Okay so the ending is probably the most rushed thing in the world, but I just wanted to get this uploaded. It's been waayyy too long since I updated and I'm pretty sure apologising isn't going to cut it. I'm going to try and upload a waaaayyyy better chapter next Monday. I'm going to try and keep a weekly Monday update schedule going - let's hope I can keep to that.

Sometimes she wondered if the Gods had been against them from the start. Her heart had torn, fear iced the blood in her veins. For once, she felt as if she did not have the answers. There was no perfect, fail-safe plan. No position to knock any players into that would make it any easier. No way to even communicate with wise words or advise.

Even if she could send advice, what would she say? For once, she did not know how to handle the situation. It made her feel weak. Hands trembling as she drank the wine from the glass she held. Legs nervously bouncing as she tried not to think about it.

All she could do was think about it.

Her baby brother – someone she was supposed to protect – was stranded, without help or aid, with Sansa. Her friend and her brother left to venture north on foot, while in what could now be considered as enemy territory. The Vale was after them, and suddenly everything was happening at once.

"Rhaenys?"

She shook her head, hair falling into her face. A warm, clammy hand grasped her shoulder, yet she proceeded to ignore it.

"Rhaenys, come on. Everything will be alright."

Pressing her lips together, she lifted her head. "You cannot know that."

It did not matter that she belonged to the most powerful family in Westeros. There was nothing she could do to help. For the first time in her life she felt truly powerless. What good was she to her family if she could not help them.

"Jon knows what he is doing."

The blatant lie had her staring at Aegon, lips pressed tightly together. The heat from the tears in her eyes was frustrating. She wished she could just will the salty liquid to disappear.

Aegons bent down, facing her. His hands rested on her cheeks. "Remember when Jon was a boy of six, and he disappeared into the Kingswood and no one could find him?"

Nodding, she felt the hot liquid begin to roll down her cheeks. Aegon used his thumbs to wipe the tears away. "Remember when he came bounding back two days later, and found out you had been crying with worry because you thought something awful had happened to him."

Of course she remembered. She had been going spare trying to work out what had happened to her baby brother. The lack of finding him had made her frustrated and upset. How could a prince go missing for so long without consequence? Jon's young face flashed in her mind, wide eyed and pouted lips.

"Remember what he said to you?"

"Please stop crying, Rhaenys. I'm a big boy now and I know how to look after myself. I promise if I ever go missing again I will find my way home. I will always find my way home."

Jon had Ghost, and Sansa. Ghost would never let anything happen to either of them, but that did not stop the hurt in her heart. They were still alone in a place they had never been before, and the enemy could be around each and every corner they walked around.

"It is different now. This is not Jon being a rebellious child; this is Jon on the run from the enemy with someone the enemy wants more than anything. Ghost is both protection and a danger to them now. The Direwolf would never let anyone harm them, but his mere existence in the Vale could give their location away to the enemy."

"Trust in Jon as he trusts in us. We will find a way to help him."

"Is it true?" She asks because she has to know. Because she has to understand if everything she tried to prevent is occurring anyway. "Is father considering riding to the Riverlands to end this?"

"Considering and doing are two different things." His voice was soft and careful, an answer in of itself.

"Aegon..."

Standing up and taking a step back, he nodded. Hands running down his face, a sigh slid out past his lips. "Yes, he is considering it. He has been discussing these matters with the small council since he returned from Dragonstone. He thinks that by quashing the skirmishes in the Riverlands he can end it all for good before it becomes a real war."

"And you? What do you think?"

"I agree."

Her heart continued to break as she nodded. "I thought so. I hoped not. I hoped it would never come to any of this-"

"As did we all. But we cannot continue like this. The longer the Lannisters get away with this, the more likely this will turn into a full scale war. Something we would all rather avoid."

"If father rides out... Are you-"

She did not have to finish the rest of her question. The answer was as clear as day on his face. There was no hope of changing his mind either, his expression told her as much.

Shaking all she could do was try and breathe.

Trying to pretend that neither boredom or worry consumed him, he watched Robb and his new bride dance together for the first time as man and wife. The wedding was incredibly rushed, and their mother had all but been beside herself at how it did not meet most of the standards for an heir to Winterfells wedding.

"Mayhaps she had hoped Robb would get the wedding she never had." Arya had whispered ever so quietly earlier in the day.

He had nodded in agreement, before stating that their mother had four other children who could have far grander weddings when everything was all over. Not that he would ever want a grand and fancy wedding, he doubted Arya would want such a thing either. The mere idea of Rickon even getting married was laughable. The youngest Stark seemed adamant that he was going to spend the rest of his life in Winterfell. No lady would likely wish to wed a man who ran off for weeks at a time, just because he felt like it, either.

So it all really depended on Sansa. Sansa had always wanted a grand and fancy wedding. Sometimes some of her plans seemed so outrageous that he had simply sat there silent, unsure of what to say. As much as he loved his big sister, she could often be too much of a girl for him to deal with. Yet part of him wondered if she had stayed that way. If she still hoped for a grand wedding with all of the North there to see her wed the love of her life before the Gods. If she still wanted a grand feast with a tourney to celebrate her nuptials.

"I want to dance." Arya hissed from next to him. "It's boring just watching."

Arya had apparently been ever so bored while watching the ceremony. It was short, sweet and before a heart tree rather than within their mothers sept. It had surprised almost the entire family when Robb suggested the wedding be before the Old Gods.

"I am to be Lord of Winterfell, not a southern keep. Starks keep to the Old Gods, not the new. I will honour that by marrying in front of the Heart Tree."

It was strange, that the older they got, the more they began to prefer their fathers Gods. Raised keeping to the Seven and then seeming to convert. Rickon had never kept to the New Gods, saying the sept made him feel 'funny' – and when he was older claimed it made him uncomfortable – while Arya was too impatient for the New Gods, she eventually began heading to the Godswood to pray at the age of nine. He had drifted between to two faiths. Always going to the sept with his mother, Robb and Sansa; yet he also wandered out to the Heart Tree some days finding just as much – if not more – solace there. Robb spent more time in the sept than the Godswood, but knew that Robb had been spending more time by the Heart Tree since Sansa's departure than he had in the sept.

Sansa had not had much time for the Old Gods until her betrothal to Joffrey. After the announcement any time she spent in the sept was at her mothers request, and she showed only to keep up the pretence of contentment. She had suddenly began occasionally heading to the Heart Tree when she believed mother would not know.

Bran had never asked her about the drastic change of belief, but sometimes there were things that people did not need to know.

Mother had always said that the Old Gods were more cruel and cold than the Seven. Many did not believe in the Old Gods because it was hard to let in Gods who did very little in return.

Gods never do anything. Bran thought bitterly to himself. They mess with peoples lives and let them suffer. There is no God in existence that ever really helps.

"Gendry said he was considering volunteering to go south with Robb and father." Arya muttered, staring ahead at their brother and new good-sister. "Says they might need a smithy."

Slowly, he turned to look at his sister. Lips pressed together, and voice low, he felt a little wary. "Arya- This is not a war they are going south for. This is Sansa and Jon. They are not planning or wanting to attack the Lannisters."

"What if the Lannisters attack them."

He knew he had to be careful. Arya was temperamental at the best of times, and to throw her into one of her moods during their brothers wedding would be disastrous. But there were some things that just had to be said. Some things that had to be put to a halt before anything stupid happened.

"Surly you would be far more worried about your brother and father than t- Gendry." He was not trying to offend, simply remind. He hoped that Arya understood that. "I know he is your friend but-"

Her nose twitched and she scoffed. "Friend? A friend would make me my sword. He's just the smithy. My nemesis."

A laugh slid out past his lips. "Your nemesis? Really. I thought the only person in Winterfell with a nemesis was Rickon."

At the mention of his name Rickon leaned forward, eyes focusing on them. "It isn't a joke. Chef Arthur is evil, and will one day pay for what he did."

Nodding solemnly Arya met Brans eyes. "I have two nemesis'. Gendry and Theon. And it is no laughing matter. When you find your nemesis, you will understand."

"If having a nemesis is this dramatic, then I hope I never find one."

The truth was often hard to swallow. She had learned that at an impossibly young age. It was a lesson she had learned around the same time she had learned that anything she wanted she had to take for herself.

"Sansa is my cousin."

It was knowledge she already knew, but instead she simply nodded.

Sansa was in the Vale of Aryn with Jon Targaryen. Lord Baelish had been beside himself when the Knights had returned empty handed. Even more beside himself when it was confirmed that the two had been on the ship; as they had seen a large white Direwolf, confirming that the Prince and Lady had been travelling north.

According to Lady Lysa, it would be easy enough to hunt out a Direwolf in the Vale, and that neither Jon or Sansa had been to their Kingdom before and so would not necessarily know where to go. They could quite easily be found if everyone worked together to find them. Lord Baelish seemed to stitch himself back together and was somewhat enthusiastic about the idea.

"Joffrey would be so pleased to be reunited with his betrothed and her dear cousin."

Pressing her lips together she looked to Robert, fear pressing against her heart. "Joffrey is not betrothed to Sansa."

Cocking his head to the side, curiosity shone in his eyes.

"Once the Lannisters have leverage, everything we want will start falling into place."

She did not know what Baelish or Lady Lysa wanted, nor did she wish to know. It made her blood run cold and her heart stutter.

"I thought they were." Roberts head cocked to the side. "Mother said the Prince stole her away because he was jealous."

Myrcella shook her head. "Lord Eddard broke the betrothal and my grandfather wanted to wed Sansa to Tyrion. I think the Prince is just trying to help return her safely to Winterfell."

When they hear wood scrape against stone they flee. Padded feet rushing them away from the hall and away from each other.

Officially, Myrcella is yet to meet Robert Arryn. Lady Lysa has kept them apart and it frustrates Myrcella. She feels like a prisoner locked away in a tower. She feels like Sansa, trapped in her betrotheds home with no real friends. Looked down upon as if she is nought but a nucience or a pest; a pawn in a game she does not want any part in.

Except she is not Sansa. No one lays a hand on her, and no one spends enough time around her to truly demean, belittle or attempt to manipulate her – not that that her mother ever successfully manipulated Lady Sansa. Unlike Sansa who had Tyrion, she had Robert. Her betrothed was not cold or cruel to her. He visited her when he could, watching her cautiously as if he was a broken bird and she was a hungry cat. They did not talk about much; he liked sweet foods and fell sickly a little too often and his favourite colour was blue like the summer skies – blue like her eyes.

Sometimes they talked about politics. He was a growing boy whose mother treated him as though he was but two and toddling. She kept him in the dark shadows and he was starting to rebel. She was a growing girl whose mother taught her about power and lies from childhood. She was taught to stand in the light and she was starting to rebel.

So Myrcella told him what she could, and when they were able they would listen in to what Lady Lysa and Lord Baelish were discussing. Learning about the world outside the Eyrie; and Robert's naïve mind would try to turn it into something he understood. But he was maturing and knew that the blanket his mother kept him under would not last forever.

"I'm the Lord of the Eyrie." He had said quietly one night. "With my father almost- almost- ill. I should be in charge."

She hummed in agreement, fingers absently playing with the fabric she had been embroidering moments before hand.

"I know nothing of ruling my own lands." The admission was even quieter, and his head was lowered. Even in the dim candle-light, she could see the colour of his cheeks darken.

He's ashamed. Her mind whispered.

"I do." She replied somewhat cautiously. "I know about ruling a keep and it's lands. I could help you learn if you wish, my lord."

"Robert." He had replied. "You are allowed to call me Robert."

And the world felt a little less lonely.

"When?"

His door had been all but slammed open. He didn't have to look up to know that the fury and desperation was rolling off his sister in waves.

Almost lazily, he rolled onto his back before sitting up. Digging his hands into his furs, he cocked his head to the side. Arya was staring at him, her emotions clear as day on her face. Eyes blown wide, lips parted, and skin as pale as snow. Her hair was wild, as though she had been caught in a storm.

"When, what?" He asked, feeling almost cocky.

Then defeat took over his sisters expression. The desperation so clear in her eyes that he almost wondered if he knew his sister at all.

"When will we see them again. You say you know these things, so when?"

His jaw almost dropped in shock. Arya Stark did not believe he knew things. Arya Stark did not believe in fate or magic. Arya Stark barely even believed in the Gods. There was only one reason she had come to him. Only one reason in the whole world that she would be desperate enough to 'stoop so low' and ask him.

Arya Stark was scared.

He didn't know. It did not work the way Arya wanted it to work. He only knew what he knew, not what he wanted to know.

"Eventually." He replied, sounding almost bored.

"That- That is not an answer Rickon."

With a shrug he flopped back, head hitting the pillow. "Bran said the future wasn't set in stone." A small sigh slid out past his lips. "Six moons." The lie tumbled past his lips, because Arya would start screaming if he told her the truth. She would scream and yell and cry herself hoarse. And if he was lucky; really, truly lucky – his lie would be some kind of truth.

If they were lucky. If the future wasn't set in stone-

Maybe he was wrong about everything.

"Are you sure?"

"Bran said the future wasn't set in stone." He repeated, closing his eyes.

Despite the darkness, he could still, practically see his sister vibrating with frustration.

"Rickon-"

"It's the best I can do."

And even if it wasn't enough it was still the truth. All he could do was his best. Even if his best was a thinly veiled lie.

For Arya, he would try. He would try and make it work the way she wanted it to work, because Arya never revealed when she was scared. Not to Robb. Not to Bran. Not to him. So he would try, because seeing Arya scared was the most terrifying thing in the world.

Watching Robb and father ride off was one of the hardest things he had ever done. The Direwolves howled as their brother ran after his partner. Did the wolves feel the same pain he had at the loss of their brother? He believed they must.

There was a large number of men riding from Winterfell and his heart ached. Arya was stood on his right, next to their lady mother. Eyes glistening and hands curled into fists. She had barely uttered a word all day; a terse goodbye to father, Robb and Theon, along with a promise to do as she was told. Rickon had been just as quiet, eyes never straying from the men on the backs of the horses.

He hoped it would not be so grim and quiet until the men returned.

When everyone began returning to the keep, his mother remained staring out after the men. Tears had filled her eyes, fingers clinging to her dress.

"Mother? We should go back, you might catch a cold."

Her head turned, and her eyes met his. "You are right, let us go and warm up. Perhaps the cook could prepare an early lunch."

When her hand clasped his own, he smiled as best he could up at her. "A hearty broth sounds nice."

The thought of some warm food made his stomach murmur, it had been a long morning. Stress made him feel hungrier, a trait he thought might come from his lady mother.

They walked back to the keep together, her hand holding his own. A small part of him wondered if she was trying to seek comfort without asking for it; ladies were so strange. Whenever Arya got upset she would turn up in his chambers angry and rant about things he didn't really care about; apparently she used to go to Sansa and they would comfort one another, but Sansa wasn't there anymore and it was 'unladylike' to complain to others about her problems. He thought it was silly that ladies were not supposed to bother men with their problems, men complained to ladies all the time.

"Are you going to be alright, mother?" He asked quietly, looking up at her. "I am sure it will not be long until the return."

Her hand tightened around his own. "I hope so, Bran. Your father and Robb are both brilliant men, I just wish they did not have to go."

"I don't think anyone ever wants anyone to go anywhere. But because someone puts a crown on their head and lays out some rules, we bend to their wants and suddenly families are torn apart; spread all over the kingdoms to try and please people they don't even like. It's ridiculous."

A small, quiet laugh slipped past his mothers lips. "Yes, it is rather ridiculous, isn't it."

They had lunch in her solar. A nice, hearty broth and a rare glass of wine. With father, Robb, and Theon gone, it felt emptier than he had gotten accustom to. Arya was still quiet as she ate, Shireen happily talking to his lady mother – no doubt trying to take her mind off their missing family members. Rickon was talking to Meera about weaponry, much to mothers displeasure. Talla was telling Jojen all about Horn Hill, her face alight as she spoke.

"Why do things have to change?" Arya muttered under her breath, spoon dragging against the bottom of her bowl.

With a shrug, he gave a small sigh. "That's just life." With a glance to their mother, he lowered his voice. "Did Gendry go?"

It was her turn to shrug. "I don't know. I didn't see him. His friend Hot Pie had been arguing with him over whether he should go or not – somethin' about unstable finances. But I really don't know."

Each breath felt as though it was burning her chest . The pain in each and every muscle throbbed with each step she took. The certainty of her own demise slowly consumed her. It would not be soldiers, guards, highway men, murderers, or wild creatures that ended her. No. It would be the aching of her body that would become so intense that she would simply drop dead from the pain.

"We need a horse."

A simple nod was the only response she gave, her body feeling weak from the near-constant running.

"I could steal one, but-"

But it was stealing; something neither of them would be overly comfortable with. Taking something from someone who has so little would be cruel. Wrong. Nor was it the small people's fault that their Warden had turned against the realm. To steal from them would be wrong, and neither herself or Jon had the ability to pay for much of anything.

"Sansa, are you alright?"

Once again, she nodded. "Of course." Her voice wavered, and her eyes burned.

The pain was not something she was accustom to. She could remember when she was just a girl, Robb used to complain that training with Ser Rodrik made him ache and hurt. Part of her suspected she was feeling something akin to what Robb had felt then.

She almost snorted out a laugh when she realised that Arya would not be hurting if she was with Jon. Arya had trained with a sword and a bow. Arya loved to run around, as wild as her Direwolf.

"I am not accustom to this kind of exercise." She admitted, feeling embarrassed.

A small laugh slipped out past Jon's lips. "Neither am I. Fighting, I can do that. Constantly running for my life? If Aegon could see me now, he would never let it go." It was as he spoke, she realised he sounded rather out of breath. "I am truly sorry about all of this, Sansa. I-"

"It is okay, Jon. We should have known this would never have been as easy as we hoped."

And honestly, what had they been thinking? That the Gods were on their side? She should have known that the Gods were working against her. They had been for so long; putting together some plan she really did not want to be a part of. She wanted a nice life; a good life. Nothing story worthy. Just a nice husband, happy children, and being able to write to – or see – her family whenever she wished to. Why was that such an impossible thing to ask for?

Maybe it was what she was destined for. To struggle for survival at all costs. To be torn from her family and die alone. Perhaps the Gods would be cruel enough to rip Jon from her before they got to the Riverlands – the Riverlands that were being torn asunder by Joffrey Baratheon. Who would most certainly catch them if they crossed into the Kingdom on foot.

"It is a shame we could not ride Ghost as though he were a horse." She stated, thoughts of her own Direwolf slipping into her mind. She wondered where Lady was, how far from Winterfell her Wolf had gotten. The taste of blood was an almost constant in the back of her throat, and it horrified her to think she was adjusting to it.

"I do believe that would draw an awful lot of attention to us." Though a faint smile tugged at Jon's lips.

"I hope he is alright. I would hate to think that something awful may have happened to him. That the men-"

"He is fine, Sansa. I promise."

She wanted to say that he could not possibly know that but then they were connected. Just as she was with Lady; because she knew that Lady was fine. That Lady was getting further and further away from Winterfell by the hour. She knew that – so long as nothing terrible happened to her or Jon – she would be reunited with her Direwolf before long. It made her heart sing to think that she would soon be reunited with her Lady.

"I hope so."

"I know so."

She didn't question him, because it was quite possible that he was telling the truth. He uttered the words with such conviction that she believed him; believed that maybe Ghost was going to be perfectly okay. And if Ghost was okay, maybe that meant they would be okay too.

Instead, she took in a deep breath. "We need a horse." Rubbing her hands together, she tried to squash down the guilt that began bubbling in her stomach at the thought of theft. "If we continue like this, I do not expect we will get very far if we are discovered. If we keep a note of where we took the horse from, we could repay the owner once we are safe."

"Or we could steal from one of the knights whose job it is to hunt us out. No doubt we can take a Knights horse from a tavern somewhere."

Her lips curved into a smile. "I would certainly feel less guilty over that."

"Exactly."