Theon returned in time for the prisoner exchange.

"Theon–" Sansa tried to question him, to apologize, to anything, but he turned away.

"I swore to fight for the Starks," Theon said, still not able to look her in the eye. "I'm here to fight for the Starks."

Harrenhal loomed. Even if Tywin hadn't agreed to cede the castle, the rest of the terms offered had been enough for Robb. With Jaime between them in chains, Robb, Sansa, and Theon stood at the front of the contingent of their army. Behind them, Brienne stood on guard and Lord Karstark held his archers at the ready. Surrounding Robb and Sansa waited the three direwolves: Lady, Grey Wind, and Nymeria.

Jaime looked over the lot with a dismissive air. "Looks like you're expecting quite the party."

Sansa stared unflinchingly ahead. "The things we do for love."

Jaime turned to her. He stared and stared but Sansa's gaze straight ahead never wavered.

Brienne gave a jerk on his chains. "Eyes front, prisoner."

Jaime glared back at her. "As soon as I cross this field I'll be a free man, in command of my father's armies and you'd do best to remember–"

"Yes, as soon as you cross it." Brienne tugged on his chain again, making him stumble. "Prisoner."

The gates of the ruined castle opened. Lannister archers manned the battlements, with bows at the ready but no arrows nocked. Some of the Stark archers stirred, but Robb motioned them into ease with his hand.

Nymeria broke ranks. Snarling, she paced in front of the troops, her restless paws wearing grooves into the forest floor.

"Easy, girl," Robb said. "Wait for Arya."

The wolf continued pacing.

Tywin rode forward. He looked every inch the vengeful king, draped in red astride his black warhorse. As he walked closer, Sansa's breath caught. Next to him walked Arya. Without thinking, Sansa's hand found Theon's. Startled, he looked down at her hand – and then back at Arya, squeezing tight.

With every step, Arya pulled futilely on the rope binding her hands to the lead that sat in Tywin's hands next to his reins. Tywin ignored her. He stopped his horse at the edge of the gate.

"Have they hurt you, my son?" Tywin called.

"They've been very mean, Father," Jaime replied. He'd been scrubbed for the occasion, though his once-golden hair still hung grey and limp. "Tied me in a muddy pen, without proper food–"

"Are you intact?" Tywin cut in, with no small amount of exasperation.

After a long pause, Jaime answered, "Yes."

"Arya?" Robb called.

"He's the worst!" Arya yelled, with a violent tug on the rope. "He threatened to have my eyeballs scooped out, and he pulled off all my toes, and–"

Tywin glared down at her.

Arya sighed. "I'm fine."

Tywin motioned to his troops behind him. His troops stirred. The Stark soldiers put arrows to bows, about to draw back–

The 200 Stark prisoners stepped into view. They waited behind Tywin in a milling herd. Sansa spotted Gendry among them and her heart gave a lurch of pride. Good for Arya, slipping him in among the Starks.

"Lord Karstark?" Robb asked, with a tilt of his head to the man behind him.

"Aye," Karstark replied. There were tears in his eyes, though he tried to hide them. "That's my boy with them, alright. Wylis Manderly, too."

Robb gave a nod to Tywin. With a nod from Tywin in reply, the prisoners began their march.

From Harrenhal, 200 men, all with bandages and many with missing limbs, strode one step at a time toward the waiting Stark army. Arya walked in the lead, taking in the sight of her waiting siblings with glee.

From the Starks, Jaime walked toward his father, escorted by three direwolves. He looked uneasily around him as the beasts hemmed him in. Nymeria growled. Jaime continued on, trying his best to ignore them.

The groups were supposed to meet in the middle of the field. Nymeria couldn't wait. With bounding strides, she covered the distance. Lannister archers pulled bowstrings back, their arrows pointed at the running direwolf.

"Hold your fire!" Rob yelled. "She means no harm!"

The wolf bounced closer. Tywin raised a hand, ready to summon a volley of arrows at the twitch of his finger.

"Nymeria!" Arya cried, running to her wolf.

In a final leap, the wolf bounded on her, knocking Arya to the ground. Pinning her by the chest, it licked her face over and over again as the Stark girl giggled.

"Nymeria, I'm okay!" Arya said through her laughter. "But you're heavy, girl! Get off!"

Slowly, Tywin lowered his hand. His archers relaxed.

The prisoners passed in the middle. With the two direwolves as guards, the injured Stark soldiers walked back to Robb and his armed escort; Jaime continued onward alone.

From the middle of the field, Arya got to her feet. Nymeria's tongue lolled from her mouth as she panted happily by Arya's side.

Jaime had almost reached the Lannisters. Arya called out, "Hey!"

The Lannister troops stirred. Tywin turned to her, waiting.

Hands on hips, her brow furrowed with fury, Arya said, "You still have my sword!"

One of Tywin's eyebrows ticked upwards. "We are not in the business of returning captured arms."

"I don't care!" Arya said. "It's my sword and you can't have it!"

Sansa could have sworn Tywin was fighting down a smile. "This little thing?" he said, gesturing to where Needle hung on his hip. "More like an overgrown knife, I'd say."

Arya crossed her arms, not done glaring. "You don't need it. You'll just throw it away."

Jaime had reached his father's side. Tywin bent down, grabbing Jaime by the chin and turning him every which way, as if to make sure his son hadn't been lying. Finally satisfied, he looked back to Arya.

"You're right," Tywin said. "I will."

Arya started to protest as Tywin pulled her sword from his belt, flinging it into the grass at her feet. He turned his horse without another glance back at the Starks. "Close the gates!" he commanded his men.

Harrenhal's gates slammed shut behind him.

. . .

"Why can't I go with you and Mother to talk to the Tyrells?" Arya asked for about the fiftieth time, pestering Sansa in her tent as she packed. "I just got back and all, I don't know why you'd want to leave me–"

Stuffing the last of her newly-bought dresses into her bags, Sansa levelled a glare at her younger sister. "For the last time, Arya: no. Just tell me how the Lannisters caught you."

Dropping onto Sansa's cot in a huff, Arya swung her feet in the air, staring fixedly down at them. "I wouldn't be a bother," she said in a small voice. "You'd hardly know I was there."

"Arya," Sansa said, at her most commanding and even she could hear her mother in the tone.

Arya sighed. "Tywin'd already picked me to be his cupbearer. But then some of his guards kept talking about seeing a wolf in the woods and… and shooting it if they did, so…" She swallowed. When Arya looked up at her sister, suddenly she looked like the twelve-year-old she truly was. "I couldn't let them, Sansa. I just couldn't. And I guess one of the guards saw me trying to make her leave."

Sansa pulled Arya into a hug. "I would have risked heaven and hell to keep Lady safe. I'm just glad you weren't hurt."

"But you know," Arya started up again and Sansa could hear the wheedle in her voice, even before she'd truly asked. "If I came, Nymeria would tag along. Another wolf would help protect you, right?"

Sansa was just starting in on another glare when someone stepped through the open tent flap. "All set?" Theon said. "The hostlers are loading our things on the horses, ready to leave in the hour."

"THEON's going?!" Arya said, with a crushing disappointment.

He ruffled her hair as Arya pouted harder. "Course I am. Someone's got to look after the girls."

Sansa didn't know how to ask this politely, but… "Robb let you?"

With a tense set to his mouth, Theon gave a nod. "I pointed out your mother's sworn swordswoman and that it'd look positively ridiculous if our entire negotiating party was made of women." He shrugged. "And since I'm Robb's best fighter, I was the natural choice."

With a raise of her eyebrow, Sansa fought not to smile. "And so modest."

He grinned. "I thought honesty was better."

She rolled her eyes as Arya huffed from the cot, disappointed at being forgotten, yet again.

"We'll be back soon, Arya," Sansa said, leaning down to stare her in the eyes. "I thought you'd like being in a war camp? Plenty of training going on around here for you to learn from."

"Yes," Arya said, like they didn't understand the simplest thing. "But what I really want is–"

The light through the tent flap was abruptly blocked out by a six-foot three-inch Mountain of a woman. Brienne of Tarth, standing there in her brilliant gold armor and glaring down at them. "Lady Catelyn wants to know if she'll, and I quote, 'be waiting all day for the lot of you.'"

Arya's mouth hung open in delight, as it did every time she saw Brienne.

"We were just about to leave, Brienne," Sansa replied, gathering her bag. Theon immediately took it from her, heading to the horses. The others followed behind him. "Won't the riding be rough, in all that armor?"

They walked through the camp, Sansa delicately lifting up her skirts to avoid the many mud pits. Arya followed behind like a puppy, eagerly staring up at the Lady Warrior.

Brienne hesitated. "I will not be accompanying you, my lady."

Sansa stopped. "Why not? We've need of good swords on the road."

Brienne bowed her head. "The Tyrells believe me to have killed Renly, their king. It… would not help negotiations."

"So you mean you're staying?!" Arya asked, overflowing with glee. She hadn't been this happy to see her own family again. The intense discomfort on Brienne's face concerned her not a whit.

"It would seem that I must," Brienne replied.

Arya spun with happiness, punching the air. "Yes! Just wait till I tell Gendry! GENDRY!" she called, running through the camp.

Brienne sighed. "Is she always like this, my lady?"

Sansa could only smile. "Only around you."

Brienne's look of pain intensified.

Sansa rested a hand on Brienne's arm. "I'll tell her not to, if it bothers you. She needs to learn manners some day. But I've never seen her this excited in my life."

"I'm not a nursemaid," Brienne said with a frown.

"She doesn't want a nursemaid. She wants a training master."

Brienne made a face. "But she's so small."

"Yes," Sansa replied. "And fast. For the rest of her life, everyone will always underestimate her." Including the Night King. "It would be best not to be one of them. If you give her the chance, I believe she could be the most dedicated pupil you'll ever receive."

Brienne studied Arya as the girl chatted with the blacksmith. "Is this a command, Lady Sansa?"

"Of course not," Sansa replied. "You swore an oath to my mother, not to me. But I would ask you to consider it, as a friend."

Shocked, Brienne turned to her. "My lady?"

Sansa smiled. "My offer of friendship is there, should you wish it."

"My lady, I–"

"Sansa!" Lady Catelyn stormed through the camp, glaring at her. "Any time we want to leave a place, are we destined to wait upon your leisure?"

With a final pat on Brienne's arm, Sansa followed her mother.

Behind her, she could hear Brienne shouting and turned to watch. "Arya! Pick a training sword and be in front of me before I count to five!"

Arya scurried over as fast as she could. "But all the training swords are huge. I can't Water Dance with those–"

"Water dance on your own time! When you're with me, you learn how to fight. Am I clear?"

Her eyes wide, Arya nodded vigorously. She grabbed the smallest wooden sword. Holding it upright, the tip immediately began tilting downwards.

"I'll see if someone can't make you a smaller one," Brienne muttered. "Now. We'll start with a basic block. Miss it and you'll get hit."

"Sansa!" Catelyn said, her hands on her hips.

Sansa ran through camp, no amount of mud puddles able to dampen her grin. Arya was going to be taught the sword. Perhaps Sansa hadn't sabotaged her sister too badly, yet.

. . .

"Brienne of bloody Tarth," Theon said, with a shake of his head once they were on the road. "You told me about her weeks ago and I still couldn't believe it until I saw her with my own eyes."

"Don't insult her." Sansa frowned. "She's extremely loyal and an excellent fighter."

"I wouldn't dream of insulting her," Theon replied, with a spark of mischief in his eye that said the opposite. "I've dueled her three times and found three different ways to be knocked on my arse."

As their horses plodded along the road, Sansa couldn't help smiling at him. It was nice to be traveling again, but with thirty armed horsemen surrounding them and her mother on her other side, well, it wasn't quite the same.

"I wonder if I shouldn't send you home to Bran and Rickon," Catelyn said, with a glance over at her daughter. "All this running about in camps can't be good for a young lady."

"I'm with my family," Sansa said. "And I can help, I–"

"Yes, yes, I know all about your spies," her mother replied. "What I want to know is what a girl of fourteen is doing having spies. Our own haven't picked up a tenth of the information you gathered!"

"The North doesn't have spies," Theon said with a look of distaste. "You have gossip, dangled by people who actually bother gathering it."

"Watch your tone, Greyjoy," Catelyn snapped.

Giving a mocking bow, Theon let his horse fall back to ride with the men surrounding them.

"Mother," Sansa sighed. "I wish you would not treat him so."

"Oh, you wish it, do you?" Catelyn said in a vicious whisper, snapping her reins. "I wish he had not embarrassed himself and us by proposing an improper betrothal in front of all our allies!"

"Mother," Sansa said again. "He is kind and he is my friend. Many of the matches suggested for me were horrid. Of course he would try to spare me–"

"After it's a known fact that he spent weeks on the road alone with you, Sansa? It's indecent, it's–"

"Yes," Sansa snapped. They had some privacy from the soldiers around them, but her whispers could not stay muted long if she remained this furious. "It's positively lurid that when we feared for our lives, I held his hand. When he returned me to camp, you greeted him as my brother. Yet you deny him that whenever it suits you!"

Unable to listen any longer, Sansa spurred her horse faster, joining the men in front. The talk from the soldiers immediately stopped; they'd likely been discussing something considered 'indelicate' for ladies' ears. Sansa sighed. Wherever she went, she was a burden.

"Carry on," she said, trying to hit the appropriate balance of friendly and commanding. "I've been around Lannisters for the past year; I'm sure I've heard worse."

The soldiers laughed. Their talk resumed, if more quietly than before. Sansa paid them no mind. With the speed their small group could make, the Tyrells camped only a few days' ride distant. Sansa needed all the time she could to prepare. Whatever she thought about Robb breaking engagements, it was a fact that Tyrell support would win the war. Sansa had to do whatever she could to get it.

And this future, whether it be good or ill, was unknown to her. And that was terrifying.