Arya slept and Jon worried. Like most nights sleep wasn't something he could grasp with ease. Tonight, he thought it might be impossible. Her head was resting on his chest, eyes closed, and tears dried. He could only hope she was sleeping peacefully. Lady Catelyn had been brought back, the same as him, and she'd gone on to murder anyone associated with Frey's, Lannister's, or Bolton's. He couldn't decide if it made sense or not, she was never kind to him, but she'd always been sweet around her children, and then she'd lost them all. And she watched Robb die. It'd be enough to drive anyone insane.

His gaze landed on his little sister again, tears hovering over his cheeks. And she's seen them both dead, our brother and her mother. Even the only friend she's mentioned, she watched die too. He blinked away his tears, refusing to cry, letting the pity forge itself to anger. All of them had lost so much, too much. They might be facing down an army of the dead, but he wouldn't let anything else happen. Not to her, or Sansa, or Rickon.

Blinking open his eyes he realized he must have fallen asleep. Arya shifted beside him, lifting her head, her hair mussed. Ghost's head shot up from where he curled up at that their feet, taking up as much space as Arya. She squinted at him through half-closed eyes before shifting a little further from him. "You alright?"

She nodded. "Yeah."

"Bad dream?"

She gave him an odd look. "…Yeah." She ran a hand through her hair and sat up, he'd lent her one of his shirts to sleep in. The shirt hung loose on her and he glanced down when she stood off the bed, but he couldn't miss a glimpse of her collarbone.

"Is that a scar?"

"It's ah, old." She mumbled and picked up her black cloak, wrapping it around herself. "I should go, thanks, for letting me stay."

She walked around the bed and made for the door, but he jumped up and blocked her path. Ghost still watching them silently from the bed. "Hold on." He placed his hands on her shoulders. "You can stay if you need to, or if, you just want to."

"I know." Her smile was soft, maybe nervous. Gods, why are you so hard to read? Jon moved his arm slowly, giving her plenty of time to turn away from him if she chose. Gently he moved her cloak back, revealing her collarbone and the scar that rested across it. The mark was a few inches long and appeared as though the target had been her neck.

Jon pushed back his emotion. "That looks like it'd have hurt."

A hint of a smirk played on her lips. "Getting stabbed hurt more." She said it as though it was supposed to be comforting. He glanced down, trying to understand her. How the hell can she still smile? Arya took his hand a moment, silently reassuring him. "I'm not the only one with scars." She murmured, lifting his burned hand.

"You recall how Old Nan told us to kill a dead man?"

"With fire." It didn't take her long, she'd always been quick.

He met her eyes, remembering the tears from the night before. "Do you wish to speak of it?" She shook her head and he went to move away, but she pulled him back by the hand she was holding.

She seemed uncertain but went on anyway. "When they killed you…they stabbed you too, in the heart."

"Who told you that?"

She shrugged. "Can I see?" sensing his reluctance she continued. "Never mind, sorry."

"No, it's fine, are you sure you want to see?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Fair is fair."

He scoffed. "Now who's going around with that nonsense?" Arya just smiled without answering. He stood there a moment, unsure before reaching and pulling his tunic over his head. Whether it was the chill in the room or something else, goosebumps rose on his skin. He resisted the urge to clear his throat as her eyes travelled his stomach and chest, taking in the scars. One of her hands reached up and brushed the old wound over his heart, he nearly shivered.

Arya's gaze was impossibly dark. "The men who did this, they're all dead?"

"Executed before I stepped down as Lord Commander."

"Good." She whispered. "I still don't understand why they did this to you..."

"I…" he paused, thinking of all the guilt she already carried. "They really didn't like the Wildlings." She stepped away and he thought maybe she was trying to hide her anger. "It only hurt a little bit anyway." He mumbled and was proud to see her smile.

"I'm sure." She took a breath. "I should go change; I doubt Sansa would be impressed if either of us showed up late for the meeting. You've pushed enough politics back on my account already."

"No one's upset with us, they're being respectful by giving us time. You showing up alive isn't just amazing news for us Arya, it's great news for the whole North."

That seemed to amuse her. "Yes, I'm sure the whole North is thrilled by my survival."

"They are." Jon grinned. "You're more hope that your House will live on."

"You and Sansa are the hope, you two fought for our home an defeated the Boltons, me I…" she seemed troubled. "I'm not hope." He sighed, not seeing the use in arguing with her. "And it's your House too. If I must be some personification of hope, then you have to at least remember you're a Stark."

"If you say I have to." With one last glance as his scars, and an easy smile she left. The room turning a little colder without her there.

Sansa and Jon were the only people in the room when Tyrion arrived, Sansa wearing an immaculate dress and her brother dressed as a war commander. The dark dining room was lit with torches and several servants waiting for any instructions. Not long after him Varys and some Unsullied followed. Then Robett Glover, Lord Manderly, Mage Mormont, Alys Karstark, and Lady Dustin. Jon was still standing and speaking with Sansa when Arya entered the hall. That's when the pleasantries fell away. A few appeared confused, but it didn't take long for them to figure out who she was. People had been gossiping for days about how they'd found Eddard Starks youngest daughter surrounded by burned corpses in the snow. Arya walked with her head held high despite the stares, and after a moment's hesitation, Lord Robett rose from his seat at the long table.

"Welcome home My Lady." he bowed.

"Welcome." echoed Alys.

"Yes, it's a blessing another one of Lord Starks children have made their way home." agreed Lady Mormont.

"Thank you" Arya smiled softly; her bruises were gone, only the cut on her cheek still lingered. "It's been far too long."

"You were no more than a babe last I saw you." Lady Dustin put in. "You must enlighten us with the tale of where you've been."

"A tale for another time My Lady, I'm sure you all have more important things to discuss. I've come only to listen." Arya told her politely.

Lady Dustin smiled thinly. "Of course."

"Shall we get started then?" Tyrion suggested and a few of the lords and ladies shot him a glare. A Lannister in the North unsettled them, and mistrust had already settled itself in the air. This should go well. He thought dully.

"Yes, we shall, if you'd all take your seats, My Lords, Ladies." Jon sat at the head of the table, with Sansa and Arya on each side of him. None of them should have to fill these positions, they were intended for their parents, for Robb and his wife, and for their children. Yet here they sat.

He watched Arya and she didn't seem like a girl who'd just been kidnapped, her eyes were clear and her voice steady when she spoke. Sansa seemed as calm as her sister, and not to mention stunning. Shameful she'd been married off to someone as ugly as me. Jon had his usual gloomy expression. He'd been serious for his age when they met all those years ago. Those dark eyes now belonged to a man of fifty, not his early twenties.

Tyrion and Varys sat in polite silence while the Northern lords spoke of their own matters, there was no use in him offering his input. Even if all he spoke was sense, these lords and ladies saw only a lion at their table and the worst of them. Granted at this point in time he was just thankful nothing had befallen his brother Jaime. He'd yet to speak with him, given their last encounter he thought it best he had some time to adjust. It was clearly a good sign he wasn't still lapping at Cersei's feet, but what had he been doing this far North? And with Arya Stark none the less…

"And what does this Dragon Queen want from us?" Lady Dustin's scowl brought Tyrion back to the table.

He cleared his throat. "Queen Daenerys only wishes for peace, for all of the Seven Kingdoms." he started, but Maege Mormont quickly interrupted.

"Aye, and I suppose you think we want war?"

"I never said that." his mouth tightened.

"This will all be much smoother if we allow each other to finish our thoughts." Sansa offered with a sweet smile.

"Aye, My Lady." Maege only glared at Tyrion. Bloody Mormonts.

One of the Unsullied muttered to the others behind him in High Valyrian. "This is a waste; these lords don't respect our Queen or her Hand. She could just take the North and be done with it." Tyrion shot them a glare for them to shut their mouths and turned back to the table.

"As I was saying, she longs for peace. Hence why she's liberating Kings Landing from my sister's rule as we speak. If what you say about these White Walkers is true, then having the Kingdoms united is the priority here."

"If?" Alys Karstark prompted. "Do you not believe us?"

"As a matter of fact, I do believe you. Queen Daenerys on the other hand, requires more evidence on the matter." To his relief one of the servants poured Tyrion a glass of wine, he drank it graciously.

"Another reason why her Grace has dispatched me here as well," Varys added. "To ensure the legitimacy of Westeros… situation."

"What does she want, us to bring the dead to her?" Dustin muttered.

"No, that's just ridiculous." Tyrion sighed.

"A Queen with apparent dragons, doesn't believe us?" Robett Glover scowled.

"Dragons." Lady Alys shook her head, "How do we know you're not lying about that?"

"I'm not lying, I've seen them." Tyrion was insistent.

"And we're supposed to take your word for it?" Tyrion decided then he didn't like Lady Dustin, at all.

"He's not lying." Arya reassured them. "I've seen one."

There was a pause as everyone registered her words "You've seen a dragon?" Jon asked.

"The black one." she turned to Tyrion and Varys "What was its name again, Queen Daenerys named him for her first husband?"

Tyrion smiled "She did. Daenerys named him Drogon. If I may ask My Lady, when did you see him?"

"Whilst sailing back to Westeros, flew right over my head." Her grey eyes studied him. "I imagine your Queen and I set sail west around the same time."

"Aye, I imagine you did." Tyrion gave her a strange look, "Where did you ship dock?"

"Saltpans."

"I was there not long ago myself..."

Arya poured herself a cup of wine and Tyrion had to keep himself from smirking at the Starks. Jon frowned as she did so, and a crease filled Sansa's pretty brow. "I didn't stay there long," she told him before taking a sip. The girl's eyes wandered to her siblings' mid drink, clearly catching on to their disapproval; she put the cup down and cleared her throat. "It's almost completely rebuilt," she muttered.

"It was terrible what happened there." Tyrion agreed, thinking of the massacre Sandor Clegane led. He still found that story hard to believe.

"May the Others take the Hound if he still breathes." Maege agreed, Tyrion couldn't help but notice the edge of sadness in Sansa's eyes.

"I'd rather they didn't." Jon said. "They have enough soldiers."

"The Hound?" Arya glanced at them with questions in her eyes.

"Aye, he was the one who led the attack, My Lady." Alys explained.

Arya frowned. "That's impossible, he couldn't have done that."

"How would you know?" Sansa cut in.

Arya studied her older sisters face a moment before replying, "Clegane and I…traveled together awhile, last I saw him he was in no condition to lead an attack." she shook her head slightly. "Even if he could have, he wouldn't."

Jon cleared his throat, drawing everyone's attention once more. "Assuming Daenerys takes the throne, what is it going to take for her to come North with her armies and... dragons."

While Tyrion considered the question Arya had more wine, ignoring her sister's frown. Robett Glover was squinting at the youngest Stark while Lady Dustin scowled, Alys looked thoughtful, and the rest were staring at him expectantly.

"Lady Arya…" Robett started, his brow drawing together. "Have we met before?"

For the first time since she walked into the room, Tyrion thought she appeared the slightest bit uncomfortable. "And when would we have met?" she asked, a voice of innocence.

"I don't know…" the man's frown deepened.

"The girl resembles her Aunt Lyanna." Dustin told him. "That's probably all you see."

"I never met Lyanna." He muttered.

"Why doesn't Tyrion continue with Daenerys's terms," Arya suggested.

"Don't we already know what they are?" Sansa began before Tyrion could. "She's here to take the Iron Throne, which means she's here for the Seven Kingdoms. She wants the North."

A heavy silence lingered in the room until Vary spoke once more. "Queen Daenerys is no fool. Whether or not it's agreed you acknowledge Daenerys's sovereignty over the country, she won't abandon the North. Yet nor will she exempt it from the crowns rule."

"So, you're saying she'll help us, only to take the North by force when the war is done?" Robett asked, his voice sour.

Varys shrugged and Mage spoke up. "Our families fought and died for the Norths independence; our King stabbed in the back by cowards! Now the Mad Kings daughter appears and expects us to simply bend to her rule?" The lords went back and forth with their opinions and qualms, Jon and Sansa exchanging a short conversation with a glance. All the awhile their little sister sat quietly watching the Unsullied lined up on the wall across from her.

"I have a question." Arya said, breaking her stare to look Tyrion in the eye. The girl was eerily calm compared to the room's occupants. He waved for her to continue. "On your journey North, you've only brought Unsullied soldiers with you, My Lord. They're renowned in the east for being the most disciplined and ruthless troops any lord could hope to buy." The girl stared all five of the Unsullied in the eyes coldly as spoke. "Are you aware of the assignment each solider must complete to win their spiked cap?"

Tyrion cleared his throat; he was too keenly aware. "I am." So much for just listening.

"Then we both know how…devoted they are."

"And what exactly is your point?"

"My point Lord Tyrion, is your Queen left Astapor with roughly eight thousand Unsullied under her command. Meaning they scarcely make up even a quarter of her army, the majority being Dothraki soldiers. Dothraki fighters who are not faithfully devoted to a woman who granted them freedom. Warriors who follow strength, and whose actions reflect a culture very different from ours. My question is; what happens when your Queen dies? Even if Daenerys wasn't barren Dothraki culture views those who haven't done anything to earn their titles, with nothing but contempt. They wouldn't follow her children even if she had them."

"Barren?" Sansa asked, surprised.

"I wasn't aware those rumours had travelled this far North." Vary sipped the water before him. "Daenerys's condition hasn't been confirmed."

"Confirmed or not." Jon added. "That still leaves her on our shores with thousands of soldiers and no heir." Doesn't take much for him to support her.

"She has an heir Your Grace, her nephew Aegon Targaryen." Silence took up the room once more, everyone at the table sharing baffled expressions. Expect Arya of course, Tyrion could probably strip naked at this table, begin to dance, and the girl wouldn't even blink. Vary rose his hand before the questions could spring from their mouths, going on to explain how he'd ensured Aegon's safety near the end of the Mad Kings reign.

"And why should the Dothraki choose to follow him in Daenerys's place?" Arya pressed, not letting her point go.

"The Dothraki have chosen Daenerys as their leader, agreeing to follow her commands and uphold her constitution of peace."

The youngest Stark was not subdued, his original fondness for the fiery girl quickly disintegrating. "And what of the trade ship her soldiers raided on their journey here?"

Tyrion balked for half a beat. How the hell does she even know about that? "That incident… was a result of a miscommunication among Unsullied and Dothraki warlords." He admitted grudgingly.

"A miscommunication leading to nearly two dozen innocent deaths, all before her army even reached our shores. For a woman promoting peace your Queen has left a trail of blood starting on the other side of the world."

"There are casualties in any change in government." Varys told her. "Daenerys can't produce positive change without a show of force."

"First let's move on to the basics of getting her army here, then discuss the politics." Jon Snow gave his sister a warning look, and she relented. Sitting back in her seat she took another sip of her wine. And so she listens to him.

Tyrion left the hall muttering, Varys on his heels. "What the hell was that?"

"I'd say we've had console meetings gone far worse." Varys giggled.

"I thought we crushed the rumours of what happened to that trading ship, we paid off everyone left on it."

Varys sighed, his sadness seeming fabricated. "No story can ever truly die until everyman who's heard it has."

Tyrion kept walking off his annoyance, realizing only when he was halfway there, where he was going. "I'll speak with you later Varys." Turning down the hall he reached the chambers his brother had been granted. Without knocking he walked in, shutting the door behind him. Jaime sat up from his bed, placing the book in his hands on his grey comforters.

"Tyrion…" his jade eyes were skeptical. "What are you doing?"

"I didn't have your son murdered." He announced, striding over to the oak chair and desk by the window, sitting there. "As much as I hated him, I wouldn't have done that to you."

His brother sat up; his new scar still pink above his eye. "Then why did you say you did?"

He shook his head, the skin where his nose was itching. "Because you accused me of it, and I was furious with you for it, and for the lies, you told of Tysha." Jaime studied the window a moment, guilt shining in his eyes. "I'm done being angry with you brother, and I forgive you. I only hope you can overlook the crimes I've committed."

"You mean slaying our father?"

Tyrion considered his brother, the only true family he'd ever known. "You know out of all of us, he was the worst monster."

"You ruined our House Tyrion, you understand that right? Without him, there was no one left that feared us. Even the bloody faith doesn't respect House Lannister anymore, let alone the Tyrells. When you killed him you killed our family's legacy."

"Our legacy? Jaime, we're still here, Casterly Rock is yours by all rights. Once this war in the North is over, it can be your home. House Lannister's standing will be restored."

Jaime stood, "I'm a sworn member of the King's Guard, I can't be the Lord. And do you believe when all this is through, your Queen is going to place me in her guard, the man who killed her father?"

Tyrion sighed, no, no there was no way Daenerys would consent. "If you're a member of the King's Guard then what are you still doing here, why are you this far North in the first place?"

"Because I made a vow to Catelyn Stark, I'd return her daughters to her." He smiled bitterly. "I doubt it transpired in quite the fashion she'd hoped it would." He inspected the stonework, pacing the floor. "I can't go back to King's Landing, not with the real war here, not to just die beside our sister."

He studied the conflict in his brother's face. "There was a time you would have died for her."

"Not anymore."

"Fine. But if you're staying, we must stick together, we're all we have Jaime. The only two lions left, and we're sleeping in the wolfs den."

"Still as dramatic as ever little brother."

"I'm serious. Apart from the boy Rickon they're a united front, yet I'd bet my life even he'd stab either of in the eye if given the chance. Sansa grew up observing and absorbing politics from our sister, and all the other snakes in court. She escaped and no doubt studied under Littlefinger, who may I remind you, died up in the Vale. Under the hands of Harrold Hardyng, her rumored lover. Then Jon; the whole country practically worships him, lowborn to highborn, trusting not even death capable of stopping him. And gods only know where Arya's stayed, but she's been here five seconds and already has it out for Daenerys. They may be young but they're not children anymore."

To his annoyance, Jaime chuckled at his words. "Be careful with that last one Tyrion, she's a lot more than she seems."

"You travelled alone with her if you know something you would tell me?" Jaime didn't say anything, his left hand self-consciously touching his stump, Tyrion he pressed. "We need all the advantages we can obtain, what do you know of her?"

Jaime stared at him, sincere. "I know her minds as sharp as her sisters, her swordsmanship skills as honed as her brothers, and if pushed… her tempter pales in contrast to little Rickon's."

"But she has a fondness for you?"

Jaime scoffed. "She saved my life, but I doubt she cares much for it. She's dangerous Tyrion, you want to be on her good side. Given all your points, you want to be on all of their good sides."

Tyrion watched his brother's stance, bothered by the lack of helpful details he was offering. "She has something on you, doesn't she?"

"She knows what I did to Bran." He admitted.

He scratched his head, confused. "Why hadn't she said anything?"

His brother shrugged with the crafty smile he'd always been known for. "I have a couple secrets on her too Tyrion, but nothing that's going to help you." He walked back over to his bed, laying down. "You want a united House, fine, you have it. But I'm done with House wars." Tyrion walked back to the door, irked his brother was committed to keeping a Starks secret rather than sharing with his own family. "She speaks High Valyrian by the way, along with Braavosi and whatever else she's picked up." He held his hands helplessly, "Maybe that helps you."

He groaned silently to himself, thinking of the idiot Unsullied speaking at the meeting. "Thank you, brother. It helps." Tyrion wandered back to his room, fingers brushing thoughtlessly over the iron coin in his pocket.

As soon as the meeting was done Arya escaped the hall, in no mood to be questioned for pressing so hard on Tyrion. Even though all her questions were completely reasonable; she could tell Jon had a soft spot for the imp, Sansa too. He didn't seem a terrible person, but someone had to keep a level head; he was still a Lannister after all. She wandered the Godswood, hoping to catch her little brother once more but had no luck. Reaching the heart tree, she was surprised to find someone already sitting before the bleeding eyes. She hadn't meant to approach as silently as she did, the old man near fell in the pond when he heard her beside him. "Sorry I-"

She stood stunned, not sure if her eyes were playing some trick on her. Her fingers instinctively brushed the steal she always had hidden up her sleeve. Theon Greyjoy. The name filled her with unspeakable rage…but the man before her…was not him. His hair was the silver of a seventy old, his dark paranoid eyes sunken into a hollow face. A parted mouth showed missing teeth, his hands having too few fingers. Ramsey put him through hell Arya. But it seemed to her he'd survived all seven of them. The dark youth with the knowing smirk was a phantom's shadow, hardly recognizable. "Ap-apologizes…" his fearful eyes gave her a double-take, more anxiety filling them. "Arya..." he whispered her name.

Arya shoved away her shock, stepping closer and setting herself on the log adjacent to his. Theon simply stood there, staring at her wide-eyed and obviously terrified. "Jon told me he's pardoned you."

After some more gawking he sat back down, his eyes never leaving her. "He has."

"I promised myself if I ever saw you again, I'd kill you."

Theon tensed under his black cloak, "Arya…I'm so sorr-"

"Save your breath Theon."

"No, I-" he faltered under her glare, but to his credit, he continued. "I am sorry. Even if the words are wind, you deserve to hear them." His eyes strayed to the heart tree. "I should have died in the South…I should have died with your brother."

She frowned at the broken man sitting across from her. "You should have, but you didn't." her stare followed his to the glowering tree. "Granted, I'm sure Jeyne is grateful for it." Theon nodded, his chin too thin, his frame but a stick with a cloak thrown over him. Her mother had never taken to the Old Gods, but this was where her father had always come to pray. Arya hadn't asked much of any gods since abandoning the Faceless Men. "What do you pray for?"

He shivered, shaking his head. "I don't, not anymore. Before Jon took back Winterfell, I prayed I would die as Theon Greyjoy…"

Arya tilted her head. "As oppose to who?"

He stared at his mangled hand. "R-Ramsey had a way of taking away pieces of you…pieces people don't see until lost. The parts that make you, you." She studied her own scarred palm, remembered the blade biting her skin. How the wound had festered for weeks and still ached at times. The scars we see are hardly the only ones there. Her mind raced with thoughts of the man who'd scraped away shard after shard of Arya Stark. Will they come for me? The idea of assassins pursuing her hadn't been very concerning with nothing to lose, but now?

"Do you sleep better knowing he's dead?" she asked.

"Not really."

The dark ironwood trees stole most of the sunlight the cloudy sky had given them, leaving her in mostly darkness. A cool dread crawling over her skin, alongside a fractured soul, and the bloody disquiet the weirwood offered in its gaze. Arya felt alone, she felt vulnerable. If they truly wanted her dead, they could be here any day now, given they kept chase. It wasn't quite difficult to anticipate where she'd go and with news of her survival travelling the Kingdoms…there wouldn't be anyone ignorant of her whereabouts.

"Sometimes when I sit here." The broken boy spoke softly, dragging her from her speculations. "I feel he watches me, and he knows."

Arya blinked away her fear. "Who?"

He gave her a doubtful look. "Bran." Turning back to the tree he went on. "I-I don't know how you feel about spirits… but I think his is here."

She stood, uneasy, Theon's paranoia rubbing off on her. "Bran's ghost isn't here Theon, because Bran's not dead."

He glanced up at her, a sad smile instead of a classic smirk. "You're still as willful."

"Some pieces no man can steal from you." He watched her brush the scar on her hand as she searched the old tree. "No matter how hard they try."

It'd been near a fortnight since the meeting. Leaving them all waiting for news of the capitals fate. Arya was in no rush to hear of Cersei's death, if she knew anything it was patience. She'd spent her downtime getting to know Jon's friends, avoiding Melisandre, and keeping a respectful distance between her and the Lannisters. They might not be monsters, but she couldn't bring herself to call them friends. Most nights she'd do simple exercises but if Jon caught her, he'd drag her back to her chambers. He thinks me fragile as glass. But Arya was getting stronger every day, she could feel it.

A messy knot of red hair caught her attention and Arya half smirked as she watched her little brother skirt out of the dining hall. Dodging people on nimble feet, two pieces of sliced ham folded in his hands. Jon had forced Shaggydog to be tied up the week before for savaging a cook, not long after the wolf had somehow escaped.

"I'll be back." She muttered to no one in particular. Standing up and striding after him, pausing before the long table she took a napkin and wrapped two slices of bacon in it.

"Lady Arya, whatever are you doing?"

Arya smiled up at Robett Glover, he was much taller than her. "Making friends My Lord, pardon me."

Strolling away from him and sliding the meat in her pocket she left the hall. He'd already vanished from the yard when she arrived, but his small feet left a trail easy enough to follow. Not to mention the grease stains left in the snow from his sliced hams.

Arya's pace wavered before the door to the crypts, she hadn't visited them yet. Overlooking her misgivings, she forced herself forward. Shoving open the heavy ironwood door, she began following the aroma of burnt ham. The granite halls closed in tighter than she remembered, but the blankets of cold stone somehow felt familiar. Arya moved silently down the spiral steps, pausing at a half-remembered level. A low growl announced her presence and told her where to go. Rickon snapped his head around to find her. "What are you doing here?" he hissed.

"Following you." Shaggydog sat beside one of the old Kings statues, a dark grey chain holding him by the neck to the back wall. If not for his glowing emerald eyes, he and his midnight fur might have just blended into the darkness. His growl was low and defiant. "Why are you hiding him down here?"

"Shaggy does not like other dogs." Rickon told her. "Why do you keep following me around?"

Arya ignored his question walking back a few paces and stealing a torch from a gargoyle's hands, coming back she hung it on the wall across from the giant wolf. Shaggydog wasn't paying any attention to his half-eaten hams, just her. "Now why can't he wander the castle like Ghost?"

Rickon glanced at her, obviously annoyed. "Cuz' he bit the baker? He bites people he don't like. And Jon says he can't have him biting people."

"He probably bites people because you want to bite them."

"That's not true! I don't bite people."

Arya chuckled. "Do you think he likes me?"

Rickon shrugged "He don't know you very well."

"Not knowing someone is different from not liking them. I think." Arya knelt before the direwolf, now shorter than him she pulled out her napkin. Slowly unfolding it while watching his eyes flickering between her face and the bacon. "Here Rickon." She handed him one of the pieces without breaking eye contact with Shaggydog. She could feel her little brother watching her as he took the bacon. Arya dared a glance at her brother. "Go on, give it to him."

Arya leaned back as Rickon fed Shaggydog, the beast licking the piece off his hand in a flash. Rickon smiled. "He likes bacon better."

"That brother is because bacon is delicious." Slowly she lifted her hand toward Shaggydog, and after a slight pause he leaned over and licked it up off her hand. Gradually Arya reached her hand over further, letting Shaggydog sniff it first for any more bacon, before stroking his head. After a few slow pets, the wolf titled his head, letting her scratch him behind the ear.

"I guess he likes you." Rickon said quietly.

Arya gave her little brother a fond smile. "I guess he does." Feeling comfortable once more, Shaggy bent down and went back to his hams. Gently Arya reached around and released the chain around the wolf's neck, the chains singing off the stone as they fell.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"I'm positive I've had worse." Shaggydog didn't pay much attention to his newfound freedom, being more captivated by his meal. Arya stood, once more enraptured by the walls around her, she lifted the torch again and moved further into the tunnels. Silently she registered that Rickon was following her now, his small footsteps echoing quietly. Arya walked slow, taking in the familiar stone faces and their wolf guardians that stood beside them. She stopped when she reached his grave.

"Is that truly what he looked like?" Rickon whispered.

"Sort of." The volume of her voice matched his. For whatever reason, they both perceived the dead as preferring quiet. An odd thing considering it's all they ever got. "I suppose you don't remember him."

"Not really, I remember Bran mostly. And mother."

"He loved you, just remember that."

"He shouldn't have left then."

Arya sighed but found she couldn't disagree with him. "He did what he thought he must." She mumbled, moving down the line of the dead. "That's all anyone can do."

"She sort of looks like you." Rickon commented, walking up to the statue of Lyanna Stark. His eyes darting down the row graves. "She's the only girl."

"Father's sister." Arya remarked, "I take it you don't remember her story?" Rickon shook his head, curious eyes waiting. "I think she was my age when she died, not that father ever said how it happened. He didn't speak of her, I never understood why…" she glanced at the shaved face of Brandon Stark, her fathers' brother who'd died in Kings Landing. Beside him sat another face she'd never seen here before. The resemblance was no doubt Robb's. The wolf beside him was big as Gray Wind and the iron crown on his head matched the one, she'd once held. "I get it now though."

"Well, what happened to her then?"

Rickon didn't seem as affected as she was, probably viewing the statues dozens of times already. Not remembering the fond smile Robb could have, or how kind his eyes had been. The stone likeness of him was somber, his hair longer than she'd recalled it ever being in Winterfell. "I don't know Rickon, she died near the end of Robert's Rebellion. People claim Rhaegar Targaryen kidnapped her…in the south though, the stories vary."

"Vary how?"

Arya tore her eyes away from the lifeless stone. "That they ran away together because they fell in love for one."

Rickon's face scrunched up in disgust. "That's gross."

"Just foul isn't it?" She smirked. "Others say Rhaegar was obsessed with the prophecy of Azor Ahai, convinced if he bore a child by her it'd be the Prince that was Promised."

"I know that story." He said proudly as he walked further down the graves, slowing only a little once he reached more stairs. Without checking if she was behind him, he kept going. "That's the prophecy that red women likes so much!"

"I'm sure she does." She muttered brushing a spiderweb out of the way that her brother simply walked under. "We shouldn't go too far; the lower levels are half-collapsed."

"I think you'll like it." He promised, and like a dutiful servant she pursued. Arya still held her torch, the fire making their shadows dance on the dark grey walls. They kept descending the staircase until they couldn't anymore, or at least so she thought. The stones had crumbled on top of each other with no clear path, but Rickon bent down and squeezed himself through a hole in the stones, reaching a level that'd probably been blocked for decades. She could hear splashing, and what sounded like running water.

"Rickon!" she knelt beside the crumbled stone, peeking through the hole. "What if the rocks fall on you?"

"They won't." he said with the simple confidence all children have when they're young and know they're invincible. "Leave the torch behind, you won't need it."

Arya gritted her teeth muttering to herself. She placed the torch on the nearest stone above her head. Bending over she put a leg through first, her foot splashing down into ankle-deep water. Grumbling her annoyance, she managed to squeeze through the damp stones, collecting unknown grim all over her clothes and hands. "Rickon what the hell?" standing up she realized the level seemed as stable as any of them did, the only difference was the swirling water at their feet, and ahead of them; light.

"Almost there." He promised, splashing through the puddle towards the glowing spotlight. Scratching noises drew her attention back the way she came, Shaggydog just managed to squeeze through headfirst, falling into the warm water and fully soaking himself. The giant wolf stood and before she even had the indication to move, he shook himself, waterdrops everywhere. Arya lingered now doused in blackened crypt water; eyes closed as she reeled in her temper. "Are you coming or what?"

She bit her tongue. "Right behind you." Her feet dragged through the dirty water, her gaze examining the long-forgotten Kings of the North. All of them wore crowns this deep in the crypts, once Kings, all of them, row after row. The steel swords in their hands were wholly rusted, and the further she went the better she could see their crumbling faces. The sound of rushing water grew louder. She stopped beside Rickon, amazed to see a small waterfall breaking behind the back of an old King. The steaming water had turned his stone wolf beside him into a stone blob, the water continuing horizontally into another wall. Above them light gleamed down, making the little waves shine and the stone Kings glisten. "Where is that light coming from?"

"I think we're under the Godswood, it's awesome isn't it?" he looked up at her, Shaggydog beside him. He had a satisfied smile; clearly proud he was only one in the castle to find this place. And he showed me.

She gave him a gracious smile, mussing his dark red curls with her hand. "It's incredible Rickon."

After climbing enough stairs to fully exhausted her, she pushed open the heavy door. She took a deep breath of the refreshing winter air. Glancing over she saw Rickon had an amused smirk on his face, Shaggydog stepping up behind him. "What's so funny?"

"You're a full mess."

Arya glanced down at her clothes; her brown pants were smeared with black smudge, as was her grey shirt. Her hands looked to belong to a smith, and she had no doubt she'd managed to get more of the gunk in her hair. Rickon himself had fared much better, being small enough not to collect all the grim off the walls, and skipping the black shower granted by Shaggydog. "Gods this stuff is disgusting." She wiped a full clump of black smug off her pants, reaching over quickly she wiped it across her brothers face.

Rickon stared at her, aghast. "That's gross!" he yelled, and Arya just laughed.

"You're telling me, I'm covered!" Rickon rubbed the grim off his face, leaving a black smear in its place. Bending down he scooped a pile of snow mixed with the black gunk, launching it at her. She reacted in time to turn and let the snow break on her back. "Careful brother." She turned back around. "You're starting a battle you won't win."

A mischievous grin broke across his face, and he bent down for more snow. Blocking another one of his blows with her elbow she ran forward and grabbed him by his waist, flipping him over her shoulder. "Hey! That's not fair!" his little fits beat upon her back, and Shaggydog yelped as he chased them.

"Remember I warned you." Stopping by the stables she threw him onto a huge pile of shovelled snow, he sank right in and she giggled watching him struggle to climb out.

Rickon climbed to the top and sat on his knees. "Joke's on you sister." He grabbed small handfuls off his tower of snow and began launching them at her. Arya shielding herself with her cloak, letting the little the balls break and bounce to the ground. After ducking from one of his throws she heard a startled gasp, glancing up in time to see the leftover snowball on Jon's face. She covered her mouth to keep from laughing at his startled expression. "That was meant for her!"

Jon stared at her up and down, taking in her dishevelled appearance. "What happened…"

He was cut off by Tormund's laughter, the man took one glance at her and practically exploded. "What in the hells are you covered in?" he managed.

Arya took another look at her disgusting clothes, half soaked, and half smeared in black grime. She pointed at Rickon. "His stupid ideas, not mine."

"Not fair, you started it!" he yelled back.

Jon's smile lit up his face, her stomach flipping at the sight of it. "You're both an absolute mess."

She glanced back to give Rickon a solid glare before turning back to Jon and his friend. "I should change." She ran a hand through her hair, feeling the slim in her fingers. "And take a bath..." Shaggydog stalked up beside her, Tormund's face growing serious at the sight of him. She raised one hand and used the other the pet him. "He'd good, don't worry." She turned back to Rickon. "Remember no biting people."

"I don't bite people!" he shouted back.

"Right." She muttered. Giving Jon and Tormund a polite smile she walked around them, feeling oddly embarrassed as she walked away. Mostly because Jon hadn't stopped beaming the whole time she'd been standing there.