CHAPTER ONE: THE BLOODY WOLF I

Two wolves are freed from death, and run far north. Deep in the South, a girl dreams of blood in her mouth.

Arya Stark knows, really, that letting the wolves go would enrage the King, and the Queen, and Joffrey, but what she didn't expect was the look her father gives her when Jory tells him that Lady is gone as well. Sansa had been screaming so loud, she hadn't even really noticed that Arya had called Lady with her. Arya doesn't even know why she brought her, if her precious prince is so afraid of them.

But then she looks to her sister, and sees a naked relief on her face. Cersei is yelling and the King is yelling back, but now all Arya can really see is how relived Sansa looks. Their eyes meet from across the room, and sure, Arya is furious at Sansa for lying for Joffrey, but she also never wanted her sister or her wolf to get hurt. She can't imagine that she'd take it any better if she was in Sansa's place.

Sansa tilts her chin up slightly, lower lip quivering, and turns away. Father rests a hand on both their shoulders now, grips tight and unrelenting. Finally, the King yells for them to all just get out of his face, and they're being ushered away by father and Jory without another thought. Just in time for Arya to see the rider come through the night.

She chokes as she recognises Mycha, thrown across his saddle, clearly dead. She looks to her father and sees a blank, unfamiliar expression on his face, but before she can say anything to the Hound, her father is hoisting her up into his arms, and she's being carted away to the privacy of their father's tent. Sansa comes in a moment later, deathly silent, and holding onto Jory like he's a life line.

Their father doesn't say anything for a long moment, back turned to them. He looks old and tired, and Arya suddenly feels bad for making him so exhausted, for making him face his friend like that. But she's glad he was there, though, because she knows it would be much worse if her father wasn't there to remind the Lannisters that she was his daughter, and should be treated as such.

"Girls…" he finally says, turning around to face them. He doesn't get another word out before Sansa is bursting into tears, and Arya sits next to her awkwardly as their father crosses the space in a few short strides, coming to crouch in front of her, cradling her face in hand. He murmurs something to her, something Arya doesn't quite catch, before looking to her.

"You did the right thing, Arya," he says softly, like he's afraid of someone hearing him. There's the oddest expression on his face, like he knows something they don't but Arya doesn't get the chance to ask. "The Wolves do not belong in the South. They are creatures of the North. But now, I need the truth, from both of you."

Sansa makes a fearful noise, and Arya feels her anger rise. She glares at her sister unabashedly, venom in her voice as she says, "Sansa's too obsessed with being Joffrey's Lady Wife to do that."

Her father gives her a stern look, raising a brow at her when she glares. Deflating after a moment, he reaches out to hold both of their faces in hand, eyes familiar and kind as he looks between them. "We are going to a dangerous place, I will not lie to you," he says after a long minute. "Sansa, I know you have to side with Joffrey, but I need the truth. There are no ears but our own in this room. So, what happened."

Slowly, haltingly, Sansa speaks, sniffling as she gets to Nymeria attacking Joffrey. "I don't remember much after that. Joffrey had asked me to not bring Lady, but Jory overheard and said that you would probably feel more comfortable if I had my wolf with her. You never know what's out there, he said. I didn't even realise Lady was gone until you came along."

Their father turns to Arya for the rest of the story. She glances at Sansa, and sees her sister staring at her with wide, imploring eyes, red-rimmed from her tears. As shakily as Sansa, she speaks, voice sad. "We hid out in the woods, the girls and I. But I knew that they couldn't stay, so I told them to go, but they wouldn't so I had to throw things at them until they left and then they found me–"

"Alright," he says, cutting her off. He looks between the two of them, that same odd expression crossing his face. Sighing, he pulls them both in for another hug, and this time, Sansa also wraps her arms around Arya, and she doesn't pull away. The warmth and smell of her father is familiar and comforting, and Arya would stay here forever if she could.

"Alright," he repeats, pulling away and standing up. "Both of you have had an adventurous night, and I say it's time for all of us to go to bed. Jory!" He calls, and in a moment, Jory materialises in the tent, looking at the girls with a kind expression. Their father picks Arya up, and she doesn't protest, clinging close to him. "Could you take Sansa to her chambers? And make sure The Prince or Queen don't try and do anything. Tensions are still high and I don't want another incident"

"Yes, my lord," he says, dipping his head at their father, before offering a hand to Sansa and helping her up from where she'd been sat on their father's bed. "Come, m'lady," he tells her, ushering her out of the tent without another word. Arya watches her sister go, watches as she glances back briefly, right as the tent flap closes, leaving Arya and her father alone.

"Are you mad at me?" She manages to ask him as he tucks her into bed a little while later, heart lurching as her father hesitates, pulling the blankets close around her. Slowly, he leans forward to press a kiss to her brow, face troubled.

"I'm just glad you and your sister are okay, and that you don't have to lose your wolves. And once Robert sobers up, I know you'll be in the clear. Cersei will complain, but children play, and no one can find the wolves. And she knows better than to punish one of you when I or my men are around." He reaches out to brush a hair out of her face. "You did the right thing, I mean it. I know it was hard."

"Why does Sansa have to lie?" She hisses suddenly, missing the way her father's face falls as she continues. "I'm her sister. He's just some stupid southern prince. I don't get why she's choosing…him."

"Sansa is going to marry him," he reminds softly. "She must be with him in all matters, no matter what her heart says. And your sister was just as afraid as you were. If you were asked to lie or decry someone you love without warning, it would be hard for you too. But she is your sister. Never forget that, Arya."

"But why does she have to marry him?"

Her father's face does that odd thing one more time. This time, he looks away as well, looking tired and much older than he truly is. Suddenly, Arya feels bad for snapping at him, but before she can apologise, he speaks, roughly and slowly. "Winter is coming. You, and your sister, are Starks of Winterfell. You have been raised on those words. And when winter comes, and the cold wind blows, we need all the allies we can get. You and your sister cannot be divided."

Arya looks up at him, feeling suddenly out her depth. Once more, he reaches out to her, cradling her face in his hand, and running his thumb under her eye. "You were born in the Long Summer. You have known only the sun and what warmth the North can give. But Winter is truly coming, Arya. And we need to be ready for it. You need to be ready for it. Your sister, your brothers, your home, they are what will guide you through the Winter. That is how it has been, since before The Andals, before the Iron Throne. Starks, and the North, surviving against the cold."

"My father told me something, a long time ago," he presses on, and Arya's eyes widen at the mention. Her father seldom speaks of what he lost, and she knows that it's too deep a wound. She knows the stories. "When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives." He takes a shuddery breath in. "Nymeria and Lady have one another. You and Sansa have each other, and always will. She is your sister. Do not forget it"

"I won't," she says, and her father nods.

That night, she dreams of running free through the woods. The grass is soft under her feet, the wind blows over her, and at her side, her sister runs wild. They catch a glimpse of shadows in the dark, hear shouts behind them, but they've disappeared into the night by the time anyone realises what they are. Day breaks over the hills, an a river glistens in the dawn. Her sister is at her side, smaller but just as strong, as it turned out.

They both look North. She can feel her brothers there, three at the great keep of Stone and Snow, and one, approaching the Wall, drawing closer to the lands of Winter from which their mother once came. For a moment, they stand there, the breeze in their hair, and after a moment of consideration, they turn away, and fade into the woods once more.

—

For a moment, the world goes still. Arya can hear Sansa's screams, can feel the rough leather of the Night Watchman's jerkin against her cheek. The jeers of the crowd surround her, and Sansa's screams rise to a fever pitch, Joffrey's voice rising above the din. Then there is a crucial moment of absolute silence, and deep in her heart, Arya knows what just happened.

The Night Watch Man–Yoren, as she will later learn–hauls her bodily away. She gets a single glimpse of Sansa, with her flaming hair done up in the Southern way, and her beautiful dress, but it's enough to watch her sister faint. In the back of her mind, a familiar voice says something, but she can't latch onto the words for long enough.

Sansa's scream echoes in her ears, as her hair is cut, as Yoren calls her boy over and over again. There's a wild, almost desperate look in her eyes, and she remembers her uncle telling her that men of the Watch have always held the Starks in high regard. Because they're the only ones who listen to us, he'd said mischievously, eyes sparkling as he pulled her in for a hug. She thinks–briefly–of Jon, all those miles away, alone in the cold. She wonders what he'll do, when he learns.

And then she's with men and boys who will go to the Watch. She catches the eye of one of them, one of the men in the cart. His eyes are narrowed but aware, his hair both red and white. When he catches her looking, he tilts his head at her, looking at her like she knows everything about her already. She looks away before he can say anything.

"It's a Thousand Leagues between here and the Wall!" Yoren is saying, and Arya's mind spins. She glances back briefly, at the Red Keep, looming in the distance. Sansa is there, her sister is there, and her father's words come back to her in a sudden rush. You and Sansa have each other, and always will, he'd said, but he had been wrong. He'd always been wrong, she thinks bitterly.

A Thousand Leagues. She looks North. Robb is massing in the Riverlands, she thinks she heard, with Grey Wind at his side. Bran and Rickon are the Starks in Winterfell now, with Summer and Shaggydog at their side. Something about the image of Arya's little brothers as the Lords of Winterfell, makes her smile to herself, feeling just a little bit warmer. It's always warm in the South.

Jon is alone at the Wall, Ghost probably his shadow, just as always. Her father had said that Benjen was currently missing. She hopes he's okay, that they both are. They're alone now, like Sansa and her are, now, but at least Jon still has his wolf. She thinks of Nymeria, and of Lady, and her heart pangs in her chest. She looks once more to the Red Keep, towards Sansa.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, and turns her back to King's Landing, trailing after Yoren without another glance back. She can't save Sansa, and she has to save herself as well. Robb will come South, she reasons to herself. He'll kill Joffrey and Cersei and The Hound and Ilyn Payne, and all of them. He'll free Sansa, and Arya will be home with Bran and Rickon by then. Things will be alright.

That night, she dreams again. The wind is in her hair, and she's howling into the night. Her sister curls around her, a sense of loss deeper than anything she's ever felt in the air. Something has happened, she knows instinctively. Her brothers are separating. She has her sister, and the younger ones have each other, too, but the firstborn, grey and white, are alone.

She nuzzles her sister quietly, the woods coming to life around them. She can hear a bird in the distance, hear the rustle of leaves a ways away. She can hear a rushing creek and a man-fire, see hints of it's light. Together, they slink away from the fire, much preferring the dark. But tonight, they are not hungry, having no appetite for food. She misses her girl. She wonders where she is.

When Arya awakes the next morning, there are no birds, and her body feels empty. The other boys give her a wide enough berth, she supposes, save for that blacksmith's apprentice. They're all talking about what happened the day before, and she catches the apprentice's eye as they do. He tilts his head at her, brow furrowing as he looks at her. She turns away from him before he can get any ideas.

Yoren finds her that night at camp and tells her the story of his brother. She wants to ask about Uncle Benjen, and about Jon, but she doesn't dare. He looks at her, taking note of her sudden silence and the look in her eyes, no doubt, and glances around. Everyone is asleep. He crouches closer and drops his voice so low only she can hear.

"I don't know what you've heard about your uncle, boy, but he's one of the toughest sons of bitches I know, and a good man. If anyone can survive the cold, it will be a wolf like you. And your brother, the bastard…" he trails off, lip quirking with a smile. He seems to consider something for a moment, before shaking his head. "Good fighter. Making a name for himself, especially with that wolf of his."

She looks to him, eyes wide. "Ghost?" She asks, a thrill passing through her. She knows, intrinsically, that her brother's wolf is still alive, but it's nice to hear him mentioned. To have any of her family's wolves mentioned with kindness and love for them, not scorn and distrust.

"Aye, that's the one," Yoren says, pulling back. He pats her on the shoulder, and tells her, "Get some rest. We've got a lot more miles to go, still."

—

There is blood in her mouth, under her paws. The moon shines above, a sickle in the night, and she pants for breath, her sister at her side, silent as a shadow. The stag had died easily enough, in the end, but she can hear man-hunters drawing closer. Her sister presses at her side, and she keens lowly. There is food right here, and she doesn't want to be drawn away by men.

Her sister nips at her, and she growls. Her sister, getting just as big as she is, is not cowed, and with one last look back at their food, she follows her sister into the shadows. But they do not go far, watching from their cover as the man hunters finally stumble upon the corpse. They look frightened, and the scent of their fear sends a ripple through her. She crouches, slowly.

"Fucking hell," One of them mutters, crouching down to inspect the corpse. His eyes scan the surrounding area, probably looking for tracks, but the night hides the blood and paw prints from view. She can see them, but she has long since learned that men do not have the sense of the world that she does. A shame. "What could do this?"

"A very hungry wolf," one of them says, drawing a hesitant chuckle out of him. He, at least, is looking more carefully around, fingers on the claw at his side. In the distance, a branch snaps, and her sister and she turn slightly to it. The men seem even more nervous, now, and she can't deny that she does want to maul them in their red and gold. She remembers the red and the gold. She remembers the golden child, who hurt her girls.

"Ain't no ordinary wolf," one of them says, a sudden understanding dawning over him. She feels a thrill of excitement rush through her, and she presses down further in anticipation. At her side, her sister stands tall, keeping an ear out. "You don't think it's the–"

"No," The first one says, voice firm. "We're a hundred miles away from Robb Stark and his fucking wolf. Tom's right, it was probably a few hungry wolves. Foods growing thin in these parts. What's it those Starks say, about Winter?" The other two chuckle, and he continues on, making a funny voice as he does. "Winter is coming. What a load of shit. Obviously, it's coming, that's how the fucking seasons work. Whatever. Let's head back to camp."

She and her sister don't give them a chance. One of them screams as they see her, but she's on him in a moment, her sister behind. Her sister kills one and she kills two, panting for breath as she finishes with the last of them. Then, with a flick of her tail, she turns back to her food from earlier, which isn't as fresh anymore, but still good.

Still, her sister holds off. Her tail flickers nervously, and she pauses then, looking at her. And then she hears it, the sound of paws, the sound of something drawing near. Slowly, she rises to her full height, pressing close to her sister as they come out of the woodwork. She snarls when she sees them.

Smaller cousins, these ones. The biggest is half her size, but still bigger than she was when she left her girl. He approaches slowly, defensive but not aggressive. She perks up, suddenly interested, her sister's tail flicking nervously against her side. She thinks of her brothers, scattered across the lands, separated by strange men, and presses closer.

He growls, and then turns his head up and howls. The rest of the group joins, and she suddenly understands. She is a wolf, a creature of the far north. She has seen what the men of the north do, how they gather around one another, how they stick together. She has not seen her girl in very long, but she does remember what it was like to have more than a single sister with her.

So, come morning, she and her sister lead the hunt, fifty smaller cousins behind them.

notes:

-the most recent version of this story is on ao3, under the same title and author name. gonna try and get caught up asap, but probably not before the next chapter. once I'm up to date, ill say, and chapters will be about every other week from then on

-this chapter is the shortest in the series. by a long shot. average word count is up to ~15k, but current chapters are pushing close to 20k. do with that what you will

-gonna avoid doing ALL the notes from ao3, but will keep the important ones here :))

thank you for reading ! i don't check ff that often, but ill try and read every review and remind myself how this site works