Arya

By the time Arya and Rickon were finally permitted to see their brother – and Jon would always be their brother, no matter how many idiots said he was just a bastard – most of those attending Lord Manderly's Northern council had insisted upon accompanying them, plainly hoping to that their king would mistake their false displays of concern for proof of their Houses' loyalty. It mattered not at all. The only thing that mattered was that Jon was alive. At first, the excitement was simply too much to take and it had been all the youngest daughter of Ned and Catelyn Stark could do not to race out of the Great Hall like a madwoman. It has to be Jon! I know it's him!

However, Arya's joy left her like blood pouring out of an open wound the moment she saw her eldest surviving brother. In truth, it was only for Rickon's sake that she even bothered trying to conceal her grief. Jon was sitting one the ground by the North Gate with his back against a nearby wall - surrounded by a puddle of rose red snow - and plainly unable to stand without considerable assistance. Arya bit her lip.

Jon's dying. That…that's not fair! He finally came back and…and Jon, he…he can't die now! That's…wrong and it's…it's…no! I…I'm not going to waste the last moments of Jon's life by making him comfort me when I'm not even the one dying. This…this may be the last time I'll ever get to talk to him, but I…I don't think that wound is going to kill him right away…not if it's the only one he's suffered. Even if Jon's dying, I can still make sure that he spends his final moments with his kin; he doesn't have to die a painful or lonely death… For his part, hope seemed to return to Jon's haunted eyes the moment he saw his youngest brother and sister approaching with several Northern lords and ladies in tow.

"Arya? Rick-Rickon? Is that *cough* is that you," wheezed Jon. "You've both grown so much that I hardly *cough* recognize you. You lost your *cough* needle." I still have Vengeance…

"Yes, it's…we're both here. Shhhhh. It's okay. You're at Winterfell now. Whoever…whatever happened to you, it matters not at…you're safe now. Sansa's alive too, but she…she just…umm…she hasn't made it back to Winterfell quite yet."

"Bran?" Arya slowly shook her head. Rickon grabbed his sister's right hand and squeezed it so tightly that it was as thought he were trying to bury his fingers in her skin while he looked down at the ground in shame.

"OWWW! Rickon, that hurt…I mean…Bran, didn't –"

"HE'S DEAD, OKAY" snapped Rickon. "Why don't just tell him, Arya? Tell Jon that *sniff* that *sniff* that Bran's dead! He's dead just like every *sniff* everyone else is going to be! Our parents are dead! Robb's dead! Bran's dead! Sansa is probably dead! You and Shireen are probably going to *sniff* going to die soon. And now *sniff* now Jon's about to die! That's what *sniff* what happens to everyone else, but *sniff* but me! You and Shireen are probably going to die too and *sniff* and I *sniff* I don't *sniff* I don't want to *sniff* be all alone forever! You and Jon are not allow *sniff* allowed to *sniff* you can't *sniff* Winterfell is supposed to be safe. It's not like the Bad Place! Everyone is going to die except for me and the bad people! When everyone else is dead then *sniff* then I'll get sent back to the *sniff* and it's not *sniff* it's not fair! I *sniff* I'm the king and I said you don't get to *sniff* to die yet, Jon, so *sniff* so that means –"

"Lady Alysane, I…I think my brother needs to lie down for a moment. Could you please –" The She-Bear sprung into action before Arya could finish speaking and began swiftly herding the King of The North towards the inner castle.

"Shhhh. It's going to be okay, Your Grace. Your kin are going to be alive for a great many years yet; no one's going to be leaving you all alone. Shhh."

"Do *sniff* do you promise they aren't *sniff* aren't all going to die?"

"I…umm…well…Your Grace, everyone –"

"I KNEW IT! See, you can't even *sniff* you can't *sniff* you can't –"

"No, no, I swear by The Old Gods and The New that your kin aren't all about to die. Now let's have…err…no more of this talk about death, Your Grace. There's been enough of that for one day," added the She-Bear, plainly hoping to head off any more tears that the King of The North might've been about to shed. That's it! I bet I can convince Rickon to name the She-Bear as his Regent! She's the only one Northern lord or lady who I can trust right now and it would upset Lord Manderly besides. Well…time enough for that later. I have to focus on Jon right now.

"But Jon's dying and –"

"Your sister is right, it has been a busy day and little rest would do you good, Your Grace. I'm sure Arya can handle things on her own."

"Everyone dies," mumbled the King of The North as he dejectedly trotted off behind the She-Bear. For her part, Arya's thoughts had already returned to Jon.

"Rickon was just…I mean…it's going to be okay, Jon. It…it's not so bad…not really. That…that's just…it's just a flesh wound is all. You're going to be fine, you'll see," Arya gently replied. Why are the Northern lords and ladies leaving? It's like they don't even…they weren't coming because they cared about Jon…not really. They just wanted to be seen by Rickon, I think. And Lords Karstark and Manderly didn't even bother coming outside at all. Wait a minute…Shireen is a Sothron, so why is she the only one who cares enough to stay behind? Suddenly, Jon coughed up a stream of blood that soon disappeared to the red puddle that surrounded him.

"It *cough* it's okay, a man knows when his time is almost at an end. I wish *cough* there's so much I want to ask you and Rick *cough* Rickon…about how you –"

"I'm sorry, but if what we were told is true and The Wall really was attacked by The Others or whatever Northmen call those things, then I don't think there's time for any more small talk." Small talk? I don't care if you sit on some stupid Iron Throne, my brother is dying! You're in The North now, so you'd best show some bloody respect! "The Others, they…they're the Army of the Dead, aren't they? I've seen them too. There's not enough time to explain how, but I have seen them." Have you gone…Seven Hells, Shireen, The Others aren't real! You can't see something that doesn't exist. Jon was probably just hallucinating because he's lost so much blood. Your name is Jon, isn't it? My name is Shireen of House Barath…well…there's no sense wasting time on introductions right now, is there? Fortunately, the Northern lords and ladies have all left, so I can speak freely about…them. I'm sorry to be rude and feel horrid about having to interrogate you like this on your deathbed, but you may be able to help save the rest of our lives be-before you die. When The Dead at-atta-attacked –"

"My brother is not going to –"

"Yes, he is," sighed Shireen. "He's going to die just like my father did and no matter how you want to mourn him or how much it hurts, you're going to have to accept that fact! Rickon is going to need you to be strong for him. He plainly thinks the world of you and he's going to look to you to see how he should handle this loss. I'm really sorry that you have to watch someone who is like a brother to you die in such a horrid way and I understand better than most how pain–"

"Jon isn't like a brother to me. He is one of my brothers."

"Fine. My point is that I know better than most what it is to lose someone you love. I've already lost both of my parents, so I can understand how much pain you must be feeling right now, but our pain is nothing next to the needs of our subjects. That was one of the most important things I learned from my father… Your first concern should be for the well-being of your brother's subjects just as it is my duty to put the welfare of my subjects ahead of my own. I would give anything to be able to let you use Jon's final moments to say goodbye and at first I held my tongue in hopes that I could at least give you some time, but I just…can't. Every second we spend talking to your brother about anything other than the Army of the Dead is time that we could've spent pre-preparing for…them. I'm sure Jon already knows how much you will miss him, but your tears won't do him any good. His words could save the rest of our lives though. The Dead are coming and –"

"The Dead?"

"I'll explain later, right now I must needs speak with your…brother. You're my friend and I wish I didn't have to do this, but I need you to trust me. Do you understand," asked the Queen on the Iron Throne in a voice that made it plain that she considered the matter settled. In truth, the fierce determination in Shireen's voice was so great that it shocked the youngest daughter of Ned and Catelyn Stark into silence. For the first time, Arya understood how the sweet, inquisitive, shy little girl standing next to her could have filled whatever void had been left when the child's father was slain in battle. Whatever this is all about, that's the first time I've heard her talk truly speak like a Queen who could command the obedience of her subjects… Despite herself, Arya found that she couldn't help silently nodding and doing as she was bid.

"Good. Jon, when they came…and…and you…you saw them too, so they…they have to be…umm…I mean…I'm suh-suh-sorry. What I meant to…say was 'Jon, when The Others attacked, did anyone in The Watch figure out a way to kill them?'" Is she…was Shireen tripping all over her words like that because she's afraid? She's not a craven, so why would is she so scared of one of Old Nan's bedtime stories? "What should we know? I'm sure I can think of an excuse to send every StormLord's army north to help fight the Army of The Dead and half of them would probably come here just because they're afraid of the Tyrells, but I need to know what we're dealing with! How do you kill something that is already dead? Jon? Jon? Your sister and I need you to tell us as much as you can about the attack."

"They have a *cough* dragon *cough* and steel *cough* steel won't work, only *cough* fire can kill them. They *cough* have giants, spiders, and mam *cough* mammoths." Wait a minute…Jon's my brother! I don't care whose friend Shireen is, there's not even any reason for her to be talking to Jon in the first place. And why am I letting some stupid Sothron tell me who can and can't talk to him? I come right after Rickon in the bloody Northern line of succession and she's just a Sothron who is staying in Winterfell as a guest while she asks my House to help fight her war for her. If anyone should be giving orders right now, it should be me telling Shireen to be quiet so that I can talk to my brother in peace, not the other way around.

"They have a drag-dragon? But that's im-imp-impossible!" Yes, we certainly wouldn't want to waste time worrying about something that doesn't exist. After all, ancient monsters from Old Nan's bedtime stories descending upon The North with an army of undead victims is one thing, but a single living dragon? Now that's just silly. "I'm sorry, I…I believe you. You said they had spiders? What did you mean?"

"Aye. They ride spiders as big as *cough* oxen and –" I'm going to put a stop to this madness right now!

"I don't care how many bloody dragons they or…whatever it is you're talking about! Others take your stupid Others, this isn't how Jon should be spending –"

"No, she *cough* your friend is right."

"What? No, but…but –"

"I've not long left and I *cough* I need you to promise me something, Arya. Before I die…"

"Anything! What *sniff* what can I do? How can I help?" Arya bit her lip. The world quickly became a watery blur as the youngest daughter of Ned and Catelyn Stark watched the life slowly fade from her brother's eyes.

"Promise me *cough* promise me that you will *cough* will do everything you can to *cough* make sure that Winterfell is *cough* is ready when they *cough* come. You and Rickon have to do everything you can to help your friend and him prepare for *cough* for the war to come. The dead men can be killed with fire, but The Others… If *cough* if you can't find out how to kill them soon then *cough* you have to take Rickon and get as far away from here as possible."

"What? No, I *sniff* we can't just –"

"Promise me, Arya."

"I *sniff* I promise, but…but The Others aren't real. They can't be! They're just a story Old Nan told us as *sniff* as children. You're hurt and *sniff* and we just need to get you inside. You'll be better soon and then we *sniff* we can put an end to all of this nonsense about Others. Everything's going to be fine, you'll see! We'll have a *sniff* a feast in honor of your *sniff* your visit to Winterfell *sniff* and *sniff* and then…Jon? Jon? Jon?"

…

Somehow, the youngest daughter of Ned and Catelyn Stark had managed to contain her grief just long enough to order the guards to carefully move Jon's to Winterfell's hot springs so that she could personally clean it before he was buried next to their father in Winterfell's crypt. In truth, it had taken all of her strength to even do that much before she broke down in tears and fell to the ground, her heart beating faster and faster. By the time Arya felt the bitter, salty taste of her own tears upon her lips, it had already became so hard to breath that she was desperately gasping for air in a rapid series of small, frantic breaths.

From the moment her knees hit the cold soil, Arya had been inconsolable as she sobbed over her her brother's dead body. In truth she could not have said how she ended up back in her chambers, although it was entirely possible that she'd simply been dragged back to Winterfell on Rickon's orders. And yet despite the grief that had buried itself in her heart like the blade of a freshly forged dagger, one thing allowed Arya to regain her composure…a promise she'd made to her favorite brother right before his death. A promise that she was determined to keep…even if it meant temporarily indulging delusions which were plainly borne from some sort deathbed madness. Eventually, the youngest daughter of Ned and Catelyn Stark calmed down enough to reassure Rickon that she wasn't going to die before finally making her way to Winterfell's hot springs.

At least Lord Karstark wasn't outside, The Gods alone know what sort of horrid whispers he'd have spread if he were there. He'd probably say it was more proof that I had lost my…wait a minute…where was Lord Karstarl when Jon was dying? Lord Manderly was too fat to make his way outside in time, but all the other lords and ladies came outside to see if it was really Jon…all except Lord Karstark. What was he doing when we were all distracted by…time enough for that later. I need to wash Jon's body so that he can be buried before the rot sets in. Arya bit her lip.

It wasn't just Jon. Shireen is one of the smartest people at Winterfell and she's not a madwoman besides. She wasn't trying to be rude by interrupting me either. I've never seen her make so much as a rude gesture during her time at Winterfell. Shireen hasn't been here that long, but she clearly prides herself on being polite and speaking properly at all times. Even if she'd figured out that what Roger Ryswell said was my fault, Shireen would never have done something like this to hurt me. She's my friend and she plainly doesn't have a cruel bone in her body besides. Shireen was scared out of her mind, I think. The Others aren't real and Old Nan never said anything about dragons or wights, but Jon may've been confusing them with some other strange creatures from beyond The Wall. Maybe The Others were just how people used to explain attacks by some other ancient creatures that can only be found beyond The Wall…maybe.

That has to be it! Shireen probably saw a drawing of whatever The Others really were in some ancient scroll. The Red Keep probably has a massive library and Shireen seems to enjoy reading anything she can get her hands on. It might still be something horrid in its own right and learning it was real could've frightened her so badly that she panicked. I bet Shireen will come and find me later today to apologize for overreacting like that! She still shouldn't have gotten in the way when I was talking to Jon though, that was…wrong.

…

The guards had done as they were bid and carefully moved Jon's body to the banks of Winterfell's hot springs…that much had gone right, at least. As she prepared to clean her brother's dead body, it dawned upon the youngest daughter of Ned and Catelyn Stark that - while it couldn't be that hard to clean a dead body - she had no idea how to go about doing so beyond using a goblet to dump warm water over the body. As soon as Arya removed her brother's blood-soaked boiled-leather she screamed in shock upon discovering that Jon's clothes had been the only thing keeping his bowels in place. How…but, it…it…it didn't look like that bad a…a…a…a wound. As Jon's stomach and intestines tumbled into one of Winterfell's hot springs, the water turned a misty red. No! No! No! No!

Suddenly, the earth began to shake and for a moment, it seemed as though Winterfell itself might collapse. In the end, its walls remained standing although that hadn't stopped smallfolk and highborn alike from screeching like frightened children. In truth, Arya barely noticed their screams and cries. It didn't matter…not really. Nothing did…nothing except that she'd managed to make a horrid hash of preparing her brother's body for his burial in the family crypt next to their father. Suddenly, a mighty roar pulled Arya out of her own thoughts and back into the present just in time for her to see a gigantic stone dragon fly overhead before landing in Winterfell's courtyard.