Deep green surrounded him everywhere, floating down in the shape of leaves from towering trees that intercepted the sun's light even higher above. He was alone. The trickle of a stream sounding from near by but out of sight. Birds called from branches but flew in the hidden distance. At the edge of the clearing, a wolf growled low and deadly, her paws bringing her slowly and cautiously out into view. It was a green-dream.

Light grey fur with dark grey eyes and a massive size, it was clear to him that the beast before him was a direwolf. He could not mistake it if he tried. The wolf sniffed the air for a moment before opening her mouth, revealing thin but dangerously sharp teeth. A rustle echoed from behind it and then two more animals entered, standing a little behind their leader, both much smaller than the female. The one to the left was a small, fat wolf but the one closest to the direwolf on her right was a mixture between a wolf and a bull. This was a wolf pack.

Jojen opened his eyes slowly to find Meera kneeling in front of him, a careful hand placed on his shoulder and Bran resting beside him, leaning against a tree. He could hear Hodor pounding around aimlessly somewhere nearer to the central of their camp but could not see him. He blinked for a moment, to rid himself of a lilting confusion and rubbed his eyes before turning his attention to his sister's question.

"Was it a green-dream?"

He nodded. "I was in a forest when a grey direwolf emerged from the trees, followed soon after by a fat, smaller wolf and one that had a mix of the appearance of a bull. The leader, she snarled at me but otherwise did nothing else. I think it has something to do with you, Bran."

The crippled Lord seemed to have momentarily lost his ability to speak, his eyes widening almost comically. They all knew what a direwolf meant, even one in a green-dream. It meant home for Bran, safety for them all and the Starks. "Are you sure? How do you know it was a she?"

"The wolf was a giant, bigger than any animal I have ever seen before. Deadly and fierce but it had feminine features. I think she and her pack represent people. Do they remind you of anyone?"

"It can't be Robb or Rickon. Or even Father or Mother. Nor Sansa, Lady was killed by Joffery. It must be Arya, I think Nymeria still lives." Bran said, his expression hopeful. "I haven't heard anything of my sister for many months. She might have escaped King's Landing. Do you think…? Do you think… I might see Arya again?"

"We can't be sure Bran." Meera said, placing her other hand on his arm, smiling gently. "But you can hope. Maybe, on our way to Riverrun, we might meet her."

Arya groaned but refrained from snapping, keeping a tight handle on Needle to try and keep herself calm and sane. It wasn't working very well. Gendry looked pained as well but was managing his emotions much more easily. She guessed that talking calmed his nerves and fears but it certainly didn't help anyone else. She was beginning to regret ever taking him with them on their escape from the dreaded Harrenhal. She trusted Gendry to an extent and he was strong and could be helpful to her on the road. A fat, baker's boy could only complain and eat all of their food.

"…And then there was this really great pie that I made once and it was made with special ingredients that I wasn't allowed to tell anyone about but because I made it, I was able to have one and it was beautiful with all of the hot juices and the chewy meat and the pastry was almost perfect with a great draught of cold beer along with it and…"

"Shut. Up!" Arya finally yelled, reaching her breaking point as she whirled on Hot Pie, fists clenched. "I don't care about your job as a baker in Flea's Bottom or how many pies you've eaten or about how much pastry was cooked. I care about getting to Riverrun as quickly as possible without starving or trying to stab myself in the process because of your constant talking. I want to get to Riverrun so I can see two of the three remaining members of my family and not sleep on cold earth again. I want this stupid war to end and I even want Sansa back from King's Landing but I can't do any of that with your insistent talking!"

Gendry chuckled beside her, amused by her outburst obviously but Hot Pie's face fell and Arya almost felt a small sting of guilt. Almost. "Sorry Arya." He mumbled. "But I'm just so hungry."

"I know. We all are and don't think I don't hear you getting up during the middle of the night and eating some of the food." Arya continued. "The only reason you don't have my sword at your throat then is because I know you need it more than me and Gendry."

"I need the food too, I'm-" Gendry started but she turned and glared at him, throwing deadly daggers. He just laughed again and sat down on the edge of the path, content to watch the rest of the argument from there.

"Arya." Hot Pie whined.

"If you don't shut your mouth, I'll skewer you with my sword. Now leave us all some peace and quiet." Arya threatened him, pulling her stolen sword from it's scabbard. "We need to reach Riverrun. Keep moving."

Robb gazed out over the rivers and lands of Riverrun, his elbows leaning on the railing of his balcony. His thoughts were focused on battle plans, strategies and tactics, always on the war, always on fighting. The young wolf was no longer a boy anymore. Times had changed, and not for the better.

There came a soft knock at the door to his chambers before they opened slowly and Catelyn Stark walked in. Her son Robb was not the only one who had changed because of the war. Worry lines were permanently etched onto her face, there were hardly any signs of happiness anymore and grief and sorrow were clear in her eyes. She walked, tired but determined, towards her son and reached out her hand to rest on his shoulder. After a moment, he turned to look at her.

"You're tired Robb. You must rest." Catelyn advised.

"I can't, Mother. The war demands my every waking thought. I need to figure out how best to save the people of the North and to return Arya and Sansa back to Winterfell." Robb replied.

"No, the war does not demand that. It does not. Your people need you sane and healthy. The Mad King went crazy and Robert Baratheon rebelled. His reign ended. Rest." She said.

"I'm not Aerys Targaryen. I'm the King of the North. No one will burn. They will fall to the direwolf or they will freeze to the winter. The Lannisters will pay for what they've done." He told her, his tone a little more fierce.

Catelyn met his eyes for a moment before sighing and dropping her hand to the railing. This type of conversation had occurred between them many times before and she knew that it would only be pain for her if they continued now. Her only hope now was her son to dwell on it and hopefully agree with her logic. He was becoming more like Ned every day.

Silence passed in long minutes as Catelyn waited to see what her son would do. After a while though, she looked down, disappointed and turned to leave the room. A voice stopped her. "You're right. I should rest. Thank you, mother."

Catelyn smiled and turned to face Robb who was now walking back indoors, casting aside a fur cloak that had covered his shoulders to keep him warm. "You are wise. I do love you, Robb."

"I love you too, Mother. Go and rest yourself now." He said to her softly, nodding with a smile. Catelyn continued until she reached the door and a memory struck her.

"Robb, you talked about rescuing Arya and Sansa from King's Landing. You have not mentioned them before."

"After father's death, war was all that occupied my mind but… with the deaths of Bran and Rickon and the burning of Winterfell… family is important. The Starks will win this war and with Winterfell no longer there, we must band together. A Stark must always be at Winterfell but now, we must all be together." Robb said.

The Red Keep was rejoicing after the Battle of Blackwater, celebrating the win against Stannis Baratheon and the survival of most of their homes and lives. The disappearance of the Hound hardly caused a stir except for a single outburst from Joffrey. His beautiful ex-fiancee was attendant at many dinners, repeating formal, empty sentences, her mind constantly wondering about whether or not she should have taken the chance to escape with Sandor Clegane.

Aside from those thoughts, the only other ones were about what Joffrey's head would look like on a pike. Robb and his army could never come soon enough. She sorely hoped that they would. These days she even a week alone with Arya over any more days at King's Landing