The great grey banner of the Starks was merely a testament of allegiance for the men of the scouting party, as none of them hailed her family as their sworn house. Arya noticed the sigils of Karstark, Umber, Mormont and even Tully sown into the fabric of a cloak or etched into the metal of a breastplate, but none of it made her feel at ease. She did not know these men, having not seen them before in the great halls and courtyards of Winterfell. Thoughts of doubt and fear had begun to creep across her conscience. What if she had led them into a trap? What if they weren't as close to Riverrun as she had previously thought? Had she led them to their deaths in her eagerness to get home? She worried at her bottom lip, a trait which had become very familiar to her in the past year. She was not the same young, naive Arya Stark that had once left Winterfell with Sansa and father. She was changed. And that begged the question: Would her lady mother and her royal brother want her back?

During her escape from King's Landing and every event thereafter, Arya had done and seen terrible things that would make most Ladies blush in terror and shriek in fear. She had watched people be tortured to death, she had been starved and unable to bathe for weeks and she had killed people. She had a blood on her hands that she would never be able to wash off. It was all in her defence of course, the casualties of war, but it was a mark that she could never remove. How could her family want back a monster like her? Even before she knew she might actually have a real chance at returning home, those kinds of thoughts had plagued her nightmares. She just wanted to go home but it scared her that home wouldn't want her too. Plus, there was no doubt behind why the bannermen still didn't believe her claim when she didn't even resemble a Lady. Actually, she didn't even look like a girl at all. Oh, there was no chance if they couldn't even recognize her.

She must have groaned or made a noise because the soldier beside her turned his head to look at her, slightly worried and interested. "What's the matter, little lady? Uh, excuse me, Your Grace." The man called Ralwin asked, stumbling a little over the courtesies. He was a middle-aged man with greying sandy blonde hair, intelligent blue eyes and a well-muscled build with a kind face. A blacksmith's son turned fighter by the looks of it.

"I was just thinking about Robb and my Lady mother... How have they been?" Arya asked, changing the topics of her inner turmoil slightly. Ralwin smiled and clapped her on the back.

"Your brother is a good, wise leader who has won every battle he's fought. You Starks inspire loyalty and there is no other claim for whom I would rather die. There's something about you that makes everything worth fighting for, including family. So, little - Your Grace, if you truly are who you say you are, then you should have no reason to fear."

It hurt more than it should to hear of her brother spoken in such a light. The last she had known of him, he was still a young boy at Winterfell, playing with blunted, light swords as snow dusted his hair. Now, he was a king, commanding thousands of men and he had become a stranger to her. Arya turned her head so that none of her companions would be able to sense the turmoil of her emotions. She did not belong here. How could she? Not only was she a stranger, but her family had changed as well. She was a princess now, second in line to the throne and she was not ready to go!

She lifted her elbows about to turn her horses head sharply to the side so she could gallop away from all of her troubles and fears, but a strong hand settled on her shoulder. Arya whirled to face him, expecting to find maybe Ralwin who was traveling next to her, but it appeared it was actually Gendry. The blacksmith boy had recognized her pain from the back of the escort and had galloped up to meet her at the first signs of her wanting to run. She could feel her eyes had widened but he offered a small smile and she felt herself relax, worrying down on her lip once again.

"Come on Arry. Your mother and your mother are going to be there and they will want you back. No matter what happens anyway, Hot Pie and I, we're your pack. We'll follow you wherever you go." Gendry told her, and then he grinned. "No more time to escape anyway, turns out getting a horse covers distances much quicker than on foot. We're here."

He was right. The thick forest on either side of them had begun to thin out as they reached its edge and neared the gushing river castle of Riverrun, entering from the West Gate. Even the sun high above had evolved from the night-time moon that had cast its pale, silvery beam when they had first been discovered. Her hands were badly shaking but somewhere, she found the courage to spur her horse onwards and gallop after the out front riders, Gendry matching the pace. Hot Pie was left to flounder behind with the rest of the scouting party.

"Scouting party returning!" A guard shouted on the battlements of Riverrun. "Hail, who are your companions?"

"We have found the Princess Arya Stark, alert King Robb and Lady Catelyn at once!"

Robb had donned his royal crown, wore his decorative sword at his hip and had even brought the fearsome Grey Wind along with him, the giant beast padding silently through the halls, ears pricked high and alert to all sounds. He appeared the proper part of not only a son seeking revenge for his father's unjust murder, but a young man grown who could command a thousand armies. The servants all balked in terror at seeing him, bowing low to offer their Grace the respect he had earned. But despite his authoritative presence, he did not feel as such. At that moment, he was nothing more than a young, scared boy.

News of Arya's resurgence and arrival had stunned him into a shocked, frozen silence, rendering him motionless and cold. She was here? How could that be? If it were true, then the Lannisters didn't have possession of her, that maybe she had escaped at some time. It sounded like something his littlest sister would be able to manage but… what if this was all a trick? Some spy sent in to the very heart of his camp. He steeled himself and vowed he would not let his heart rule in front of his head. Some little girl that called him brother would need to prove herself first. He was not ready for his people to die.

The scouting party were waiting in the front courtyard of Riverrun, chatting and laughing or tending their horses as they awaited the presence of their King. Boys and men and horses. No little girls with fire in their eyes and a quick spit off the tongue. They fell to respectful silence at his arrival and he cast another gaze over them, offering a small smile. "I hear you have returned my sister to me. A great feat. Where is she?" He asked, his tone warm yet commanding. They were not to mess with him.

"Robb." A young voice called softly and he turned to see a young boy walk towards him, tentative yet courageous. His beautiful grey eyes were wet with tears of relief, the only clear features on his underfed, dirty little body. His hair was a great brown mass of mats and clumps, and it was short. A boy he did not know. A boy and not a girl. Robb's heart turned to stone and he narrowed his eyes, turning on his men.

"What kind of joke is this?" Robb demanded of them, gradually growing more and more angry. "You have fooled me into believing that you have found and brought my sister to me, your princess. What is this? Some kind of ill joke? Do you expect me to believe that I would fall for some scrawny smallfolk boy as my sister!? The price for lying to your king is imprisonment but for this insult, death can be the only answer. Is this how you would treat your King? By bringing me hope only to tear it away from me? If not that I am your liege, I am a man who has lost his father. His blood, and the rest of his family is scattered across Westeros. And now you think to hurt me more. Guards, arrest them."

Shouts of alarm and distress erupted from the scouting party as the guards swarmed on them with swords drawn. The little boy's eyes widened and his gaze looked over to a well-muscled, black haired boy and a fat, puffing one who were both drawing out swords to protect themselves. "Arya, do something! Convince him you're you. We didn't travel this far to die at your brother's hand." The former cried in fear as he parried a high stroke and the latter basically hid behind him.

"Robb!" The stranger boy cried, running up to grab the sleeve of his arm. Robb shook him off with a glare but the boy grabbed him again, tone growing harder. "Robb, look at me. It's me! Arya! You have to look at me. I know I look like a boy but it's only a disguise. Listen to me…" He shook him off again, resulting in the young boy falling to the ground. Then, the unexpected happened. He jumped up again and slapped him square across the face.

Robb's eyes widened and he turned to stare at him in disbelief, a hand rising up to touch his face. There was no remorse to be seen. "Look at me, stupid! Look at me! I'm Arya! Stop being a stupid stuck-up prat and pay attention! Look at me!" However, he turned his gaze first to Grey Wind. The direwolf, who should have bitten off the boy's head at the first touch had merely tilted his head and was watching silently. He was not protecting him.

"Grey Wind." The little boy shouted. "Come to me! Come on boy. You know me. You know you do. Remember Nymeria, my girl? Come to me Grey Wind, and show him that I am who I say I am. I'm not going to hide anymore. I want to come home."

And Grey Wind licked 'Arya's' hand. The boy grinned and looked up at him, pushing his hair from his forehead so Robb could gain a better look at his face. His heart rate increased and he bit his lip, looking quickly between the guards and the boy in indecision. "It's me. And you know it." The boy in front of him whispered desperately. "Don't send me away. It's me. Please Robb. You know it's me. At least just hear us out. Hear me out. Don't kill us. Just hear us out. Winter is coming, Robb and when the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives. Father told me that. Give me a chance. Give us a chance."