20

SANSA

"Your grace...I could return at a later time if you would prefer…"

"There's no need Maester Medrick." Sansa smiled at the clearly uncomfortable man. "Myranda has had my confidence for some time now."

"Of course she does…I did not mean to suggest…" Medrick fumbled at his words before dropping one of the many parchments in his grasp, scrambling to grab it in mid air.

She heard Myranda stifle a giggle and she did her best to keep one in herself at the poor maester's expense. Myranda was putting the finishing touches on her hair but she knew it was not her friend's presence that bothered Medrick so.

He had been ill at ease since arriving in her chambers and she imagined much of that had to do with having to join them here in the first place. It had been a week since they'd retaken Winterfell and every morning since Sansa had met with the maester. The two would prepare letters to be sent and discuss the status of the wounded, still in the man's care.

Usually such meetings occurred within her father's solar with Howland or possibly Jon in attendance, never before in her chambers as Myranda finished preparing her for the day.

He thinks it inappropriate, she thought, that such matters should be conducted in a formal manner.

He would be right of course but acting as such reminds this man he serves me and my will.

Still Sansa felt a twinge of guilt for subjecting Medrick to this but it had been convenient considering who else she'd summoned here today.

"There were more ravens in the night?" She asked, her tone as serious as it could be. "Replies to our own?"

"Yes my queen, several in fact." Medrick quickly straightened and flipped through his parchments. "I believe you'll find one even more welcome than the raven from Lord Wyllis."

That bodes well.

They'd sent ravens far and wide across the North announcing the return of the Starks to Winterfell. The most significant of the replies had come from White Harbor yesterday, penned by Lord Wyman's son, Wyllis. He had thanked her for the safekeeping of his father and asked forgiveness for the delay in his reply, for they had just lost their maester.

Beyond that, the acting Lord of White Harbor had pledged his support to House Stark and promised men and supplies would be on the march soon to bolster their position at Winterfell.

Things we need desperately, she thought, I must assume the worst until Maege returns.

"And who has replied today?" She asked.

"We have had ravens from Moat Cailin and Torrhen's Square… I would ask to read the letter from the Moat first."

That was interesting news indeed. The Moat was held by her crannogmen and Torrhen's Square by the ironmen. She nodded her assent to the maester's request.

"From the Moat… Queen Sansa, Princess Arya arrived only two days past. I have sent her party to you with almost thirty guards. No signs of attack from the south, more northmen arrive daily. Sincerely, the mummer's lord of the ugly towers, Korjen."

While the maester grimaced at the last line, Sansa and Myranda laughed.

"I think Willem would like that man." Myranda said and then squeezed Sansa's hand. "It is good news of your sister."

It is great news of my sister, she thought, Arya's closer still, coming home as we speak.

"I am glad you read that one first maester, I cannot wait to tell Jon."

"There is more." The maester added. "A second letter arrived with the first, this one from your royal sister but I have not read it."

"I thank you for that and would ask you leave it here as Jon and I shall read it later. Together."

It will be a reason to see him alone…

The maester nodded but shifted uncomfortably. She was doubly glad he had read Korjen's letter first if the second made him fidget so. She raised her eyebrow and he took the hint and cleared his throat.

"Wolf bitch…"

The maester gulped but Sansa waved her hand, it was not he who wrote these words.

"Dagmer Cleftjaw fears no woman and heeds none save the krakens. We paid the iron price for this castle and will pay it again to keep it. Come for me with your skirts and I will make you a salt wife and give you many sons."

As disappointing as the words were she was not surprised at the letter. Her lords had told her to expect as much. The ironmen were a treacherous, cruel people and not likely to accept Sansa's offer of safe passage should they leave her lands.

"So now we must force them out." Sansa said wringing her hands. "It must be battle to retake Torrhen's Square…yet another to make the North whole."

"Your grace, a noble goal indeed, but with the damage to Winterfell's gates and armies still at large in your lands…"

"Thank you maester." She cut him off, not wishing to hear things she already knew. "If you would, I've prepared a letter to be sent to White Harbor…"

In the letter Sansa thanked Wyllis for the men, assured him that, while his father remained feverish, Wyman's care was a great concern of hers and that Manderly men protected him within her walls. It was important to reassure the Manderlys before asking them to furnish supplies to Moat Cailin and for the siege at the Dreadfort.

Of Bronze Yohn and the Greatjon they had heard little. The prisoners they'd taken at the castle yielded no answers and Roose Bolton had burnt most letters after reading them. Such was how he had kept word of the siege between himself and the maester, and all the Medrick knew was that ravens passed with increasing frequency between the two castles.

If the Dreadfort falls the Lannisters will have no foothold here in the North.

And the Bastard will have nowhere to flee.

Howland and Jon were sure Ramsay Snow had survived the battle on the Kingsroad and would be gathering a force around him of other Bolton survivors as well. Even in defeat, he found a way to wreak evil upon her people.

Two days after their victory, a party of outriders had gone missing somewhere to the east. All were later found, hanging from trees, their skins flayed from their bodies. It had been the same at a small settlement further east, two families murdered and mutilated as well.

It does not matter where he flees, he will be held accountable for his crimes.

We will hunt that beast down. We must.

Sansa had said as much to her war council last night.

"Without the Dreadfort or any castles open to him, winter will deal with the bastard for us." Mors had laughed off her concerns, the man becoming more brash with her by the day.

Howland had not agreed.

"Ramsay Snow may have too few to mount an attack against this castle but he may have more than enough to harass these lands and our supply lines." He'd looked to Jon who also thought the situation more serious than others believed.

"Lord Beric did great harm to the Lannister advance using such tactics and he had nowhere near the might Ramsay could lead." Jon had said before proposing madness again. "I could lead a force out east towards the White Knife to seek him out…"

"Out of the question." She'd decided on the spot. "There are still armies in the field and one of our gates remains under repair, I would not weaken us at such a time."

"Besides, everything points to the Bastard heading back towards the Dreadfort and we all know what he'll face there." Ser Morton Waynwood had said with a smile. "True, he has some men to his cause but his father's army is at our mercy. What's left of it."

Quite a bit of it is left, she lamented, almost too much of it in truth.

The thought was a dark one but more survivors of the Bolton army continued to show up outside Winterfell's gates. Ramsay Snow had marched out into the snows with few supplies and less protection against a long stay outside the walls. Those who survived the battle could not survive the winter. So not a day after the battle, hundreds of men, most on foot, had turned up outside the walls seeking the same treatment she'd offered Steelshanks Walton.

Keeping a hundred or so surrendered men in the castle among her thousands was workable, at first. But then more came and suffering almost a thousand more prisoners within the walls was out of the question. Jon had proposed setting up tents outside the walls as a camp for the surrendered Bolton men and she'd had it done.

At best it was a temporary solution until she decided what to do with them.

At least I can deal with some of my defeated foes today.

"Maester could you tell Quent that I am ready to receive my guests?" She asked as Medrick prepared to leave. "He knows in which order I'd see them."

The maester nodded, relieved to be leaving the chambers as she picked up the parchment he'd left behind.

The letter from Arya.

"Where is Jon off to today?" Myranda asked, offering her a cup of water. "Off trying to storm the Dreadfort alone?"

"No, not yet at least." She sighed. "He is riding about our lands, spreading word of our return so that any who wish to can return to the safety of the Winter Town."

She had been able to restrain Jon from throwing himself into danger on a mad pursuit of Ramsay Snow but it would be foolish to try and keep him idle. Allowing Jon to ride out to nearby farms and holdfasts, spreading word of wagons with food and dry wood being distributed in Winter Town seemed harmless enough.

And it builds a fine reputation for him in the process.

Let the smallfolk see the true knight he is, let them love him as I do.

"I hope he can convince some to return. To see the town empty is a sad thing." She sipped of her water. "I make a poor queen without a people to care for."

"You sound more like a Septa than a queen when you talk so." Myranda laughed. "It makes it harder to believe the tales of the great swordswoman I heard about. The one holding her ground and breaking the Bolton charge at the Reaping."

The Reaping, she thought, a foul name for a foul thing.

Such was how men were styling the battle against the Boltons along the Kingsroad. Somehow the story of how she'd desperately lifted a sword in a feeble defense had grown into a tale of her joining the fight to throw back the Bolton attack.

"How can men truly believe such nonsense when there could be tales of true heroism that took place during those dark hours? Not some silly girl…"

"The brighter the light, the less dark it seems. Men need things to be inspired by." Myranda smiled and reached out to cup Sansa's cheek. "Perhaps it's not exactly as they say…"

"It's nothing like they say."

"But none question that you stood your ground when others would have fled. I know I would have." Her friend gestured to her gown of deep violet and shook her head in mock derision. "I saw the state of your gown afterwards and I could never suffer such a thing to happen to a dress so fine."

The knocking at the door interrupted their laughter and Sansa knew her guests had arrived.

"Yes Quent, please enter." She called.

When they'd taken Winterfell some interesting prisoners had come into her power and now Quent escorted one before her.

The Lady Walda Bolton, Roose Bolton's fat Frey wife.

The lady's eyes were red rimmed as she gazed about the chambers mournfully, as if she had a right to feel such about them. Before Sansa had taken them for her own, Lady Walda had been using them.

And they were my mother's before that.

Taking her mother's chambers rather than her old ones had felt strange at first. Yet she felt closer to her mother here, her thoughts often turning to pleasant memories. When her mother would soothe her worries, praise her achievements or simply brush her hair before an important occasion… sleeping came easier to her with such happy memories.

Her memories had been in a better condition than the room when she'd first seen it. Like the rest of Winterfell, mother's chambers had been almost destroyed, yet with work, they had improved greatly, close to being what they once were.

As all of Winterfell would be.

No thanks to this woman's family or husband.

"Bow to the Queen, Frey." Quent hissed at Walda who started at his words.

Sansa imagined the lady heard the same hatred in the guard's voice as she did.

"Please, Quent, no." She said softly. "The lady shall be treated as befits her title, no matter her relations."

At that she had Quent offer the lady a chair and when she had moved her girth upon it Sansa saw how stiffly the woman moved. Lady Walda was pregnant with Roose's child yet her condition had not spared her the ire of her goodson.

When they'd taken the castle they'd found her cowering in these chambers, her hands and feet in irons. Apparently the bastard had not wished her any chance of escape while he was gone.

Walda was a Frey by birth, a Bolton by marriage, and carried her enemy's child yet Sansa could not help but pity her. In a way, despite being older than Sansa, Walda seemed almost a child in manner.

The woman's eyes were glistening and she was so nervous the fat beneath her chin was wobbling as she trembled.

She has little to fear from me.

I am not some monster.

"My lady, I have called you here today to assure you of some things. Namely the safety of you and your child, for I intend no harm to come to either of you whilst you are in my care." She spoke in as soothing a voice as she could. "In fact I am arranging things so that even after you leave my castle you will be cared for. I believe it within my power to have your uncle Olyvar, the new Lord of the Crossing, offer a home to you both."

She paused as the lady's eyes widened in surprise, causing Sansa to wonder how little she knew of the events to the south.

Roose may have been content to let her live in ignorance but I am not.

"I tell you these things to let you know your child will have a chance at a future in the south." Sansa held out her hand and Myranda handed her a rolled up bit of parchment. "For there is no future for House Bolton here in the North. I have signed a proclamation stripping the Boltons of their lands, their title and forever banishing its members from the North. To return will mean…"

With that the woman let out a great wail before burying her face in her hands. The lady sobbed uncontrollably and reacted in such an ungrateful manner to Sansa's mercy she began to feel her anger rising.

It is more than the Lannisters would have given her.

More than her father or husband would have offered me.

Petyr would've had her killed to end whatever threat that child could pose.

Yet Sansa knew what her real father would have done. So rather than give in to her anger, she set Quent to removing the woman, the guard having to call two more men from the hall to assist him in the task.

Following that spectacle, Quent had her second prisoner brought within and the contrast between the two ladies could not be more pronounced.

"Your grace." Lady Barbrey Dustin gave a stiff curtsy, her chin held high and her eyes burned with defiance no matter her courtesies.

"My Lady of Barrowtown. Please, take a seat." She gestured to the empty chair before reaching out to touch Myranda's hand. "This is my dear friend the Lady Myranda Royce, daughter of…"

"Nestor Royce, yes I know of her." Barbrey eyed Myranda coldly. "Your father once proposed you be promised to my nephew Domeric. It was out of the question of course, you being but a steward's daughter. I do hope Roose was kind in his rejection."

"He wasn't." Myranda's hands tightened into fists before a wide smile appeared on her face. "Although I imagine being rejected by the father of a potential suitor pales in comparison to having your husband's entire household reject you. I heard hundreds of men from House Dustin were fighting against your good brother and his bastard. That they chose to fight for their queen instead."

Harsher than it need be but true none the less.

On a day of betrayals, Lady Dustin had felt one of her own. Her men scorned her allegiance to Roose Bolton and plotted alongside the Manderlys. They'd joined with the Starks during the Reaping, which pit them against the men of Barbrey's father, Lord Rodrik Ryswell.

And she lost more than her house in that battle.

"Men are fools." Barbrey sneered. "No matter their age. Domeric thought you worthy of being a bride before he was shown sense."

Before Barbrey and Myranda could continue trading insults Sansa offered something else.

"Lady Barbrey, I have not had the chance so I would offer you my condolences at the loss of your brother Rickard." She spoke with sincere sympathy, it was a horrible thing to lose a brother. "I have had his remains brought to Winterfell and promise them safe conduct back to the Rills…"

Barbrey shocked her by laughing. It was not a laugh born of mirth or happiness, instead sounding almost a sour. The lady closed her eyes as she did so and her face lowered away from being seen.

"Gods you are kinder than your father at least. Did you happen to find Rick's horse? Would you offer me that as well?" She said as reached up to wipe what might have been a tear from her eye. "I mean, that is what the great and benevolent Eddard Stark offered me after he led my husband to his death - His horse. He didn't see fit to bring William's bones home to me but I guess his daughter learned better. He would be so proud of his little girl."

"Do not speak so of my father!" She snapped. "He was a good man!"

"So was Willam." Barbrey hissed. "As was my brother!"

Sansa felt herself close to losing control as the woman scolded her like a child. Worse were the lady's harsh words about her father, spoken within the walls of his home.

"If we are to speak of loved ones then let us speak of the ones you have remaining to you." She said quickly, struggling to retake the upper hand in this exchange. "And of the mercy I have shown them…for now."

Lord Ryswell had managed to survive the Reaping with his two surviving sons and a good many of his men. Yet they'd lacked the supplies needed to attempt the long trip back to the Rills and thus had chosen a shorter journey instead. The power of House Ryswell had arrived at Winterfell's gates but a day and night after their defeat to beg shelter and offer fealty to House Stark.

I want nothing of offers.

I want guarantees of loyalty, protection against betrayals.

I want them scared of me.

So she laid her plans for House Ryswell bare to this woman many saw as the true power behind it.

"Your father has two sons left to him and I intend to keep both as guests of House Stark."

"Hostages…"

"Call it what you will but Roger, your father's heir, shall be remaining here at Winterfell while your younger brother Roose will be sent on to Castle Cerywn."

"Cerwyn?" Barbrey's eyes widened and she smiled. "You think sending my brother away to Jonella's care will make my father more fearful? The woman couldn't hurt a mouse if she fell on it."

"Why should she need to?" She asked innocently. "The lady has told me she is quite lonely at Castle Cerwyn since the loss of her kin and would welcome the company of Roose."

"Your grace!" Myranda feigned confusion. "Only the youngest Ryswell? But I thought…"

Now, oh it must be now.

"Oh how could I forget? Yes Roose will go of course and his lady sister as well, whom Lady Jonella has told me she grew to be quite fond of."

Barbrey was clearly taken aback at that, the power in the room suddenly flowing back in the right direction.

Yet soon enough Sansa saw a grin pulling at the side of her mouth. Jonella Cerywn and her men had eagerly returned to the Stark fold. The Cerwyn men who fought for her during the Reaping vouched that the lady wished nothing more than the return of the Starks, so great was her fear of the Boltons. Yet Jonella had lived in her father and brother's shadow almost her entire life and was not as strong willed as she needed to be.

Barbrey is no doubt already plotting at how to strong arm Jonella to her side.

If I was her I would be thinking of offering Roose as a husband to the lady.

"If I must suffer Jonella's hospitality to spare my family, I will do so. As poor company as she is." Barbrey did her best to show some displeasure at the thought.

"Oh don't fear on that account Lady Dustin, Ser Kyle Condon has promised the lady he will take up his duties as Cerwyn's captain of the guards and leader of their fighting men quite soon. He was her father's right hand man after all, and a stalwart supporter of House Stark. The ser has already said he looks forward to hosting you within his lady's walls."

Barbrey's expression darkened immediately and Myranda did not even attempt to hide her laugh at the woman's expense. With the knight in command of House Cerwyn's forces there was little Barbrey would be able to convince Jonella of. Ser Kyle would hold the real power over Castle Cerwyn, and thus Lady Dustin and her brother, and the Lady of Barrowton knew the knight was a harder person to manipulate than timid Lady Jonella.

Weary of Barbrey's harsh looks she waved at Quent who stepped up to the lady's side and offered his arm to help her rise. Sansa then explained how things would happen going forward.

"You and your brother shall leave within the hour for Castle Cerwyn, with a good many men as an escort. I believe you'll be there before nightfall if the weather stays as good as it is. I bid you good day and safe travels Lady Dustin."

Barbrey rose without accepting Quent's assistance, looking down upon her with such a ferocity that Sansa thought the lady meant to strike her. The tense moment lasted for a while longer before the older woman's face relaxed some and she reached down to smooth her skirts.

Her humorless laugh coming again.

"I warned him about you, did you know that? After I heard the whispering that you had taken the Moat, I told Roose Bolton that any girl who could do so was not one he could afford to ignore." She shook her head. "I knew that you were either a fool or mad or both. Any of which would spell trouble for us. He didn't heed me of course, men are always fools when it comes to what they think women are capable of, but I was proven right in the end."

With that Barbrey turned to leave and was at the door before Sansa gave in, unable to resist the baiting.

"And which am I?" Sansa asked, expecting the insult. "A fool or mad?"

Barbrey did not offer the courtesy of facing her again, yet she did turn her head slightly before answering.

"You're like your father…you are trouble."

JON

"Home again Ghost."

The direwolf running beside Jon's horse probably needed little reminding as the pair rode through the Hunter's Gate.

It made no matter if the wolf needed to hear the words. Jon more likely said it to remind himself that this was real. To remind himself that he was truly home, in the hope Winterfell would feel safe once more, and not some place waiting to be attacked.

If I can't believe it myself, it's no wonder I'm having such a poor time convincing others.

Rodwell, Ronnel Stout, and the rest of their men were following close behind the pair and he felt embarrassed to perform so poorly in front of them. Rodwell had kept count and he believed they'd met over two hundred smallfolk on their journeys through the lands around Winterfell. Those being the ones brave enough to be seen or too slow to hide.

Some had been happy to hear the Starks were back. Most seemed to care little but did show interest in the talk of food and warmth in Winter Town.

The war had taken much from them, more than can ever be repaid.

Jon forced himself to remember that when few appeared to celebrate Sansa's return. Many of the folk he talked to probably had family who had marched south never to return again. The least the castle could do was fulfill its traditional role of protecting the smallfolk during the winters.

Just as he was trying to protect the elderly man and woman clinging to the backs of two of their riders. He should have delivered them to the Winter Town but they had been so fearful after speaking to him that Jon had promised them safety and work within the castle.

Little enough room for them but when more come to the town hopefully they can find a home there.

He had hope they would be given that chance. He truly believed once the abandoned buildings of the Winter Town were acting as homes again, and the fires in the cold hearths set to burning, that the smallfolk would begin cheering the direwolf banner again.

A different cheer went up as they rode within the courtyard.

Although to call it a jeer would be more accurate.

"I told you lot to shut that gate! Look at the ugly beasts you let in!" Willem laughed as he limped across the courtyard with Howland at his side.

"You welcome as well as you walk." He called back, earning a small bit of laughter from Rodwell and Ronnel.

"True, I'm a sad excuse for a knight compared to you." Willem held his hands up in mock defeat. "I'm the first to say you're a braver man than I. I mean, riding about the North with your arse exposed to the wind is as daring as it gets."

He raised an eyebrow at that, for he was dressed quite warmly against the cold and his arse was firmly planted on his horse. It was plain the others were confused as well and Willem smiled all the wider because of it.

"Seven hells, that's your face isn't it?"

You walked into that one.

He hung his head to hide his own smile as the others laughed heartily at the insult. Rodwell went forward to clap Willem hard on the back before he began shouting for a steward to see to the old couple. Jon thought him a good man and Sansa needed more of the like. As strong and fierce a fighter as he was, Rodwell's true value came from having been a guard under Jory Cassel.

Sansa would find no better captain, hethought, I'll bring it up at her next council.

He imagined such a meeting not far off, considering Howland was here to greet them at the gate. Sansa kept the lord constantly busy with her affairs and it was a rare enough thing to see him idle.

"Am I late?" He asked and Howland smiled.

"I think you'll be spared this time. The Queen has called a meeting of her council and you're expected there." The crannogman gestured towards the Great Keep. "She waited until you were sighted before summoning the others and has made food and drink ready."

He nodded and asked a boy to see to his horse and whistled to Ghost to follow, which the beast did gladly. As Howland and he made their way towards the keep, Ronnel and Willem joined them at a slower pace. Those were not the men that concerned him though, for ahead he saw a group gathered outside the keep's entrance.

None of whom appeared to be the least bit happy.

"Tallhart men." Howland answered before Jon could ask. "Word came from Torrhen's Square that the krakens do not yield. They want to know when we march for their home."

"One battle won and they would have the next start so soon? With the threats facing us still?" He suddenly felt very tired at the prospect.

"War rarely allows us time to ready ourselves for the next battle and we've had great fortune in that regard up until now." Howland made a slight face then. "House Tallhart has not seen much fortune in these last few years. Torrhen's Square has endured more fighting and suffering at the hands of the reavers than the rest of the North. While their men fell to the south and here at Winterfell, their home was attacked twice over and is held still."

At that Jon caught the eye of one of the Tallhart men and saw that they were of an age. Yet there was something in the young man's eyes that made him seem older than he should.

He's been fighting as long as you have if not longer.

Is being tired what you owe him for that?

"We owe them their home." He said, giving a nod of respect to the stranger as they passed. "We owe them some justice for all this."

"Don't expect much justice to come from war Jon and you won't be disappointed. To retake Torrhen's Square we need send a great many men. With so much uncertainty about us I fear those are men we do not have to spare."

It was a sobering thought yet he thought it true.

While they had a great many manning the walls almost twice that number were being used to guard the defeated Boltons and Ryswells. On top of that, men who could be holding weapons and reinforcing their lands were put to work at repairing the castle and gathering the lumber and stone needed to do so.

At times it felt like their victories had drained their strength as much as any loss.

With the ironmen still a threat along the coast, the Lannisters to the south, and the Dreadfort possibly holding off the siege, Sansa needed reinforcement desperately.

"This should be a truly uplifting council then." He grimaced at the decisions before them.

Howland reached out and placed a hand upon his shoulder, something of a smile on his face.

"I did not wish to sour your mood so." He said quietly. "We had some of Maege's riders arrive not long before you. They were not in poor spirits."

He was struck by the lord's words but had little chance to question him before they arrived at the meeting room. Within he found Ser Symond, Mors Umber, Ser Kyle, and Ser Morton already seated at the table where a modest but savory fare was spread out. Howland and he took their places to either side of the head of table.

Sansa would hear no arguments from him on seating arrangements.

"Good travels today ser?" Ser Symond asked as he offered Jon some wine.

He shook his head and reached for the water instead.

"The smallfolk are scared but they will come."

"A far better sight than Bolton men I'd wager." Ser Morton smiled. "The Queen's people should start flocking here what with Roose and the Bastard gone..."

"Forgive me ser but I believe it is fear of the bastard that keeps many away." Jon said and made to continue before Howland rose abruptly.

"My lords, the queen." He announced as Sansa arrived flanked by Quent and three other Stark men.

Her gown was a pretty thing, lacking frills but a green so bright and warm it made him think of summer in the Reach. They all rose and she gave a wide smile as she scanned all their faces. Jon avoided her eyes as he stepped forward and pulled her chair out for her.

"I thank you ser." She rewarded him with a smile as she sat. "Please, all sit, your time is too valuable for me to waste it."

He took his seat to her side as Howland unfurled some parchments and began reading out what news might not be known to all. The council discussed the letters Sansa had received from Moat Cailin and Torrhen's Square as well as the one she had sent to White Harbor. Kyle and Willem spoke to the state of their castle guard and of the ongoing repairs to the castle's defenses.

He was getting anxious to hear of Maege's riders when Sansa herself began to speak.

"As you all know, Lady Maege accepted the task of finding out what befell the Frey army and that of Stannis Baratheon… as well as her daughter. Her company has been gone for many days, scouring the Wolfswood for any sign of either and today we finally had word…"

She paused then to smile brightly.

"Most welcome news. Not only did she find Stannis Baratheon but she found him alive, her family alive, and his army victorious over the Freys."

Sounds of surprise and cheer echoed around the table, Kyle and Symond clanked their goblets together while Mors ruffled Willem's hair and the knight tugged on the man's beard until he laughed.

Sansa waited for the uproar to die down before giving them the details. Stannis and the Freys had met in battle, the Baratheon army somehow entrapping their enemy near a frozen lake. The victory there had not meant the end of the fighting though. Hosteen Frey had survived and managed to recover half of his forces to attempt a retreat through the woods.

The clansmen among Stannis's army had not been willing to allow such, giving a long and bloody chase to the Frey survivors. Bleeding them for days until, as far as Maege could tell, few if any still lived.

That pursuit had forced Stannis to abandon his march on Winterfell and move to regroup his forces, possibly out of fear Roose Bolton would fall upon them during their weakness.

Whatever his reasons, it appeared Stannis had reformed his army and once again marched towards Winterfell.

"As an enemy or friend your grace?" He asked. "Did Maege learn of his intentions?"

At that Sansa frowned and gestured to Howland who cupped his hands in front of him and answered on her behalf.

"Maege waited two days to send word to us, and in those two days she was not granted an audience with Stannis." He sighed. "Apparently he did not recognize her as an emissary of the Queen in the North, since he knows of no such queen. Still, she had assurances from the northmen who march with Stannis, they will not fight against House Stark, and the north remembers which crown it follows."

Stannis won't care what crown they follow, he'll only care it's not his.

"It would be wise to prepare for a fight then." Jon said to the shock of the others, including Sansa. "Just in case Stannis requires a lesson on who the North's true ruler is."

"Easy enough to say but we're using good fighting men to do work better done by laborers, men we need holding swords and not trowels." Ronnel lamented and Mors grunted in agreement.

"I'd rather have that gate back up than those swords, fighting a battle within these walls is not something I'm eager to do again." Willem put in.

"Then we need laborers all the more." Sansa cut through the murmuring before turning to him. "Were you able to bring any of our people back with you Jon? Any willing to work within this castle?"

Go ahead, tell her you brought some back.

An old man and an old woman, ready for work.

"I spoke to many who would be and I think they will come Sansa but few enough within the next few days."

He watched her face fall and resisted the urge to reach out and comfort her, she needed to hear something of a more pressing nature rather than feel his useless touch.

"I believe more would be here already if not for threats made against them…"

"Threats? Who is threatening them?"

He shook his head and did his best to speak to what the elderly couple had so fearfully told him.

"Men who come to the farms and hovels in the night, men who hide in the darkness shouting to the smallfolk that any who forgets who the true ruler of Winterfell and the North is will know true pain." He swallowed against the disgust in his mouth to say the next part. "Men who hang skins from the trees and howl in the night. They call themselves hounds…"

"Why is this the first we're hearing of this?" Ser Kyle asked. "My scouts have spoken with the smallfolk as well and none have reported anything of the like. The last we heard of the bastard he was far to the east."

"How many spoke of this Jon?" Sansa inquired before he could answer Kyle.

"I have two who swore to it and from how fearful others were to speak to their claims I…"

"Only two?" Ser Symond and others looked doubtful then. "Ser, even if they can be trusted, perhaps it is but outlaws or broken men."

"I have doubts myself about their claims." Ronnel had the character to look ashamed to argue against Jon. "Those two were old and had little to gain from blaming outlaws. Blaming the Boltons got them safe passage within the castle."

"More mouths?" Mors grumbled, draining his goblet before slamming it down. "Why do we bother speaking of imaginary enemies when the ironmen still ravage our lands? Why do we bother to feed and shelter the men who betrayed our kin?"

"I would hear all on my council, my good man." Sansa responded, somewhat taken aback at the man's attitude. "I have found it a wise thing to do before choosing a course of…"

"A wise thing to do would be to let us ride out that gate and put the whole bloody Bolton camp to sword." Mors nudged Willem with a hard look in his eye. "It's how the Bolton would've done it. Give them some of their own I say."

"No." Sansa spoke firmly. "No those men are a symbol. Of how House Stark will rebuild the north. Not through blood, but with honor and strength. Fight us at your peril but drop your sword and be treated well. Robb would have done so."

"Aye he might've, but the Boltons killed him." Mors shot Sansa a look as if she didn't belong there, as if this was a conversation beyond her. "We are northmen. Your parents may have sheltered you from this girl but the north is as much about blood as it is honor. Sometimes there needs to be more of one than the other, even if it stains a gown."

Too far.

Too far and too much from him.

"Watch your tongue." Jon rose from his chair. "That's your queen you're speaking to."

Some of the others may have treated the situation seriously yet Mors chuckled. He continued doing so as he filled his goblet again, his eye looking Jon up and down the whole time.

"Boy, I only have the one eye but I see who she is clear enough. Same as I see you standing there… no idea the number of men I've buried for doing less than you do now… trying to tell me to watch my tongue."

"Any of those men call you an old fool?" Willem said as he picked at something in his teeth. "With more size than sense?"

"Do you wish to be the first?" Mors slammed the wine pitcher down so hard it cracked. "Limping little fool?"

Willem kept picking his teeth but the smaller knight rose to stand, not all that much taller than Mors was sitting.

"Bronze Yohn once told me a smart man knows when to hold his tongue. Fine words. These are finer, you're an old fool with more size…"

"When was the first Mors?" Jon jumped in then, unstrapping a dagger from his belt and tossing it on the table between them. "The first man you killed. How old were you?"

"Stop this!" Sansa joined Howland and the others in trying to calm the matter but as Mors rose in rage, Jon persisted.

"You brought up the men you've killed! Now speak to it! How old were you?"

"Ten and four if I was a day." Mors curled his hands into two fists in front him. "I used a sword then but I could use these just as well. I'd need no dagger…"

"The queen was even younger. And she used a dagger not a sword. Much like that one." Jon pointed down to blade. "I saw her kill Lord Petyr Baelish with mine own eyes. It was likely doing the deed would mean her own death but she did it anyways. She avenged Eddard Stark, your lord, at her own peril. So before you question her strength and willingness to get bloody, remember that. A girl of ten and three."

Mors's angry expression slowly changed to one of bemusement as he glanced to Sansa. Jon had wondered if Mors had heard the tale of Littlefinger's death. Of how Sansa had saved his life.

"You yourself saw her holding a sword during the Reaping." Ronnel added. "Standing her ground, fighting as her brother would have."

"I wasn't…" Sansa started but Mors grunted, cutting her off.

"No. He's right I saw that clear enough." Mors offered scratching his head. "I wasn't saying the Queen wasn't one apart from most. I was never saying that your grace."

"I heard no such thing." Sansa gave him a weak smile before gesturing to his empty chair. "You're a part of my council Mors, I listen closely to all my lords. All my loyal, true men."

Mors actually looked abashed at that and he took his seat quickly.

"Your father always acted so and it's good to see that in you. I was just saying there's more to ruling the north than just honor. The honor makes them respect you and the blood makes them fear disrespecting you."

Jon thought that somewhat wise as he sat down. The idea came on him like a flash as not long after.

"Then we should use both just like Mors says." Jon said. "We should break the Bolton camp beyond the walls."

"By killing them?" Willem asked in shock.

"No." He struggled to make his thoughts clear. "We're afraid they'll go back on us. The Ryswells and Dustins too. They're at our mercy right now. Outsiders in the Queen's cause who could go over to Stannis or Ramsay if the wind blew them to it."

"Sounds like you're making Mors' case for him Wolf."

He steeled himself before correcting his friend.

"I'm making the case for the newest bannermen to Queen Sansa's army."

The uproar his suggestion had caused took longer to quiet than the celebration of Stannis's victory.

It took hours for them to sort out the details of what he proposed. By then nightfall had come and powerful winds blew falling snow all about the keep. Still men were summoned, oaths were sworn and lives threatened but when it was all said and done Sansa retired and soon after, he left as well.

Seeking his old chambers.

Sansa had offered to let him take his father's but he'd pointed out he never knew Rhaegar Targaryen and wanted little of his uncle's room. He was not such a fool to think he was worthy of them. Not like Sansa was worthy of her mother's.

Which made her presence within his own all the more scandalous. He'd seen no sign of guards outside the door and when he found her standing by his bed he slammed the door quickly.

"Sansa you can't be here…"

"Don't argue with your queen." She said before quickly putting her hands on his face and pressing her lips to his. "My true knight."

He should have ended it but he couldn't. He could forswear wine and live lies, climb castle walls and face certain death.

Yet resisting her kiss was something he could not do.

They had stolen moments together every day since returning to Winterfell. Sometimes just to talk or to hold each other. More often their lips found a way to meeting, their hands becoming more and more bold. Mostly brief and sweet but when they could, their mouths lingered longer and he had treasured every moment.

Each time only became better and Jon was saddened at how secretive they had to be.

How could something so beautiful be hidden?

So wrong?

Yet no matter how he felt, he knew how others would see it so when Sansa broke away to gasp for air he backed away.

Breaking a kiss was beyond him, fleeing when one was broken was within his power it seemed.

"Sansa to come here…to come without guards is reckless!" He said, reaching out to touch her face. "Far too reckless."

"How? You were my sworn sword long before most here." Sansa asked, pulling his glove off his burned hand and kissing it. "Besides, if any ask, we have a good excuse."

"That being?"

Sansa beamed up at him before running back to his bed and picking up a rolled up bit of parchment upon it.

"Arya." She clutched the paper with both hands. "She's on her way here from the Moat. And she sent a letter. I wanted to read it together and surely that is reason enough…"

"She travels to Winterfell?" He felt a mixture of joy and fear grasp at his heart. "How many come with her? Sansa I meant what I said about the threats in these lands if she travels too lightly…"

"Scores of men escort her!" Sansa sounded exasperated. "Jon stop worrying so! She's coming to us!"

She flopped back on the bed like the girl of ten and four she was and began patting a spot beside her.

"Now come here and read Arya's letter with me."

He felt foolish for not just accepting the happiness of Arya's journeys to them but the feeling of worry wouldn't leave. Sitting down beside Sansa on his bed should have driven away those worries yet he still felt a sort of dread hanging over him.

It was not helped when Sansa unfurled the parchment to begin reading and her brow quickly furrowed.

"What is wrong? Foul news?" He asked.

"No…not at all…it's just Arya's handwriting is still so horrible." She laughed and Jon even joined her.

Then something appeared to shift in Sansa and she handed him the letter, reaching up to wipe at her eyes. He should have seen to her but he had to read what was in his hand.

'Sansa,

I wanted to find you for so long. I am sorry for everything. I swear we won't fight. I love you.

Jon,

Please stay alive. Wait at Winterfell for me. Needle kept me safe. I love my brother.

Sansa don't read that part.'

He laughed at the last part and imagined Sansa had read it as well. Yet he doubted the tears in her eyes were because of guilt.

"She sounds the same." He said, clutching her hand. "I even read it in her voice."

"So did I." She smiled, glancing at the parchment again before looking confused. "What is Needle?"

Jon began to laugh when something stopped him. The worry came back to him again as the wind beat at his windows. Something felt very wrong.

"Jon! Tell me!"

"It was the name of the sword I gave her. Before you left Winterfell, I had Mikken make her one and she named it Needle…she took it to King's Landing with her."

"Arya didn't have a sword…she had a dancing master but…oh!" Sansa realized quickly and laughed. "I was a silly girl then…I wouldn't have told me either."

Her words seemed distant to him and he stood up quickly, looking about the room as if to see an enemy within it. Yet he saw nothing.

"Jon?"

Something's wrong, he thought, someone's being hurt.

"Jon what is…"

Sansa's words were cut off by a sound filtering in through his window. Not the wind whipping by outside, one even more familiar.

The sound of Ghost's howl.

He went quickly to grab his cloak and threw it upon his shoulders. Sansa was confused but he led her quickly down the corridors until he found some of her guardsmen. Leaving her with them he ran on, ignoring her calls.

The whole time a heavy burden weighed on him, more punishing than the cold without the Great Keep as he ran along the battlements. He ran across the snow covered steps as Ghost's howls continued to echo off the walls.

He found the direwolf on the south part of the outer walls, facing out into the dark flurries in the distance. Men were collected about him, all looking quite confused as Ghost howled again.

Rodwell saw Jon coming and hailed him.

"The men said he came up here all of a sudden! Just started making a racket!"

"Ghost doesn't just make a racket." He answered back, coming to his friend's side and peering out into the darkness. "Have your men checked the walls for ropes? For intruders?"

"I have four patrols walking up and down these parts of the walls alone, they've seen nothing." Rodwell gestured to the towers down the line, all lit up and likely manned. "No one is sneaking up these walls on my…"

"Quiet!" He snapped.

Through the wind he'd heard it. For the slightest of moments it had come and from how Ghost paced right afterwards he knew it hadn't been his imagination. He strained his ears and soon enough, it came again.

The sound of screaming.

Someone outside the walls was screaming and the wind carried it right to him.

"Listen!" He commanded of Rodwell and the others, and while they appeared doubtful all quieted and did as he said.

When the next bout of screams came Rodwell's hand jerked to his sword and some of his men did so as well.

There was more than screaming though. Deep down he knew that. He sensed it.

There's blood in the air. A lot of blood.

Someone is being killed. Or many are.

"We ride out!" He turned to run and Ghost was right behind him, knowing his mind.

"Ser!" Rodwell called as he followed. "We won't be able to find our way five feet from the gate in this!"

"Ghost can!" He yelled back as they came to the stairs. "Us and many more!"

It took a great amount of time for Rodwell and he to get enough men ready to ride out at such a late hour. Willem had appeared and he refused to let Jon leave with any fewer than thirty men. His friend among them.

The whole time Ghost had continued howling and Jon knew the screaming continued. He knew more blood was spilled and something foul went on beyond the walls.

When the party finally rode out, each man holding a torch, and Ghost and himself leading the vanguard, they heard no more screaming. They saw little in the dark and the snows. A good many torches blew out in the journey. Without the direwolf, they never would have found their way in this darkness.

They had not been riding long before they found what Ghost had sensed.

The direwolf had led them to a slaughter.

At first, with their torches offering such weak light, it appeared there was only one body. A bloody, skinless mess of a man strapped against two logs forming an x-shaped cross.

"By the gods…" Rodwell spat as others retched.

"There's more." He saw as much as he felt it. "Many more."

He held his torch out and followed as Ghost explored the massacre. The direwolf was ambling down the long line of bodies much like the first one.

All upon the crosses. All with their skins flayed.

They counted almost ten and five in all. Some looked to have been mutilated much earlier while others had more recent wounds. Their bodies were still wet with blood.

Jon was only able to name two as people he knew.

For they still had their faces while the rest of their skin was gone like the rest. A man and a woman. A pair Willem recognized as well.

"They only left this morning Wolf." He shook his head before jerking his cloak off and throwing it over the woman's body. "I don't care about their mistakes…no one deserves this."

He had nothing to say to that as he stared at the face of the woman before him. A face that, despite its obvious scorn of him, had once been quite handsome.

It could no longer be called such with the horror her body had become.

She is not a horror, she was a lady and a strong one if I was to judge.

"She was the Lady Barbrey Dustin." He choked out. "And we will not let her father see her as such. Nor his son."

"Cut them down!" Rodwell called out before riding up next to him. "Ser, I don't see their skins…not on the ground or anywhere else."

That's because he takes the skins.

The bodies are for us. This savagery is for us.

And Sansa.

BRIENNE

"It came from the woods."

Arya pointed towards the forest standing not far from where their group travelled along the Kingsroad. The trees ahead were bare save for some pines covered in snow.

Everything around Brienne was blanketed in snow. There wasn't a part of these lands left untouched by the winter, the daily snows as constant as the sun rising each morning. It still rose, she was sure of that, yet she couldn't speak as to the last time she actually saw it. Little to any sunlight escaped the canopy of grey clouds overhead.

She never thought she'd miss the Neck but two weeks of riding across this great white country made her yearn for the browns and rotted greens of the swamplands.

To think of bright, beautiful Tarth was like imagining a different world.

Nymeria's howl came again and she was certain now from which direction it came. The first one had made her signal for their party to halt their journey. This second one made her hand go to her sword hilt.

"Brienne something is wrong." Arya said and turned back in her saddle to look at her protector. "Nymeria's found something…"

"I believe you're right." She said as she scanned the lands around them for any sign of threat. "Harren, your men should ready themselves."

"Of course my lady." The captain of their escort nodded as he drew his sword.

The rest of the five and twenty riders followed suit and soon their party bristled with swords, spears and bows. She was relieved to see Gendry already had his horse between Arya and the woods. The knight held his warhammer in one hand, the reins in another.

To attack a force like ours in the light of day would be folly.

A foe would need a great many men to challenge us, even more to be sure of victory.

There was no sign of such a force close by and she saw nothing among the trees to indicate an ambush.

Yet when the wolf howled again Brienne decided to trust Nymeria over her own eyes.

"A scout would be a good idea Harren." She said. "A few men to discover what troubles Nymeria so."

"Aye, I'd say it be a smart move but even if there's nothing out there I might lose some men. That wolf is not good with my lads and she does not sound happy..."

Brienne saw the truth in that. Harren was not a fearful man but by her count Nymeria had snapped her teeth at the crannogman no less than three times during their journey. Many among his men could attest to the same treatment and all were wary of the beast.

Arya scowled at that.

"We need to go to her." The girl said fiercely. "She could be in trouble!"

She's as protective of that beast as it is of her.

"Arya, we will not abandon Nymeria." She chided her charge before turning back to Harren. "You're right, your men would not be welcomed by the wolf but there are some Nymeria tolerates more than others. Myself, Podrick and Ser Gendry. So perhaps one of us can join the scout and..."

The wolf howled again and before she could finish Arya had cursed and snapped her reins. The girl dug her feet into the sides of her horse and shot forward, riding straight towards the forest.

"Arya! Stop now!" Brienne yelled as the girl rushed headlong into danger.

She was after her but a moment later, her boots punishing her mount in the process. Shouts went up from the others and she turned back to see Gendry, Podrick and the others all giving chase as well.

Gendry was barely clinging to his saddle as his horse pounded through the snow to join her as the closest to Arya.

"Dammit Arya stop!" Gendry roared, his voice ringing with a mix of fear and anger.

We'll never catch her, she realized, you made sure of that.

Before they'd ever left Moat Cailin Brienne had arranged it so that Arya was given the fastest and most able horse of the lot. Should the princess have to flee from any danger she'd wanted her to have the best chance of doing so. Now Brienne was left helpless, watching as her charge used that very horse to fly away from them towards the trees.

She cursed how quickly the horse galloped through the snow and how rapidly the distance between Arya and her grew.

She is too far ahead, too open, if there are arrows…

"Warrior protect her please." She said through gritted teeth. "My life for hers, always."

Arya had reached the forest and for a moment she lost sight of the girl amongst the leafless trees. When Gendry and she reached the forest they looked about in a panic for the missing princess.

"There!" Gendry yelled before snapping his reins and taking off again.

Brienne followed his gaze and saw the shape of Arya ahead of her and willed her horse to be faster, more sure of foot. She could not let the girl come to harm, not when she was so close to having her home.

My life for hers, she swore, always mine for hers.

They rode for a little while longer before Arya finally slowed her horse and they were able to close with her.

The forest fell away before them, opening up into a small clearing, which Arya was ambling her horse straight through towards the other side. Brienne kept her horse at a gallop as she followed Arya's path, a journey the girl appeared to be ending.

For she'd found what she'd been seeking.

Arya was climbing down from her horse as Nymeria leapt through the snow to join her side. The wolf looked unharmed yet was acting strangely nonetheless. Both the wolf and princess stopped to gaze at a cluster of fallen trees just ahead of them.

A glance behind her showed the others had reached the clearing as well, Harren, Marlen and Podrick at the lead.

"Harren! Around the right!" Brienne shouted back. "Marlen the left! Podrick to me!"

If there was danger about she'd flush it out quickly and be by Arya's side when it happened.

"Arya!" She shouted. "Arya how could you be so foolish? Come here at…"

Her command was lost in her throat as she saw what Arya and Nymeria were gazing at.

Among the fallen trees sat a group of men, packed so tightly she struggled to count their number. In the end she saw there were seven of them and all in a poor way. Three were clearly dead, their skin white and frost collected about their faces. The other four looked little better and she thought them close to death as well. They were huddled about what looked to be a pile of sticks and logs. She suspected it to be a poorly made attempt at a fire.

She was spared guessing as to whether these men were friends or foes by the clothing they wore. Borne clear upon their tunics was a sigil she'd come to know well.

Blue towers upon a grey field.

Freys.

"Arya back away from them." She said as she brought her horse to a halt.

"They are Freys, Brienne." Arya said without looking back to her. "Real ones this time."

The girl's sword was out and her gaze upon the men unwavering. Brienne dismounted and moved to stand between her and the traitors. As she did so Nymeria growled causing her to pause mid step.

Yet it appeared the growl was not meant for her, the wolf did so again as it advanced upon the Freys.

"Arya keep her back." She commanded as Gendry came beside her.

Podrick and some of the crannogmen were gathered about them as well. Some of the escort had their bows at the ready and were already aiming at the men Nymeria threatened.

A sound came from the Freys then.

The largest of the four men was trying to speak. He had a square face and jutting jaw and the cold had left his nose and ears dark from frostbite. Despite his condition Brienne recognized him from her time at Riverrun yet couldn't put a name to his face.

All she knew of him was he was a knight and kin to Walder Frey. He had been larger at Riverrun, brawny and fearsome. Now it appeared the winter had robbed him of much of his muscle, the man's strength wasting away before her eyes.

He struggled to speak again and this time Brienne caught his words.

"Fire…fire please…" He kept repeating it, beseeching her with his Frey eyes. "We need fire…"

"Who are you Frey?" She demanded.

"Ser Hosteen Frey." He rasped at her. "I would have you rewarded…a fire please…the cold..."

The other men about him began begging for the same. All wanting fire, all seeking a relief from the cold around them.

"He's the one…the one who led the army here." Arya said softly. "The army that went to Winterfell."

The wolf growled again at Arya's words and Brienne searched her memory for what the Blackfish had told them of the Freys sent north. Soon enough she realized Arya half right, Ser Hosteen was one of the two Freys who led an army to bolster Roose Bolton's hold over the North.

Yet she knew him guilty of a far worse charge.

"You were present at the Red Wedding Ser." She said remembering what else the Blackish had told her. "You aided the murder of Lady Stark and the King in the North."

Nymeria's growled then and snapped viciously at her words and she saw Arya's expression darken.

"Vengeance…Stark had no honor…" The man almost smiled but his shivering prevented it. "He has no head now…"

"No!" Arya yelled as she lunged towards the knight.

Brienne moved to grab her when Nymeria blocked her path and snapped at her. The bite was nowhere close to wounding her but instinctively Brienne pulled her arm back and could only watch as Arya came upon Hosteen.

The girl stood over him and pointed her sword at the man's chest.

"You helped kill my mother and brother…" She spoke quietly but Brienne felt the rage. "You murdered them."

"Your mother?" Hosteen looked from Arya to the wolf before his eyes widened some. "No…the others were dead…you can't be…"

"Oh I'm a Stark alright. My sister was the Stark who saw your father killed." Arya held her chin high in pride. "I'm the Stark who will see you dead for what you've done."

Rather than scaring Hosteen it emboldened him.

"No fire…kill us…yes kill us…the cold…do it bitch…"

"Arya we can take them prisoner, we can take them to your sister." Gendry spoke up, coming to stand by her side.

Nymeria eyed Gendry warily but made no move to stop him. Nor Podrick who came on as well.

"It doesn't feel good to kill princess…I mean Arya." Podrick stammered. "It never feels good."

"Let your sister deal with them." Gendry continued. "There's no need for you to be a hang…"

"No." Arya cut him off, shaking her head. "No…Sansa has done enough."

She turned and waved to two of the crannogmen who had ridden through the trees.

"Take the Frey's swords. Take their weapons." She said before reaching out to Podrick. "Leave them nothing sharp."

This tone was not one Brienne remembered hearing Arya ever use. It reminded her of Lady Catelyn's voice when she'd commanded her to help free the Kingslayer.

Podrick and the others did as they were bid, roughly stripping each Frey of any blade or weapon they had on their persons. The crannogmen even searched the corpses. Hosteen made to hold onto a dagger but his fingers must have been frostbitten because he fumbled horribly and got a fist to the jaw for his troubles.

Please let her take them prisoner, she hoped, she can't think of doing this herself.

For one so young to put so much blood on her sword…on her conscience…

The thought chilled her more than the cold about them. Brienne was about to speak out when Arya walked quickly towards the Frey's unlit fire. She kicked at it until all the wood was scattered about in the snow. The Freys groaned in anguish as Arya returned to her horse and looked down upon the men.

"What are the Stark words Frey?"

"Please…a fire…take us…" The man rasped and the others begged much the same.

"Kill us please."

"Prisoners…we can be prisoners…"

"Mercy please…mercy…"

Arya shook her head and pressed on.

"The Stark words. Tell me our words and you'll have mercy."

"Winter…winter is coming." One groaned as he fell forward, his hand reaching towards Arya.

Arya looked down upon him for a moment before closing her eyes and furrowing her brow. Suddenly Nymeria leapt forward at the Frey who'd answered. His throat was torn out in a bloody mist before Brienne could even cry out in alarm.

"That was my gift to him." Arya's eyes were open again as spat down at his corpse. "Winter has come Freys and it will do for the rest you."

She then wheeled her horse and began to ride back the way they came.

"No please! Mercy!" The men were shouting. "Mercy!"

Brienne knew this to be anything but chivalrous. She could only imagine how brutal a death in such conditions could be for it was doubtless they would die .

There was a chance that it might not be too brutal of a death. They might succumb to the cold, fall asleep and never wake. Or they might freeze, slowly, feeling each limb drop off from frostbite. A storm could pick up, the harsh winds whipping at their faces. Wolves might come in the night. It could be a terrible death for them.

They killed Lady Catelyn, she reminded herself, they murdered her in cold blood.

With that she turned and climbed upon her horse, Gendry and the others following suit.

All except Podrick.

The squire stood staring at the begging men, a troubled expression on his face. His hand was at the dagger at his side and seemed ready to pull it. Before he did so he glanced back to Arya, who had stopped her horse at the edge of the clearing.

The girl was staring right back at Podrick, her face almost a mirror of the squire's.

Their silent exchange went on for a few moments more before Podrick lowered his gaze and let his hand fall away from the dagger. Then he too turned his back to the condemned men.

After gaining his horse Pod kept his head lowered and rode away without a single look back. She too urged her horse on and began to ride next him with Gendry drawing up behind her.

"Podrick." She tried to reach out to the squire. "You are doing as you are tasked to…"

The squire, to her surprise, ignored her and rode on by. Perhaps urged on by the sounds coming from the clearing.

The cries of the doomed men gradually faded as they made their way back to the road. The silence that followed was broken only by the sound of horses and the wind. Not one man in the entire company said a word except to calm their horses as the direwolf prowled beside Arya.

Arya and she rode beside one another with Gendry just a bit behind them. Podrick stayed much further ahead.

She wanted to say something to put Arya at ease but nothing came to mind. She feared of saying the wrong thing. The girl was clearly upset and when their eyes met briefly Arya looked at her with the eyes she'd had the night of the storm.

Brienne's heart had broken for her that night. To hear Arya screaming and crying so in her sleep had been a shock, a far cry from the stubborn, determined princess she knew. She had never expected to hear such from her.

Brienne was reminded of a small girl she once knew years ago on Tarth. A child who also cried in her sleep, a girl longing for a mother to hold her. For a woman to come and ward away the cruel words others spoke.

She could not stop herself from comforting Arya that night, no matter how improper it was. She'd held the girl to her like she thought Lady Catelyn would have.

Like Brienne had always wanted to be held when she would weep as a child.

Yet Arya clearly needed something different from her now.

"Was I wrong?" Arya broke into her thoughts. "Leaving the Freys there…should I have just used Needle…"

"I think you left the Freys to a fate they already faced before we found them. A fate they chose themselves when they came to the North. One sealed when they murdered your mother and brother."

She spoke the truth or at least her belief of what that was. She could never believe Lady Catelyn would have wanted Arya to kill those men herself. To have her death avenged at the cost of her daughter's innocence.

Her lady had never been so bloodthirsty.

Arya looked unconvinced, the girl biting at her lower lip and fiddling with the reins in her hand.

"You acted like your mother would've preferred." Brienne continued. "She loved her children dearly and I think she would have done the same for those who killed her son. I see so much of her in you..."

"I look like father. Everyone always said so." Arya whispered. "Sansa looked like mother. It was her mother was proud of. I never did anything as good as Sansa…my mother always said my hair was dreadful to brush…"

"She loved you dearly child. Never doubt that. She loved her daughters differently but no more than the other. I swear."

Arya trembled some at those words, saying nothing for a time. When she did it was not to speak of Lady Catelyn.

"Do the others think me evil?" The girl looked back at Gendry and then ahead to Pod who were out of hearing.

"I don't believe so." She answered. "You're many things Arya Stark but evil is not one of them."

"Gendry is still mad at me for the fight."

Brienne knew the young knight had been more distant with Arya since that fight. He rarely spoke to her unless spoken to first and even then it was no more than good courtesy.

"You wounded his pride when you claimed to defend him in front of the others. Men are prickly with such." She leaned in to add the next part. "But he was right behind you after you rode from us and beside you as quickly as I in the clearing. I think he remains your friend no matter how hurt his pride is. Podrick will…"

"Pod will be okay… he's always okay." Arya shook her head. "Gendry's the stubborn one."

The girl said no more to that, instead she reached down to her saddle and unstrapped the bow tied there. She ran her fingers down the string just as Marlen had taught her to. Korjen had gifted the bow to Arya just prior to their departure from the Moat. It was a fine bow as far as Brienne could tell. It was smaller than most bows, like the kind the crannogmen used.

Their stay at the Moat had been short as the raven from Winterfell arrived the day after the fight. Korjen had used the news of Queen Sansa's victory to ease the foul mood the fight had put on his camp. He arranged for a small tourney of sorts to be held where the castle defenders took part in contests while hot food and wine was served to all.

"A finer tourney the Moat has not seen in hundreds of years." Korjen had proclaimed and even Arya had laughed at that.

After Marlen and some others had shown their archery skills the archer had called out to Arya.

"I would boast of my skills as a teacher!" The young man had said before having Arya fire some arrows at a target.

None hit the center mark but they were good shots for one as new to the bow as she. The men had clapped and cheered with each shot. When the crannogmen introduced them to a game where men tested strength with the throwing of a large log Gendry had earned loud cheers when he'd tossed his the furthest. Another had eventually beaten him, but still, the blacksmith knight had smiled for the first time since the previous day.

It was among the watching crowd that Brienne had spied three badly beaten men drinking their wine sullenly. They were the ones from the fight and she had asked Korjen of it.

"Them bruises? Not my doing." He had gestured to the assembled crowd. "These men are loyal to their lord and their queen. She is much loved here. Those three gave her cause to think badly of us so the men saw to them."

As they stopped to make camp for the evening Brienne wondered how many of those men were among her party now.

Would they look kindly upon the justice Arya enacted today?

Would they have expected worse?

The crannogmen chose a group of pines beside the road as their campsite for the night. Horse lines were set up, sentries sent out to guard the perimeter and meals were cooking by the time night fell around them.

Nymeria appeared to be in good spirits, the wolf not only joined them at camp but curled up next to Arya as a group of them sat about a fire. As Brienne took a seat beside her charge she took a quick glance at the other groups gathered around fires like their own and towards the tents before leaning towards Gendry.

"Has Podrick retired for the night?" She asked quietly as Arya talked with Marlen. "He is usually not so eager…"

"He didn't take well to what happened today." Gendry whispered back before shaking his head. "Said he wasn't hungry either. I'll go and check on him in a bit but I think he just needs some time."

Perhaps I should go speak with him as well.

He has a good heart and should know there's no shame in being troubled about today.

She had resolved to excuse herself to seek out the youth when the wind shifted and blew some sparks towards Nymeria. The beast was up in a flash and snarling towards Marlen at the other side of the fire.

"Whoa easy there!" He held up his hands. "Princess, could you…"

"It's okay Nymeria it was just the wind."

Arya reached out to soothe the wolf when it took a step away and snarled again. Brienne saw the hair on Nymeria's back standing straight up and noticed how the wolf had shifted her gaze away from Marlen to the land beyond their tents. The clouds above blocked the stars this night so, aside from the areas around their fires, the world was largely in darkness. When the wolf snarled again and left the circle heading in the direction of the road Brienne rose to her feet, suddenly feeling very uneasy.

For out of the darkness she saw two cloaked figures approaching.

"It's just Rey and Teryk." Marlen said as he stood up as well. "I know Rey's moth eaten cloak anywhere. They're supposed to be watching the road…"

Nymeria growled and snapped all the more, rushing forward a few steps as if to challenge the coming of the two sentries. The pair stopped then, their hoods turning towards each other as if sharing a glance but making no further attempts at approach.

"Nymeria come here!" Arya began to follow after the wolf when Brienne grabbed the girl and held her back.

"Why are they not watching the road then?" She asked, putting her hand on Oathkeeper and walking forward herself. "Who goes there! Show yourselves!"

At her shout, others in the camp took notice of what was going on, turning to the face the newcomers or gaining their feet as well. The two figures gave no answer and made no effort to come any closer.

Why not just answer? Why leave their posts?

Suddenly she spotted movement from beneath the pairs cloaks. Then the crossbows which were being raised up and pointed at her.

"Arya down!" She screamed throwing herself backwards and tackling the girl to the ground.

Behind them a bolt slammed into the trunk of a pine and elsewhere someone cried out in pain. Then a horn blew somewhere in the night. Somewhere very close.

"Ambush!" Marlen yelled as many others began shouting as well.

As she lifted her head she saw a great number of shadowy figures rushing forth from the night. All armed and howling like hounds as they descended upon the camp. Behind that lot came a score of riders, charging through the snow towards them.

Nymeria was the first into the fray, the direwolf attacking the two mummer's sentries as they tried to reload their crossbows. The crannog archers were faster still, Marlen and many others began losing arrows before their enemy even entered the camp.

Some of their foe fell but more charged on and Brienne pulled Arya behind her as she drew Oathkeeper.

"Gendry! Marlen! Protect Arya!"

The words were barely out of her mouth before a large bearded man came at her with an axe. She went forward to keep the fight as far from Arya as possible. The axe swing went wide and Brienne stabbed her attacker through his side before throwing him away to meet a coming spearman. She parried his stab and drove an elbow into the man's nose.

"To the right!" Marlen yelled as he loosed at a group of three trying to swing around them.

One fell with an arrow through his throat while the other two came on, causing Marlen to drop his bow and pull his short sword. Gendry had no weapon on him but if his attacker expected the knight to cower away, he would be unpleasantly surprised and that was to the knight's advantage. As the man ran at Gendry with his sword raised, the knight lunged forward, tackling the man about the middle and driving him hard onto the ground.

She tried to see where Arya was but the spearman had recovered and a mounted man now rode towards her.

The rider, she decided, he is the bigger threat.

Brienne fell back from the spear's stabs and swung Oathkeeper up to meet the downward cut of the rider's blade. He overshot her and was bringing his mount around to press the attack when the spearman screamed.

He staggered as Arya stabbed at him again with Needle, skewering him through the neck this time.

"Arya run!" She yelled as the rider came forth again.

This time he looked ready to ride her down so she dropped Oathkeeper in a hurry, rushing to grab up the dead man's spear. She waited until the horse was almost on top of her to sidestep it and drive the spear up into the rider's chest.

Her step was a fraction too late and the beast collided with her in such a way that she was sent sprawling backwards onto the ground. She could taste blood in her mouth and her ribs screamed in pain. Snow was packed about her face and as she flung it aside more of the battle was laid out before her.

Had Nymeria not warned them it would have likely been a slaughter. As it stood now, the precious few moments they'd had to prepare had allowed for the crannogmen to mount a startling defense. Groups of spearmen defended archers who were extracting a deadly toll on their attackers. Many men of the ambush had fallen but their side was taking losses as well.

She thought she saw some being hauled off into the darkness. Then Harren had his throat slit before her very eyes as a couple of their tents went up in flames. Harren's killer backed away and Brienne saw something painted upon his shield. A sigil she had seen for herself at Harrenhal.

Representing a house as foul as the one they'd encountered earlier that day.

The flayed man of the Dreadfort. Of House Bolton.

Gendry was doing his best to fend off an attacker with a sword he'd gained at some point, his foe doing all he could to smash the knight in with a mace. Marlen fought back to back with Gendry against an opponent of his own.

Brienne wanted to help them but she sought Arya first. Her frantic glances across the camp finally finding the girl. Arya was running towards her. Yet not as she should be, for fear clouded the girl's features. Behind her Brienne saw the reason why.

For a rider was bearing down on her.

"Arya!" She choked out a scream while climbing to her feet.

The Bolton man was swinging a rope about his head and Arya was moving much too slow to escape him. Brienne moving even slower in her attempts to reach the girl.

My life for hers. Please my life for hers.

As the man loosed his rope at Arya the world began to fall apart around her. Her feet became heavy and all the strength left her as the rope flew towards her charge. Arya's eyes on hers, wide with fear and hand outstretched.

Then Arya was flying sideways, crying out in alarm. Someone else had run straight into her, throwing the girl aside. Putting himself in the rope's path instead.

Brienne saw his face as the rope wrapped itself around his legs, causing him to stumble and fall. When the horse rode on the rope became taut and his legs were jerked about as he was dragged along behind it.

His face twisted in pain and terror as he was pulled along.

"Podrick!" She screamed, running to him. "Podrick! My hand!"

The horse was dragging Podrick near to her so she ran to meet his coming, fumbling at her side for a dagger to cut the rope with. His body was bouncing horribly upon the ground as the rider kicked at his mount, clearly meaning to flee with the boy.

They can't have him. He came with me. He joined my quest.

Brienne was but steps away, certain she could get to him. Ready to leap forward and cut the rope and rescue the squire.

Until her foot fell upon a stone hidden beneath the snow and her leg gave way.

She pitched forward, arms outstretched but not to protect herself. Even as she fell she reached to save Podrick. Her one hand came so close their fingers touched. He was in her grasp for the shortest of moments and her hope refused to let her accept what was to come.

Yet it came anyway. His hand was jerked away and she hit the ground, their eyes meeting as she did so.

"Ser!" Podrick cried out as he was dragged onwards. "I can't-"

The rest of his words were lost as he was dragged through deeper snows, the rider continuing on into the night. His cries of pain and fear ringing clear through the battle around them.

Arya ran by her then, chasing after Podrick and stumbling through the snow in her attempts to catch him. Brienne was up and doing the same soon after.

"Pod! Leave him be! Leave him be!" Arya yelled as the horse and boy disappeared into the darkness. "Mercy! Mercy please!"

Her longer gait and the girl's frequent tumbles closed the gap between them. When Arya fell for what seemed like the hundredth time Brienne finally caught her, wrapping the girl in her arms. Everything in her told her to keep running. To chase down Podrick and bring him back.

Yet behind them the attackers were beginning to flee themselves. Returning back into the night from which they came. It was likely if Arya kept on as she did the girl could be captured as well.

I can't lose her, not her too.

"Brienne, let go!" Arya struggled and fought with her. "We have to help him! He's right there!"

From the darkness Podrick's shouts grew more distant. Her grip on Arya tightened all the more.

"I know! I know!" She said as the tears fell down her cheeks. "Not you though. Not you too."

"It was supposed to be me." The girl sobbed, pushed and pulled all the harder. "It was supposed to be me…"

No it wasn't. It was supposed to be me.

My life for yours.

Not his.

As Brienne held Arya in her arms, Gendry joined them. The three all together, all peering out into the night, searching for their fourth. Yet she saw nothing but darkness.

And heard nothing except the howling of the wind.