24 Part 1

SANSA

"Victory."

Stannis spoke the word with a reverence she'd only ever heard him use in regards to his rights. The word carried far though, down from the stone landing where they stood high above to the courtyard full of people below.

"Victory over false lords and a false throne. That is what today's battle has brought the realm. Ramsay Snow's death means another Lannister puppet falls." Stannis's voice rang out against the walls. "With his death, the North is now free of accursed Freys and bloody Boltons."

A small ring of cheers went up but died out as soon as Stannis's firm gaze fell upon the noisemakers. The king was not done and soon the rabble waited for him to continue.

"The abomination sitting the Iron Throne depends on those houses as pillars of his rule. Crushed and toppled as they are, it weakens the pretender. Our enemies suffer defeat after defeat and with each victory we build the foundation for our next victory. And the one after that. And the one following that. Until the final victory, where we stand upon the ruins of Lannister rule!"

With that, Stannis turned to the squire at his side. In the boy's hands was a sheathed sword, which the king pulled forth. A brilliant shimmering light burst forth from the blade as he hefted it high above his head, Sansa and many others gasping to see it.

"False men will fall! A great army will march! The true king will march with them! The natural order will be restored and justice returned to this realm! The path to the true battle lies before us and I will guide us to it!"

Sansa stared at the shining blade yet it did little to warm her against the cool breeze moving along the walls.

Stannis's speech did better on that count.

For the first time since she'd met the man, Stannis Baratheon had inspired her, and she was not the only one who felt so. The enthusiasm with which both the king's men and her own cheered Stannis's words was as sincere as it was loud.

Were he to propose marching straight to capital at once many might actually go.

So ready for battle, they could very well tear down the city brick by brick with their bare hands.

Howland raised an eyebrow at her from his place to the other side of Arya. The three of them shared the landing with the King, his small entourage and a handful of her guardsmen behind them. Down below, the courtyard was packed with all sorts of people. Laborers stood with their families, knights alongside lords and there was no lack of warriors present, many veterans of today's battles.

All save the one who should be here, she thought, the one who should be making speeches.

The knight who truly guided us to this victory.

She had been standing above the gates when the war parties had returned to Winterfell. The brave warriors had brought more than word of their victory. They had brought the body of Ramsay Snow.

The men along the battlements had shouted loudly to see the bastard's corpse dragged behind Ser Kyle's horse. His head had been claimed by another though. The blood-spattered Ser Richard Horpe had ridden through the gates holding the foul thing by its hair for all to see.

The whole spectacle had been ignored by Sansa as she looked out at all the returning faces for the one she missed most of all.

Among the victors she saw no sign of Jon and a cold feeling had crept up her back. When Willem came to her, his eyes downcast and expression grim Myranda had held out a hand to steady her.

"Where is Jon?" Sansa had asked, her mouth dry with worry. "What happened?"

Willem had shaken his head and pointed back out beyond the walls.

"You mean Ser Jon the Stubborn? Oh he's riding about with Mors Umber, trying to track down the rest of the bloody hounds." The knight scowled. "Our group didn't even see a fight and when I finally get the chance for some glory, Wolf steals my horse and takes off with my men! I'll see him…"

"Oh you fool!" Myranda had snapped. "Coming up here! Looking like you did! Did you think how it might appear to us?"

Willem had actually been abashed when he took Myranda's meaning but his apologies were the last things on Sansa's mind. For a few moments she'd feared Jon lost to her, the relief of knowing he still lived coursed strongly through her. It even pushed away her annoyance at the opportunity he had scorned to ride back victorious for all their people to see.

Jon's strategy had worked as he hoped. The hounds had taken the bait. Ramsay Snow's force had been caught preparing to mount an attack against Jon's false supply carriages just as Ser Kyle's riders mounted their own. Just like at the Reaping, Ramsay had taken his mounted strength and fled, leaving his infantry to the mercy of Ser Kyle and the Cerwyn men's charge.

That flight had led them straight to Jon's party and the bastard's death.

Which in turn had led to this impromptu ceremony. She had wanted to wait until Jon's return but when Stannis heard of the victory he had visited the castle himself.

The king thought a delay was out of the question.

"Victory is not about dinner parties and dances." Stannis had frowned, looking out at the mingling of his men and hers. "It is about moments like this, the ones between the tedious marching and burying the dead. You do not let such things wither away. You use them to urge your men forth, riding the tide of triumph onto the next victory."

"This victory belongs to Ser Jon, not us." She'd argued and Stannis had given her a look of intrigue bordering on respect.

"Hmph. In my experience, lords young and old alike are often loathe to credit their lessers for victories. When I have Randyll Tarly captured and brought before me, you can hear the truth of that from him. Mace Tyrell will boast that he pushed back Robert's army at Ashford, giving Robert his one defeat in the entire war, but it was Lord Tyrell's van that did all the fighting. In truth, Mace Tyrell couldn't fight off a bout of the runs without the Lord of Horn Hill leading him to the privy."

The king had gestured then for his guards to clear a path between him and Sansa through the celebrating rabble before inviting her to join him.

"Lord Stark raised you well it seems if he taught you to give credit where it is owed. Your half brother's deeds honor him even more. So let the knight do his duty as we shall do ours. For this is not a time to wait, it is a time for men to be led."

His words had rung with a hard truth she couldn't ignore. Besides, their relations still needed to be strengthened and their men would benefit from a bonding experience like this.

And with the men in such high spirits, it offered Sansa a platform to follow Stannis's announcements with one of her own. After the king had returned his blade to its sheath, she nodded to Howland who came to stand at the fore.

"Good men!" The crannog lord hailed, gathering the crowd's attention. "While there are surely more victories to be had in the future, we must give today's victors their due! Ramsay Snow is dead along with most of his men! The Queen would have us honor those brave warriors who brought an end House Bolton's stain on the North! Queen Sansa would now like to call forward those who did great deeds in this battle! Deeds to be recognized and celebrated."

Sansa stepped forward, drawing Arya alongside her, her sister resisting some against the attention. Men-at-arms and knights, smallfolk and highborn alike all gazed up at them, and again she lamented Jon's absence in this.

"Ser Richard Horpe, please step forward!" She called out and saw the surprise on Stannis's face at the mention of his knight. "Step forward and be honored."

Rodwell and his men cleared an open space below the landing and soon enough the battle-hardened knight presented himself there. She'd heard Stannis himself call the man Slayer and from his bloodied clothes and reputation, the name seemed well earned. Ser Richard did not lack for courtesy though, he knelt before any bid him to.

"This knight is not in my service yet he served the North greatly today! He fought bravely against our enemies and did great damage to their forces! As told by those present, Ser Richard slew six men with his own blade. Six!" Her pronouncement led to approving sounds from the crowd. "Ser, I ask you to rise."

When the knight did so she offered her widest smile, the man staring blankly back at her in return.

"As King Stannis is my ally, I hereby name you a friend of House Stark. Any gift that is within my power, merely name it now and I will grant it to you happily."

"I am a knight, your grace." Richard put a hand to his chest. "I have only ever wished to serve well and fight even better. I ask only to go on doing so in R'hllor's name."

The mention of the red god did not go over well with most of her men yet a few of Stannis's offered shouts of encouragement.

"Even still ser, should you ever have a need, my family will fill it. Go forth with my thanks."

Ser Richard bowed and made to take his place amongst the crowd again. With that Howland called out the name of another person she would honor.

"Lady Brienne of Tarth! Please come forward!"

A murmur of disquiet reached her ears and men began to move aside at the lady's coming. The woman's shoulder was heavily bandaged but showed no sign of strain upon her scarred face. Arya watched her approach with concern, yet Sansa spotted something of a smile pulling at her lips.

It was a far cry from how things had been earlier today.

Arya had not been pleased to learn both Jon and her strange party of friends had ridden out to face battle. Sansa had faced her own battle with her sister afterwards. Just another clash in a war she feared would never end.

What happens here will mean some peace between us, some happiness for Arya at least. I can only hope.

Others appeared upset though. She saw derision and disbelief on many of the faces in the crowd.

No matter how great her deeds she'll always be but a woman to them.

But she will be my woman soon enough.

As Brienne knelt Sansa waved her hand down at her.

"This lady, sworn to my mother's service, helped return Princess Arya home to Winterfell. As if that deed was not grand enough, today she slew the beast known as Ramsay Snow with her own blade!"

Many cheered her declaration but not as many as she had hoped.

It will do for now.

"My lady, I owe you so much." She put a hand on Arya's shoulder as she spoke and prepared herself for what would come next. "I offered Ser Richard anything he would ask, yet I would ask something of you instead. You served my mother faithfully and I'd ask you to serve her daughters the same. I'd ask you to be more than just a warrior in my personal service, but to have your oath. To serve as a protector of House Stark. The first of a Sworn Guard to our royal family."

There were shouts of shock and disapproval from the crowd at her words and even Brienne started some. She once again cursed Jon's absence, for Howland had admitted to her that this was his idea as well.

The lord did as he said he would, addressing the crowd with his arms outstretched.

"The late King Robb surrounded himself with a guard made up of loyal and true warriors, who swore to die for their king rather than let him fall!" With that Howland gestured towards some familiar faces below. "And among those brave warriors served Dacey Mormont! Would any here question her courage at the Whispering Wood? At Oxcross? Was the lady was any less brave than the men who fought alongside the Young Wolf, our King in the North?"

Sansa thought none would, not with Lady Maege, Alysanne and Jorelle present in the courtyard.

"Would any question that Lady Brienne returned the princess home? That it was her blade which killed Ramsay Snow?"

When naught but silence followed Howland's questions, Sansa made to seize the moment. Until Brienne herself raised the lone objection.

"Your grace I'm not worthy. I wouldn't…" They lady spoke loudly at first but her words fell away.

The woman was clearly uncomfortable and would not even raise her eyes from the ground. Arya's grip on her hand tightened and Sansa shared in her sister's worries.

No, she cannot reject us. We must have her.

"Pray wait for one moment my lady, so that I may look upon you." Sansa called out before making to leave the landing, pulling Arya with her. Together they walked down the stone stairs to the courtyard and came before the kneeling lady.

"Lady Brienne, my sister and I would have you enter our service. To pledge your sword to our care as you've done before in others' names."

Brienne was shaking her head and Sansa fretted some at what the lady would say next.

"Your grace… I was a Kingsguard once and my king was killed. I swore myself to your lady mother… and she fell as well." She paused, her arm trembling upon her knee. "I fear myself ill-omened, that I will only bring death…"

Someone in the crowd muttered agreement and Arya's hand jerked in hers, her sister searching the crowd to find the speaker. Sansa ignored it, pulling on Arya's arm to remind her of their plan.

"How can you be ill-omened?" Arya asked haltingly, too quietly for others to hear and Sansa whispered for her to speak louder. It earned her an angry look but Arya did as she was bid. "You found me Brienne. You brought me from the Quiet Isle to the Twins. To Winterfell! I'm alive and home… because of you."

Something was said in the crowd and this time Arya jerked free to point down at Brienne.

"It's the truth! I'm here because of her! No one else came for me!"

"It is my right to choose my protectors!" Sansa declared, wanting this to end. "It is my sister's right as well, and I'd ask any who have doubts to put them aside. To trust in me as I trust in you."

While she made her case to the men, Arya made her case to Brienne.

"We're not done yet…." Arya's voice was not it's usual strong and forceful tone. She sounded like the girl Sansa had remembered when asking father for a story or Jon to carry her on his shoulders. "We have so much to do, I want to show you what I can be… please Brienne…"

Those words bid Brienne to gaze up at Arya. Her eyes, her one truly beautiful feature, were all the bluer with the emotion there, a tear breaking free from one. Then the lady slowly drew her sword and offered it pommel first towards them.

"Queen Sansa, Princess Arya. I offer my sword to your service. To House Stark's service." Brienne spoke even louder now. "My sword is yours, my life is yours, my oath is yours. I will serve you honorably until the end of my days."

"Then rise Lady Brienne, henceforth you shall be our Sworn Guard, our trust is with you."

The words were an answer to her prayers, the end to a lingering fear since Brienne had spoken of her hatred for Stannis. In one of the brief moments Jon had deigned to be near her, he'd shared his worries that Brienne would leave Winterfell to claim some vengeance upon Stannis. Besides being indebted to the lady, Sansa was also growing fond of her and could not allow Brienne to throw her life away on nothing but an oath to a dead man.

Nor could she allow her to kill their new ally.

Or worse, die trying to.

Bringing Brienne into their service seemed the ideal solution. Yet when Howland came to her proposing that they form a Sworn Guard it had worried her. The politics of it were tricky and her own experience with the Kingsguard disposed her little to such orders. When the lord had betrayed it as Jon's idea, it had done much to raise its worth in her eyes.

A deep grey cloak was brought forward then and Sansa saw that Arya was practically beaming as she fastened it around Brienne's shoulders. Arya had asked for the honor herself and Sansa was happy to grant it. The woman rose to tower before them and took a place at Arya's side, her eyes still glistening. Sansa let the pair enjoy the moment a little longer before nodding up at Howland above.

He knew his part and stepped forward on the dais.

"Your grace, I'd offer you another sword if you'd have him."

With that, he beckoned a lithe young crannogman from the side of the hall. He was the warrior who had escorted Arya from the Neck all the way to Winterfell. The man was small in stature like many crannogmen but with a tall spear in one hand, a shortsword at his side, and a bow slung across his back, he made an impression. An impression that was fierce as well as dignified.

"I present Marlen, son of Derren, styled the Bog Devil by his friends and enemies alike."

Arya's face was alight as the man knelt before them as she'd known other guards would be named but not who. It was good to make Arya happy, and this would no doubt do so. When Howland had proposed Marlen for the guard Sansa saw the value of it immediately. Her family gained a skilled warrior and it showed their respect for the crannogmen and their abilities in but one act.

They deserve more for all they've done. For all their lord has done.

And when the time is right Howland will be rewarded as he should be.

She allowed Arya herself to fasten the cloak upon his shoulders and noted sourly the cheers for Marlen were louder than the ones for Brienne had been.

The next man she named would do honor to the clansmen. The quarrelsome lot rarely agreed on anything yet somehow one man had found broad support. Even the chieftain lord of House Liddle's most bitter clan rival, Hugo Wull remarked on the man's ability with a broadsword and his slaying of many ironmen at the taking of Deepwood Motte.

Morgan Liddle, second son to Torren Liddle, was rumored to be fierce in battle and his love of fighting was only eclipsed by his loyalty to House Stark. Middle Liddle, as he was called, would never feature in any maiden's tales. He was big, bald, bearded, and fearsome to look upon with harsh and weathered features.

Yet when Morgan accepted the cloak from Sansa, he did so with a blush that made him look almost a green boy.

When the last man stepped forward to be named, she struggled to keep the smile from her face. This man had needed neither recommendation nor any deep consideration. As Ser Willem dropped to his knee, he placed a hand upon the pommel of one of his swords.

"Lord Yohn ordered me to be at your service but I was never sworn to it. He has enough knights about him to holler at, so I offer my sword to you now, Sansa Stark, Queen in the North." He then shifted his hand to his second sword before winking at Arya. "And I offer the other to you, Arya Stark, Princess She-Wolf."

Arya tried her hardest to hide her grin while Ser Willem's expression quickly became gravely serious.

"I have never served a cause as just as yours. I have seen few rulers as noble as you." The knight made no jests and he did not smile. "I'd swear to keep your family and home safe before all else. Before all lands, titles, or wines, I serve the Starks."

There had never been any question of whether she would accept such an oath. He had been with Jon and her since the Vale and few had done more for them. Since he would not accept a home from her, she would gladly make a place for the knight in hers.

"Then I welcome you to the Sworn Guard and furthermore name you First of the Guard, captain of our protectors." As she draped the grey cloak around his shoulders, she leaned close and whispered the rest. "And this is one title you cannot refuse."

He didn't argue as he rose to a rousing bit of applause from both northmen and Vale warriors. The knight went on to join his fellow sworn swords and she spared a glance back to Stannis. The king's face was stern as he watched in silence from his place above her. His expression as hard as it was unreadable.

Soon after Maege gave a shout and a wagon was pulled amongst the crowd, who began to forget themselves when they saw it laden with casks of ale. In truth, they didn't have much left of ale or wine but with the supplies from White Harbor expected soon Sansa believed they could spare it. With the shadow of Ramsay Snow gone from her lands they deserved some merriment.

When the casks were opened and the men flocked around, the courtyard took on the feel of a festival. Men clapped each other on the backs and brought tankards together laughing.

The castle was filled with good cheer, everyone finding someone to share it with.

And she felt alone. Empty and alone.

Arya was walking with Brienne, the two heading towards the maester's tower where the wounded were being tended to, no doubt to visit Podrick and Ser Gendry. Myranda was taking great pleasure in making Marlen laugh and Morgan Liddle blush. Stannis had left the landing to stand amongst his men, sharing neither in ale or laughter but standing among his men as they celebrated nonetheless with something akin to approval on his stern face.

Even Howland had disappeared from her side.

Likely gone to share today's tidings with Lord Wyman.

Poor man is likely going stir crazy in those chambers.

Lyra Mormont had left days ago, ostensibly to lead reinforcements to the Dreadfort and summon Lord Royce. The truth, of course, was she carried word of Rickon to the Greatjon and Bronze Yohn and orders for the pair to seek him upon Skagos. While Stannis had gritted his teeth and accepted the delay of Lord Wyman's trial, she knew it would not do to push him by parading the lord around before them.

A parade of a different sort caught her eye then.

Mors Umber was bellowing loudly as he pushed his way through the revelry, waving a bloodied Bolton banner about his head the whole while.

"That's the end of the flayed man!" Mors roared as he yanked a tankard from a man and downed it in one go.

"And the start of the drunk man!" Willem laughed from his place beside Jorelle before quickly ducking as an empty tankard flew over his head. "Hey! Where's the Wolf?"

"Eh?" Mors waved forth for another tankard. "The beast took off before we got back to the castle."

"Not that wolf! The good looking one!" Jorelle called and men hooted.

Such behavior was probably why Myranda had taken such a liking to the lady most called Jory. Far more forward and brash than Maege's other daughters, Myranda claimed Jory had stories that even made her blush.

Her words caused Sansa's face to grow hot but not in embarrassment.

"Handsome? That skinny man!?" Mors drank before pointing to the keep. "The ser went to his chambers! He prefers bandages to drinking!"

"He'd prefer me to both!" The Mormont wench's claim brought a round of bawdy jests.

She barely heard them, for Sansa's feet were already taking her towards the keep.

It was beyond belief. Even with the distance between them, Jon still found a way to irritate her. She'd heard from Brienne that Jon had suffered some wounds and to hear he sought his room rather than the maester's tower infuriated her.

Almost as much as Jorelle Mormont's words.

Jon wouldn't want her, she thought, no matter what she offers him.

And would he want you? Coming to his chambers to scold him like a Septa?

She knew the answers to those questions but continued on anyways. No matter their problems, or the status of her crown, Sansa was still his queen and Jon was still her knight. She could not let him act so foolishly.

Her now having a reason to see him alone had nothing to do with it.

Perhaps he's forgiven me… if he loves me like he says, he'll see me and take me into his arms and…

She shook her head against such hopes.

And forget the years of hurt you helped cause him?

Forget the pleasure a woman offered him that some silly little girl can't?

Sansa did her best to push those thoughts away. It would do her little good to start crying before she even saw him.

When she arrived at his chambers no one was about and her knock was a furtive rap, answered just as quickly by a grunt from within.

Sansa opened the door expecting Jon to be standing there, looking like he did the night of the feast. Dressed in finery and awaiting her coming like he did in her dreams.

Instead her knight had his back to her.

And he was barely dressed at all.

Jon wore breeches that rode low past his hips and save for the cloth he wound about his middle, his back and chest appeared bare. She shut the door quickly and found herself leaning against it, sheltering them from being caught in such a moment.

Much had changed since the last time she'd seen him undressed. Where Sansa expected to see angry, red lines crisscrossing his back, there only pale scars now. An urge to touch them gripped her, as if to do so would somehow ease them into fading even further away.

"You've could've left the bandages until the morning Leum." Jon said as he turned around. "Just leave them- shit!"

He almost jumped, he was so startled to see her, his face shifting into a grimace of pain as a hand went to his side. A darkening bruise poked up from beneath the parts he'd bandaged. She was almost thankful to see that that was the extent of his hurts.

"I would say I'm indisposed Sansa." Jon grumbled, looking about the clothing strewn around the room.

"And I would say you should be with all the other wounded men being tended to by Medrick." She did her best to sound angry. "Those bruises look poorly ser."

She tried to look only at the bruises but her eyes rebelled, wandering to take in more of Jon's body. His chest was firm and strong yet trim and graceful too. His other scars didn't mar his lean form in the least. Where muscle carved lines here and there across his body she wondered how it would feel to run her fingers along them.

It was a wicked thought.

"I am fine." He shrugged wincing. "And there are others far worse off than me…"

His eyes fell on a shirt by her feet and he moved to grab it. She saw the movement though and before he could, she blocked his path, her hand landing upon his chest.

"That is not the point." She said firmly as the feel of him sent a wave of heat through her chest. "You are missed at the celebration, the one for the victory you brought us. Even Stannis is speaking highly of you."

He grunted, enduring her touch for only a moment longer before taking a step back, their connection broken.

He can endure riding about with such wounds but not your touch.

He let her touch him.

"Why didn't you come back after the battle?" Her anger got the better of her. "Why would you suffer to ride about like this?"

"The task was not done." Jon said quietly.

"Then someone else could have finished it!" She almost shouted. "It is foolish to risk yourself so!"

Her hurt feelings only added to her anger. He hadn't just scorned her. He'd scorned the chance to ride victorious into the castle. A victory won because of his strategy and leadership, one a castle full of people celebrated. It was a chance for him to earn the admiration and respect he deserved.

Things she'd denied him for so long.

"I didn't mean to upset you." Jon kept his gaze on the wall beside him rather than her. "You shouldn't be in here Sansa."

But I want to be.

Everything in her screamed that she belonged here with him. She wanted to scream it at him. To grab his face and make him see how sorry she was for all she'd done.

Fear restrained Sansa from doing anything of the like. To even try meant opening herself up for him to reject her. For him to prove that he knew her for what she was.

A little girl pretending to be a queen. Pretending to be a woman. Pretending to be anything but what she actually was.

"You're right." She heard herself say. "I only wanted to make sure you were well... I'm sorry ser."

With that she turned from him and walked to the door. Each step felt heavier than the last and it was a horrible how badly she wanted to cry. She was about to rip open the door when Jon said something. His words too quiet to be heard.

She didn't want to cry in front of him yet she stopped. Looking back, she saw Jon facing her again, his fists clenched and eyes closed.

"Jon? Did you say something?"

"I said don't." He almost whispered. "Don't leave… don't apologize…"

He opened his eyes and met her own.

"I'm sorry. I know you don't want to hear this but I am. I wish what happened with Melisandre never happened." Jon took a step towards her. "I was a scared, lonely fool and I'd never known a woman…I would take it back if I could. You have to know, I didn't love her then and I could never love her now… I could never love anyone like I love you…"

"Jon…"

"Please just hear me." He pleaded as he took another step forward. "I'd change it if I could. I'd change so much. I wish you didn't have to be burdened with the truth of my mother. I shouldn't have waited so long to tell you the truth about Melisandre… the lie… but it's not worth losing you over…"

"Losing me?" She choked out.

What is he doing? Why is he apologizing to me?

"I dishonored myself and I sought to escape my shame by trying to blame you for things that are not your fault. That you had done as a child." He said all this running his hand through his hair nervously. "I never wanted to hurt you… I don't want to keep hurting you and I stayed away as long as I could but you coming here…"

He didn't. He couldn't have forgiven me.

"Forgive me." Jon's shoulders slumped. "I beg it of you…"

"Shut up." Sansa said shaking her heard. "Oh please just… shut up."

He was taken aback at that. Even more so when she rushed at him, grabbing his face and pulling it down to hers.

He's a fool. A brave, handsome, wonderful fool.

And he loves me!

She had no restraint, her lips pressing against his, her fingers moving through his hair. He didn't struggle against it and soon enough his mouth was open and his tongue was out, seeking hers. That drove Sansa to push herself against his body, to try and feel even more of him. Jon jerked suddenly and gasped in pain. She remembered his injuries then and tried to pull away yet it was his turn to grab her. One hand on Sansa's hip, the other on her back, holding her tight against him.

The warmth she'd felt in her chest now bloomed forth through her breasts as they pushed against him. The warmth continued, coursing throughout her body, moving lower and then lower still until it reached her womanhood.

Her hand moved lower as well, from Jon's face to his chest. His skin was hot to the touch, the feel of it against her hands almost made her fingers want to clench and try to grab even more of him. The tips of her fingers traced their way across one of his scars, the thought of Jon hurt driving her to comfort him. She broke their kiss all of a sudden, Jon groaning his disapproval until she kissed the scar Loras Tyrell had given him. She just wanted to have more of him, to taste him, to make him feel as she did.

"Sansa…" He gasped when she kissed him at a spot just higher.

The hardness in his breeches ground against her hip as she kissed a line up to his neck. Her lust was so powerful her tongue chanced to join her lips there. That was too much for Jon, he jerked her so that they were kissing again, his lips all the hungrier. Then he broke their kiss and his mouth was at her neck.

She almost cried out at the feeling of his hot breath and lips against her skin. When his tongue licked at her neck she shivered. Her strength left her and she sagged into his arms yet he did not let her fall. He pushed his hips against her own and when she felt that hardness again she suddenly found the strength to meet his thrusts in turn.

When she moved her legs apart to balance herself, she felt wetness between them. It was a feeling she never wanted to end. It was one she wanted more of.

No wonder people lose their virtue.

No wonder Jon lost his.

They'd begun swaying about the room and somehow had backed upon his bed. She let herself fall backwards, pulling him with her. His mouth was on hers again as his body slid back between her legs. Her skirts were forced upwards now and she felt his hardness pressed right up against her mound. With the skirts out of the way there was only his breeches and her smallclothes between them and it sent a spasm of desire unlike any she had ever felt course through her whole body.

Before Sansa knew what she was doing she cried out.

"Sansa…" Jon broke away for a moment, gasping for air. "We should stop…"

"No."

He didn't stop with Melisandre.

That red witch wouldn't stop.

Myranda wouldn't stop. Jorelle wouldn't stop.

Everything Jon said came back to her then.

He had been apologizing for things that weren't his fault, thinking that he was somehow unworthy of her. One day he would realize he was wrong to forgive her, that she didn't deserve him. Jon was handsome, brave, a prince even, and she was the girl who tittered and snubbed him for all her life and betrayed her father.

Cersei Lannister's words came back too. Sansa was a fool who didn't understand the power of the thing between her legs, she had said. The woman was only half right, for she was also scared of her sex as well. Men had threatened her because of it, hurt her over it, so many terrible things had happened for what pleasure men thought they could take of her.

A real woman grown wouldn't be scared. Myranda, Mya, and Jorelle were all real women, and worse, none had hurt Jon like she had.

Her true knight deserved a woman. A woman who could give him nothing but the love and joy he deserved but more than that…a woman who could be with him in the way men and women were supposed to be together.

The way her friends wanted to be with him.

They can't have him, I won't let them.

I can't lose him. I won't lose him.

They don't love him like I do. I would give anything and everything of myself to him.

So she did.

The true knight always got the maiden in the songs anyways. She kept that thought in her mind as she cupped Jon's face and kissed him again. She steeled herself, pushing all her fears down before making her choice.

"Take it." Sansa kissed him again. "Take my maiden's gift."

He looked down at her, his eyes wide. He made to speak again but her lips cut off his protest. She felt earlier how he enjoyed pressing against her mound so she rolled her hips to thrust against him again. Jon moaned in her mouth as he struggled to pull away, yet only for the smallest of moments. Then with a grunt he was the one thrusting against her, his hands running down her sides, his mouth finding her neck.

Sansa made to undo the front of her gown when Jon suddenly reached down to hike up her skirts. Then his hand was at her woolen stockings pushing them down to her thighs before moving to her small clothes, his fingers clutching the garment tightly before he jerked at it.

The tearing of it sent a wave of terror through her.

Suddenly she was back in King's Landing during the riots. When filthy, horrible men clawed and grabbed at her with their rough hands. The fear of what they'd meant to do to her surged through her. She was with Marillion, his drunken hands groping at her, pushing her hands away from stopping him. Even the Hound came to her then threatening to cut her throat before asking for a song. She began to panic, her hands clenching into fists and a scream building up in her.

"Stay with me." Jon rasped suddenly, his grey eyes gazing into hers. "You have to stay with me."

I have to stay with him.

He protects me. Everything is better with him.

"I'm here…" She said, letting him kiss her again as he finished sliding the smallclothes down her legs, past her knees until they pooled at her feet with her stockings.

His kissing helped ease her back from those dark memories. When his hand moved over her mound, it did even more to drive away reason itself. His fingers slid across the thatch of hair above her womanhood, until they touched across the wetness itself. She shuddered to feel his touch there, forgetting the riots in King's Landing, the hungry looks of Marillion, Petyr's touches. She forgot her crown, Winterfell, even her own name. There was only Jon and her and the feeling his hand gave her.

And when his fingers dipped within her she shattered beneath him. She had to bite her lip to keep from making noise and thought for a moment that she tasted blood. Then Jon's hand was gone and he lifted up from her and she thought he was pulling away only to see that his breeches were down. She saw his manhood then and remembered how Tyrion's looked. It had looked bulbous and discolored and scared her but Jon's was different. It was comely like the rest of him, hard and smooth, but most importantly it was his. That was all that mattered.

The feel of it against her thigh made her start. It was warm and stiff against her skin yet soft as well.

As it pressed against her sex she clutched at his back in fear. When it entered her she bit his shoulder at the pain. While Jon cursed she did her best not to cry out. It wasn't the worst pain she'd ever felt but it was intense and foreign and she felt tears coming to her eyes. She thought of Jon to get through it.

Their embrace in front of the weirwood at Greywater Watch. Their first kiss at Moat Cailin. The day he came for her out of the snows.

His smile, only for her. His eyes.

Then she focused on the present instead. Jon was doing his best to remind her that he was there for her despite his apparent discomfort, like he always did and she was never more thankful. The skin of his chest against hers. His kisses along her brow. His hand massaging her thigh. His thumb wiping across her cheek.

All the while she took him deeper and deeper within her. When his groin pressed against hers Jon grunted, as if he was the one suffering through the ordeal.

"Oh gods… Sansa…" He looked down at her, his brow furrowed, his eyes wild. "Did I hurt you?"

"No." She lied. "I love you. I love you so much."

"I love you too." He kissed her. "I want you to be mine…I'm yours…always yours…"

As Jon spoke he pulled back and then thrust within her again. She grunted at the hurt but his words mattered more. As he thrust again and again she wrapped her legs about his hips and clawed at his back.

With every movement in and out of her sex, the pain dulled some, her fears and worries falling away with it. Soon the sharp agony turned into a dull roar and then a soft ache.

The hurt was dwarfed though by the knowledge that she was no longer alone. The empty feeling was gone and he had said the words she needed to hear.

He groaned to bury himself in her again and when he raised himself up then to look into her eyes and Sansa felt warmth flood through her again. They were together as man and woman were meant to be. His body and hers, joined in love.

She reached up to his jaw and traced it lightly with her fingertips.

"Say it." She begged, her fingers at his lips. "Say it again."

Jon drove into her faster than before and the bed moved with his efforts. She shivered as she felt him breathing on her neck before he whispered it again.

"Yours, I am yours…" he said with a desperation that she heard in his voice as much as she felt in her sex. "You're mine."

Yes, he is mine.

I am his and he is mine.

ARYA

"Hey, that's mine."

"And I'll give it back." Arya smiled at Pod's protest before she lowered the half helm over her head.

It was much too large for her, wobbling as soon as she let it go. Still, with the helm and the cloak pulled tight about her, it would do for what she needed.

"This is a bad idea." The squire shook his head.

"It's a good idea and be quiet. You got to go out and fight today while I had to sit here and do nothing." She scowled, looking around the corner of the alcove they'd hidden themselves in. "And I missed out on you all coming back too. I'm doing this."

The courtyard beyond was still filled with people drinking and celebrating Ramsay Snow's death. The mood was so good that many still braved the cold as night descended on the castle.

Which was fine by her, darkness only helped them.

"The Lady said to go back to the keep."

"And we will." She reached back and grabbed Pod's tunic, pulling him with her back into the open. "After."

With that they were on their way straight into the crowd of revelers. Torches were being lit and great braziers hauled out which made Arya think this whole thing could last quite a while.

And I'm supposed to miss this, just like the battle?

Not bloody likely.

She was still angry over being left behind. Brienne and Jon going out to fight the Boltons, she could understand that. They were warriors now and she believed in them and their abilities.

Gendry was a little harder to accept. He was a terrible rider, but if he got to use his war hammer she thought he'd be alright. He was almost a man grown and a knight besides.

She'd almost screamed in rage though when Sansa had said Pod gone too.

"I've been in just as many fights as him!" She'd yelled at Sansa. "We helped each other at the Crossroads! And when we spar I can…"

"You can accept that Podrick is a squire and you are a princess." Sansa had interrupted. "Your place is in the castle while the others are out in the field. Be happy I still allow you your practices… the other lords frowned to hear of it."

"Which is silly." Lady Myranda had chimed in, as she reached to fiddle with Arya's hair. She'd slapped away the lady's hand for the effort. "How many of those men accept Lady Maege and her daughters fighting? They accept a queen to lead them to victory, why not accept a swordswoman for a princess?

"Because it is not proper…"

"Oh trust me dear Sansa, men forget propriety soon enough when they find a woman who knows how to handle a sword."

"Randa!" Sansa had gasped and Arya had an idea that she knew what they were talking about.

Sansa's friend could talk about men's cocks all she wanted as long as she was on Arya's side.

"I could have helped! You said Jon took Ghost out to track the Boltons, I could do the same with Nymeria!" She'd gotten angrier as Sansa sighed and turned away. "You can't just send my friends into danger like that! Or Jon! He deserves better than…"

"Stop it!" Sansa had yelled, almost running from the room. "Just stop!"

As her sister had fled down the corridor Myranda had called after her, sparing but a moment to turn around and scold her.

"This was Ser Jon's idea, not hers, and your friends all volunteered. As strong as you think you are, trust me Arya Stark, your sister is stronger."

The lady's words had shamed her a little. Knowing that the others had left her behind on purpose spread her anger out amongst all of them but then she had felt bad being angry at them while they were out fighting the Boltons.

She'd felt even worse later when Myranda brought Sansa back. Apologizing to her sister was never the easiest thing to do for Arya. She'd done it though, and it had been worth it to hear Sansa's plan for keeping Brienne.

Arya had been shocked to hear that Brienne had even thought of leaving Winterfell. She'd always just assumed the lady would stay with them.

That Brienne would stay with her.

None of that mattered now though because Brienne had joined the new guard Sansa had made. It meant she wouldn't be going anywhere and that they would be together.

Taking care of each other.

After they'd named Brienne to the Sworn Guard, Arya had gone with her to see the maester. She'd needed more tending to and it was a chance to visit the others. Gendry had been getting his fool head bandaged again while laying back in a bed, his ribs bruised and his arm sprained.

"I should've practiced my riding more." He'd groaned, somehow managing to smirk at the same time. "Or my falling."

"You fought well and did your duty. Rest is all you need concern yourself with for now." Brienne had leaned back in her chair by his bedside, cradling her own shoulder.

A woman's high pitched squeal had made its way through the window and a chorus of laughter had followed.

"Sounds like we're missing all the fun." Gendry looked forlorn out the window. "You should get out there Pod. Enjoy yourself, you earned it."

"Podrick will be escorting Arya back to her chambers first." Brienne said, shaking her head when she began to protest. "Medrick asked to see to my bandages again and Gendry is not going anywhere until at least tomorrow. Our night is at an end."

"Then I'll stay here…"

"It would not be proper for you to do so." Brienne had winced as she shifted in her chair. "Go on now. Podrick, after you have escorted the princess you may enjoy the festivities. The ser is right, you've earned it."

Brienne and Sansa's words had burned in their ears as she left.

Everything I want to do isn't 'proper.'

Help fight? Not proper. Stay by my friend's side? Not proper.

Being a princess is like being a prisoner, except everyone keeps trying to tell you how great it all is.

In her mind, she had just as much right to take part in the fight against the hounds as anyone.

Winterfell was still under repair from the damage Ramsay Snow had done to it during the sack. There were still wounded people who survived the hounds' attacks being tended to by the maester. Then there were the people that weren't here. Beth Cassel, Old Nan, Joseth's daughters Bandy and Shyra, and so many others. All taken by the bastard and Theon had told Sansa that they were either dead or still locked below the Dreadfort.

Ramsay Snow had caused all of this destruction and she wasn't even allowed to celebrate him dying with everyone else. She hadn't even got to see him die and justice be done.

That's when the idea came to her.

The one Pod was still complaining about as they pushed their way through the crowd.

"Princess… Arya, if someone sees you..."

"That's why I'm wearing a disguise!" She hissed back at him, sidestepping a drunken guardsman. "So stop calling me princess and start using my bloody name!"

A group of Vale men were singing along with some serving women and drowned out Pod's complaints for a time. There were southron men loyal to Stannis in the crowd here and there as well. She figured that that was why she still saw Stark spearmen lining the edges of the yard. Not one of them had a tankard in their hand and Rodwell was among them, moving about warily.

That's smart, she thought, at least he's not pretending we're all best friends now.

Stannis is the reason why we can't have the whole North looking for the boys.

That thought drove her to remember the weird feeling she'd had earlier. Not long before the war parties had returned, Nymeria had left the castle. The direwolf, who rarely left the godswood, had run to the East Gate and howled and snapped until she'd been set free. The guards had told her that the direwolf had disappeared off into the distance.

Nymeria hadn't returned yet, which wasn't altogether strange. The direwolf sometimes went hunting without the walls but she never howled or threatened the men to do so. Arya hadn't been there and had barely heard the howls from within the keep yet somehow she knew Nymeria was seeking something different than food.

Just like Arya was seeking something different than a party.

They'd just made it by the wagon full of ale when a huge number of Mormont and Umber men in their way made her seek a way around. When she saw Lady Maege and Mors Umber talking ahead, she lowered her head to pass.

"If none could force me to marry, what makes you think I'll force one of my daughters to?" Maege thumped Mors on the chest, the large man grunting.

"Did I say force? Open your ears woman. I said offer." Mors grumbled as Arya passed by. "My sons have been dead for years now, our dear Smalljon is lost and my nephew's other bastard lads lost to the war too. Last Hearth lacks for a lady and an heir. My house needs both to survive so…"

A gale of laughter cut off the rest but she didn't care, the staircase they'd been heading towards was just a ways ahead. When they'd gained it Arya hurried her way up, the battlements above awaiting them.

"Look at that." Pod exclaimed excitedly from behind her and she stopped.

The squire was staring down into the courtyard and she saw a great circle of people forming around two men. People were cheering and shouting at the two and she recognized one as Morgan Liddle. The large man stood shirtless against the cold, squaring off against an equally large House Templeton man.

"It's just a fight." She said. "You've seen enough of that today."

In truth it would've been fun to watch but they had places to be. She had to yank at Pod to keep him going as the two fighters collided with the loud smack of flesh on flesh.

That same sound awaited them when they reached the darkened archway at the top of the stairs. There was little enough light in the passageway they entered but at the far end, just beyond the reach of the torches, two figures were rutting in the dark.

The woman was up on a ledge, her bare legs wrapped around the man, whose pants hung around his ankles. He was slamming into her so hard he was grunting almost as loud as her.

It's cold as anything up here, she thought, gods, ale makes people do stupid things.

Pod and her must have lingered for a bit too long for the woman took notice, giving a cry.

"Hey!" She yelled. "Get on!"

The man whipped around and Arya slapped the helm with her hand, forgetting it was there as she tried to stifle her laugh.

"Podrick Payne?" Ser Willem roared. "Gods boy, get out of here or I'll make you live up to your name!"

"Come on!" She yelled to her friend, who needed no urging to flee.

As they ran down the passageway she found it hard not to laugh. Pod wasn't laughing though. He was looking behind them as if expecting a chase.

"Was that… I mean… was that lady…"

"I think so. He's lucky her mother is being distracted by Mors Umber!"

Her laughter eventually died away as they moved toward the cold darkness of the battlements. She didn't want to draw any more attention to themselves.

Nor was what they sought truly a laughing matter.

They were on part of the inner wall, which looked down onto the courtyard. The people were much smaller now, their noise all the quieter. Up here it was only the wind and the darkness, torches burning at regular intervals.

Save at one place.

For where a torch should have stood, a spear had been put in its place.

The head of Ramsay Snow sitting atop of it.

If I couldn't see him die I'll at least see him dead.

For all he's done to my home, for all he's done to our people.

"Arya." Pod spoke suddenly, this time he grabbed her, pulling her back.

"Hey! I said don't say my name!" She tried to yank free but Pod shook his head.

"There's someone there."

She whipped back around and squinted into the darkness. Eventually she saw Pod was right. In the faint light she made out someone standing directly across from the bastard's head. The figure was pressed so far against the side of the walkway that they were almost completely shrouded in the crenels.

Whoever it was had taken notice of them as well. As they backed away, Arya saw that whoever it was had a hood over their face and wasn't very tall at all. Barely taller than her.

"Who goes there?" Pod asked, trying to push his way by, as if to protect her.

Like I'll let him do that.

Arya shoved him aside and went forward herself.

"Come out into the light!" She commanded. "Now!"

"Please don't hurt me." The cloaked figure spoke in a scared voice, a scared girl's voice. "Please, I'm sorry, I just wanted… I didn't mean to…"

As she walked into the light Arya realized she knew that voice. It was a voice she remembered well. One she hadn't heard in a long time but recognized it clearly from all the times it had laughed or sang… or neighed like a horse as Arya walked by.

"Jeyne?" She asked. "Jeyne Poole?"

Jeyne almost shivered to hear her name, holding up her hands up as if to protect herself from their coming.

"Yes, I'm sorry." Jeyne pleaded. "I'll leave… you don't have to hurt me."

"We won't hurt you." Arya shook her head, lifting the helm up off of it. "It's me Jeyne, it's Arya."

Jeyne jumped at that, stumbling backwards and falling upon the walkway. Pod and her rushed forward then and Jeyne let out a cry as they reached down to help her. Her hands swatting at them as if she was under attack.

"Stop! We're just trying to help!"

Jeyne sobbed then, her knees tucking up to her chest. The girl rocking back and forth and muttering the same thing over and over again.

"Arya Stark… Arya Stark…"

Pod exchanged a confused look with her and for a moment she felt just as lost. Until she remembered why Jeyne Poole was even in Winterfell.

The Boltons forced her to be me. To be their Arya Stark.

They made her marry that monster.

Sansa had told her that Jeyne was in the castle but Arya had not seen her once. The girl rarely left her chambers and Sansa said Ramsay Snow had done horrible things to Jeyne.

No matter how much the girl had teased Arya growing up, when Arya had heard what that bastard had done to women, and probably to Jeyne, she had felt terribly for the girl. No one deserved that.

Looking up at Ramsay's frost covered head, she thought he deserved worse.

"Jeyne…. Jeyne…" She said softly, holding out her hand to the hooded girl. "You're Jeyne. Not me remember? I'm Arya… Arya Horseface…"

Pod made a face at that and she fought back the urge to cuff him, because Jeyne's hooded face had risen just a bit. She could almost see the girl's brown eyes. She slowly reached out to the trembling girl, pushing back her hood.

It was Jeyne alright. A bit older, paler and skinnier than she'd ever been, but it was the girl she'd grown up with. Arya almost gasped to see the tip of Jeyne's nose was gone but stopped herself from doing so.

Jeyne must have caught a hint of it because her hand went up to cover her nose and her eyes began to water. Her nose wasn't so bad. Brienne's scars were worse and she looked fine to Arya. Pod was going to have that busted up bone above his eye and she didn't think he would be any uglier than he already was.

Yet Jeyne was treating him as he was some sort of monster. The girl was cringing away from the squire, shuffling along the ground to put some distance between them.

"This is Podrick." Arya said quickly. "He's my friend. He helped kill Ramsay Snow."

Jeyne looked at Pod with shock, an expression he shared with her. Taking part in the battle was help enough in her eyes so she figured he should take the compliment. Arya ignored them both, reaching down to gently touch Jeyne's hand.

She's been through enough, don't be harsh to her.

You can be kind, you can be gentle. You're not a darkheart.

"Can we help you up?" She asked quietly. "Pod and me, we didn't mean to scare you. Let us help you up."

Tentatively, slowly, Jeyne's fingers closed around hers. When Pod offered his arm too her grip tightened some, as if he scared her. Yet after a moment or two Jeyne's other hand grasped his arm and, together, they helped the young woman to her feet.

"Podrick, this is Jeyne Poole."

"My lady." Pod put gave an awkward smile, bowing some.

"Her father was our steward." Arya watched Jeyne's face fall some. "I'm sorry for him Jeyne… I know he didn't make it…"

"Your father didn't live either... I didn't think you had." Jeyne spared a glance to Ramsay's head then. "He said you were dead…"

The wind rustled the dead man's hair, as if the gods themselves mocked the monster.

"That's why I had to be you." Jeyne continued. "I had to be you…so I'd always be his."

"Well he was wrong about all of it." Arya pointed to the head. "And now he's dead. My friends killed him. Lady Brienne of Tarth killed him."

Jeyne gazed up at the ugly thing as if she expected it to argue, her lip quivering, a tear running down her cheek.

"I heard he was dead but I didn't believe it… I had to see…" She sobbed softly. "I wanted to be able to sleep again. I wanted to be me again but he won't let me… he's even in my dreams…"

"It's alright." Arya tried to think of something else to say, looking desperately at Pod who was staring at Jeyne with concern. "It'll be okay now…"

"It can't be okay. It can never be okay." Jeyne shook her head violently. "He took everything. He ruined everything. They made me do so much and they hurt me, told me what I'd have to do, but it was nothing compared to what he did… they never told me about the monsters… about what he'd make me do… I was his wife and he made me…"

Jeyne looked as if she was about to retch but when Arya reached for her she jerked away.

"I'm ruined… I can't be you and I can't be me. Not after what he did. I begged him, I screamed… I couldn't make him stop." Jeyne's face was desperate. "I just want it to stop."

She didn't know what to do. Jeyne had always been Sansa's friend, not hers. She'd barely heard anyone speak of the girl since coming back, even Sansa had only mentioned her to warn Arya against bothering her. Once her sister and Jeyne had been the best of friends.

Now Sansa's royalty and has Myranda to be friends with.

She doesn't need this broken girl anymore.

"Then make it stop." Arya spoke the words without really thinking.

"What?"

"You make it stop." She repeated. "You stop him."

In her head she'd been picturing how it would've felt to be Jeyne. To have Ramsay Snow coming after her, for him to try to hurt her like he did others. It had mixed with the thoughts of Pod and the others fighting today. Then slowly shifted to when Hyle had tried to take her.

His hand on her in the dark.

"I couldn't…" Jeyne sniffed. "I try to think of other things before I sleep. I try and pray…"

"No, bugger praying." Arya said fiercely, her eyes fell on something a ways behind Jeyne.

She pushed passed Pod and Jeyne then, heading towards exactly what they needed. This part of the castle was being repaired and laborers had left a pile of stone there. Arya reached down and picked up a stone in each hand.

"Pod got to fight today." She said, as she came back to them. "The hounds hurt him and he got to hurt them back."

When she offered a stone to Jeyne who stared at it with confusion.

"When a man tried to take me… tried to use me…" Arya struggled against the memory of Hyle's dying eyes. Her sticky, bloody hands. "I killed the bastard."

She forced the stone into Jeyne's hands then, the girl uttering a squeak. Arya hefted her own stone in her hand and let if fly with a yell. The rock flew through the air, smacking across Ramsay's brow with a sickening thud.

Arya faced Jeyne, the poor girl's eyes were wide and terrified, clutching the stone as if it was diamond.

"Stop him Jeyne."

"I can't."

"You couldn't!" She snapped. "But now you can! You've got a weapon! He's got nothing! He is nothing!"

"Arya…" Pod tried to interrupt but she waved him off.

Jeyne was staring up at the head with both fear and hatred, the hand clutching the stone shaking violently.

"Stop him Jeyne!" She yelled again. "He can't hurt you anymore! You don't have to be afraid! You can fight! Fight!"

With that Jeyne let out a strangled cry as she ran forward. Instead of throwing the rock like Arya expected she swung the stone through the air, striking Ramsay's eye. Jeyne cried out again as she slammed the rock into his nose, and then she did it again, and again. When his nose was but a mess of gore Jeyne still didn't stop.

"Jeyne!" She screamed through her rage. "My name is Jeyne! Jeyne!"

The young woman hit the head again and again. Each blow was followed by Jeyne yelling her name.

It reminded Arya of a time long ago, when she'd been with the Hound. When she'd had the chance to face the Tickler again.

And had made him pay for it.

Jeyne's final strike cracked across Ramsay's jaw so hard it almost tore loose at the one side. That's when her knees gave way and she collapsed, the bloodied stone still in her hand.

Arya went to Jeyne's side, dropping down beside her. She took her wrist in hand and gingerly took the stone away, made soothing sounds the whole time.

"You did it Jeyne." She whispered. "You stopped him. He won't hurt you anymore."

Jeyne whimpered as Arya tossed the stone away and called Pod forward, taking a cloth from his sword belt. She dabbed it about in some nearby snow. As the girl wept Arya began to clean the mess from the girl's hand.

They wanted to make her into me.

They took who she was and broke her, just like me.

She was about to tell her it was okay to be broken when someone shouted in the night. It wasn't the joyful, happy shouting from the celebration.

This was someone raising an alarm.

"Arya." Pod warned as he pulled his sword. "The guards."

He was looking down the battlements to where a bridge linked the inner wall to the outer wall just below them. A good number of men with torches were moving across it, the sounds of shouting and boots thudding across stone echoing up to them. As she rose up to look over, she saw the guards were dragging someone along with them.

She could barely make out anything of the figure from where they were and she saw nothing more when they made it within the inner wall.

"What's going on?" Jeyne asked, wiping at her eyes.

"It's okay." She said, helping Jeyne to her feet and pulling her back towards the stairs. "Pod…"

"I'm behind you." He nodded, his sword still in hand as Arya and Jeyne ran back the way they'd come.

When they were in the passageways again, shouting was echoing off the stone walls. Whatever was going on, it was coming straight towards them and Arya could've kicked herself for leaving Needle in her chambers.

They only had the one blade between them so when she spotted the lights coming towards them she shoved Jeyne behind a darkened archway. Then she hid there as well and Pod almost ran right by them until she hissed at him and he rushed to join them too.

"I'm an envoy!" A voice cried out as the boots drew closer. "I'm not armed!"

"What kind of an envoy climbs the walls rather than using the gates?" Another voice shouted back.

Arya risked peeking out from the around the corner to see what was happening. She recognized Quent easily enough among the score of guardsmen dragging about a bloodied man in filthy clothes. They were coming straight towards them so she made out more of the man's face.

He wasn't an ugly man and in fact was somewhat comely, despite the dirt and blood smeared across his features. He had messy hair and large eyes. From how scared the man appeared she didn't think he was a warrior though.

"I couldn't use the gates!" The man pleaded. "I told you! I must speak with the Starks!"

"He's probably a bloody Bolton come for some dark work."

"Slit his throat and spare the Queen the worry."

"We'll take him to Rodwell first and then… hey!"

Arya jerked her head back around but it was too late. One of the men had spotted her.

"Someone's ahead! Hiding in the shadows!"

Oh hells, she thought, how I am going to explain this?

She could barely see Pod but she gave him an apologetic look. The squire looked ready to sink into the stone.

"Don't worry!" Arya yelled, holding up her hands and stepping out into the late. "It's just me and my friends… um… we got lost?"

"Princess!" Quent said in comically high voice. "By the gods what are you doing out here without…"

"Stark!" The captured man gaped at her before he started to struggle. "You're a Stark! I must speak with you!"

"Shut it!" A man named Ulroy slammed a fist into the man's gut, almost doubling him over.

The man collapsed, the guards barely holding him up, yet he kept trying to speak to her.

"Please… the Iron Bank… Greyjoys… a trade…"

The Greyjoys? Is he from the Iron Islands?

I thought they had an Iron Fleet, not an Iron Bank

"Who are you?" She crossed her arms, trying to pretend she was in charge. "Why are you climbing our walls?

The man sputtered some, finally catching his breath.

"My name is Tristifer Botley." He spoke as if that meant something to her. "And I bring greetings from the Iron Bank of Braavos…"