A/N: A huge thank you to all my readers - whether you're new to the story, or have been here from the very beginning, thank you all so much for reading. I hope you're enjoying the ride. And and extra thank you to everyone who has taken the time to review - I haven't been getting around to replying to them all but I have been reading them and I really appreciate the feedback, so thank you! :)

That's enough from me, enjoy the chapter :)

xBx

Chapter 23: Arya

Arya stood there, frozen to the spot, unable to move, struggling to digest the full ramifications of what Theon had just declared.

"I'm telling you the truth, Bran and Rickon are still alive!"

She was well aware of every eye upon her, waiting with baited breath for her response to this outrageous claim. It had never been more important to keep a handle on her emotions: she took a breath, never letting anything show on her face.

"The council and I will decide your fate before night's end. Until then you will be taken back to your rooms, and kept there under guard." Arya nodded to the guards who had escorted Asha and Theon, and they withdrew from the hall with their captives in tow.

"We won a victory today," Arya spoke to her men, a smile now masking the turmoil she felt within. The mood of the room slowly changed, as the men began to cheer at her statement. "Now is the time to celebrate – you have earnt it. Tonight, we feast! Tomorrow we rest. And then we'll get back to our war."

Her men did not need to be told twice; what limited winter rations could be provided was now being brought out, and mead and wine was already flowing. Arya turned from the crowd and retreated, back to the room she had come from; Lommy was stood by the door waiting diligently for her next command.

"The council," she started, but Lommy already knew and nodded with a smile.

"Yes, your Grace," he said, starting off to gather the usual crowd.

"And sort some-"

"Food and drink. Yes, your Grace," Lommy grinned.

Arya closed the door behind her as she left the hall, blocking out the sounds of revelry. The antechamber was small, but cosy. A fire had been lit hours ago, when she had first returned from the Godswood after the battle, and was now burning hot and bright. The flagon of mead she had requested whilst her wound was being attended to still sat on the sideboard, and she poured herself a cup before taking a seat at the round table in the centre. She cradled the cup in her hands and stared into the flames.

Were Bran and Rickon out there somewhere? Had they found sanctuary? Or had they escaped only to succumb a worse fate?

She wasn't alone with her thoughts for long; the door to the hall opened and Gendry entered quietly. Arya didn't look up from the fire, but she saw him out of the corner of her eye as he moved slowly toward her, stopping in front of the chair next to her but not taking a seat.

"Hi," He said gently after a moment.

Arya looked up at him and gave him a small smile, "hi."

As he looked at her, Arya could tell he wanted to ask her if she was all right, but at the same time she could tell that the reason he didn't was because he already knew that she wasn't.

"That was…." Gendry seemed to struggle to find the right word to complete his sentence. "Interesting," he eventually finished.

Arya couldn't help but laugh - though it was an overwhelmed and slightly disbelieving laugh, as opposed to one of genuine mirth.

"Interesting is one word for it," She agreed, and then sighed. The smile dropped from her face, and for once she let some of the confusion and distress show plainly on her features; she felt safe around Gendry now, safe enough to show her true self. She voiced her doubts to him now, and as ever spoke bluntly and straight to the point:

"For years, everyone has believed Bran and Rickon to be dead; I mourned them back when we were in Harranhal. But they're alive, out there somewhere. Gendry, this changes everything. If Bran is alive, he is the heir – he is Lord of Winterfell by rights now. And King in the North," Arya added with a whisper.

It had taken Arya so long to accept her Queenship, and she had struggled with the burden of ruling since donning her crown. But she felt she had risen to the challenge, and she had learnt to enjoy it, and rule in her own way. And after all that, it turned out it wasn't all hers after all. She knew she shouldn't feel bitter – that she should be rejoicing that her brothers were alive. But with their life, everything she had struggled with, and learnt to appreciate, in almost a year since she returned would be taken away from her and handed over to her brothers. Arya wasn't entirely sure she could be happy with that.

Gendry took a seat next to her and looked at her with a pained expression, as though steeling himself to say something that might upset her.

"If," he repeated, gently. "If Bran is alive. We have no proof that Theon was telling the truth." He leant forward and put a comforting hand on Arya's knee. "I know you want your brothers to be alive, but the fact remains that until we see them standing in front of us, we have no proof. What Theon said, it doesn't change anything: your brothers aren't here, but you are. Every man out there, they bent the knee and took you as their Queen because they knew you. They marched with you before you even called yourself a princess – they raised you to their Queen because they believe in you. You have lead us, and fought with us – fought for us. We know you, respect you, trust you. Your brothers being alive doesn't change that – they're not the ones who have raised an army to take back Winterfell – you have."

Arya smiled weakly and looked Gendry in the eye. "I have no idea what I'm doing," she admitted in a whisper, and Gendry laughed.

"It's not funny!" Arya frowned. "I'm serious Gendry! There are many things that I can do – the battle today was great, I knew exactly what needed to be done and how to do it. Fighting, I can do. Kill or be killed, I can do. But ruling a Kingdom? I was never raised for this – I was barely raised at all! From the age of ten, I pretty much raised myself. I am just making this up as I go along, trying to rule and learn along the way – what if everyone out there thinks Bran will do it better? What then?"

"You've brought us this far," Gendry reminded her. "And I'm sure your brother, Robb, had similar anxieties when he was first crowned. Men still followed him; and we'll still follow you. For someone who apparently doesn't know what they're doing, you're faking it extremely well. You have everyone out there convinced you're a queen."

"Out there?" Arya gave a small smile. "But not in here?"

Gendry grinned. "Honestly? I'm still having trouble believing you born and raised a Lady," he joked.

Arya laughed and punched him playfully on the arm, muttering "stupid" just like years ago.

After a moment, Arya sighed and stood up. She began pacing slowly back and forth in front of the fire, calming the anxieties she had let to the surface and trying to organise her thoughts to form some sort of plan of action. Gendry had risen when she had, but he just stood back and let her pace, for a moment. Now, though, he took two sure steps forward and put a stop to her pacing by bringing her into an embrace. Arya didn't resist; she let him pull her close, and as he did she took a deep calming breath, inhaling his scent – a calming mix of smoke and steel and snow.

"If your brothers are alive, we will find them. But we need to keep focus on taking Winterfell. And I'm pretty sure the council will say the same thing," Gendry assured her. "Incidentally, maybe it's about time to formalise the council? Give official titles," Gendry started to suggest, but Arya cut him off.

"Don't you start," She sighed, pulling back from their embrace. "I get enough of that from Harwin."

Gendry grinned, and Arya could only assume that Harwin had been sharing his opinion often with Gendry. Since leaving Greywater Watch, Harwin had been trying to convince Arya, not only to formalise the council positions, but also to name a Queensguard. Arya had so far refused – she had Nymeria and the knowledge of the Faceless Men, what other protection did she really need? She had attempted to placate Harwin by telling him she would deal with all that once they took back Winterfell.

"Have you seen Lady Stoneheart?" She asked, changing the conversation before Gendry could fight Harwin's battle.

Arya and her mother had kept their distance since leaving Greywater Watch: Arya had been at the front of her men, leading them to the two battles, but her mother had stayed away from the fighting and had travelled in the midst of those of the Brotherhood who had chosen to follow her – including Ned Dayne, Thoros, and Lem.

Gendry nodded. "She was in the hall; she heard Greyjoy's confession," he said, answering the unasked question.

"Bran was always her favourite," Arya admitted. "I'll have to talk to her soon. But there are other things to discuss first."

The door into the hall opened and the first of her council filtered in – Harwin lead the way, followed Lord Norrey and Maester Mathos. They were soon joined by Lady Mormont, Gellert Reed, Galbert Glover, and Ned Dayne.

Lommy appeared last, with food and drink for all gathered; he served all who sat round the table, and Arya waited for him to finish before she began.

"In light of Theon's revelations, it would seem I am not the last Stark. By all the laws of the land, Winterfell – and all the titles what go with it – belong to Bran."

Those gathered exchanged loaded looks around the table – Arya had been out of their presence for less than half an hour, but it seemed they had already canvassed this topic of conversation. What Arya didn't know was their true thoughts on the matter.

"Permission to speak plainly, your grace?" Lord Glover asked. Always the most outspoken, he was never one to ask permission to voice his opinions, and Arya was certain that this particular request was purely pretence: Lord Glover would undoubtedly give his frank judgement of the situation, whether Arya permitted it or not.

"Of course, you are part of my council – you are here to speak plainly," Arya assured him with a grin.

"Theon is nothing but a turncloak, a coward, and a liar. I don't trust a single word that comes out of that lad's mouth. I know you want your brothers to be alive – what happened to them was a monstrosity, we all wish they didn't have to endure it. It's more than likely Greyjoy is lying in a desperate attempt to save his own skin," Lord Glover stated, and a murmur of agreement came from around the table.

Arya sighed, she knew that was the most likely scenario, that Glover was probably right – but what if he wasn't? There was something nagging at Arya – something in the pit of her stomach, that she couldn't shake.

"What if he isn't lying?" Arya pressed. "Bran and Rickon could still be out there, somewhere."

"Let's say for the sake of argument, that they are," Lady Mormont said carefully. "Where would they have gone? Two young boys – one a cripple – they would not survive the Northern winter long."

"Many remain loyal to the Starks," Harwin said reluctantly. Arya could tell he believed them to be long dead, and that he thought this conversation pointless. Nevertheless, he humoured the argument for her sake. "There are some houses, still sworn and faithful, who have not yet joined us,"

"But they will have known about Arya's return for months now," Gellert Reed countered. "They would have contacted, or joined us by now, surely?"

"We've been constantly on the move – we've sent ravens out, but had no way to receive any return birds," Mathos reminded them gently.

"They wouldn't go to someone if they were unsure of their loyalty," Arya said quietly, shooting down the theory despite wanting to believe it. The stirrings in her gut faded as she began to bury the old Arya with the Faceless Man within her: it was the detached and objective observer she needed now, if she were ever going to deduce the truth.

"After being betrayed by Theon, they wouldn't trust anyone, except family," she stated, instantly knowing what they would have tried to do.

"So, if they had escaped," Harwin directed at Arya, hesitantly. "Where would they go?"

"Jon. They would have gone to the only family they had left – they would have gone to the Wall, to Jon, and sought refuge with the Night's Watch."

As soon as she said it, hope flared in her chest: it was a real possibility. But the hope died as quickly as it sparked.

"If that were the case, you would know it already," Brydon Norrey stated quietly, speaking for the first time.

Everyone looked at him, silently questioning; he continued without needing to be asked, speaking directly to Arya.

"When you first arrived back in Westeros, you landed in Oldtown with two brothers of the Night's Watch, and you left with a third. The Maester was a good friend of Jon's, I remember. If Bran and Rickon were alive, and at the wall with your brother Jon, they would have known. Sam would have known, and he would have told you."

Silence followed his declaration and Arya felt the eyes of the entire room settle on her. She nodded slowly, acknowledging the sense of Norrey's surmise, but let little else show on her face. It was Lady Mormont who broke the silence, bringing the conversation around to the central reason this topic was in discussion.

"Until we see Bran and Rickon in front of us, alive, we will never truly know the facts. Either way, it is irrelevant. Robb's last will – written, and witnessed by his council, named Arya as his lawful successor," She reminded them. "By the laws of the land, Arya still remains his heir."

"He only wrote that, believing everyone else was dead," Arya countered.

"Doesn't matter," Lord glover said bluntly. "King Robb's written word curtails any other succession. And besides, even if your brothers were here, neither of them could lead us the way you can. Bran is crippled – he might make a good lord, but he'll never lead an army to battle. We need a fighter. And from what I know, Rickon would still be a child, too young to lead us. Even if they were here, we'd still be following you."

"Every man out there bent their knee to you; you gave us a choice, and we chose you as our Queen," Harwin reminded her, echoing Gendry's earlier words. "Not because you were our only option – because we believe in you. We know you, we trust you. We'll continue to fight for you and you alone."

Arya didn't need to look at Gendry to know that he was giving her his 'I told you so' look, and so she purposefully avoided his gaze.

"I chose to follow you," Gendry spoke up, getting her attention. Arya looked at him, and he was gazing directly at her as if there was no one else in the room. "You are my queen, and you always will be. I will always choose you."

Gendry's words were laden with meaning, and Arya couldn't help but give him a small, secret, smile. She was aware that others had picked up on Gendry's tone – Harwin, in particular, looked like he was struggling to contain an eyeroll, and no doubt the boundaries of their relationship would now be a topic of conversation once the others were outside of Gendry and Arya's hearing.

It was Harwin who brought the meeting back into its proper course. "A decision should be made, regarding the fate of the Greyjoys. Sooner rather than later."

"Let's start with Asha, shall we?" Arya suggested, knowing this would be the easiest of the two. They discussed all the likely options, including ransom, keeping her as a ward, and sending her on to Aegon. Ransom would be desirable, but memories of what had transpired the last time a group of Stark men escorted a Greyjoy to Pyke haunted the room. They resolved on three possibilities, one of which Arya would decide firmly upon once she had spoken with Asha and understood her disposition more thoroughly.

"And Theon?" Harwin said darkly, bringing them to their final and main point of discussion.

"The man betrayed his friend and his King," Glover reminded them.

"And he appears to have paid dearly for it," Norrey commented evenly. "He looked a broken shell of a man in the hall – nothing like I had heard."

"Not nearly dearly enough," Glover retorted. "He's still breathing. We should feed him to the wolves – let them tear him limb from limb."

"And then we would be no better than the Bolton bastard," Lady Maege stated, frowning at Lord Glover.

"Nevertheless, Theon committed treason – he betrayed his king, and invaded the north," Arya stated. "There are plenty of witnesses here to his treason, and he even admitted it himself just now. Throughout the Seven Kingdoms, the penalty for treason is death. The North holds no different."

The decision was already made, and had been made long before the council had convened to discuss the matter. Everyone at the table knew what Theon's fate was destined to be; everyone was familiar with the laws against treason, and Arya's statement was met with silent acceptance. It felt odd, to sentence someone to death – yes, she had taken many lives during her time in Braavos, not to mention those who had ran across her sword before and since, but she had never been the one to order someone's execution before.

"I believe it's time to name a headsman, your Grace," Ned Dayne commented. "Who is to take up the position of the Queen's Justice?"

"No," Arya stated quietly, thinking of her father. The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword. "We don't use headsmen in the North – our way is the old way. I'm the one who is sentencing him to death, therefore I will be the one to take his head. Theon Greyjoy has admitted, and is known to be guilty of, treason against his liege lord and King. He will be executed at dawn."

/

Arya made her way through the draughty hallways, away from the sounds of revels in the great hall; when she had dismissed the council, the others had returned to the feast but she had sent Lommy to the kitchens to tray up some nourishment which he now carried along as he kept pace with her through the halls of the castle. They reached the hallway where Theon and Asha were being kept in separate rooms; two guards stood diligently outside the doors, letting no one pass in or out. They bowed at her approach.

"Food for the prisoners," Arya announced. "I wish to speak with Theon alone."

One of the guards opened the door nearest to her. With a nod from her, Lommy entered first with his tray and deposited half of its wares before coming back into the hall.

"Thank you, Lommy. Take that in to Lady Asha, and then return to the hall – I have no further need for you tonight, enjoy yourself," Arya told him, before stepping into Theon's room and closing the door behind her, shutting out the guard.

Arya unbuckled Needle from her waist and laid her gently on the sideboard – a sign of peace, signalling to Theon that she was only here to talk.

The room was modest, a small fire burnt in a brazier by the bed in the corner – the only source of heat. Cloaks were no longer reserved for wearing outside, now they were constantly wrapped about the person to keep the biting winter chill at bay for as long as possible.

"It's not a lot," Arya indicated to the food that Lommy had left on the table, as she moved to take a seat. "We have to make do with what we can get in a war, and winter is helping much. But it should be enough to warm you."

Theon eyed the food cautiously.

"It's not poisoned," Arya stated. "That's not how we deal with traitors and deserters in the north. You should know that, you lived among us long enough."

There was no malice in Arya's voice – no emotion of any kind. She kept her tone light and conversational, and her eyes devoid of any feeling; a blank mask.

"I'm sorry," Theon croaked, barely above a whisper, without meeting Arya's gaze.

"Eat," Arya instructed. "And then we will talk."

Arya sat and stared out of the window while Theon worked through his small portion. Dark was fully upon them now; the sky was jet black but clear, the moon and a thousand stars shone brightly illuminating the snow below with an ethereal glow. The room was far enough away from the hall that no sounds of revelry permeated the walls and the silence dragged on, punctuated every now and then by the howls of Nymeria and her pack who were hunting the barren land just beyond the walls.

Arya had no idea what she wanted to say to Theon now that she was here, nor did she quite know how to tell the man she had once grown up alongside of that she would be removing his head at dawn. In her years as a faceless man, all her victims were nameless and unknown to her; she had been completely detached from their fate. And those lives she had taken here in Westeros had either been unknown soldiers in the battle field, or long-time foes who had never been her allies not even as a child. Theon was different – he had been raised alongside her, for the better part of her childhood, almost as another brother. She had never really warmed to him, it was true, but he had been part of the family nonetheless. Which made his treason all the worse.

In the end, it was Theon who broke the silence.

"You've grown up," He stated simply.

He must have been watching Arya while she was staring out of the window, for now that she had turned to face him again, his face had snapped down and he seemed reluctant to meet her eyes.

"You seem smaller than I remember," Arya commented. "But it has been many years since we parted – change is to be expected."

"You have definitely changed," Theon agreed, almost frowning. "You're a lot more serious now. And you're not showing your emotions like you used to – you're distant, and cold."

"Seeing your father beheaded, and then losing your family one by one, tends to have an impact on your personality."

Theon's eyes flashed upwards for the briefest of seconds; he didn't quite meet Arya's gaze, but they lifted enough for her to see the grief and guilt plainly enough.

"Why did you do it?" Arya asked him quietly. "What lead to you betraying Robb in such a way?"

Theon didn't answer at first; he sat staring at his lap, twisting his hands. Arya didn't break the silence, she didn't repeat the question. Instead she just sat there and waited patiently until Theon eventually spoke, unable to take the silence any longer.

"I…I don't….I don't know," he stammered awkwardly.

Arya calmly shook her head in disagreement. "No, you must have had your reasons," she countered. "What were they? I only want to understand what made you turn on the man you spent the better part of ten years growing up alongside. Whatever you say is not going to change the way I think or feel about you – I just want to know why."

There was silence once more, but it was brief this time.

"I never intended to betray Robb," Theon started. "Robb was seeking an alliance with my father – Robb needed my father's ships if he was to take King's Landing, and in return for his alliance, Robb would give my father a crown and let him rule the Iron Islands as a King."

Arya listened quietly as Theon continued his narrative: detailing his father's displeasure at being given what he believed was already his, remembering his father's displeasure at Theon's change and declaring him more Stark than Greyjoy, and telling his wish for his father to see him as a worthy heir. Theon talked through the events that set the ultimate betrayal in motion; being given a ship and set to reaving the coast, and how things escalated.

"One thing lead to another," he said. "Before I knew what was happening, while I was trying to prove myself a leader to my crew, I got so far in I couldn't get out. I regret my actions, I swear."

"When did you regret them?" Arya asked. "At the time, while you were doing it? Or after, when you had to face the consequences?"

Theon gave no answer, and Arya pressed from more information – she skipped over his assault of Winterfell, she had no need to hear what happened again. She was more interested in the aftermath

"I know it was Ramsey Snow,"

"Bolton," Theon corrected her, with a hint of fear in his voice. It was only the smallest hint of fear, well masked so that many would miss it, but Arya heard it. "He's a Bolton now."

"I know it was him who took Winterfell back from you," Arya continued. "Were you there, then? Or did you escape and run?"

"I was there," Theon admitted quietly. "I was always there. Ramsey kept me…" Theon trailed off, took a deep breath and then seemed to change track, moving his narrative forward. "I was there when you were returned to marry him – but it wasn't you. It was Jeyne Pool, the old steward's daughter,"

"Ahh, so that's who Cersei used as my replacement," Arya interrupted, she had been wondering of this answer ever since she had heard of her marriage. "She and Sansa always wished that Jeyne had been born the second Stark girl instead of me; they always wished Jeyne and I could switch places. Life can be quite ironic sometimes; makes you realise you should always be careful what you wish for. Did Ramsey ever find out the truth?" Arya then asked, and Theon shook his head.

"No. To this day he still thinks he was married to you."

"Where is Jeyne now?"

"I don't know. We escaped a year or so ago, but we were separated. Stannis Baratheon found us, he thought she was you as well, and he was going to take you – I mean her – back to the Wall, to Jon. But Asha and I escaped them and fled south, and then we heard they were set upon. I don't know what happened to them, all I know is Stannis is dead."

The pair lapsed into silence then; Theon had finished his tale, and Arya sat there quietly for a few moments, taking it all in.

"Thank you for telling me this," Arya said after a while.

"I am sorry, for everything I did. If I could undo it all, I would," Theon tried to assure her desperately.

"I believe you," Arya told him, finding no trace of a lie in his words. "But it still doesn't change what you did. You are guilty of treason."

Theon gulped. "And I admitted it in the hall," he remembered and Arya nodded.

He took a deep breath, and Arya could tell he already knew what she had come here to say.

"The penalty for treason is death – I'm going to die tomorrow," He stated, sounding remarkably calm.

"Yes," Arya told him, just as calmly. Theon looked at her thoughtfully.

"You're a Stark; you're just like your father. And like Robb. You won't have a headsman; you'll be doing it yourself – the old way, the northern way."

"Yes."

"That's why you came to me tonight, why you were the one to bring my meal."

"Yes," Arya repeated one final time, and Theon nodded in acceptance.

There was nothing left to say, by either of them. Arya stood a moment, then turned. She retrieved Needle and returned it to her waist, before knocking on the door to signal to the guard to let her out. She left Theon sitting at the table, staring out at the night sky – the final night sky he would see.

Out in the hall, Arya took a deep breath, before going in to Asha's chamber. She didn't feel like she had the energy to face Asha this evening; but she knew it was highly likely that Asha would refuse to speak to Arya after tomorrow, and things needed to be settled before then.

Asha was sat reclining nonchalantly in her seat with her feet on the table, the remnants of her meal pushed away from her and a cup of ale in her hand.

"The Queen in the North," Asha greeted, raising her cup in a mock salute. "To what do I owe the pleasure? Are you here to release me?"

"Not quite," Arya said quietly.

"So cold," Asha commented. "Tell me, do you have any feelings buried in there or are you Starks all frozen to the core?"

"I guess you'll never know," Arya smiled blankly, and took a seat. "You're a highborn prisoner of ours," Arya stated, getting right to business. "You should fetch a hefty ransom."

Asha made a non-committal noise from the back of her throat.

"But you don't expect Euron to pay," Arya interpreted, to which Asha grinned.

"Even if he did part with the gold, I wouldn't make it back to him," Ashe told her bluntly.

"Why is that?" Arya asked politely.

"I'm not returning to Pyke just so he can try to marry me off to some old man," Asha said hotly. "When I return to the islands, it will be with an army of my own, to take back my home. Just like what you're doing."

"And in your determination to evade Pyke until you can return triumphant, my men who escort you will just be collateral damage, I imagine?" Arya probed.

"I'm afraid so," Asha agreed with a grin.

"Alright," Arya conceded. "So, ransoming you is a waste of all our time. In that case, you can rest assured I will not send you back to Pyke. But nor will I keep you here – you're not made to be a prisoner, and the north is too harsh – we have little food for ourselves, we don't really want to be feeding prisoners. I'm sure there are some of Aegon's men here who would like the opportunity to return south to warmer climates. You will accompany them. The Iron Islands are sworn to the Iron Throne; King Aegon will decide what to do with you – perhaps he will give you men to dethrone your uncle, if you decide to bend the knee and align yourself with him," Arya suggested.

"It's worth a thought," Asha conceded. "What of my brother? What is his fate?"

Arya was quiet for a second. "Theon confessed to treason, to a hall full of witnesses," she said gently.

"He paid a heavy price for that," Asha said, the nonchelance gone from her demeanour and voice. She removed her feet from the table and stood to face Arya. Arya likewise rose from to her feet, readying herself for conflict if it should come to it.

"Not heavy enough, according to some. Besides, the laws of the land apply to everyone – the penalty for treason is death, there are no exceptions."

"You're a Queen! You can make your own laws, your own rules!" Asha countered hotly.

"And let people think I will pardon treason? I'm sorry, I know what it's like to lose a brother, but he must pay the price of his crimes. I will give him a quick, clean death – there are many men here who want to see him torn limb from limb, who would be more than happy to murder him in his bed."

"So I'm supposed to thank you for getting there first and saving him from the indignity of murder during the night?" Asha scoffed.

"No. I don't expect to you be understanding or accepting of this decision," Arya said calmly. "But the fact remains: Theon betrayed his king, and he will be executed at dawn. You will be allowed to say goodbye to him, and you can stay for his execution if you wish it. You will then be on your way to King's Landing.

Arya left then, and retreated to her chambers. As she passed near the great hall, the sound of celebrations greeted her once more – there would be a few sore heads come morning light, she thought to herself.

Arya was exhausted; she wanted nothing more than to take a hot bath and go to bed, but instead she sat at the table in her solar and began to pen several letters that couldn't keep. First, and foremost, were letters requesting a call to arms to the remaining holdfasts in the further reaches of the North, including Last Hearth, Hornwood, and a number of smaller holdfasts dotted in between. Lord Glover and Lady Mormont had already sent ravens to their own keeps to request whatever men were left of fighting ability to march south to meet with Arya's main host at Torrhen's Square. She penned another letter to Lord Manderly at white Harbour, requesting him to send his armies to join her own. Lord Manderly had so far been quiet on which side he was to be fighting, but Arya was certain his army had not stirred for anyone. She had last written from Greywater, hoping his men would meet them on the road to taking Moat Cailin but they never materialised. Not that Arya could really blame him – Lord Manderly had never seen her, nor spoken with or heard from her before; why should he risk his men for an unknow, and potential pretender. However, now that she had taken two holdfasts, and had dispatched messengers to speak in her name from Moat Cailin, she fully expected his men to march.

Arya intended to march on Winterfell from here; she would wait here while her men recovered strength after the long march, and until she was joined by the remaining men from around them. Those from the holdfast standing between Torrhen's Square and Winterfell they would meet with along their advance.

She also felt it was now time to finally write to Ramsey Snow at Winterfell. By now, her presence in the North will have been well known to him; her attack on Winterfell was never going to have the element of surprise, and it was past time she formally introduced herself to the tyrant who had taken over her home. She began the letter by addressing him as Ramsey Snow, knowing how it would incite him: others would have thought this unwise, but Arya wanted him angry – people were less likely to play strategic and careful when they were reacting with anger. She told him plainly that she was marching north to take her back her home; that she had already successfully taken back part of the north, and now his time had come. The letter was short, and to the point, and she signed off as Arya Stark, Lady of Winterfell and Queen in the North.

As she had been writing, people had come and gone from her rooms: Chambermaids had been toing-and-froing, bringing her wine and filling a tub by the fire with heated water. She had sent for Mathos, who had arrived some time ago, to send the letters once they were written. They conversed lightly as Arya diligently covered the pieces of parchment before her.

"You know that Hornwood is still held by Ramsey?" Mathos reminded her as he peered over her shoulder at the letter she was writing as he had entered.

"Yes," Arya assured him. "But since his father's death, Ramsey has also declared himself Lord of the Dreadfort as well as Winterfell – he can not be in three places at once. Those who hold the Dreadfort in his name are fiercely loyal to him and his barbaric rule. But I don't believe the Hornwoods are – if there is even the slightest chance they'll turn against him to favour us, I have to take it."

When the letters of business were written, Arya sent Mathos off to the rookery to send them on their way. She had one more letter to write, but she wanted to be alone to write this one. Since that first, brief, message she had penned to Jon when she first arrived, that she had entrusted to Sam to deliver, she had not written to her brother again. Now that she was well entrenched in the North, she felt he deserved to hear from her once more – and perhaps this time, she would be in the same place long enough to receive a response. Arya smiled at the thought of seeing her brother's written words; a touchstone to the past, and a warm reminder of the past as well as solid reassurance that she did have some family left.

She wasn't sure how to start the letter; her final conversation with Howland Reed, regarding Jon's true parentage, was at the back of her mind but writing that information in a letter was not the way she wanted him to learn of the truth. And regardless of the truth, Jon would always be her brother – nothing would change the bond they had shared.

Arya put down her pen and pushed back from the table: the letter could wait for now. She sent the chambermaids away, and locked the doors behind them, before stripping away the clothes she had been wearing for the better part of two days. Tossing them carelessly aside, she stepped into the bath waiting for her, her muscles instantly starting to loosen as the warm water enveloped her fully when she sank back into the tub.

She didn't know how long she laid there, with her eyes closed against the world, letting her mind relish in the quiet and the blankness. For once she allowed herself not to think, instead she focused solely on the warmth from the water, slowly permeating her body, relaxing her and relieving the tension from her aching muscles. She only emerged when the water turned cold.

She wrapped herself in a warm winter cloak and returned, refreshed and relaxed, to the table where she once more picked up her pen and began to write her letter to Jon. The words flowed easier now, and she wrote with a small smile on her face as she briefly described her journey from Oldtown to her current location. She left out many details, mentioning nothing of the battles she had fought, as there was only so much she could send with her raven; she would give him all those details when they next met. She signed the letter simply as Arya, not bothering with any titles in her message to her brother, before rolling it tight and sealing it. She sent it off with her own grey raven, that continued to remain by her side most of the time, before climbing into the large bed.

The castle was peaceful around her, but Arya never slept knowing what the morning would bring. She reached out to Nymeria and found herself padding through the snow along the outer wall of the holdfast. Nymeria relinquished control to her, and Arya directed their steps around to the gates and made her way into the holdfast. All was quiet, the celebrations now at an end and most of the men asleep. Only those standing sentry, gathered around fires burning low in their grates, were awake, alongside those building the wooden platform where Theon was to be executed come dawn. All were so used to Nymeria's presence by now that they didn't give her a second thought, as she wondered around the grounds inside the walls.

There were a limited number of places that Nymeria could explore, given her size, and there was no way she would be able to make her way through all the corridors and staircases to Arya's chambers, but she could explore the Great Hall. There were many men still in there, though nearly all were asleep. Nymeria nudged her way through them sometimes breaking from Arya's complete control to feed on some of the scraps discarded by the men. Only two remained awake, at the table at the top of the hall: Gendry and Harwin, in deep conversation that broke off as Nymeria padded closer. Gendry gave the wolf a shrewd look, as if he knew that it was Arya looking back at him.

Arya pulled herself back into her own room, a small smile on her face, and reclined back into the pillows allowing herself to rest. She didn't know if she slept at all that night, or whether she just spent hours staring at back of her closed eyelids, but eventually the gentle stirrings of the castle that accompany the early mornings and herald the beginnings of another day roused her from her repose.

The sky was still dark, and the moon still shone, though she hung low and would be setting soon. Arya left the bed and began to dress: She pulled on a thick, woollen, dark-grey gown, it was plain and practical, yet still well-fitting and womanly. She did not want to dress in breeches and tunic today, as though she were trying to give the impression that she was something she wasn't. She was a woman – a Lady, and their Queen, fully capable of ruling and leading in her own right.

She broke her fast alone in her rooms; she wasn't disturbed until the moon disappeared, and the sky began to lighten, when Lommy entered to attend her to the execution.

She swept a heavy cloak of dark-grey, trimmed in white, about her shoulders and donned her crown. Her hair she simply pulled back from her face, but left it to cascade down back, once again enhancing her femineity. For once she didn't strap needle to her waist, instead she took up Winter, carrying it in her hand as she made her way outside, with Lommy walking dutifully half a step behind.

The sky was beginning to pinken along the horizon as she stepped across the grounds, walking tall and with purpose through the crowd that had already gathered around the newly erected platform just inside the gates. When she reached the steps, she handed Winter to Lommy.

"When I look to you, off it to me hilt first," she instructed him quietly. Lommy nodded gravely, silently conveying his understanding. They then ascended the stage together, and stood a few steps behind the freshly cut block that would soon cradle Theon's head.

There was an intense energy among the crowd gathered; Arya glanced at the guards stood to the left of the podium and gave them a nod. Within moments Theon was brought forward with his hands tied in front of him. He was escorted out of the keep from a door behind the platform to avoid walking him through the crowd. At his appearance, some of crowd began shouting.

"Coward!"

"Turncloak!"

"Traiter!"

But when Theon was brought up, and pushed down in front of the block, the cries ceased and a hush fell over the crowd.

Arya stood at Theon's side, facing him squarely, looking down at him where he knelt.

"Theon Greyjoy, you are brought here accused and found guilty of treason against your friend and King, and the North." Arya's voice carried strong and clear across the dawn. "The laws for treason in the North are the same as those that govern the rest of the Seven Kingdoms, and so you face the consequence of death for your actions. Do you have any final words?"

"I give up my soul to the Drowned God," Theon muttered quietly, more to himself than anyone else. "What is dead my never die."

With a nod from Arya, the men who had brought him before her now positioned his head onto the block. Arya looked to Lommy, who dutifully offered up the hilt of her sword.

Arya took hold of Winter with both hands, unsheathing her calm and steady so the sharp Valryian steel glinted hypnotically in the weak rays of the rising sun.

"By the word of Arya of House Stark, Lady of Winterfell and Queen in the North, I do sentence you to die."

With that formal, and final, declaration, Arya lifted the blade high above her head. She brought it back down, swift and strong, and took off Theon's head with one sure stoke.

A/N: We're getting closer to battle for Winterfell, but I feel that here is a good place to take a step back and catch up with what's been happening with the Night's Watch. So, the next chapter will be the first of Jon's chapters. This one may take a while to write, so I won't promise a particularly speedy update (I'm also going away for Easter, which will cut into my writing time).

Thanks again for reading!

xBx