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Arya stood on the Winterfell battlements, her cloak collecting an even layer of snow. Most of the soldiers stationed on the walls complained that it was getting damn near impossible to see beyond the fields surrounding the castle.

Whether it was heavy snowfall or strong gusts sending it everywhere, the men struggled. Too much snow, too cold – Arya laughed internally when Jon reprimanded the soldiers, telling them that farm boys at the Wall had complained less.

Arya honestly enjoyed the battlements. They were quiet and the perfect positioning whether looking outside or inside Winterfell’s walls. It was also becoming a good place to avoid conversation. Almost.

“You’ve seen them yeah? The Wights.”

Arya glanced at her older brother, his armor’s direwolves shimmering as snow melted against them.

Of course she had heard him approach, but she maintained her vigil as if nothing could tear her eyes away from the landscape.

“Yes,” she answered once her gaze returned to the frozen terrain.

“I assume you’ve fought them,” he pressed her again.

She finally turned to face him, her hands clasped behind her back. There was a slight restlessness about him. And even in a winter storm, Arya would have been able to see his deep frown.

They hadn’t talked since she revealed she was trained by the Faceless Men.

“Do you really think we’ll be able to stop them?”

She knew her question would be unexpected as his eyes widened.

“We have to,” he practically murmured.

“And I trust you haven’t forgotten our enemies to the South, my King.”

Even under the heavy layers he wore, she could tell her choice to use his title made him bristle.

“I haven’t,” he almost growled, his eyes narrowed.

“To do so would mean death. Cersei is as much a threat as the Night King.”

She could see he was clenching his teeth, no doubt skating around the topic of assassins as he thought out his responses.

“Say what you’re thinking Jon. You’re a King after all.”

He gasped at her comment before somberness overtook his features once more.

“I don’t know what to think, that’s the problem,” he finally responded.

She held his gaze, her eyes like stone as his reflected pain. When they were younger he hid his pain well from their siblings, her father included. She would try to get him to open up, but he avoided the topic too easily, as if his feelings never existed.

“When we were younger, you always looked sad. When you smiled, I was able to see the pain hiding in your eyes. Now it’s all I see when I look at you.”

He immediately averted his gaze, his hands clenched at his sides.

“I never wanted to drag you into my world,” he whispered harshly.

“Being a bastard is just a status. It’s not who you are.”

He suddenly looked up, his face genuinely surprised.

Arya let her arms return to her sides. “It didn’t matter then and it doesn’t matter now. Like you said, we have no choice but to stop the Night King. Besides, if we’re all dead, who’s gonna remember you were a bastard?”

Seconds passed before Jon started to laugh, and Arya couldn’t help but join him. Their laughter died out when the wind suddenly howled, and somewhere in the distance they heard a wolf respond.

“It seems even Ghost agrees with you,” Jon told her as he looked out over the fields.

Arya let herself smile.

“I’m sorry for what happened in the Great Hall Arya.”

It was her turn for pain to flash across her features.

Jon turned his attention back to her, any happiness from before completely gone.

“I let myself doubt you. I was-” he hesitated.

“Afraid,” she softly finished the thought for him.

He looked ashamed as he slowly nodded.

“I was afraid I lost my little sister. My sister who wanted to learn to fight more than anything else. My sister who did everything she could to sneak away from her lessons. My sister, who always made me smile.”

Arya looked at the wooden planks beneath their feet. She saw Jon take a step forward.

“Whatever you went through…it changed you, but not the best parts. You act different, but I know yer still you.”

She lifted her head and inwardly cursed her watery eyes.

“You wear it like armor,” he told her proudly.

Arya could see those words really meant something to him, his eyes reminiscent of a time he thought he had long forgotten.

Without a second thought Arya pulled her brother into a hug. He was only tense for a moment before he wrapped his arms around her. She knew he was smiling.

After what felt like minutes they separated.

“So I take it you forgive me?” he asked, his playful expression making him look his age.

“There’s nothing to forgive.”

He looked so relieved it made her crack a smile.

“But remember Jon, fear cuts deeper then swords.”

“And who taught you that?”

“One of the greatest Swords to come from Braavos.”

She saw his eyes light up, another question formulating in his mind when Davos approached them.

The two men left quickly soon after, and Arya watched their backs disappear inside before returning to her post.

Except this time she was smiling when she looked out into the snow.

Arya could sense something was wrong as she walked along the ramparts. She was about to head inside when she felt something, someone watching her.

The eyes of a predator.

Instead of heading down into a courtyard, an open space, she went to a more enclosed part of the castle wall. A walkway that was covered up top, with barely enough space for two armored soldiers to move past each other.

There she waited, seemingly preoccupied with movements of people below.

Suddenly the torch several feet away went out.

She was honestly surprised that the man was so light-footed.

In a moment she heard the whistling of a blade cutting through air, and without hesitation, Arya brought up her Valyrian Steel dagger to meet it.

The man had the looks of a Northern. But he was never on their side, no doubt a ‘little bird’ with a mission from the South.

She couldn’t help but sneer at the man, his eyes the size of dinner plates.

Her other hand was already on Needle’s pommel, ready to skewer him, when he suddenly moved backwards.

Arya paused for only a moment before rushing him, a plan now formed in her mind.

He evaded her attack and ran, but Arya quickly followed behind.

Daggers disappeared under cloaks as they raced over the ramparts, and the man glanced at her before scampering down the stairs into the courtyard.

In a flash Arya jumped over one of the rails, landing gracefully in the snow. Some of the smallfolk gasped as she broke back out into a run.

She saw fear on the man’s face when he looked back, thinking he had lost her. He then turned sharply to head into the castle.

Arya took a different route, knowing she would surprise the assassin and force him to go through the open door into the Great Hall.

The man skidded to a halt once he entered the hall, heads starting to turn towards him. But before he could say anything a dagger was shoved through the back of his throat.

Arya heard her sister scream along with swords being drawn as the assassin crumpled at her feet.

She could now see who witnessed the act, and cursed herself for her bad luck. It was the same group who had seen her use a borrowed face, save for the addition of several Wildings, including Tormund, and Gendry.

There was a mix of shock and anger amongst the faces. Tormund simply sneered, while Gendry, Brienne, and Jon were varying stages of concern.

“That was quite an entrance, Lady Arya,” Daenerys informed her. They locked gazes, and Arya instantly knew the Queen had already deduced what happened.

“Have you gone mad Arya?” Sansa practically yelled.

“The man tried to kill me,” Arya responded calmly, her dagger already back in its sheath. “I’m sure I wasn’t his only target.”

“Now we’ll never know.”

Arya ignored Jorah Mormont’s comment as she bent down to search the assassin. She heard footsteps approach, and knew it was Brienne without looking.

When she found a sealed scroll she stood back up. She saw what was burned into the wax before turning it towards Brienne.

“Lannister,” the lady knight announced.

“For fuck’s sake,” Davos swore.

Arya glanced at Gendry, the smith’s eyes a quite rage. Daenerys was very much the same, her lips pursed, while Jon’s expression was simply dark, his facial muscles beyond tense.

Arya broke the seal without a word from anyone.

“To the foreign whore who calls herself Queen. Before you lie the bodies of Starks, save for your bastard King, who I will graciously let you keep. While I wish I could have seen the light disappear from that whore Sansa Stark’s eyes, I take solace knowing that she bled out, afraid and alone. I want you to know that they are dead because of you. I wanted to remind you that neither the North nor the South love you. You will never sit on the Iron Throne. If you are lucky you will die out there in the snow. If you manage to return to King’s Landing, I look forward to watching you burn.”

When Arya’s eyes lifted from the parchment, she wasn't surprised to see Jon looked far angrier then Daenerys. He seemed ready to brandish his sword and hop on the nearest ship.

But the Mother of Dragons was practically stoic, her shoulders back as if Cersei had been there to read the words herself. She moved past the people around her and stopped several feet away from Arya and Brienne.

“A shame we can’t personally return a reply of our own.”

Arya let the corners of her mouth twitch, knowing the Queen would see that she agreed. She then crumpled the letter before letting it fall on the body of its messenger.

“She will die when this is over. You have my word.”

For a moment Daenerys’s look could have been mistaken for quizzical. “I have no doubt.”

Jon took the opportunity to approach them, his hand on Longclaw’s pommel. “Shouldn’t we do somethin’?”

Daenerys turned to face him. “She’s merely flashing her claws.”

Jon’s face became more taut. “But she tried to kill my family.”

“And she failed,” Daenerys asserted.

Jon took in a breath, as if ready to respond, but simply let out a sigh.

Daenerys put a hand on his shoulder, her reassuring smile only meant for him. Arya was intrigued by how quickly the tension melted off her brother.

Arya’s eyes locked onto the Wildings as they approached. Tormund stopped in front of them as the others dragged the assassin’s body away.

“Think the head would come to life if we sent it to her?” he grinned wildly.

Before she knew it, Arya let out a snort and the others turned to her in surprise.

“Sorry,” she held back a laugh, “hard not to picture it.”

Tormund roared while the others gave her awkward smiles.

“I see why yer the favorite,” the large man winked at Arya before exiting the hall.

Arya watched the Wilding leave before turning back to Jon, who was giving her a tentative smile.

“Good thing he went for me first,” the younger Stark pointed out. “Bad for him.”

Jon raised an eyebrow as Daenerys let out a soft chuckle.

“Aye,” her brother finally conceded, “that’s one way to look at it.”

Even after such a ‘grisly’ interruption, the council meeting continued as planned. Arya stuck around, but stood away from the group, annoyed that eyes kept drifting towards her.

She made sure to ignore the set of piercing blue ones. She knew he meant well, but his concern was unnecessary. She could take of herself. She always had.

Afterwards she tried to slip away unnoticed, but of course it was just her luck for him to follow her.

“You al’right?” He asked after catching up, his eyes once again burning into hers.

But she simply blinked, their exchange from the other day already a distant memory. “Yes.”

Before she could turn away he grabbed her arm. She gave him a warning look.

“Is there something you need?” she said hotly.

He continued to stare at her, his eyes searching her face.

Arya could feel her lip curl upwards in annoyance, his proximity way too close.

“I’d hate to cut off your fingers. My brother needs them if we are to win this war.”

Suddenly he let her go, as if his hand started to burn from holding her.

“I’m glad yer al’right,” he muttered.

Before she could stop herself, her face was scrunched up in confusion. He saw it too, his stare a hair more intense.

“You don’t need to worry about me,” she inwardly cringed at how harsh her tone sounded.

But he didn’t even seem to notice. “Can’t help it. Yer always insultin’ people that are bigger than you.”

This time she didn't try to stop herself from smiling.

He perked up at this and was now grinning at her. “So you do remember.”

“Of course I do.” Her frown immediately returned. “I’m not a-”

He raised an eyebrow after she stopped herself, his eyes playful. “Not a, whut?”

She loudly exhaled, annoyed that she was letting him get to her.

“You must have things to do,” her voice was soft but had authority behind it.

“Aye,” he took a step towards her, “I’m sure you do too.”

She held her breath, several days ago replaying in her mind.

She knew this was a bad idea, getting attached to someone who wasn’t part of her pack. She was so stupid back then to have even considered offering him the chance.

Like their last encounter, he was standing over her, almost a foot separating them in height.

“Don’t seem smart,” he told the air, “to be standing in a dark hallway when in deep thought.”

She tilted her head upwards. “You must not do it often. It’s quite refreshing.”

He narrowed his eyes as he looked down at her. “Do all my thinkin’ in a forge.”

They were staring at one another again, and Arya thought it was pathetic that her eyes kept gravitating towards his lips.

She never needed this ‘closeness’ with another person. Family was enough. There was no need for something like sex.

But she knew he was no exception. His eyes were the same as last time: lustful. She had traveled and lived long enough to know that look.

For her, it was beyond easy to bury any feelings slightly related to sexual desire. She had never been intimate with anyone, so how could she want something she never had?

Besides, sex wasn’t love. Marriage wasn’t either. It was all a construct. Love was about freedom wasn’t it? The idea that no matter who you were or who they were, you could forge a bond that if real, would never be easy to break.

Suddenly Arya realized that Gendry had moved closer to her. She could feel his breath, she could see all the specks of color in his eyes. She could smell him, and she was somewhat surprised that she didn’t hate his scent.

“Are you sure yer al’right, Arya?” his face crinkled in concern.

“I’m fine.” Arya didn’t expect her voice to sound so strained.

Gendry clearly didn’t believe her either. “I could fetch someone if-”

“No,” she blurted out, and before she knew it, she had grabbed onto his shirt.

Arya figured her face looked as shocked as his as they remained frozen, their faces close and her hands knotted in his shirt.

“I’m fine…really.” She was thankful that her voice had returned to normal.

He nodded weakly, his eyes drifting down towards her hands.

She promptly let go, and for a moment she thought she saw regret pass through his eyes.

“I’m sure someone is looking for you,” she noted before taking a step back.

She looked down the castle hallway, very aware that he was still staring at her.

Before she could even think about speaking another word, Gendry reached out and pulled her into a hug.

It felt like she was paralyzed. Her hands itched to do something, but they wouldn’t move.

When Gendry finally let her go, he gave her a soft smile. “I’m glad yer okay.”

And with that he was moving down the hall, and she was finally alone in the corridor.

She cursed the warm feeling that was pooling in the pit of her stomach.

There was no way this could end well.

Such attachments would mean trouble, and then she remembered what Jon had told her earlier.

You wear it like armor.

Arya reached out to the wall and traced her finger along the stone’s natural fractures.

It looked like the stone would be cold to the touch, but in fact it was quite warm due to the hot springs beneath the castle.

Arya looked back towards the end of the hallway that Gendry had disappeared down.

It was hard to wear it like armor when someone kept trying to see what was hidden underneath.