cp10

Chapter 10

We gathered once more in the Winterfell Godswood, us Stark siblings. I had a tent built for Bran here, where he slept and broke his fast and wrote out his designs. He never wanted to be far away from the weirwood, and seeing as he was useful when by its side, I was more than inclined to do this for him. His connection to the heart tree and the powers it gave him made me think it silly to not have Bran constantly at its side. When he was awake, he was scouring, and when he dreamed, he dreamt of the past of the world.

Right now, he was looking for details of the past for us. He was looking for information on our behalf.

Looking for the details of Petyr Baelish's betrayals of the realm.

"That was stupid, Rickon." Sansa told me boldly, worriedly tugging at her long red hair. "Stupid. I warned you not to do something like that."

"He needed to be put in his place." I told her, my hand ghosting over the pommel of my new dagger.

"Which needed to be dealt with more subtly. Littlefinger isn't like your lords, Rickon. He isn't like any lord. He'll connive and crawl his way into a better position, and if he feels whoever he's following won't be easy to work with he'll kill them. That's what happened to Joffrey. It was him and Olenna Tyrell. Gods Rickon, he's already a kingslayer."

I grimaced. "Joffrey died to poison. I'll have a taste tester with my meals now, as well as a more prominent guard, both for myself and for Baelish."

"That would be even worse," Sansa said, shaking her head. "If you force guards onto him, he'll act quicker. We don't know what his plans are and we don't know how that would affect us. The less he worries, the safer we are."

"Then what should I do?" I asked, frustrated. I knew that my decision to threaten Littlefinger was rash but seeing his smarmy face and his clear intentions towards Sansa had me riled. I wanted to throw it back onto him, to see him caught on the off.

It was only in the aftermath that I concluded I had done something that could be dangerous.

"For now, nothing. He isn't going to have you killed just like that. I, however, will be having to pen a letter of rejection to our cousin."

"I take it he didn't catch you fancy?" I asked, offering her a wry smile.

She was unimpressed, and the dull stare she sent my way told tale of such. "No. He did not. But even if I had been willing to wed Robin, I wouldn't accept this. You told me that this was a marriage between the Lord of the Vale and me. Baelish wants me by his side, Rickon. He doesn't care about Robin. He'd have him killed and name himself Lord of the Vale to get to me."

Belatedly, I realized that that was indeed the wording. I cursed myself again for my shortsightedness. It should have been easy to see, especially since I knew what Petyr Baelish was capable of. "We'll have to be careful then."

Sansa scoffed. "I'm always careful with him."

"It won't matter soon." Bran said, startling us. We turned towards him, his blank face turned towards the entrance of the tent, where Ghost stood a silent vigil.

"Why is that, Bran?" Sansa asked tentatively. Ever since he'd shown the scale of his power, and ever since I mentioned it was possible that this wasn't wholly Bran, she had been cautious of him. Tentativeness was often seen with her regarding Bran.

He did not answer her. It was Ghost that did. The direwolf perked up brightly from his position, tail wagging fast, and contrary to his often quiet and incomprehensible demeanor he belted out a loud drawn out howl that was then met with what seemed like a hundred howled responses.

Guards shouted in surprise, screams echoed the yard, and I felt my heart hammer at the thought that we were being attacked. Had Sansa been wrong? Had Baelish decided to attack? To use his power as Protector of the Vale to have its army of knights attack us? Had my awareness of the events to come been incomplete somehow?

I grabbed my knife and slowly exited the tent, casting Sansa to stay with Bran. Surrounding us were what appeared to be some forty wolves, perhaps more, their pelts mottled greys and light browns and pitch blacks, yellow gleaming eyes and drooling mouths the lot of them. My chest constricted with worry, worry and an odd calmness that washed over me. An inevitability, I guess. The knowledge that I was going to die was somehow keeping me sane.

What did that mean of me?

One singular howl was louder than the rest, and it got the wolves to quiet down. They parted a line down their center, and a wolf even larger than Ghost prowled towards us, light grey furred and big brown eyes. I hadn't seen it in years, but I knew it well.

It still confused me fiercely. "Nymeria?!"

What was she doing here?

The great she-wolf barked out happily at the sound of her named and Ghost rushed her. They trotted around one another, sniffing and rubbing and not at all acting like the massive predators they were. They acted like puppies more than anything. Nymeria's wolfpack rushed them, hopping around in glee, playing in the snow. Sansa had come out from the tent at the odd noises and the call of her sister's direwolf and she appeared to not know what to do. I understood that well enough.

A cough sounded from out sides. We whirled around and stood stiller than a tree at what was before us. At who was before us.

Gone was her young, childish appearance. She was short, yes, but clearly she was grown fully. Her brown her was shorter, styled into a practical braid, and her grey eyes were alight with amusement, as were her thick eyebrows half raised. Her lip twitched into the slightest of smirks, and though her body language appeared unguarded her fingers grazed the pommel of that thin bravosi blade, ready for anything that may occur.

She was the first to speak. "Do I have to call you your grace now?"

A wet, gurgling feeling welled from my throat, and I didn't answer her. I just rushed her and pulled her into a hug, one that though somewhat stilted was returned with an equal fervor. Sansa dogged onto our hug, throwing propriety to the wind, and we fell to the snow with laughter among us.

"Gods, Arya!" I giggled, feeling like a child for the first time in a while. "Where did you come from? Where did Nymeria come from? How'd we not know you were here?!"

"Do you remember what they used to call me, back when we were young?" Arya asked, snuggling me into her side. "Underfoot was my nickname. Because I liked to scurry around where I shouldn't be, like a rat or a bug. They weren't wrong. There's a small tunnel leading to the godswood from few miles south, hotspring water falls from there into a basin that the people of Wintertown bathed in. I found it when I was eight. It's barely big enough for a man to crawl."

Her legs were wet and warm, cooling with the frosted air, as if to emphasize her recounting. "But Nymeria? I thought her lost."

"I came across her when I crossed the Trident. Her and her pack. But when I asked her to come with me back home, she wouldn't. I was sad, but thought that was it. That I had driven her away and she wanted nothing more to do with me. Then a day later they raced back to me, their eyes white, and it was as if I were a girl again. She's not left my side since."

Sansa and I traded looks and got to out feet, hauling Arya up too. We brought her into the tent, where Bran stared dolefully at her. Surprise overtook her features, and a smile lit up onto her face as she rushed to hug him. He patted her on the back, but that was all he offered.

Bran spoke when they separated. "I saw you at the Crossroads."

Arya appeared confused. "You saw me?"

"I see quite a lot now." Bran admitted.

"Bran has… visions." Sansa said, noting Arya's confusion.

"They're real though." I told her. "He sees more than we could comprehend through the eyes of trees and beasts, with magic greater than Westeros had seen since before the Doom. He's teaching us better ways to fight and he's helping us develop better defenses. You said the wolves came to you with white eyes. That means it was Bran that brought them to you."

If anything, that had her more confused than anything. Not that that wasn't expected.

Bran nodded lowly. "Rickon told me to bring Nymeria to Winterfell to solidify his ruling. I did." He eyed Arya blankly. "I thought you might go to King's Landing."

Arya's response was weighted. "So did I."

"Why would you go back there?" asked Sansa.

"Cersei's on her list of names." Bran said.

Arya sucked in a deep breath, exhaling slowly through our quiet. She turned around, a worried gleam in her eye as she took in Sansa's confusion and my understanding. "Who else is on your list?" Sansa queried.

"Most of them are dead already." Arya shrugged.

A thought came over me, and a slow smile spread over my face. I held my dagger aloft and twirled it to the handle was hers to grab. She took it, blinking at the rippled metal, leaving the sheath in my hand. "Where did you get this?"

"Littlefinger gave it to me."

"Littlefinger?" She hissed. "He's here?"

"He's declared for House Stark. Why would he give you a dagger?" Sansa asked of me.

"Because Bran can't use it."

"But why?"

"Because it was meant to kill me." Bran said.

Understanding bloomed in her mind as she looked to Bran. "The cutthroat. After your fall."

"Why would a cutthroat have a Valyrian steel dagger?" Arya asked.

"Someone very wealthy wanted me dead." Bran answered.

"He's not a generous man." Sansa said, shaking her head. "He wouldn't give you anything unless he thought he was getting something back."

"We could debate on what that is all we want." I told her. "Could be that he hoped to bribe me into giving Robin your hand. Could be that he wanted to keep me interested in him. Could be that he was setting us up for a trap. It doesn't matter."

She looked frustrated with my retort. "What do you mean it doesn't matter?"

"I don't want it." I told her, tossing the sheath Arya's way.

She caught it with a practiced hand, though contriteness showed on her face. "Are you sure? It's Valyrian steel."

"I'm training to take Brienne's sword from her, not to use a knife. I already have plans for Valyrian steel. You'll have better use of it."

Arya's smile was stilted but true as she took the dagger and sheathed it onto her belt. We then spoke lightly, happy to be with one another, and upon offering to show her around Winterfell once again for the first time in almost seven years she was gladdened to do so.

Upon exiting the tent though, we did not see what we expected to see. I doubt anybody expected to see anything of its likeness.

Ghost and Nymeria were rutting in the plainness of the day, the wolf pack hackling at them as they did their business. I traded surprised eyes with Arya and Sansa, only for the lot of us to shrug. Wolves were not humans and incest held littler issue for them. Though some issues might line up with such a pairing, breeders would occasionally have packmates mate with one another to preserve certain traits.

And, well.

Sansa and I would not say no to having direwolves of our own again.