own benefit. He wanted control of the Vale.

"Littlefinger… he's a man who will do whatever he feels necessary to attain what he wants."

"What does he want?"

"I don't know… I thought I did. I thought he cared for me, he wanted me. Told me as much, he had a lot of affection for my mother," Sansa explained. "But if that's true I don't know why he'd give me to the Boltons."

Jon sat back up, jaw tightening, "What do you mean? Gave you?"

"After I escaped King's Landing, we went to the Vale. Where he married Aunt Lysa. I'd thought he loved her, but really he only did it so he could gain control of the Vale itself. He pushed her through the moon door, then played it off like it was suicide." Sansa grimaced, staring into the fire, "And it worked because I helped him."

"You helped him?"

"I had to… if I hadn't I don't know what've happened to me. It's unfortunate that it was for his benefit. I only took his side, that was enough to convince the Lords of the Vale."

"The Vale…" Jon nodded slowly. He had a duty to Stannis, but also was determined to see his family survive after being so close to extinction. "Sansa, I need you to tell me everything you know about this man."

"We should get moving as quickly as possible," Stannis said, crossing his arms.

"Your Grace, if I may," The Lord of Winterfell tried. "Our forces won handly but that didn't mean we didn't have losses. Wouldn't be more prudent to take a few days to rest our men?"

"The Lannisters won't be expecting me. With Tywin dead in a puddle of his own shit, they don't have anyone worth a damn advising them, and my bastard 'nephew' is a weak little nobody. Marching now will catch them off guard."

Quiet during the entire meeting, Sansa took a chance and spoke up - Stannis wasn't Roose, and she had Jon beside her. "Pardon, your Grace, but would you rather have reinforcements?" No response followed, but Stannis nodded. Good advice was good advice, even coming from a young girl. "The northern houses are coming to pledge before Jon as their Liege Lord. We've already received a raven from Deepwood Motte, and I have it on good authority that the Manderlys are to arrive shortly."

"This is a mistake, your Grace." The Lady Selyse was more of a recluse for most of the time since Stannis had arrived at Castle Black, but with the capture of Winterfell she was beginning to make her presence known - and it was not to Jon's favor that she did so. "There is nothing here for you. I don't trust the Northerners - only three houses flocked their banners, and they barely had four hundred men among them."

Catching the looks given by Larance Hornwood - legitimized by the King for his valor on the battlefield - and Lyanna Mormont, Davos jumped in. "For that, we can chalk it up to being a southern foe with a wilding host, neither of which the northerners will like. Houses Mazin, Hornwood, and Mormont fought valiantly for us despite that."

"The Lord Hand is right," Sansa insisted. "In victory, you didn't seek to conquer the North, but instead reinstalled House Stark. That will go a long way towards pacifying the remaining Lords."

Pondering matters, Selyse frowned as Stannis nodded towards the two Starks. "So what is the advantage for me to wait?"

Politics not his strong suit, Jon had nevertheless learned at his King's side - he, Davos, and Sansa discussing strategies long before this meeting. 'I'll be damned. I am forming factions now.' He cleared his throat, "You were an afterthought after you lost at the Mud Gate, your Grace." He quickly moved on from the King's scowl. "But with your victory here, you are back in contention for the throne. You need to look the part when we march south."

"Look the part?"

"You had twenty thousand bannermen at the Blackwater, your Grace." Like Jon, Davos was not one to mince words, though he knew when to speak and when not to. 'A skill I will make sure the young Lord Stark will learn.' "Now, we have less than nine, many wounded. Half wildlings. You need more men to properly face the Lannisters and their Tyrell allies." The King snorted - such alliance had been his undoing at the Blackwater, Stormlands host overwhelmed by the combined armies of two Kingdoms.

Sansa spoke up once more. "With the North behind you, you will be able to challenge House Frey. They hold the Twins and are pledged to House Lannister. After defeating them, you will have further legitimacy to sway the Riverlands and Vale, of which I can be of assistance."

"And how would you be able to help me?"

Jon answered. "Your Grace, my sister has familial ties to both through her mother, my father's trueborn wife." He was emotionless, bastard armor returning - even with Eddard's name, Jon could never escape the circumstances of his birth. "The rightful Lord of Riverrun is her uncle, and the Lord of the Eyrie is her cousin. When we are in such a position, her advocacy will be needed greatly and could expand your army into an unsurpassed fighting force." Glancing at Ser Davos, the Onion Knight was impressed.

Selyse only glared, hoping that her husband didn't listen to the Northerners. Her hope was soon dashed. "Very well. We rest here till the northern banners pledge to me. But I will be prepared. Lord Selmy, send your command to Moat Cailin - I will not have the Lannisters or their Frey dogs threaten my position."

Arstan Selmy bowed as Jon, Sansa, and Davos exchanged relieved glances. Once again saving Stannis from his more… bullheaded impulses.

At that moment the door was thrown open, a Baratheon bannerman outside. "Your Grace, My Lord Stark, you have a visitor."

"Who is it?" Stannis gruffly asked.

"Lord Jon Umber, here to pay his respects to the new Lord of Winterfell."

Jon raised an eyebrow. A quick glance to his left and right found Davos sharing his look, and Sansa's eyes mirroring his beneath the expressionless mask. If Lord Umber had arrived quickly, then that meant he was most likely waiting close by the battle to see who would be victorious. One whose loyalty was for sale did not make Jon feel easy… but it wasn't as if he had a choice with forming an army. "I think we should see him now, your Grace." Not bothering to answer, Stannis just nodded and gestured for his men to bring the man in.

A large bear of a man, SmallJon Umber looked to be in his early thirties. Beard long and scraggly, he met the picture of a gregarious, tough cunt that Jon remembered his father to be. 'Umbers - have to be tough to withstand the brunt of Wildling raids over the centuries.' That alone likely explained the suppressed sneer on the man's face, but looking in his eyes, Jon could see a respect of him. Not of Stannis, but of him.

Victory brought that out of people, especially the North. People respected a man that personally obtained victory. "Your… Grace." SmallJon bowed to Stannis. "My Lord, my Lady." His bow to Jon and Sansa was much lower than his to the King. Not subtle, but Northerners didn't much care for subtlety. "Congratulations on your victory over the oathbreakers and kingslayers. My father died at the Red Wedding, so all of House Umber is grateful for the justice you gave Lord Bolton."

Jon gave a tight smile, one he saw Sansa shared as well. 'Oddly eloquent, though mostly bullshit.' He had spent enough time among Alliser Thorne and his dealings with Lord Commander Mormont, and among Stannis and his various lords and commanders, to smell out insincerity. The only sincere part of SmallJon's greeting was the anger at the Red Wedding. 'Least we have that in common.'

It was Sansa who answered, as polished as a southern manipulator. "We thank House Umber for its kind words. Now that Winterfell is back in House Stark's rightful hands, we hope that our longstanding alliance may be resumed."

"It would have been better had House Umber rallied behind their proper Lord prior to the battle." Wound bothering him greatly now that the rush of battle had run its course, Stannis was in no mood to be politic. "What stopped you?"

"You had wildings with you," SmallJon replied bluntly, casting a death glare at Tormund and Karsi. "Don't trust wildlings at all. Didn't know whether they'd betray you mid-battle and leave us fucked..."

"Ya southern cunts break your fuckin' oaths left and right." Tormund spat on the ground. "If we don't like ya, we stab ya in the fuckin' face. Not the back."

A terse silence following, it was broken by the barking laughter from the Lord of Last Hearth. "Can't argue with that." The laughter was eventually joined by all except Stannis, though the King managed to crack a smirk. "In any event," SmallJon continued as the laughs died down. "It's over. Stark won, Bolton lost. Now back to business, you cunts need us and I happen to be ready to give you my support and my bannermen. House Umber may be ruled by hulking assholes like myself, but we have our pride and our honor. Pledged to House Stark since the days of the Red Kings, and we don't shake from that."

Looking at the heavyset Lord, large and bulky just like his father GreatJon, Jon remained skeptical. "You could have made this same speech to the Boltons. What stopped you?"

"Roose Bolton was a cunt," SmallJon replied, not missing a beat. "Plus no matter how many wildlings I wanted to kill, couldn't do it with my lands being between you and this castle."

The hard gaze from the silent King never faltered. Analyzing, picking out the hidden meanings in the words of the bombastic northerners around him. "You do realize," Stannis said, finally. "Even if I assume your honesty, your rather… cavalier tone doesn't cause me to trust your loyalty towards myself or Lord Stark in the battles to come."

"Didn't expect you would," SmallJon shrugged. "That's why I brought a gift."

"A gift?"

The hulking Umber grinned. "Aye, to Lord Stark… and it appears to Lady Stark. As a token of my loyalty and good faith." Whistling, which caught all off guard - even the dour Stannis jumped slightly - in walked two bannermen of House Umber… and one young boy. No more than a year past his tenth name day by the looks of him. Altogether unassuming in the wilding furs draping his slight form.

He elicited nothing from Stannis other than a quizzically raised eyebrow. But to Jon and Sansa, both stood up, mouths agape in shock and wonder.

It was Rickon. Rickon Stark, their long lost youngest brother.

Rickon, blinking, was still in disbelief. Being back in his home for the first time since escaping Theon, but most of all at seeing his elder brother and sister once more. His memories of them had faded after such a long absence, but they returned in their full vivid glory at that moment. Having it been so long, he thought be might've not recognized them.

"Sansa…? Jon…?" He couldn't believe it. This was a dream, it had to be a dream.

But it wasn't. "Rickon." Jon half-laughed out of pure joy and utter disbelief. He took a step closer. Such was all that was needed for the young boy to run into the arms of his family.

The dark streets of Braavos never stopped bursting with activity, even well into the night. Several passersby, doing sorts of things, fucking, drinking, sights unseen where she's from. The way the Essosi speak is even a farcry from the utterance of her people. She darted between the droves going the opposite direction. A destination in mind, a place she visited just days ago. Scouted it all out, knowing the ins and outs, who came and went.

Imagine her surprise when she saw him that fateful day. That vile man. Twas honestly a sigh of relief at the appearance of him, knowing immediately what she must do.

She followed him that day. Waiting for an opportunity, a window, any possibility for her to strike. Feeling like the wolf she is, stalking her prey.

In the end, she tracked him to a brothel. Not that she's been in many of these places but this particular seemed… off. Her thoughts became a reality when she saw what exactly he was doing there. That only spurred her further forward to action. Burned the already boiling blood in her, any notion of turning back tossed away.

She stomped forward, no one batted an eye. Not even when she entered the whorehouse, assuming the reason being she had changed her attire to something more… dirty. Concealing a small shiv in her sleeve, as bad as she wanted to use her blade, carrying it would give her unwanted attention. She waded through the throngs of people, the courtesans laid on men's laps, whispering. It's a dark room, mostly quiet.

Eyeing a door near the back of the room, she pressed on. Knowing he was here and exactly where he was. Only for an arm to reach out and stop her dead in her tracks, before she knew it she was moved to stand before a man. An ugly man, the smell of alcohol lingering on his breath. Head shorn of hair, and thick beard, definitely from Braavos.

"Where are you going, little lady?" he said to her, holding on to her arms, tight.

"Release me," she growled, gritting her teeth. "Now."

"What if I don't wanna? What are you gonna do? Bite me?"

In response, she stomped her boot on his foot as hard she could. When that forced the man to let go she immediately ducked out of sight. All but sprinting to the door need to pass through. Thankfully, it opened when she pulled on the latch. Moving through, she heard voices.

His voice for one.

"Not her."

Creeping down the wall, she peered into the room before her. She saw him, Ser Meryn Trant, standing in front of three small girls, a leather whip in his grasp. One of the girls was taken away by a man, leaving the other two. He stalked them, examining his prey. A few seconds later, the whip flashed across one of the little girl's back, a mist of faint blood entered the air. The girl cried out, falling to her knees. Then Trant hit the other girl, causing a similar reaction as the first child.

Trant's barefoot hit the floor with some force, he grumbled, "What the fuck is this? These weaklings."

A strange woman came over, muttering apologizes to him. While another came and collected the girls, pulling them aside. After another few moments, all were gone but Trant. He sat on the edge of a bed on the far wall, running his hands over the whip. Only looking up when he sensed someone approaching. He looked up to see a girl about the same age as the others, maybe a bit older. Except this one didn't look scared, this one's face have resolve, and oddly familiar.

"That was quick," Meryn hummed. Then he rose, striding over, letting the whip fall loose, dragging across the floor. Her eyes followed him as he walked around her. "I can see I have my work cut out for me."

Just then, the girl leaped forward, though Trant was quick. The whip sliced through her shirt and through the skin on her belly, drawing blood. The man retreated back, chuckling, "What was that supposed to be?"

The girl lurched over, clutching her stomach, the wound was shallow but still hurt plenty. Falling to her knees, her head hung low.

Trant laughed, "That's what you get." He waltzed over closer, when he neared, dropping to a knee as well. His hand raced through her hair, taking a handful in his fist. He snapped her head up, "I'm gonna put you in her place."

Only he wouldn't get the chance. As soon as the girl raised her head she brought the shiv she'd be hiding out as well. The thin blade stuck in Meryn's chest before he could do anything about it.

"Ah!" he yelped, not able to stop the girl from jumping on him. Holding down as the blade jabbed into his eyes, blotting out all his sight. His screams were shut out when she shoved a piece of his shirt in his mouth. His hands covered his face as her weight lifted off him.

His attacker lingered over him, smiling to herself.

"Do you know who I am?" she asked him, not expecting an answer. But the man's response to try to crawl away, she buried her blade in his back three times to halt him. He rolled over in pain, muffled screams through the rag. Writhing, leaving a trail of crimson under him. She dropped down to his level, "You were the first person on my list, you know that? Syrio Forel? You remember him don't you? I decided you should die for that. So here I am."

His hands reached blindly for her, probably trying to choke her. She half-laughed, swatting his hands away. Her retaliation being taking the cloth out his mouth, only grab his tongue. She pulled it as far as possible, then took her knife, sawing through it. Halfway through, Meryn was squealing as loud as he could. She pressed her knee against his windpipe to silence him. In a few moments, her jagged blade had severed his tongue. She held it up, watching as the blood filled his mouth, nothing brought her greater joy, "That's what you get."

She stood, dropping his tongue on his chest. His hands hovered over it, having shut up by now, the reality of the situation settling in.

"You know if I had more time you would die much more painfully, and much, much slower. But seeing as those Lannisters you were with earlier are probably looking for by now… I better get to it," Then pulling him up by his hair, holding him just in front of her. "My name is Arya Stark of Winterfell. I want you to know that a Stark ends you. No one will remember you, killed by a little girl. Winter comes for you, Ser Meryn Trant."

Arya didn't just drag the knife across his neck. She stabbed the blade in the side, then with all her might slashed through the soft flesh. Tearing Meryn's throat wide open, pressurized blood streaming, his tried in vain to stop the bleeding. What sounds he could make her gurgled out.

His body fell to her side, soon becoming lifeless. Her eyes lingered on him for a while, basking in her achievement. Her clothes were filthy when she came in, only now buckets of blood mixed with the mud.

The knife dropped to the floor before she left. Unsurprisingly, no one looked at her twice as she escaped out into the Braavos streets.

A/N: BRuh4: Like a lot of the characters in this, Arya will be somewhat different than canon. She was kinda all over the place in season 8, Mary Sue-ish. Like virtually all of the season, I didn't like her very much. This is a darker version of her for sure. But y'all will see what she's got going on soon.

The next one is in the works, not sure when it will drop though.

Longclaw: Echoing what BRuh4 said about Arya, just wanted to add something. I didn't much like emotionless Arya, as she was portrayed as a perfect assassin that was able to do everything. That wasn't the Arya we fell in love with, being the character that fails and gets fucked up and all this different shit, but somehow manages to come out on top. That's what we're going for. Just as the proper Sansa took Cersei and Littlefinger's teachings and uses them to benefit her family, Arya will do the same with the Faceless Men teachings - won't be an easy ride, though.

Doubt the Umbers would touch Rickon until they knew what they would do with him. SmallJon seems like a fun guy, so we'll see more of him further in the story, along with another Northerner who will be quite close to Jon.

Dany is coming up next ;)

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