258Moat Cailin
Arya sat on an outcrop of fallen rocks, dangling her legs over the dark water and watching over the landscape quietly, contemplating as the sun rose. She'd awoken early and had slipped out towards the crumbled ruins of one of the towers, carefully climbing across until she was on the furthest rock into the moat.
Nymeria had tried to follow but she was heavier than her mistress and her weight had disrupted some of the massive slabs of stone, making them tilt and turn in the water, sinking further below the waterline into the reeds and she retreated back.
Now, the direwolf was sat on the mainland, bright eyes watching over as Ayra took in the morning light.
How are we going to repair this heap of crap? Arya thought to herself. The basalt rocks needed for the repairs were half a days ride away and from what her father had told her, they would need hundreds of slabs and bricks of the stuff. We should be talking to the Freys and the Boltons, not building.
Arya puffed out a breath and carefully lay down, revelling in the fact that she was short enough to fit onto the outcrop of rock that was above the water. She didn't want to think too hard about what was living between the weeds and the waterline.
When she closed her eyes and concentrated hard enough, Arya could smell smoke and ice, not the murky water. The air was crisp and cool in her lungs and somewhere around her, she could smell an open fire and taste the smoke on her tongue. It took her another ten minutes to slow her breathing down enough and she could feel the cold in her bones, not the sticky, humid air of the south.
Winterfell. Arya didn't know how but she knew deep down that she was smelling the smokiness from the forge. She could hear the bannermen and the servants bustling around the keep and if she thought about it hard enough, she could feel the way the snow moved under her feet, but they weren't human.
"Arya!"
She jerked upright, gasping as she slid back into her own body and down the rock towards the water.
"Fuck!" Arya cried, scrabbling to her feet and away from the dark water. "You great idiot!" she yelled over to Gendry and Nymeria growled at the boy half-heartedly until Arya made her way back to the mainland. "I could have fallen in, you prick."
Gendry apologised and glared at the direwolf until she sat back down. "I didn't realise you were sleepin', sorry," he muttered, embarrassed. "I got sent to find you. We're travelling with Howland Reed to the Twins. He called upon Ned to help settle a dispute and from there we will travel to the Bolton's I think."
"A dispute?" Arya echoed as the pair walked back towards the tower that had served as their base. Bannermen were cooking food over open fires and in the centre of the action was Ned and Reed, laughing and joking together. "Wait, Gendry," Arya said, placing her hand on his forearm to stop him. "What dispute? There wasn't a dispute last time."
"Reed said more and more travellers are dying, trying to cross at the Neck, rather than face the Freys at the Twins. He believes that the price to cross at the Twins is too high and he thinks that some of his crannogmen have been hunted by them. That's why he sent the coin to Ned."
"Hunted?"
"Yeah. They seem to be disappearing."
Arya's brows furrowed. "The crannogmen live on floating homes. Is Reed sure they're being hunted and not just floating away?"
"Arya, what do you know of the Freys and your brother?"
Arya's face became stone-like and the lack of expression chilled Gendry. "I know that Frey men are lovely in a pie and that they are too pig-headed to notice they're eating each other."
Gendry looked slightly worried but he shook it off, choosing to ignore her statement rather than dwell on it. It had disturbed him enough in his previous life and he didn't want to dwell on it. "Oh Gods, no. I mean do you know what led to your brother's death?" he dropped his voice to a whisper, steering her back towards the shoreline and away from the bannermen. "Catelyn Stark promised Walder Frey a husband for one of his daughters in the form of Robb and he married someone else. Roose Bolton married one of his daughters or granddaughters, I can't remember," he said, trailing off as he thought about it.
"So..." Arya prompted, sensing that Gendry had more to say on the matter.
"Roose Bolton is as slimy as the rest of them. It was him and Ramsay that took Winterfell. We need to get to Domeric before Ramsay does. That's what they say at least, that Ramsay made him fall ill so that he'd be the only heir, bastard or not," Gendry explained as the pair clambered over the ruins and to a small spot overlooking the waters of the bogs.
"How do you propose we do that without raising my father's suspicions?" Arya asked, taking a seat on the rocky ground beside Nymeria.
"What? No, Arya, we have to tell Lord Stark," Gendry argued, following her actions and sitting beside her.
Arya shook her head. "We can't. There are already so many things he is worrying over and this is something we can do alone, without making him worry even more. We just need to get rid of Ramsay and Roose without too much suspicion from the rest of the Boltons'."
Gendry looked at Arya as though she'd sprouted a second head. "You think we can kill two men without anyone noticing? I don't know if you'd forgotten but I'm a bastard of the king and you've got a bloody great wolf as a shadow. We're going to attract attention, Arya."
Arya smirked as she looked at him. "Who said I was going to be Arya?"
Gendry's eyes widened comically and he shook his head. "Oh no! I am not wearing someone else's face. No way!"
"Relax, you won't be," Arya laughed at her friend's discomfort. "You're just going to make sure I get in their keep and out again without any trouble."
"And your father?"
"Will be none the wiser thanks to you," she grinned.
"God, I hate you."
Arya laughed loudly, making Gendry's frown wobble into a smile. "No, you don't."
Riding through the Neck was harder than Ned thought it would have been. Instead of riding as he'd expected, Ned, Arya, Nymeria, Gendry and a handful of crannog and bannermen took the easiest route south: by boat. The word boat was stretching it, Ned thought as he sat on one of the floating islands the crannogmen lived upon. It was a bed of logs covered with woven reeds and despite never having travelled by crannog, Ned found himself enjoying the experience. Nymeria had remained standing throughout the journey, swaying with the current as she kept watch.
He'd sat with Howland and talked to his friend about their children, the men sworn to their houses and other Northern Lords like two gossiping nursemaids. It took a day and a half for the small collection of crannogs to meander across the bogs and rivers towards the Frey's Twins and by the end of their journey, Ned felt calmer and more at peace than he had done in months.
"Arya," he said that night in the camp on another crannog the company had come across. The people living there had been quick to offer food and shelter for the night. Howland had slipped off to hunt in the waters with Gendry and some of the bannermen, leaving the two Starks behind.
Arya was sat tying her hair back with a leather cord and she looked back at her father. "Yes?"
"Come keep your old father company," Ned began, patting the reeds beside him. The crannog swayed under Arya's foot but it had been anchored to a sunken tree and remained in place as she sunk onto her knees beside Ned.
"Walder Frey is a fickle man," Ned said, looking out over the boggy waters. There was something moving in the distance and Ned couldn't decide if it was the party out hunting or something more nefarious. "He is a man motivated by money and wealth."
Arya nodded slowly, unsure of where the speech was coming from, she finished knotting the cord and slowly placed her hands in her lap. "That's why people are trying to cross at the Neck."
Ned shook his head. "People are crossing at the Neck because they cannot afford the price the Freys are asking but they are a powerful house in numbers at least. There are hundreds of them."
"I know. I remember," Arya told him and Ned smiled lifelessly.
"I do not want you or Gendry to come to the Twins with us," he decided. "I will not have a man like Frey using you as leverage. I want you to continue on to the Riverlands."
"Father," Arya interrupted him softly. "Gendry and I will continue on for a week or so but we will not be going west."
"Where will you be going?" he asked, looking down at her.
"We are going north, to Dreadfort. You will remain down here, overseeing the reparations to Cailin until Robert comes calling," she said in a rush, as though she feared Ned would cut her off.
The older Stark breathed heavily. He wrapped his arm around his daughter and shifted her so that she was leaning on him, tucked close to his chest. Ned remained silent for some time, seeming to chew and mull over Arya's words. The darkness of the swampy forests seemed to thicken before Arya's eyes but she held her tongue, waiting for Ned to break the silence.
After twenty minutes, Ned released a great breath. "How will you get there?"
"Nym. We've talked it through and she's strong enough to carry us both."
Ned laughed quietly. "You've talked it through with your wolf?"
Arya grinned. "I meant Gendry and me but I know Nymeria can handle it. We will set off in the morning, following close to the King's Road. We'll stop at Greywater Watch, the Manderley's at White Harbour and at Hornwood. Don't worry, father."
"It is hard not to, sweetling. You will be separated from me once more and I think it will be many moons before I can return to Winterfell. I worry about your mother and our home, and of my children, all scattered around the lands. We should talk about this plan of yours more Arya before you go."
Arya bit her lip. She loved her father and whilst he was good with a sword, she doubted the subtlety needed would come easily to him. Instead, she changed the conversation. "I got a raven from Bran before we left Moat Cailin. It said that Lysa was a day's ride away from Winterfell."
Ned's shoulders stiffened. "I hope your mother is as cunning as she was. Your aunt Lysa is almost as bad as the snakes in the south. And your cousin Robin..." Ned tutted and shook his head, rubbing at his whiskery chin. "Any other news?"
Catelyn had been sending ravens whenever she could and so Ned already knew of her plans for her sister and the general running of the keep and the smallfolk but he wondered if Bran had included anything mundane.
"Theon has been practising commands with Shaggydog. He can get him to heel now."
"Good," murmured Ned as the hunting party emerged from the darkness with a wriggling sack of fish. Gendry was laughing along at something Howland was saying and he smiled when he caught sight of Arya.
"This Gendry..." Ned said, a hand on Arya's shoulder to keep her from running to greet him. "Is he that important to you?"
Arya's brows creased. "He is my best friend and I would give my life for his," she said strongly and Ned's booming laugh echoed around the swampy forest.
"That is good enough for me," he reassured her. "Go on, go have fun."
Ned remained seated, a hand on Ice's pommel as it lay across the reeds in front of him. He waved away Howland when the man wandered over with a fish for him. He stayed seated throughout the small dinner and through the drinking of mead and a stew one of the bogmen had concocted.
Arya had slipped into the small mud-lined hut behind him after her dinner, pressing a kiss to his cheek without a word. Ned nodded to Nymeria as the wolf followed her and Gendry after them with his head down.
"May the gods watch over them," Ned whispered as he took guard in front of wherever Arya was sleeping like he had been doing since leaving Winterfell. Slowly, sleep took over him but not before he prayed for the rest of his family to the soft sounds of his daughter's snores.
Nymeria had a makeshift leather bag slung over her neck, holding in the provisions the two had deemed necessary. There was a package of dried meat and several layers of leathers and furs, as well as one of Gendry's smithing hammers.
"Are you sure you have enough food?" Ned asked for the third time in as many minutes. He was stood, arms crossed watching as the two children got ready to leave for their journey.
"Yes."
"It'll be cold, Arya. Snow and ice. Are you sure you're prepared?"
Arya groaned, tightening the belt around her hips which kept Needle in place. "We will be fine. This is not my first time journeying with Gendry and this time, there's no bounty on my head and Nymeria is with me. I will send you a raven when we reach Greywater watch. I promise."
Ned clucked his tongue. "I doubt that."
"I will!" Arya argued and then her shoulders dropped.
Ned had a split second to brace himself before Arya was running, launching herself into his arms.
"Oof," he groaned, stumbling back half a step before planting his feet and steadying. "I will miss you dearly," he said into her hair.
Arya made a noise into her father's chest and it took both of them a second to realise that she was crying. Ned gently lowered her so that her feet were touching the ground once more.
"Don't cry, sweetling."
"I'm not," Arya said defensively, ignoring the tears that were evident on her cheeks. "Its rain."
Ned's lips twitched and he hugged her close once more. "What was that little saying you used to have with that teacher?"
"What do we say to the god of death," Arya sniffed, hand resting on Needle's hilt.
"And what do you say?"
"Not today."
Ned looked at her proudly. "Good. Keep saying that."
Arya laughed weakly. "I will. So should you."
"Arya?" Gendry appeared behind the pair, dressed and ready to leave. "Lord Stark."
"Go, have your adventure but return home as soon as it is done. Promise me, the pair of you. Return to Winterfell afterwards or if anything goes wrong," Ned said suddenly, looking at the pair with the same authority he used when giving orders to his men. "Swear it upon the old gods and the new."
"I swear it," Gendry said without hesitation, his back straightening and his chin lifting high.
Arya was slower to respond but when she did, she truthfully said: "I swear it by the old gods and the new we will return to Winterfell."
"Good. Now go before I order you back," Ned sniffed, running a hand over his jaw as the two climbed onto Nymeria's back. She was the size of a mare now and easily took the passengers.
"I love you," Arya said quietly before the disappeared into the treeline.
"Love you too," Ned told the air, turning back to where Howland and the bannermen were waiting for him so they could journey to the Twins. He hated being without one of his wolves but he would do what was needed, for the good of the pack.
Winterfell
Theon had gotten used to Bran's aloof behaviour as the months had slipped by. The young boy no longer begged to play pretend or shadowed his father, instead, he was in the Godswood, praying or watching the keep with cloudy eyes from atop a wall.
A small part of Theon ached for the young child he'd known and been annoyed by. It seemed to him that within the space of a few months, the child Bran had been having died and had been replaced by a man but he didn't complain. Instead, the two would break their fast together in the dining hall and either Bran would listen as Theon filled the silence or they would sit on either side of Catelyn and keep her company, as they were doing that morning.
The matriarch had Rickon perched on her lap, his curly hair brushing her chin every time she lent over his head to spoon some of her oats into her mouth. The baby was content in putting his hands in each bowl, babbling and forming half-right sentences as Theon chatted mindlessly about the progress those who had joined the banners from Wintertown had made under his guidance.
The large double doors at the front of the hall opened and a Bannerman slipped through with Maester Luwin. The trio at the top table watched as the pair slowly made their way towards them, both with their heads dipped in respect. It was taking some getting used to on Theon's part, being treated almost on par with Bran by those around Winterfell.
"My Lady," Luwin started, inclining his head and then meeting Catelyn's bright eyes. "A party has arrived at the Southern gates. They bear the sigil of the Vale."
Catelyn set her spoon down and turned Rickon around in her lap, using her napkin to clear his sticky hands and face without a word but she smiled down at her son. After a moment of fussing with his hair, Catelyn stood up, settling the toddler on her hip and nodding to the boys at her sides.
"Come. We must greet your aunt and our guests, but tell the wolves to keep out of sight," Catelyn decided, leading the way through the hall with the two boys and the Maester following. Bran whispered something to Summer who slunk off and Shaggydog followed obediently. Slowly, as they walked through the keep towards the gates, more joined the parade. Ser Cassel, the Septa and the kennelmaster, Farlen, had joined them by the time the party had spilt out into the training yard and most of the Keep were waiting.
"Open the gates," Catelyn shouted and slowly, the gates swung open but there was only one man on his horse who came trotting into the training yard, several leagues ahead of the rest of his travelling company. Slowly, knowing that every eye in Winterfell was upon him, Petyr Baelish dismounted from his steed, carelessly tossing the reigns to a stable boy. His eyes never left Catelyn's figure as he righted his cloak and smirked dangerously.
Baelish looked around the yard, eyes scanning and cataloguing every face. He lingered on the child upon Catelyn's hip, and the two who bracketed her but he continued to look over the crowd that had gathered, still smirking and fixing his clothing.
Theon glanced out of the corner of his eye at Catelyn and realised she was looking past Baelish, over his shoulder at the carriage being pulled slowly by obviously exhausted horses. The wheels were dragging through the snow rather than turning over it and Theon wondered how long they'd been on the road without rest.
"Catel-" Baelish began but Cat held up a hand, still waiting for her sister's carriage to come to a stop.
Littlefinger's lips pursed and he looked over his shoulder as Lysa's carriage pulled into the yard and the door was opened by one of the knights of the Vale. Lysa was dressed in a pale shade of blue, in the same sort of style her sister wore but it was ill-fitting and too loose, swamping her already large figure with too much material. Sweetrobin's clothes were tailored to perfection in contrast but the pale material made his skin seem yellow and sickly.
Catelyn smiled tightly as she watched her sister and nephew carefully pick their way across the snow-covered ground to stand beside Littlefinger, both unsure in their footing. She had had the same trouble when she had arrived in Winterfell just after her marriage but now she couldn't even conjure the feeling of grass beneath her feet. It was snow and ice or nothing.
"Welcome Lysa," Catelyn said, her reserved tone breaking off into a laugh towards the end as Rickon tried to repeat the name, butchering it beyond recognition.
Theon watched with keen interest as Lysa Arryn glared at the infant and clutch her own son closer to her, nails digging into the juncture between his neck and his shoulders.
Catleyn's false smile was replaced with her beaming true one as she shifted her youngest son. "I apologise, he's beginning to babble and it amuses me too much. You must remember when Robin was talking at this age," she said merrily, her smile turning sharp as Lysa glared. Robin hadn't begun to murmur, much less talk until he had been six years old and both sisters knew it.
"We have had a long journey, Cat," Littlefinger said, taking several steps forwards. "Perhaps we could break our fast with you."
"Her name is Lady Stark to you," Theon said before he could think about it and Littlefinger looked at him with intrigue. Cat settled her hand on Theon's shoulder, warning him silently.
Baelish nodded, seemingly ignoring the movement. "You are right, I apologise. Lady Stark," he corrected himself, dipping into a small bow.
"Good morning, Lord Baelish, Lady Arryn," Cat said, her voice carrying easily over the yard. "Our Maester will lead you and your company to the guest's tower and I hope to see you at supper tonight. I am afraid as my husband is not here there is a lot for me to see to before I can play hostess," she said, her tone almost apologetic and Baelish's grin returned, a gleam in his eye that hadn't been there before.
"Come, Lysa. Let's leave the Lady to her duties and settle in after our ride," he said, turning in the snow and gathering Lysa's shoulders into his hands, manipulating her physically into turning and following in the retreating maester. "Until this evening, Lady Stark," he said, leading them away. Catelyn watched closely as Bealish handed some sort of vial to Lysa, who drank it eagerly.
They continued to watch in silence as their guests left. The Knights helped the stable boys and the servants move the carriage, the luggage and the horses further into the keep and Ser Rodrick came to the Stark's side.
"My Lady," he said, waiting.
"I will be in my husband's solar but do not let them anywhere near me until supper, Rodrick. The boys will entertain our guests until then," she told the man who nodded and then left to follow the guests with his orders.
Theon rolled his shoulders back and turned to look at Catelyn. A strange energy had settled over the woman and he couldn't work it out if it was malicious or not. "Lady Stark?"
Cat cupped the boy's cheek, biting the inside of her cheek as she realised Theon was having trouble growing his stubble out into anything substantial. A memory of Robb complaining about the itch of his beard made her breathless for a second. "Robin will need warmer clothes and company, remember," she said after she recovered from the yearning.
Theon nodded, still not fully understanding.
"Bran, keep an eye out and do not disturb me until supper boys," Catelyn demanded before pressing soft kisses onto their foreheads and leaving for the solar without another word.
Theon rubbed at the damp spot on his temple with a confused expression. "Now what?" he wondered out loud. It was obvious to him that there was some greater plan at play and whilst he had been stung to have been left out of whatever it was, Theon trusted the Starks and he knew whatever was going on was bigger than just him so he waited, listening for information and instructions.
"Let's show Robin the Godswood," Bran said, already following in the larger footprints of Littlefinger's that he'd left in the snow. "That concoction has knocked Lysa out and Baelish has already snuck off."
Theon pressed on his fingers until they cracked, not wanting to ask how Bran knew what he did but he followed his brother regardless.
The Godswood had never been loud. Even when Arya and her wolf had been running around, laughing and shouting, the leaves and the trees seemed to absorb every sound, and Theon had never been overly religious but he'd found himself coming to sit between the trees more often than ever before, just taking in the silence.
His childhood in the Iron Islands had favoured the Drowned God and he'd grown up watching Ned pray quietly in front of the weirwood tree and Catelyn call upon her Seven but he'd never truly believed in anything himself with conviction.
Instead of waiting and wishing for fixes to problems, Theon wanted action and immediate response. He'd been having vivid dreams for the better part of a year about dogs hunting him down in the corridors of Winterfell and getting lost in the icy forests beyond the keep. He'd thought about telling Robb before he'd left for the South but every time he'd been about to say something, Theon had felt like a child and bit his tongue.
The only time he had said something about them was when he was alone in the godswood. It was the first time he'd ever been in the woods with someone else.
Bran led the way, settling himself on a fallen tree with ease and Theon briefly wondered how much time the young boy spent out under the leaves. Summer seemed to materialise out of thin air and lay her head in his lap. Theon's mind wandered to Shaggydog and then realised that the great beast was behind him, watching him with soft, gentle eyes. He wondered if he would ever get used to having such a shadow.
Robin trailed behind, slowly huffing and wheezing as he trudged through the soft snow after his cousin. His yellowing skin seemed to become paler and translucent in the light bouncing off of the snow. When he'd seen the two wolves, Theon wondered briefly if the boy would keel over in shock but he just stared at the pair. Theon hadn't seen Robin in person but he'd heard the stories: a sick little lord who was broken and dying.
It was easy to see why his mother kept him so close. Robin sat at the side of the hot spring pool, sweat on his forehead and his sunken eyes wide as he looked around the holy space in wonder.
"Don't ya have a godswood in the Eyrie?" Theon asked.
Robin turned to look at him with a strained look on his face. "A what?"
"A godswood. Its what this place is called," Theon explained slowly.
Robin shook his head. "We don't pray at home."
Theon nodded, both eyebrows raised. "Right."
"I like stories," Robin said, turning to look Theon right in the eye. "Tell me a story."
"Piss off," Theon scoffed, chucking some snow away from him.
"I'm a Lord," Robin's voice took on a whining tone and Theon grit his teeth.
"Fine, I'll give you a story... There are beasts that walk the halls of Winterfell at night. Made out of snow and ice. They wait in the shadows looking for anyone who is out of bed and then they eat them," Theon said, slowly getting more into the storytelling as he watched Robin's lib wobble. Bran had his head cocked slightly, listening to Theon's words. "On some nights, the Warden of the North lets a pack of rabid dogs in. He starves them for seven days and seven nights and when they're almost hungry enough to turn on themselves, he sets them upon people. You better behave whilst you're in Winterfell."
"What do you mean?" Robin stammered.
Theon got upon from his knees and began to pace around the hot spring pool the trio had come to stop at. "Look at Shaggydog," he instructed, motioning over to the direwolf who was laying down passively. "The dogs that stalk the halls are smaller, sleek and shiny. They move like smoke in the darkness. You can't hear their footsteps, only smell their breath when they're close enough. It smells like rotting meat and blood and only he can control them."
"Theon," Bran warned, sensing the tension in the air as Robin's eyes became wide and his jaw slackened, obviously terrified but Theon continued regardless. He was walking quicker, his spine becoming more rounded as he spoke.
"But the ice creatures, you want to worry 'bout them. They can't die."
"Theon," Bran said with finality.
Theon looked over at his brother sharply, seeming to snap out of something. "Where did you hear that story?"
Theon blinked several times and retook a seat in the powdery snow, hugging his knees close to his chest. "Dunno. Maybe it was one of Old Nan's."
"She never told stories like that," Bran countered, calm and steady.
"Well, fuck. I don't know Bran. Maybe it was a dream," Theon said defensively in a rush. "They're just some stupid dreams."
"Dreams have a powerful way of telling us things that we otherwise wouldn't know, Theon. Don't dismiss them as nightmares," Bran said slowly. "Everything had meaning."
"I don't want them to have meaning," Theon replied, his voice small and quiet.
"Then make sure that they never do."
Theon was going to argue back but he couldn't find the words so he simply sat there, listening to Robin regain his arrogance and chat about the Eyrie and King's Landing, mulling over the dark thoughts that haunted him at night.
