((AN: Smut happens. Well. Not really smut since I had to tone it down, but it's still there. I'm at work on the next chapter and oh, hell, that's going to be a long one. But, the wait won't be as long as last time. I promise you that, my dears. Anyway, hope you enjoy! And, again, I do appreciate reviews so very much! No pressure, though. :D))

It was nightfall when Arya arrived at the ruins of winter town just outside of Winterfell. Another orange tomcat had been helpful again. He showed her refugees squatting in some of the few houses that remained. Mostly, the Boltons ignored them, but every morning they would open the main gate to look for workers. Cooks, seamstresses, blacksmiths, serving girls. Anyone they needed, they took. Arya was going to be someone they needed, no matter what.

As she walked through the town, she tried not to look at the devastation. It didn't mean anything to her, she told herself. Not that it was a real town to begin with. Most of the houses had stood empty for as long as she could remember. There'd been a few vagabonds here and there and her father let them stay until they moved on again, but it was meant to be a refuge for the smallfolk when the true winters arrived. Jory had told her that it was a sight to see; all the market stalls open for business and the crowd that bustled through the streets during the day while the night brought music, dancing, and laughter that you could hear as far as the Great Hall.

There'd be no more laughter in this town anymore. She wondered if there was laughter in Winterfell. She wondered if Sansa still laughed. She used to hate that laugh. Now Arya wanted to hear it at least once more.

Arya heard the refugees before she saw them. It wasn't laughter. It was wailing. A loud, uncontrollable cry of grief. She stopped, not wanting to go on. She knew that sound; she'd felt it, too, but never had she been able to give it voice. She tried once. When she was with Yoren and the others. She tried so hard to scream and shout, but she'd been too afraid to let it out. She internalized that wail and it hardened inside of her. She wondered if it would ever break free.

Feeling something in her hand, Arya glanced down and saw the silk blue winter rose. She didn't even remember getting it out. She held onto it tightly and walked on, gathering whatever comfort from the rose she could hold on to. She needed it as she approached one of the houses that hadn't burned and opened the door.

Only a handful of people turned to look at her with empty eyes. The rest laid on the floor, some sleeping, some awake, and some dead. A lot dead from starvation. Arya closed the door quickly and went to the house next to it. It wasn't any better off. There were more dead and they'd been there a long time. Arya stepped back, fighting the urge to throw up. She'd seen worse, but not for a long time and not since she left Westeros. It was only here that she found this kind of horror.

Arya took her waterskin out of her bag and swallowed the last of it down. From the look of things, there weren't that many refugees that could work. They'd take her inside the walls to work. She walked over to the last house standing and took a deep breath before opening the door. This was better, there was space on the floor and no dead that she could see. The ones who were awake looked at her with life in their eyes instead of that horrid emptiness from the first house. One girl even tentatively smiled at her. Arya didn't smile back. Because this was the house the wailing was coming from. A woman sobbed in the corner, rocking back and forth uttering nonsense in between the wails.

That sound... No, Arya couldn't stay here. She couldn't stay anywhere near that noise. She quickly shut the door and stumbled back, her hands shaking. She could sleep on the ground with her cloak. It'd be worth the cold as long as she couldn't hear the woman.

The door opened and shut behind Arya. It was the girl that smiled. Arya glanced at her over her shoulder, discretely palming one of her knives. The girl wasn't smiling anymore. She looked as sick as Arya felt.

"It was her son," the girl explained softly. "He-"

"I don't want to know," Arya interrupted, holding a hand up. "I just want to find a place to sleep before morning."

The girl looked away from her. "I didn't want to know either. But she told me anyway. Over and over she told me anyway." She pursed her lips and shook her head. Arya noticed she wasn't smiling, she was trying not to cry.

She didn't have the patience for the girl at the moment. She never had the patience for anyone, though. Arya just turned away from her, continuing her quest for a place to sleep.

"I know a place," the girl called out. "I just didn't want to stay there alone. If you want, I could show you. We could stay there, if you want."

"No, I'd rather be alone."

"Please?"

Oddly enough, the plaintive tone stopped Arya. "Fine. Show me, then."

The girl smiled and led her to a house right by the main gate. It wasn't completely demolished, just the first floor stood intact. She chattered the whole way there, making Arya regret ever saying yes.

"It's been awhile since I've talked to someone my age, I'm sorry if I go on. I just got here earlier and the only one who's talked to me is the woman who can't stop crying. I thought I was going to end up like her until you arrived. I'm Landa, by the way. What's your name?"

She didn't have to think one up on the spot. It came to her after she opened the door of the second house. "Mercy," she replied with a small smile to herself. "Mercy Snow." She thought of Jon.

Thankfully, Landa shut up when they opened the door to a relatively clean room. Maybe she didn't like bastards. Good, now she could get some sleep.

"My name's Snow, too," Landa whispered when they were settled down on the floor.

Seven hells.

"Never knew my dad," she continued, growing tearful. Arya tuned her out. "Never wanted to. My mother was good enough for me, even if she was a whore. She sent me out one day to get some things from my aunt. I stayed the night and the whole way back I smelled smoke. It got stronger as I got closer... and I knew, you know? I just knew."

Arya still tuned her out. She had enough tragedies of her own. She didn't need anyone else's.

"Then I saw them. Everyone was dead. Everyone in the whole town was dead and the bodies were in this big pile. All of them. These men... The ones who killed everyone, they didn't look like men. I couldn't really see them, but there was something... They were chopping up the bodies and taking them into the inn. I heard awful screams from inside. I saw my mother's- I saw my mother's head in the hands of something in armor. It couldn't've been a man. He was too big. Bigger than a mountain."

Mountain. The word registered in Arya's mind and she shot up, ignoring Landa's tears and grabbing her by the shoulders. "This man, he was as big as a mountain?"

Landa nodded, crying harder. "He swung her head around by her hair."

Arya shook her. Tears didn't help anything. Especially now. "Listen to me. Landa, listen. What did he look like? The man, what did he look like?"

"I don't know!" she sobbed, trying to push Arya away. "He wore a helm. The whole time he wore a helm." She sobbed anew when Arya let go and sat back on her heels.

The Mountain. It had to be. But what was he doing? "Where was this?"

"It was just a village. Bonway. Just a small town that never bothered anyone at all. Why would they do that? Why would they kill almost everyone and torture the rest? We're not important. It's the Barrowlands. There's nothing important there!"

"It's war," Arya said, not unkindly. So The Mountain was close. But if Landa arrived today on foot, why wasn't The Mountain already here? It didn't make sense. She hated not knowing.

As Landa sobbed harder, Arya awkwardly patted her hand.

Nymeria dreamed...

The shadow creatures lashed out at the six direwolves, but no blow was landed. They were only shadows. Distant memories of a past they were never a part of, of a time when gods and heroes walked the earth. The true-pack pushed on, delving deeper into the Lands of Always Winter.

A horn sounded, ice cracked, and the Children and men fought against foes they had no hope against. All ghosts. All images and sounds echoing through time. The true-pack ignored them like they ignored the shadows. They pushed on, stalking the creature throughout the ages. It roared a terrible roar. Mountains fell, cities died, and the creature flew...

The sound of the main gate opening brought Arya back to herself, the dream disappearing in a slow haze. The gate. Arya shot up, gave Landa a nudge with her boot, and grabbed her things. Landa sat up, her eyes swollen from the tears she shed.

"They're here," Arya said, opening the door. "Come on, they'll put us to work." She stepped out just as three people entered winter town, Landa following after her.

There were two men and one woman, all frowning at the prospects that came out to the road. The woman's frown lessened, though, when she saw Arya and Landa. They were the only two that looked able to work. She stopped in front of them and studied them. The men came behind her, stopping to stare as well. Arya didn't like their stares. She didn't like when any man looked at her as prey.

"What can you do, girl?" the woman asked Landa, her voice harsh and raspy. She was ugly, too, with three moles on her face and barely any teeth, but the men seemed to respect her enough with the way they looked to her for cues.

"I- I can clean," Landa stammered. She looked terrified. "I can embroider. I can cook, but I'm not good. I mean, I can make soup, but it always-"

"It was a simple question," the woman sighed impatiently. "I asked you what you're good at, not what you're not good at." Landa face reddened as the woman's attention turned to Arya. "And you?"

"I can clean, m'lady," Arya said earnestly. "And I worked in my uncle's tavern for most of my life, so I can serve. But I'm a quick learner. I can do whatever is needed of me, m'lady."

The woman laughed. It wasn't pretty. "Roger, she thinks I'm a lady." She laughed again and shook her head. "No, girl, I'm not a lady. You can call me Goodwife Jene. I've been charged with finding able-bodied servants. Those who can take orders and carry them out without too much trouble is what we need. You're not much, but you'll do."

Arya almost let out a sigh of relief. She thought it'd be harder than this. Something was bound to happen. Something bad. It always did when it came to getting back to Winterfell.

"Then follow me. Lord Bolton will return within the week and we're already behind schedule."

But as they approached the gates, nothing happened. She wasn't struck by lightening, no one pointed at her and screamed 'look, Arya Stark'. Nothing happened. Arya's chest tightened as she passed underneath the gates and her eyes grew watery. She wanted to fall to the ground and cry for everything she lost. But she didn't.

She was in.

She was in Winterfell.

Things moved so fast after that that Arya didn't have a chance to look around. Which she considered a good thing, to be honest. It was easier to pretend she was Mercy Snow if she wasn't lost in the memories of Arya Stark. She kept her eyes down, too. That helped. That helped a lot. Especially when they passed the training grounds she used to watch her brothers in. The sound of steel against steel reminded her how much she'd changed since then.

But that was Arya Stark. Not Mercy Snow.

The goodwife led them to a small building beside the Great Hall. It was a flurry of activity as servants came in and out, preparing to break their fast before starting their shifts. A tall, thin man sat at the end of a long table with a guard wearing the Bolton standard. They looked to be in a heated discussion over something. They didn't even notice Goodwife Jene approach.

"And I'm telling you, no one knows what happened," the guard was saying. "My men are not responsible for this."

"You're telling me she just slipped and fell onto a knife six times?" the man sneered. "You tell your men that if I have another girl turn up dead, they're banned from the bathhouse. Do you understand?"

Goodwife Jene cut in. "What's this then? We've lost another one? That's the third one this week, Acton. Better keep a handle on it or it's your head."

The man named Acton ran a hand over his grey hair, glancing up at the goodwife. For a split second he looked at her with hatred. If Arya hadn't been looking at him, she wouldn't've seen it. (Interesting.) He ignored her interruption and gestured to Arya and Landa. "This all that was there?"

"I know, my thoughts exactly," the goodwife grimaced. "I think they'll only be good for minimal chores. They're not that bright." This time, it was Arya who shot the hateful glance, but she was paid no mind. It was like they weren't even there.

"Well, one of them'll have to go to the bathhouse," Acton grumbled. "We're low enough on serving girls as it is. What with the way they all keep mysteriously disappearing." His mouth twisted bitterly as he looked at the guard, who shrugged.

Goodwife Jene shrugged with him. "It's to be expected. They're sellswords after all. They tend to get bored."

Right then, Arya decided to kill her when all of this was over. She'd kill them all. The reality of the Boltons in Winterfell and not the Starks hit her hard. It wasn't right. They shouldn't be here. Her father would never let anyone harm a serving girl. And he'd behead the man who killed one.

But he wasn't here. No one was here except for Arya and Sansa. (Sansa. What of Sansa?) How could it have come to this?

"Maybe you shouldn't assign so many pretties to the bathhouse, then," the guard put in. He pointed to Landa. "Not her. She's a beaut, but the other one..." He pointed to Arya. "With those scars, she might not be messed around with too much."

Arya's blood went cold. For once in her life, she wished she'd been born beautiful like Sansa. She knew what happened in bathhouses to the serving girls. She'd walked in on it happening once. The girl had been screaming so loudly that the man didn't hear Arya come up behind him and cut his throat.

No, not the bathhouse. Please, not the bathhouse. She'd have to do whatever needed to be done to make sure the Boltons paid dearly for what they'd done. She'd have to. That wouldn't be possible if she killed someone on the first day and got caught. She'd have to.

Acton gave Arya a considering look. "What's your name, girl?"

"Mercy, if it pleases you m'lord," Arya replied, sounding shy and scared.

The goodwife snorted at that. "She thinks everyone's a lady and lord."

He ignored her again. "I'm not a lord, Mercy. Just an understeward and your superior." Now Acton looked at the goodwife with that flash of hatred. "You answer to me only. Goodwife Jene will take you to the bathhouse. There's a place for you to sleep in the back and it's warm. If anything happens to you, you're to come to me at once. Do you understand?"

Arya nodded, too numb to speak.

"Good. Now, go." He waved his hand, dismissing her.

Landa looked at Arya with a helpless expression. Very discreetly, Arya winked at the girl as Goodwife Jene took her by the arm and dragged her away. She didn't know why. She just didn't want the girl to worry.

The bathhouse was a fairly new addition to Winterfell. The Boltons added it on after taking the castle from the Ironborn. They connected it to the hot springs that kept the Great Keep warm, making it a popular place for guards just getting off patrol or watch. The men that served Roose Bolton that night in the Twins committed atrocities that still haunted Arya to this day. She shuddered to think what they were allowed to get away with here with unimportant serving girls.

The goodwife shoved Arya through the door, the noise bringing the other girls running to the front. There were five of them, all very pretty and all very young.

"Here's a new one for you whores. Try not to let her get killed like you did with the other one." With that, Goodwife Jene left, her nose in the air as if she were better than everyone around her. Arya was going to kill her. She was going to kill her and make it hurt.

"Don't bother with her," one of the girls said kindly. "She just thinks she's Miss High and Mighty all because her husband's the steward. I'd love to shove her head underwater for awhile. Just to scare her."

"Ona!" the youngest gasped, then giggled when Ona shrugged.

"What's your name?"

Arya looked at the speaker, a girl who looked the oldest. She hadn't cracked a smile like the others. "Mercy. Mercy Snow."

"Have you done this before?" Even though she didn't smile, she looked kind when Arya shook her head. "Don't worry. It's okay when you get used to it. You won't have to do anything today. Just watch and learn what'll be expected of you. If you play along, you'll be fine. Nora didn't play along, that's why she's dead. I'm Sari."

The others introduced themselves, but Arya paid them no mind. All she could think about was that night and how she pushed Jaqen away from her. She should've pulled him closer instead of that. She should've given him all when she had the chance.

Men came in and the day began. It didn't seem as bad as she thought. Sometimes there were woman who came to soak in the large stone tubs. It was only when the sky began to grow dark when she learned what was expected of her.

A little tug and pull here and there while being fondled was the main thing. Only one man bent Ona over a tub to take her, but she acted like she enjoyed it. Arya couldn't. She couldn't. But she had to. It was odd that the thought didn't bring any tears. She just felt cold and numb. She wouldn't be a mouse if she let it happen, if she chose to do it and killed them when this was over, but she would be if she fought it and it happened anyway.

But Jaqen. He was the only one she ever wanted. She knew that now that he was gone from her life. If only she was no one in a different face and not Arya Stark. She'd be able to do it without thinking about it. But now she was Arya, truly Arya, and she hated it. The only consolation she could think of was that men talked before and after their satisfaction, saying things they shouldn't. She would have to find a safe place to report everything she found.

The last man left after the moon was well into the sky and the girls retired to the back to sleep, letting Arya sit in silence by herself. When they all started to snore, she slipped out quietly. It wasn't a good idea to be out alone, but she needed to see the grounds. She needed to see if there was any place left that felt like home.

Arya walked along the wall that bordered the Godswood, taking care to stay in the shadows. Her father's gods lived behind that wall. The old ones who abandoned him long ago. She wanted to set it on fire. She wanted it to be ashes like her childhood. The only thing that stopped her was the weirwood. Bran.

Arya heard footsteps when she came up behind the armory. She hid as they passed by and receded. Again, she wished could fade into the shadows. She wanted to kill them all. She wanted to make them pay. She didn't want to be a ghost anymore. She wanted to be a monster.

When she was sure all was clear, she crossed the path to the other inner wall. Quick as a snake. Quiet as a shadow. Arya knew where she was going now. She'd been heading there in the first place, only she hadn't noticed. The crypt. It called to her, invited her in and she went willingly.

The moment her foot hit the first step down, Arya felt it. Home. Here it was. The only place she knew as home. While Bran climbed, Arya had went down deeper to the heart of Winterfell. She used to explore the underground for hours when she wanted to hide from all the things her mother wanted her to do. It was always warm here, being so close to the hot springs.

She remembered staying underground for a whole night after getting in trouble when her mother overheard her saying Jon Snow was her favorite brother. Jon was the one who found her crying in a dark corner. She remembered the knife they used to cut the palms of their hands. They'd pressed them together as the blood welled up and mixed together.

("See? Now we're true brother and sister. You have my noble blood and I have your bastard blood," she'd said.)

She wondered if Jon still had the scar on his palm like she did.

Her eyes ran over the faces of all the Starks that came before her. Everything was familiar here. This was still home. When she reached the end and saw the empty space where her father should rest, she wanted to cry. She tried. She really tried. But the tears didn't come. She thought that seeing this would be enough to break the grief free and she could finally give her sorrow voice.

But it wasn't. Arya still felt empty.

She bowed her head and closed her eyes, trying to feel something, anything. Nothing. Maybe when she found Sansa. She hadn't asked about her sister yet. She didn't know why. She knew the wedding had already taken place. She knew her sister was here. But she couldn't bring herself to look for her yet. She didn't want to know the horrors Sansa went through on the wedding night. She heard the talk of the Stark girl's screams of pain. She didn't want to know if she was broken and weak. A wolf could face down monsters and men without breaking a sweat, but when it came to emotional damage?

She was craven.

When she opened her eyes, Jaqen H'ghar was there, leaning against a pillar just outside of the candlelight.

At first, Arya felt as if she'd been transported back in time to when she was a mouse in Harrenhal. The man in front of her looked exactly like the man who gave her three deaths. The guard uniform wasn't the same, but it was close enough. He looked at her with the same expression, though, his eyes dancing with amusement over a secret only they knew.

"It took you long enough, lovely girl," Jaqen murmured softly. "This man feared you'd never make it."

Now, Arya felt something. Anger. It raged through her. She'd had enough of this. The leaving and coming back. The uncertainty. She wanted it to stop. Before she could think about it, Arya rushed forward and smacked him hard. It was his own damn fault for not ducking. Really, he should've expected it. His eyes flashed in anger, giving her some satisfaction.

"Do not do that again," he said in a low voice. The anger was there, too, she could hear it. "Sound carries in the underground."

"How many names do I get this time?" Arya spat out, clenching her fist. She wanted to hit him again despite his warning. She wanted to hurt him like he hurt her. She drew her hand back again, but he caught it in a tight grip and pushed her against a wall when she struggled against his hold.

Jaqen's brow furrowed. "I thought you a clever girl. You get all the names. All the names of the ones you want dead," he whispered harshly. "I will kill them all for you. Don't you see that? How can you not after what I did for you?"

Disbelief slowly began to replace the anger. Arya shook her head at him. "No. No, you left. You left me alone."

Jaqen was the one getting angrier now. She felt it in the way his body tensed against hers and saw the heat of it in his eyes. He let go of her hands and slid his fingers around the nape of her neck, grabbing a fistful of hair and tugging it so she looked up at him. "You have no faith in me? In this man? Everything, Arya Stark, everything I do is for you. I followed you to Meereen. I kept you safe. I ignored the whisper of a name." His voice grew more dangerous with each word and Arya felt that now familiar thrill run through her body. "I killed for you. I became your Jaqen H'ghar and when you would not have him, when you would not have me, I came here because this was the only place I could be of use to you. While you've been taking your time, lovely girl, I went to old friends I knew were under the employ of the Bolton. I've been here this whole time waiting for you because I knew you would come and I knew you would need someone on the inside. Everything I do is for you. Never doubt me."

Arya stared at him, unblinking. Her mouth tried to work, tried to speak, but nothing came out. Weakly, she shook her head, trying to deny his words. No. It didn't make sense. She didn't deserve this. She didn't deserve all those sacrifices.

But he'd done them. He thought she did. Jaqen H'ghar thought she was someone who was worth all of that and more. It didn't matter that he was wrong, he did it all for her. Sooner or later, he would see his mistake and then he would leave. She tried to push him away, but he held on to her, refusing to let go. She struggled harder and still he held her.

And then, somehow, she was kissing him and there were tears on her face and the taste of blood on her tongue and she didn't care who was crying or who was bleeding she only wanted more and so did he because she could feel how hard he was.

They fell to the ground hard, down to the dirt and the stone and the dust of ages past. Jaqen's hands were up her skirt, ripping her smallclothes off while Arya unlaced his pants. Without hesitating, she wrapped her fingers around his erection. He groaned as she stroked it. Even after the things she'd seen in the bathhouse, she didn't know what she was doing, but she knew where she wanted him, where she needed him. Arya urgently guided him to her entrance.

Jaqen took her hand in his and entwined their fingers together. He held her tightly as he entered her fully with one sharp thrust. She cried out, her senses afire as he ripped her apart so painfully, so beautifully.

"Shh," he whispered, pressing his forehead against her's. "A girl must stay quiet. She does not know what her cries do to this man. And sound carries. We must stay quiet."

Arya whimpered, nodding her head as he kissed her to muffle any other noise she couldn't stop. He started to move with long, slow, deep thrusts. It hurt. It hurt more than anything, even more than when he gave her the scars on her face, but she treasured the pain. It anchored her to him, and in that pain, she found the purest form of pleasure.

There was no going back from this, she was his and he was hers. She'd given to him the innocence that was his the moment he gave her a coin, but it was far more fitting for it to happen here in the last place that was home to her; here in the dark among the dead.

The pain was blossoming into something else, a warmth that built up inside of her, slowly spreading through her body. She felt as if she were on the brink of something earth-shattering. She didn't know what was happening, it was nothing like she'd ever experienced before. And then she felt him hit a spot deep inside of her that made her back arch as she broke the kiss. She gasped loudly when he hit the spot again.

"Please," she whispered, not sure what she was asking for, but Jaqen knew. He let go of her hand and wrapped his arms around her, angling his thrusts to hit that spot over and over again. She slipped her hands underneath his shirt and held onto him, unable to do anything else but gasp.

"Lovely girl, sweet girl, evil girl," Jaqen breathed against her neck, his teeth nipping at the tender skin in between the words. She clawed at his back hard enough to draw blood. With each gash she made, he thrust harder, pushing into her as deep as he could.

Arya cried out his name, not caring about being quiet. There was only the dead around to hear them anyway.

His lips moved to her ear. "I am yours," he whispered. And that was all she needed to hear. All she wanted. The pleasure that had been building up inside of her exploded and she found a release she never knew possible. Everything faded but the feeling of him inside of her, filling her, making her his. She held on tight as her body shook and tears fell from her eyes.

Jaqen whispered her name over and over as he buried himself deep inside of her and spill his seed. She was too far gone to worry about it. She only wanted the feeling never to stop. She wanted this to be all that existed and all that ever existed.

The high lasted for what felt like an eternity, but ended too soon. Jaqen kissed her tenderly as her body still quaked with aftershocks. When he made to pull out, Arya wrapped her legs tightly around him, keeping him there.

"Stay," she pleaded, struck by a sudden terror she couldn't explain.

Jaqen cupped her face, his eyes burning into hers with an intensity that took her breath away. "Always," he said as if she should know. To her embarrassment, Arya began to cry, but he held her tight and kissed her tears away as they fell.

Later, they lay entwined, her head against his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat. It would be close to morning soon, but Arya didn't feel the need to hurry just yet. Neither did Jaqen. He ran his fingers over the blades she'd sewn into her dress, both of them content with letting the moment pass by slowly.

"A girl's first time shouldn't be like this," he murmured. "It should be gentle and slow. On a bed instead of here."

"Since when have we ever been gentle to each other?" Arya asked, lifting her head up to look at him.

Jaqen laughed softly. "I will give you that. But humor a man next time and let me show you how good being gentle feels, okay?"

Next time. Arya grinned as the thought warmed her down to her core. Until she remembered where they were and what they were facing, which brought to mind questions. "How did you know where I was going?"

"A man must have some secrets left to him," he smirked and would say nothing more no matter how hard of a look she gave him. "Maybe I will share it with you one day."

She sighed and sat up reluctantly. The moment was going to have to end soon. She would have to go back to the bathhouse and he would have to go back to his guard duty. "How about you share what you've learned here then?"

"I can do that." Jaqen sat up as well, making a face when he noticed how dirty the back of her dress was. He'd always been fussy about appearances as Jaqen H'ghar. Arya supposed she'd have to get used to it now. "But you won't like it. Stannis Baratheon was overtaken by the Boltons while he was trying to get the mountain tribes to join him. His army is at the Wall and leaderless for the time being."

Arya closed her eyes. If any of the houses that supported Stannis joined with the Boltons, then they'd have more men than the Khaleesi could deal with unless she brought most of her army to Westeros. "Is Stannis dead then?"

"No, so there's hope in that," he said with an expression that plainly stated his opinion about said hope. "They're bringing him to Winterfell within the week. I've seen what the son does to prisoners. I don't know what kind of man Stannis is, but I don't think any man would be able to withstand that amount of torture without breaking." He glanced at her, knowing the unasked question that was on her lips. What of Sansa? But he said nothing of it. "You'll need to tell the Khaleesi to make her move soon. There have been reports of an army coming in from the south, but it's confusing. No one can get an accurate number of the men. There's more everyday."

"The Mountain," Arya said grimly. "How far out is he?"

"Seven, maybe eight days ride, but they're moving slow. We don't know why. There are less refugees coming in from the south than there used to be and all our scouts go missing."

Jaqen paused to let that sink in. If only she hadn't taken her time. The Khaleesi could've taken Winterfell when the Boltons rode out. It was no use berating herself now. She just had to work harder and faster.

"Have you talked to the Khaleesi yet?" Jaqen asked, a sly smile on his face.

Arya glanced at him with surprise, then felt foolish. Of course he knew. He knew everything. She thought, though, that her ability had been a cleverly kept secret. Obviously not. It had been hard to tell the Khaleesi that one, but after swearing her to secrecy (something that made Dany angry), Arya showed her what she could do with the orange tomcat she bonded with in the pyramid.

It took a few times before the Khaleesi believed her. Which Arya thought odd since she was the Mother of Dragons. Having seen magic firsthand, she thought an ability like hers would be easily accepted. In the end, after the fifth time she proved she could tell what was happening on the other side of the pyramid, they developed a code so Arya could report in to her directly through the cat. Reaching out across that distance with her mind was hard and it left her with a headache, but the cat and her had bonded and it was the only way.

Arya hadn't told her about Nymeria and the wolves, though. That was a secret for herself. And maybe Jaqen since he knew everything. She wouldn't be surprised.

"I was going to do it earlier, but, well..." she trailed off, matching Jaqen's sly smile.

"Indeed." He stood, pulling her up after him. She was sore in between her legs, but it was a soreness to treasure. "A man has patrol duty this evening, but I could find a replacement if you need me to watch over you while you report in."

It was tempting, but Arya didn't want him to babysit her. Just knowing that he was here was good enough for her. Now she didn't feel so alone. Nymeria wasn't enough. She thought she would be, but she needed someone to touch and feel. Not just someone. Jaqen. Even the bathhouse didn't worry her anymore.

"I'll be fine," she shrugged as he brushed the dirt off her back. Something trickled down her leg and she froze, remembering belatedly that he spilled his seed inside of her. The fear must've shown on her face when she looked back at him because he only smiled and cupped her face.

"Go to work, lovely girl, and do not worry. A man will bring her something warm to drink that will put your fears to rest," he murmured before kissing her softly on the lips. Oddly enough, that left her more shaken than their most passionate of kisses.

"I'm not afraid," she lied needlessly, then smiled, turning red as she slipped her smallclothes back on.

Before they reached the stairs, Jaqen stopped and turned her to face him. Her smile faded when she saw the look on his face. He was hesitant to tell her about something. Something important.

"Lovely girl, before you go up there, there are two things I should prepare you for," he began. "The boy... Ramsey."

Arya shook her head, thinking it to be about Sansa. She couldn't help her yet. She didn't want to know what she was leaving her sister to when she was this close to her. But Jaqen put two fingers underneath her chin and forced her to look at him.

"No, it's not that. When he took Winterfell, he captured your foster brother. He's still here, but... well, like a man said, no one can withstand the kind of torture the Bolton boy inflicts without breaking."

Theon. Arya hadn't known what happened to him. Theon the traitor. Her hands clenched into fists. When she first heard of what he did to Winterfell, she'd been too numb with the grief of everything else to let it affect her fully. But now she'd seen what he'd done with her own eyes. If she didn't know that Bran and Rickon were still alive, nothing would stop her from murdering the bastard. She would have to wait until this was over to make him pay for his betrayal. She said nothing to Jaqen, though, only looked at him and waited for the second thing he thought she needed to hear.

He searched her eyes for a moment, then nodded. "Don't go near the smithy if you can help it." Jaqen gave her a little smile, but still searched her eyes to see her reaction as he continued. "An old friend of yours is there now. It seems you made quite an impression on him with all those things you told him about Winterfell."

There was only one person she would've talked to about Winterfell. And only one person who would be working in a smithy. Arya shook her head at him again, feeling dumb. It wasn't possible. That boy had been sold to a red witch and taken away. How could Gendry end up here in Winterfell?

"He was here when I arrived," Jaqen said, answering the unspoken question in her eyes. "I've stayed away from him. I don't want to chance him asking questions I can't charm my way out of. If he recognizes you, there's no telling what he would do."

She wanted to deny it. Gendry wouldn't get her in trouble. He was her friend. The only friend she had besides Hot Pie. But she'd changed so much since then. Who knew what Gendry had to go through to get here? She couldn't chance it, no matter how much she wanted to see him for herself.

After making her promise not to do anything, Jaqen led her back to the bathhouse. The courtyard was just beginning to show signs of life when they reached the backdoor.

"You have nothing to worry about here." There was a wicked, mischievous glint in his eyes that Arya knew all too well as he traced a finger down her neck. "If anyone asks who gave you these, tell them the Lorathi did."

Her hand went to her neck. "What are you talking about?" He didn't answer her, only grinned as he turned away. "Jaqen? What are you talking about?"

"You need a bath," was the only greeting Arya received when she closed the door behind her. No one said anything about her absence as they bathed and dressed themselves. Apparently it was normal, which was a relief to her. It made this whole thing easier.

The only time one of the girls talked to Arya was after she stepped out of the bath, completely and truly clean for the first time in four months. Her hair had grown to the middle of her back and, while it was clean, it was full of tangles. Sari came in and, seeing her struggle with a particularly big knot, took the comb from her. Before she knew it, she could run her fingers through her hair without wincing in pain. She wondered if Jaqen would like to run his fingers through her hair and hated herself just a bit for having such a Sansa-ish thought.

"Thank you," she said, putting her dress back on. She'd beat most of the dirt off of it before the bath and decided it was clean enough. Besides, it'd get wet throughout the day.

"It's nothing. I like to brush hair," Sari admitted. "All of the woman ask for me when they come in. Even the new Lady Bolton."

Knowing the girl's eyes were on her, Arya forced herself to continue what she was doing. In truth, the news startled her. She should've known Sansa would visit the bathhouse. She wondered if she would recognize her. Probably not. Who would expect to find Arya Stark in the bathhouse of Winterfell? Arya opened her mouth to ask Sari what the Lady Bolton was like, but stopped herself. She still didn't want to know.

"Oh, that reminds me!" the older girl said, saving her. "I ran into a girl who said she knew you. Landa? Is that right? She was in the kitchen getting food for Lady Bolton. She's her new maid. She wanted me to tell you to meet her in the kitchen for our lunch break. She wants to see you, I guess."

Arya had to hide her reaction from that, too. Landa was Sansa's maid? She wasn't sure if she was relieved or not. At least she knew there was someone kind with her sister. On the other hand, if she wanted to do what she came here to do, she would have to meet with the girl to get information on Sansa's well-being. There was no ignoring that now.

"If you want, I can make sure you're not busy then," Sari continued. She looked up at Arya and noticed her neck for the first time. "Oh! Was that what you were doing last night? That doesn't make me feel so worried now. Who was it?"

Arya gave Sari a confused expression, making the girl laugh. She steered her to a mirror and showed her the marks that Jaqen had left on her. Arya's eyes snapped wide as she ran a hand over him. That's what he was talking about. She remembered the feel of his teeth on her neck, but she didn't think they'd leave behind tiny dark bruises like this. She didn't like it.

"Oh, the Lorathi," she shrugged.

Sari's eyes widened. "The Lorathi? You bedded the Lorathi?"

Arya decided to only answer that with an enigmatic smile before going out to the front. Men just getting off patrol duty came in, some of them already staggering on their feet from ale. With neither of the Boltons in residence, it was harder to keep the sellswords in line. The sun was barely in the sky, but the bathhouse was already full of rowdy, drunken guards.

She was helping Ona ready a bath when the ruckus suddenly quieted. Arya looked up to see Jaqen coming toward her, carrying a steaming mug. Interestingly enough, some of the guards gave him a wide berth as he passed by. Most simply left. He paid no mind to them. He only looked at her, a small smile on his face.

"Here, lovely girl," he murmured, handing her the mug. Ona looked from Arya to Jaqen, clearly confused. "Moon tea. And all of it. It may not taste good, but a girl must drink it all." He glanced at Ona and raised an eyebrow. She didn't like the obvious dismissal, but she left them alone.

A memory of Harrenhal came to her then. She remembered the way the other guards treated him there, as if they were terrified of him. He still terrified them. It sent another thrill through her, knowing how deadly he could be. She only wished she could be like that.

The looks from the other girls were completely different from the men, though. In Harrenhal, the serving girls would giggle when he passed by, but he only had eyes for her even back then. Arya wondered what made her so special. But there were more important things to think of now. By showing the guards that she was his, he gave her more freedom than she ever thought possible. Although, it angered her that it had to be like that. She'd rather they looked at her in terror because of what she could do, not because of what Jaqen could do. Oh, well. They'd find out soon enough.

Jaqen brushed a lock of hair out of her eyes and leaned close, his lips brushing against her ear. "If you go to the crypts tonight, there is a side tunnel with a little alcove in it. Use that place if you need to talk to her." Arya didn't need to ask who 'her' was, she only nodded. It wasn't until after he left that she noticed the blue winter rose he placed behind her ear.

Arya looked for Landa in the kitchens at lunch, but couldn't find her. As she left the kitchen, she heard a commotion at the stables. A horse was screaming and as she got closer, she could hear a familiar abrasive voice shouting above the rest of the other voices. She couldn't make out the words, but she did hear 'fuck' used copiously.

So Sandor couldn't stay away.

There was a large crowd surrounding a black horse and another stallion trying to tear each other apart. Arya started to push through the crowd, but she noticed just across the way another familiar face. Oh, gods, Gendry. She turned around quickly and left. When she glanced over her shoulder, she thought she saw him looking at where she had been standing with a bewildered expression on his face.

Damn. She had to be more careful than that.

Since Sari told her not to come back until the bell rung, Arya still had time to herself. She walked the grounds, listening to the gossip being chattered over the din of the courtyard.

The Lady Bolton is pregnant?! Not the new one. The fat one. Oh, the fat one. What's the bastard say to that? Hush, boy, anyone else hear that talk and you'd be hanging off a tree with no skin.

The more she heard, the more she realized how much the people of the castle feared the Boltons. And loved Sansa. It didn't excuse them for letting what happened happen, but it was a start.

Arya turned to head back, but she saw Landa and a hooded figure enter the Godswood. A gust of wind blew back the hood and a flash of red glinted in the sunlight. She knew that color. She'd know that color from anywhere. Her mother had that color. Her mother's daughter did, too.

Almost as if she could feel eyes on her, Sansa turned her head. Their eyes locked. Sansa's brow furrowed as she tried to place the familiar face. Arya could see it happening. She could see it and she almost didn't stop it. But she had to. She turned her back on Sansa, one of the hardest things she'd done in a long time, and walked back to the bathhouse, keeping her eyes on the ground.

That night, after everyone was asleep, Arya slipped out and headed to the crypts again. She found the alcove Jaqen had told her about. A couple candles and a soft blanket waited for her. It was obvious he took the time to clean it up, too. She smirked to herself, wondering what the other guards would think if they knew how much of a romantic the man they feared was. She settled herself down and reached with her mind out to the tomcat.

He was warm and content, purring loudly as someone scratched behind his ears. It was so comfortable that Arya had to fight with him to move. Cats, especially spoiled cats like this one was becoming, were stubborn. She wondered if that was why she found them easier to slip into than any other animal besides Nymeria.

When she finally gained full control, she found herself already in the Khaleesi's rooms. The Khaleesi sat beside her, going over some slips of papers. Arya didn't wait, she batted the papers out of her hands and jumped up onto the desk. It took the Khaleesi awhile to realize that the cat wasn't trying to play.

"Arya?" Her voice sounded odd with the cat's hearing. She didn't like it. She didn't like to meow, either. She focused on the ink and paper the Khaleesi placed in front of her and wrote, as best she could with a cat paw, what needed to be said.

Then the Khaleesi wrote down something that made Arya so angry that she lost the connection with the tomcat.

Arya opened her eyes and found Jaqen sitting beside her, sharpening one of his swords. For a moment she just watched him. He glanced over at her and smiled.

"The girl comes back. A man was almost worried. You need to sleep sometime," he murmured, putting the sword away.

Yawning, she agreed with a nod and leaned against him. "I was stupid today," she sighed. "I think Sansa saw me. I know she saw me, but I don't think she knew who I was. She just... She looked so empty." The look in her sister's eyes wouldn't leave her. She'd seen it before in people who were shells of their former selves.

Jaqen tensed. "Very stupid, sweet girl. She could've called out to you." He moved to look her in the eye. "You can't do that again. This place is dangerous. The most dangerous place we've ever been in."

"You don't need to tell me that," she snapped, sitting up. Her head pounded with exhaustion. "There's another thing we have to deal with. The Khaleesi has already sent half of the Unsullied to Westeros. And they're led by Ser Barristan. He convinced her the time was right."

"Why is that bad?"

"They're not coming to Winterfell first. They're going to take Dragonstone first," she sneered. "Then they'll come to us. I told her how close The Mountain was, but they still think he has just a small militia. We're on our own for awhile."

Jaqen laughed bitterly. "I have more good news. The Boltons have sent word. Already half of the houses that supported Stannis have pledged to them. By the time the Unsullied reach us, they'll have The Mountain's army and the Boltons' army to deal with."

Arya felt like crying. "I don't want to play this game anymore."

And that's what it felt like they were doing, playing a game they didn't know the rules to. She thought of the Khaleesi and her promise. It seemed she wasn't going to make good on it yet. She looked at Jaqen, who was watching her with that small smile again. He knew what she was thinking. He always did.

"Will anyone fight for you?" she asked softly.

He wasn't even surprised by the question. "Yes. There are a few who would join us. What are you thinking, lovely girl?"

As if he had to ask. Arya smiled. "I have an army in the woods waiting to feast. The people are scared of the Boltons. But they love Sansa. They would fight for her. For her and the wolves. They say the North remembers. I just think we need to remind them of who really belongs in Winterfell."

His grin was positively wicked. "There will be blood, then? Good, I was getting bored."