Hello, people.
Have this, as I have slaved over it for nearly, like, forever.

I would like to thank you that little anon who reviewed. You have my love.

The babe was a boy, and though the birth was quicker than with Naerys, he would not stop bawling unless held.

Naerys had proudly proclaimed that he be named Daeron the Dear because he was so quiet with her around. His pure silver hair was only just starting to grow in, and his bright purple eyes ever watchful for his elder sister.

And, before long, Daeron was pulling himself up as Naerys had been doing nearly a year before and war was threatening to break out.

The Martells were upset, Mycella Lannister was trying to get backing for her claim, and the Wildlings were trying to break past what was left of the Wall.

Naerys could pronounce her words properly and Daeron was beginning to talk before a raven came. Aegon had given it to her as she undressed for bed, hair mussed and eyes guarded.

"Jon asks for men." He mumbled against her shoulder as he curled his form around her own. It was funny, she thought. That he sort out her counsel and company when she was not nearly as inviting or warm as Arianne.

Arya shrugged tiredly and moved her head slightly to look back at him. "Then send them," she said.

Aegon snorted. "What? No wise words of counsel for me now?"
Arya moved to face him, mouth quirked downwards. "He is your brother, your uncle by marriage if the laws of the Watch would allow it." She told him, hands coming up to dance along his fringe-line. "But I want naught to do with him. Send them because he needs them."

Aegon frowned against her hands. After a beat, he spoke carefully and soft. "What happened between you and he? You both were close, before."

Arya pulled her hands back and used them instead to brace herself as she sat up. "We were," she agreed with an impetuous toss of her head. "But that was when we were different people, Aegon. Jon and I, we went our separate ways a long time ago." She considered her words, considered the fact that they might very well be a lie; she had, after all, become quite good at lying to her husband. Jon and she had said their goodbyes before Aegon had reached the Wall, long before he had proposed a marriage pact to her. They had been different people then-still very much the same children their father had left behind.

Mayhaps that was why they had latched onto one another so quickly and in such a way that made Arya wish she had been selfish enough to throw away Aegon as he had almost Arianne Martell.

But her little brothers needed the men Aegon was willing to give with a marriage, and her family would not survive another war; Arya knew this much without a doubt.

Still, it hurt her.

Aegon watched her face for a moment, and Arya quickly pushed back her thoughts for fear she was being read like a book. The side of his mouth rose in a smile. "You always-without fail, I might add- do that."

Arya cocked her head to the side, a question. Aegon brushed back a lock of unruly hair from her face. "You close off."

Arya's eyes softened into the smallest of smiles. "A habit, I suppose."

"Will you go in my stead?" He asked after a second. "The men will need to be escorted to Winterfell, at least."

Arya frowned, and Aegon's thumb smoothed it out. "But Naerys and Daeron…"

"Will be fine, I assure you. Arianne will care for them, you know."
At the face Arya pulled, Aegon laughed. "If not, I can always send a raven to your lady sister." He told her lightly.

Arya grinned. "Sansa told me she wished to be more involved with the two."

Aegon leaned forward, and she allowed his heated kisses to let her forget.

.

.

It had been longer than Arya would have liked since she'd seen Winterfell's walls.

The snow that had blanketed the ground a few short years before had long since melted away to show dark green grass and sloping hills for miles around.
It made Arya miss her home with a fierceness she had only known in loving her daughter.

The raven that flew over head cawed at the sight of her, and Arya beamed up at her brother. "Couldn't greet me in your other form, Bran?"
The raven cawed once more before flapping back to Winterfell.

Gendry had stayed behind in King's Landing at Arya's behest, to care for her children. It had put Aeon off his game somewhat, having his wife's lover stay while she ran one of his errands.

Benard was her little shadow the entirety of her stay. The beautiful babe he'd been was already beginning to fade away.

They should not have to grow up so fast, Arya thought. They should not have to face the trials we did. She shared a look with Bran as she thought that, and he seemed to know. His lips thinned and he tilted his head, before welcoming her into Winterfell's walls as King in the North and Lord of Winterfell.

Arya did not hug him as she would have when she was ten and climbing walls with him; that time had passed. She simply thanked him for his hospitality and curtsied like a proper lady before turning to her men and dismissing them to their tents. Bran did not trust her as he had, and that much was fair; Arya had done very little to earn it back after returning to Westeros a stranger with his sister's face.

But still, Benard and Lyanne would pester her for tales of her adventures in Braavos and beyond the Wall. What did dragons look like? Did Wildlings truly try to drink your blood? And when was Naerys coming to visit next?

She, surprisingly, held love for the two toddlers. Arya Stark did not love many people. It wasn't that she did not want to; just that all those years had hardened her heart to stone, and bitterly, Arya realised that she deserved the title Lady Stoneheart more than her long-dead lady mother ever did.

Though she had left the House of Black and White; Arya Stark found that she could never find the right face to wear around her family-they would know if she lied or if the ghosts and ghouls of people past were haunting her.

Bran knew better than most, Arya found. He could simply look at her and know when it was a charade and that the emotions she was displaying were a farce.

It was always tense when the two were in the same room. Meera seemed to notice most of the time, usually placing a calming hand on her husband's strong shoulder and offering Arya a small smile that said so much.

Meera's brother had passed away because of green-sight, the craggoman had told her once; a harsh thing that had bitten Bran to the core.

Jojen Reede had been Bran's first true friend, and Meera his first love. And Brandon was one of the few, that though he was physically crippled, that was not yet mentally scarred as the rest of the older Starks were.

Like Arya herself was.

So, true to her form, Arya found herself asking quite bluntly one evening, "How did Jojen die, Bran?"
The warmth of the fire kept the cold from the stones at their feet at bay, and the false light danced across her little brother's face. "What happened in Braavos?" He returned evenly; but he was not as trained in keeping his expression bland and Arya could see the hurt that she had inflicted clearly in the way his eyes tightened and the way his jaw set. Her stomach churned. Whether it was because of Bran's weakness or that she had just exposed them like a flesh wound, she did not know. Arya did not bother explaining herself, did not apologise, not only because she knew Bran would not accept it, but that he wasn't expecting one from her either.

So, instead, she answered his question. "I was a Faceless Man, and I did as I was told for a time; I killed men, women and once even a child." Arya paused. "That was when I left them."

Bran's Tully-eyes widened a fraction at her confession, obviously not expecting her to say such things. Arya flicked her eyes to him. "How did Jojen Reede die, Brandon?" she asked in a much more timid tone, one that had gotten her results from both Aegon and Jon on more occasion than one.

Brandon Stark was no different.

"The Visions take their toll, Arya. And Jojen had been theirs long before I had known him." He said in a quiet but strong voice, eyes gentling as he saw her listening intently.

Arya rose from her seat, the night robes that hung baggily off her body swirling around her. Her hand ghosting just above his shoulder, she said, "I am sorry for your loss, and my words are all I can give you." With that, Arya stepped daintily to the door.
"You gave me an army with a marriage that you did not want. You have already given me enough." A pause. "Sister."

The recognition that he hadn't truly given to her in years gave her a jolt to hear. Arya froze in her steps.

"...Thank you, brother."

And she left without another word spoken.

.

.

She heard the men groan a collective sigh of relief as The Wall came into view. Arya let out a laugh at that. "Come on, men! Nearly there!" she called to the lagers at the back.

Kicking her heels against her mare's sides, Arya took off down the slope hooting; Nymeria running alongside her with as much vigour.

Jon greeted them all with a wide spread of his arms, a nod of his head. When the three hundred new men had been seen to, Jon embraced her tightly; hands that had once known her body better than she did herself, lifting her from the ground as he swung her around.

When they parted, they were still much too close; Arya easily felt his breath upon her face and liked that she could make out a flush on his face.

But he was now her good-brother; and though they had agreed to put their feelings aside-they were still very much there. It was Gilly's son, Little Sam who interrupted them.

"L-Lord Commander, ser."

Jon sighed, but smiled at the lad. "Yes, Sam?"

The boy held out a piece of parchment, seal unbroken with the sigil of House Targaryen. "A raven for you, Lord Commander."
Jon clasped the boy's shoulder. "Thank you."
The boy bowed awkwardly and shuffled off towards the Last Hearth. Jon's gloved hand came to rest on Arya's arm. "Come," he said with a grin. "Let's go get inside. It's freezing out here."

Arya laughed. "Yes, lets."

She wasn't sure just whom it was that initiated the kiss. They had been reading over maps and plans for rebuilding the Wall and manning it, laughing over how much Little Sam was so much like a man that wasn't his father when he gave her a funny look and then they were devouring each other.

He did not love Daenerys Stormborn, and their marriage had only lasted a year before the Watch called upon him again to lead. It was Jon's duty; just as it was Arya's to marry Aegon and birth him children when she'd rather be fucking his brother.

But that did not erase the fact that that letter had told of Jon's daughter. That would mean that he'd been with Dany more than once, and that it had probably been just before the Watch had called upon him.

Arya pretended that it did not bother her as much as it did and kissed him deeper. She had already shrugged out of her furs and her nipples were hard against the cold.

"Well, Lord Snow," she started. Jon ducked his head and his lips closed around one of her breasts before beginning to suckle like a babe. Hooking one leg over his hip, Arya grind against him.

The rest of the night was a blur and full of pleasure.

Only with Jon did she truly feel at home.

Arya was on her way back, nearly at the gate of King's Landing, when she realised that her moon blood had come late.

She did not voice it to Aegon at first, not even to Sansa, her sweet sister.

It was when Arianne Martell was declared with child that Arya felt as if she'd been slapped. They were similar in size, though Arya was the larger; just starting to show the babe that grew inside, and Arya delighted in the anger that grew in the Dornish woman's eyes as she saw that fact.

But Aegon had sent her away to get a child on Arianne; that had been why Dorne had been upset in the first place, she knew. It did not make the reality any less harsh.

Aegon was wearing an apologetic smile when Arya finally presented herself to court some three days after arriving, and then it turned to one of excitement when she straightened and her stomach jutted out proudly.

Sansa stood off to the side with her brood of little flowers, a beaming grin on her face. Encouraging, even now; even though she knew that the child was not Aegon Targaryen's. Sansa could just look at Arya and know; all of Arya's siblings could just tell - they could make out something that Arya herself could not pick up on- and know they'd been lied to. It wasn't fair.

But Arya was far enough along in her pregnancy for the child to be the King's. And Sansa would never out her.

So that was the lie she told him.

Sansa stayed in King's Landing for the entirety of Arya's pregnancy. The court was in an uproar over Arya's suspicious bump. It was large enough now to be of the King's seed, some argued, but the King had been with Lady Arianne the most during that time, others said.

Arya didn't pay them much mind. She knew truth and would never speak of it.

She had been in her chambers reading quietly when Gendry had opened the door and simply stared at her. Such a sorrow raged in those blue, blue eyes of his. Such a sadness.

Arya closed her book and placed it on the table beside her bed before flicking her eyes up to his and opening her arms for him. He knew, on some level-she knew that he did-about the child. And that she could never carry one that belonged to him.

Gendry's strong arms came about her and he wept. Soon enough she joined him; she who hadn't shed a proper tear in years. Arya wept with him.

And together they cried and clung to each other for the things they'd lost and for the promises that were never kept between them; the things that could have been. The Great Mayhaps.

If he had been a lord or she truly a lowborn like she'd pretended in the past, would they have gotten married? Would they have even met?

"If only," she choked out after, hands laced through his like vines and lashes wet with tears.

"If only." He echoed, tone final. He kissed her then, gently, softly, and then he pulled back only to rest his forehead against hers. "I love you," he told her gruffly, hands tightening against her.

Arya held her eyes closed a second longer than needed before opening them and locking with his. "As I love you." She returned, a sad smile touching her face.

It even reached her eyes.

.

.

Arya was certain that the babe was a boy by the way he would sit to the back of her; Daeron had done the same thing while she was round with him.

Her little prince was always asking about the babe; excited to be a big brother. He would toddle about her, gap-toothed grin on his face as he asked, oft Naerys was there as well, a small, patient smile on hers.

Naerys had gotten so big in the space of only three months; her hair had grown a little longer and she had learned many and more words. She also pestered Aeron to teach her to play with the practice swords.

Arya thought often on how much her daughter was like her. She could see her from the cushioned seat she sat upon; Naerys was ambling after her cousins.

Aeron and Brandon were playing King of the Mountain on one of the rocks and Arya's daughter was beating them both. Being only a year younger than Brandon, and as smart as Aeron-just as calculating as well-she managed to keep the boys off her rock for nearly half an hour before she grew bored of the game and leapt from it.

The garden breeze was warm against Arya's skin and Daeron snuggled closer to her.

"It is a nice day." Gendry said above her shoulder.

Arya hummed in agreement.

Nymeria padded forward from where she lay at Arya's feet to head-butt the bastard knight's shoulder affectionately.

"Summer is always nice." She told him before going back to her book.

Arya had already named the babe before he'd come forth from her. And Torrhen was grasping her finger while she murmured nonsense to him not a moon later; staring wide-eyed at his round face as if he were her firstborn.

He is such a beautiful baby, Arya thought as she watched her son roll over and begin to crawl around the nursery. Black wisps of hair sat atop his head, and in place of the grey eyes known to Stark, there were eyes so violet they were almost blue.

And sometimes Arya caught herself thinking that mayhaps he truly was Aegon's. After all, they shared the same eyes, did they not? But then the truth would come slinking back, Arya's own guilt not far behind.

And the strange thing for her was that she didn't feel guilty for cuckooing Aegon, but that Torrhen would never be allowed to know of his father.

A letter was given to her four moons after Torrhen's birth; it bore the seal of the Night's Watch. Jon was congratulating her on her boy's birth.

As he did every time she gave birth, but this time there was so much more meant in the letter. An underlying: Is it mine?

If she ever saw Jon Snow again, she would tell him that yes, yes of course he's yours. Torrhen is ours and he's perfect.

But Arya Stark could never trust a raven with that.

D.P~ Reviews are always nice, and so far, I have only one. Hint, hint.