"I don't," she argued, and pushed at his arms, his shoulder. When she realized she was no longer on the ground, adrenaline surged in her, woke her up, at least for the moment. Eyes with too much blue opened wide, and she jerked in his arms as he stumbled and steadied, her arms flailing out to push weakly at his face and chest.

"I don't, they need to be, they," but she trailed off, because his face had finally come into focus. It took longer than it should have to remember his name, but Arya let her arms drop again. He had a sword like Ice, with two true names, and one truer than the other.

"Can you heal them, Strider?"

"Alayne," she whispered. "Bran. Robb. Jon." Her family, though not anymore. Almost truths came to her lips, names spilled out, and at least she did not say Sansa. It was so difficult to keep her eyes open, to focus on his foot steps, and ,more importantly, in the blue mirrored on his face. She lifted on hand, pressed blue fingertips against his blue lips.

"You can't heal yourself." He couldn't help them, no one could, and she wanted to cry, but the night wolf doesn't cry. The night wolf doesn't turn blue, either, and she felt tears burn the corners of her eyes, but did not let them fall.

Arya's shoulders drooped, and she curled in on herself until her head rested on his shoulder. What did it matter, if they all died now? If she died with them? Only Rickon was left, but he was dead, too, at home, and there would be no more Starks, not in the north or the south or across the Narrow Sea in Braavos, pretending to be no Stark at all.

Maybe the old gods always meant them to die; maybe the Many-Faced God had made his decisions about them long ago, and only now did they see its result. She hated him then, the God of Death who is the only god, whose will she is allowed to act upon, but never her own, and if she had the energy, the strength, she would rail and scream. "Bran first." The day wolf was still pack, and he was the youngest. Then Jon, and Alayne, and Robb, Robb, had he ever even come back? Had Jon? She stared at her blue nails, and coughed until it hurt to breathe.

She makes a sound that may be a 'no,' because she cannot rest, she should not have let herself rest to begin with. She has to see that the day wolf and the Stone girl are looked after because they are Starks, truly, and the Starks must not die again, they cannot, she will not be the last. Let them be the last, this time, let them realize it, only so it isn't her.

Arya mumbles, her eyes closing and then opening wide, in desperate efforts to stay awake, to pay attention, but she can't. Aragorn may have the strength to endure, but Arya's is fading, and she slips in and out of consciousness, sleeping and waking and mumbling that he must tend to Bran first, he must.