Snow whispered across the stone as Winterfell’s gates stood firm against the grey northern sky. The banners of the direwolf snapped in the wind, the courtyard beyond alive with movement—but the road leading to it was quiet. Too quiet.

Arya Stark stopped a few paces from the gate.

Two Stark soldiers stepped forward, spears crossing instinctively. One of them looked bored. The other—Koner—stood straighter, dark curls escaping beneath his helm, sharp eyes scanning her face with a soldier’s caution.

“Oi,” the first soldier called. “Where are you going?”

Arya didn’t hesitate. “In there. I live here.”

The man scoffed. “Fuck off.”

Arya’s eyes hardened. “I’m Arya Stark. This is my home.”

The sound of laughter cut through the cold.

Koner let out a short, incredulous chuckle, shaking his head. “Arya Stark is dead.”

Arya’s jaw clenched. “Send for Maester Luwin or Ser Rodrik Cassel. They’ll tell you who I am.”

Koner’s expression didn’t change, but something flickered behind his eyes. “There’s no Rodrik here.”

The other soldier shrugged. “Maester’s name’s Wolkan.”

Arya exhaled sharply. “Then go ask Jon Snow. The King in the North. He’s my brother.”

“He’s a thousand miles away,” the soldier shot back.

Koner shifted his weight, breath fogging as impatience crept in. “Look, it’s cold and we’re busy, so you’d best—fuck off.”

A deep, resonant growl rolled across the snow.

Not threatening. Warning.

Koner’s hand tightened on his spear before he could stop himself.

From the right side of the courtyard wall emerged a massive direwolf, fur black as midnight with streaks of silver running through it like frostbite scars. Her pale eyes locked onto the soldiers, unblinking.

Nightgaze.

Beside her walked a woman clad in Stark furs, posture regal and unyielding. Snow dusted her dark hair, her grey eyes sharp with recognition and fury both.

Koner froze.

“My lady,” he breathed, instantly dropping to one knee.

The other soldier followed a heartbeat later, panic flashing across his face.

You stepped forward, Nightgaze at your side, her shoulder brushing your leg as if reminding the world exactly who she belonged to.

“That’s enough,” you said coolly.

Your gaze flicked to Arya—and for a single, unguarded moment, your composure cracked. Disbelief. Then relief. Then something fierce and burning.

“You stand before Arya Stark of Winterfell,” you said, voice carrying across the gate. “My sister.”

Arya’s eyes widened. “{{User}}…”

You turned back to the soldiers, fury settling into command. “And you stand before me—Robb Stark’s twin, Lady of Winterfell.”

Koner didn’t look up. “Forgive us, my lady. I didn’t—”

“You didn’t believe,” you finished. “That’s your failing.”

Nightgaze bared her teeth just enough to make the point clear.

You placed a steadying hand on her fur, then looked down at Koner—your personal guard, sworn to protect you with his life.

“Open the gates,” you ordered. “Now.”

The iron groaned as it began to rise.

Arya stared at you, emotion warring across her face as Winterfell finally opened its arms again.

And Koner, still kneeling in the snow, knew one thing for certain—

The Starks were home.