Chapter 1: Jon I
Chapter Text
As part of the arrangement regarding the North's independence, you, Aegon Targaryen, King in the North, are required to find a suitable bride in two moons time. Would you fail to do so, your bride and future Queen will be of my own choosing. Taking into account my inability to produce an heir and as the only other Targaryen alive, your first born shall be named heir to the Iron Throne.
Queen Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lady of the Six Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, Lady of Dragonstone, Queen of Meereen, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, the Unburnt, Breaker of Chains and Mother of Dragons
Jon sighed for the hundredth time while rereading the scroll he had received just this morning. What had gone wrong for things to turn so awful ?
As he had promised, the North had supported Daenerys’ claim to the throne not long after the War against the Others had ended. The silver-haired woman had been ready to set fire to King’s Landing but Jaime Lannister had reached Cersei before they had the time to. The golden knight had stabbed his twin lover in the heart before ending his own life, thus putting an end to the lion’s reign.
The head of Cersei was shown in front of the Red Keep for the whole of King’s Landing to see. The message had been clear and the people had celebrated the return of the dragon.
Issues had started to rise shortly after…the first being the status of the North. Jon had bent the knee. Something which Sansa was still upset about. The three remaining Starks as well as he, had argued for days about that scission. The Dragon Queen had shown herself to be uncompromising and had refused to sign a treaty of independence knowing fully well that the North — which had lost half of its men against the white walkers — could not afford going to war against her.
At the time, Jon was still known throughout Westeros as Jon Snow, bastard of Eddard Stark. Daenerys had once again begged him to keep his true parentage a secret. They would marry and unite the North under the crown. But Jon couldn’t go past the fact that the silver haired beauty was his aunt. Nor could he once again abandon the North. So he resisted.
It all seemed lost when suddenly, Tyrion Lannister, who at the time was still her Hand, announced his support to the North. This claim was then relayed by Gendry Baratheon, recently legitimized. Jon thought that perhaps the former bastard had done it as a show of his friendship.
Yara Greyjoy, who had laid her own claim as the Queen of the Iron Islands, saw an opportunity and also sided with the Starks. With three main houses supporting the wolves, it was easy to understand why Daenerys had finally relented. Upset about this rebellion but too prideful to admit it, she granted the North and the Iron Islands their independence while dismissing Tyrion from his previous role. The Imp was then sent to his family’s land to become Lord of Casterly Rock. Jon often wondered whether the man had done it on purpose.
Robyn Arryn and the Vale, seeing that independent Kingdoms were created, also tried to stake his claim. Seized with panic, Daenerys only saw one solution that didn’t involve war, she married him. They were wedded in less than a week which took everyone by surprise. Although Jon had broken things up with his former lover, he still had felt a pang in his heart, knowing that Daenerys had decided so fast on another union.
The North was now free. A kingdom of its own. But independence had come at a price and the Queen had stated that she had two conditions.
“Jon Snow will be legitimized as a Targaryen and will keep on ruling the North.” She had said in a tone that left no room for bargaining.
Jon had opened his mouth to argue but it seemed he was incapable of producing any sound. Of course that was what she would want. That way, Westeros would still be ruled by the Targaryen dynasty. Mayhaps she also still trusted him as a ruler but Jon wasn’t so sure anymore.
“Your Grace, the North has always been ruled by Starks,” he finally managed to say. “That’s how it should stay and we both know that the North wouldn’t take too kindly to a Targaryen leading them. My bro–…cousin, Bran Stark, should take the crown. »
The young woman had turned towards the youngest Stark, letting him talk in her stead.
“I am the Three Eyed Raven. It is not my place to rule the North. I have accepted Queen Daenerys’ offer to become her new Hand. This is where my place is now,” Bran had explained, his voice as monotonous as ever.
Jon had frowned at the young man and then turned to Sansa.
“Sansa should hold the North then. She has shown that she was apt to reign by leading the men when I was absent,” he said, turning towards the redhead who sent him a small smile. Although she had betrayed his trust by revealing his true parentage, she had seen enough horrors in her life and the crown could grant her some protection.
“The marriage between Lord Tyrion and Lady Sansa has never been properly annulled. Her second matrimonial alliance is therefore illegal and from what I’ve gathered you are unable to prove that your marriage to Lord Lannister has been unconsummated, am I correct Lady Sansa ?” the queen had answered while the other young woman gritted her teeth at the low jab she had just received. “The war has decimated many noble houses and we can’t afford to dissolve marriages right now. Casterly Rock still needs a Lady and I’m sure Lady Sansa will be superb in that role.”
It was then that Jon had realized how well the Queen had planned her negotiations. The relationship between the two women was still awfully tense and it was obvious that she was trying to keep the beautiful redhead far away from the North. Having her at Casterly Rock would mean that she would still be her Queen and that she could have some kind of ascendant on her. This meant that she had already snatched two Starks away. If she had told him that Arya had become a member of her personal Queensguard, Jon had vowed to himself that he would jump from the highest tower of the Red Keep.
He had turned his gaze towards her before trying to say that she should get the crown but Arya narrowed her eyes at him and slightly shook her head.
“This is the first one of my conditions and it is definitive, dear nephew . As for the second one, I will make sure to communicate it to you shortly. The council is now dismissed.”
For a second, it had felt like all his strength had left his body. T’was Arya who had to come to drag him away while Sansa had gone to fetch Bran. Looking regal as always, she had pushed the wheelchair towards the room that had been given to the youngest Stark.
Once the door was closed, apologies had kept pouring out of his mouth but besides him, everybody seemed calm.
“ I knew it would come down to this,” Sansa had simply stated. She had then turned to him. “Better you than someone else.”
Shocked was an understatement for what he had felt. Sansa had been the most ardent defendant of the North as an independent Kingdom. She had been ready to fight tooth and nail for it. The last moons had been spent with her trying to gain the North's support in case she were to become Queen. Jon had been sure that she wanted to rule the North, giving body to her childhood dream of being Queen — minus the comely prince of course. Mayhaps Tyrion had been able to make her see that Daenerys would never grant her that.
“I don’t deserve it. The North will never accept me, they need a trueborn Stark to lead them.”
“As long as you don’t bend the knee anymore, you should make a decent sovereign,” she had said, still sour over his past decisions. “But you’re right. The northern Lords won’t easily accept a Targaryen and there should always be a Stark in Winterfell.” She had turned towards Arya while saying it.
“ He’s a Stark. As much as we are,” the young girl had simply countered.
“We know that. But others don’t. Bran and myself won’t be here anymore, it’s your duty now to make sure that the Lords won’t overthrow Jon. If you’re with him as his closest counsel, they might stomach the Queen’s decision more easily.”
Jon had hoped with all his heart that she would agree.
Arya had sighed. “There’s nothing for me in Westeros and I was hoping to sail across the Narrow Sea but…the pack comes first. I’ll accompany him North till we find a suitable solution.”
A few weeks later, Jon was legitimized in front of Westeros as the son of Rhaegar Targaryen. During the same day he abdicated from the Iron Throne, crowning Daenerys in his stead.
As expected, the news had been received with a lukewarm response in the North. Some people accepted Jon’s claim as King fairly easily. Those were the people that remembered the way he had fought for them during the war against the Night King. The others could not stomach his true parentage and did not want to be led by a Targaryen.
Just emancipated, the North had almost fallen into civil war. Stark was written all over his face, all over his behavior but all they heard was ‘Targaryen’. To avoid an impending war and settle the wrath of the people, Arya had spoken up, saying that she would stay by Jon’s side. This had managed to ease most people but Jon knew he still did not have their complete allegiance. He feared the issue would start again once the Northern Houses had recovered from the war.
For moons, the situation across Westeros had settled down, everybody too busy reconstructing. However, following her own marriage, Daenerys had thrown herself into the task of creating as many alliances as possible. Marriages after marriages. The most recent one had been Gendry who had accepted his new wife without fighting but without mirth either.
Jon had been anxiously waiting for the second condition but he never expected that he would also be subjugated to Daenerys’ matrimonial frenzy.
He didn’t like that at all. He had never thought about who to take as a wife among the remaining noble Ladies. But he didn’t want his former lover to choose for him either. He had no desire for a southron Lady, keen on court intrigues. Nor did he want to share a bed with the Dragon Queen’s spy.
With his mind still on the scroll, Jon headed out of his solar for supper. Ser Davos — who had been appointed as his Hand — was already waiting, seemingly talking to some servants. He would need to discuss the message with the onion knight and ask him to prepare a list of all the unmarried ladies left. Jon sat down at his seat waiting for the meal to be brought.
Finding someone was easy but settling on one was an arduous task. Jon had received a considerable amount of proposals already. The war had left a great number of noble women widowed and there were still some unwed Ladies from minor houses. As for the great houses, there were no young Ladies left in the independant North.
While his master still mused, Ghost suddenly perked up before stalking towards the door. Entered Arya who, none too content to see the wolf, crouched down to better scratch the beast’s neck. Well…except one, Jon thought .
Words couldn’t express how thankful he had felt after she decided to stay. Arya sat down in her seat next to him and Jon offered her a grateful smile. She cocked an eyebrow at him. Although she had gained an uncanny ability to detect lies, she still could not read his mind.
Despite her support, Jon still felt like he was wronging Arya by usurping a title and lands that were rightfully hers. Everything would be much simpler had she been Queen and him, warden. If she could hear his thoughts right now, she would probably call him stupid, saying that she would never be suited to be a Lady and much less a Queen. This was something of Arya that hadn’t changed.
Sometimes, Jon could still see the little girl he had left years ago before heading to the Wall. He saw her in the way she managed to get to know everyone. He saw her in the way she would scrunch her nose at him when his mind was drifting away during councils. He saw it in the way she would worry her bottom lip when it was just the two of them.
Overwriting the little girl she had been, was the woman she had become. She had grown, his little sister, but it was her personality that had changed the most. There were no more muddy dresses and messy hair, the Arya he had gotten back was mostly neat, even after a spar. The mouth that had once been so loud and carefree was now mostly silent. Arya observed, her eyes and ears always on the lookout for something. The burning warmth of her childhood had dulled down, so much that Jon wondered whether there was still a spark left.
Selfishly, Jon had been elated that Arya had stayed. He desperately wanted to kindle her fire back to life, just so that he could hear the laugh he had missed so much. She wasn’t happy, that much was obvious, but he could at least try, couldn’t he ? The task had proven itself to be difficult. Arya was always keen on talking to him, but unless the discussions were about the current state of the North, the talking was mostly one-sided. Hence why Jon still knew so little about what had happened to her during their seven years apart.
Before receiving the scroll that informed him of Bran and Arya’s return to Winterfell, Jon had only heard once about his supposedly dead sister. The now knight, Brienne of Tarth, had come North to swear her sword to Lady Sansa. She had also told them about finding Arya in the company of Ser Sandor Clegane years ago. The redhead and him had been mitigated about the news. Hope was a dangerous thing to have in those times. Obviously, this meant she had survived for years and could have survived even beyond that. But they hadn’t heard anything about her after her encounter with Brienne.
As if the Gods were having fun, Jon had met a couple of Arya’s companions right after getting the news of her reappearance. It had first been Gendry Baratheon who stumbled upon his path. Brought to him by Davos, the stag bastard had been eager to provide his help for Jon’s quest. During their journey to the Wall, the two had formed some sort of easy friendship since Jon appreciated the lack of decorum the smith would sometimes show. Despite the comfortable communication between them, there would be times when Gendry would look at him from afar as if contemplating telling him something. After a few days and a few tankards of ale, he had found the courage to open his mouth and tell him about ‘Arry’.
Jon had laughed and felt the tears welling into his eyes as Gendry recalled his journey along the little Arya. It was so like her to disguise herself as a boy. Their time in Harrenhal and the idea of Arya working as a cupbearer for Tywin Lannister made him uncomfortable. She could have been discovered so easily. And she was so young ! There were so many ways the Lannister’s soldiers could have hurt her.
Overall Jon hadn’t known what to make of Gendry’s stories. He was glad that she hadn’t been hurt and that she had friends with her but gods, it still had made him uneasy. At least, he could tell himself that she had managed to survive and was safe in Winterfell.
Upon their arrival at Eastwatch, they had met the Brotherhood without Banners as well as The Hound. Beric Dondarrion and Thoros of Myr had basically told him the same things as Gendry. It still made Jon feel warm to hear about his willful little sister. The Hound, on the other hand, had stayed completely silent. The man was still as intimidating as the first time he had seen him at Winterfell all those years ago.
He had finally managed to find the guts to ask him, “What about you Ser. Clegane ? I heard from Brienne of Tarth that you were journeying with my sister.”
The Hound had glared at him before spitting on the floor.
“Your fucking sister is a pest,” the tall man grumbled. Jon had bristled at that but had not dared say anything when The Hound came closer, towering over him with all his height. “After Brienne of Tarth almost killed me, the wolf bitch stole my money and left me to die. I yelled at her to fucking end me but all she did was turn her back away.”
All of what he had been told seemed so similar to the Arya he had left behind but this…this was cruel. That thought had been pushed to the back of his mind, he needed to see her before judging anything. It was with that mindset that he had gone back to Winterfell. Their reunion had been heartwarming but Arya had been completely different from the girl Gendry had described. Jon wanted to know what had happened to her, to fill the gap during which the little girl had vanished from the world. Sadly his desires had never been truly answered. With the Night King advancing closer and closer, there had been little time for them to talk. It also didn’t help that she could easily slip away and remain unnoticed until she decided to make her presence known.
During the rare instances when they managed to converse, Jon could tell that Arya avoided talking about the most significant events of her life. She related her time in King’s Landing and told her siblings about what he already knew from Gendry. He asked her about The Hound and she told him he had wanted to ransom her and that she had indeed left him to die. She hadn’t elaborated on that and he didn’t have the strength to ask her to. The rest of the time she talked about Braavos. Jon could tell you how the docks smelled, the different dishes that she had come to like, what kind of fishes could be found there but all he gathered about what happened to Arya was that she sold clams. Deep down he knew she was omitting things. A lot of them. He wanted to ask her about her fighting skills but he told himself that she simply needed time.
The war had been won and they had been back in Winterfell for moons now. Yet, there still were no signs of her opening up further and he didn’t know how long she was planning to stay with him. Although he definitely needed her by his side, he couldn’t be that selfish and expect her to never leave. Marriage proposals were starting to appear on his desk courtesy of Bran and he knew that this simple fact could prompt her to take the first boat to Essos she could find.
Now if he thought about it, it was somewhat of a shame that Arya was his sister as he refused to think otherwise. Although she was siding with him, the dispute among the Lords was heightened by Arya’s mere existence. Had it been anyone else, he could have put an end to it by marrying her and putting her on the throne alongside himself. But obviously this was out of the question so he needed to find another option to appease the tensions.
“Still nothing from the Vale ?” Arya asked, dragging him away from his thoughts.
Jon shook his head before digging into his root stew. The bloody thing tasted awfully tart on his tongue but nobody could afford to complain about food anymore. The cold brought by the White Walkers had destroyed all the harvests and had rendered the ground almost impossible to exploit. The North was currently living off of the provisions they had made before the war and of whatever they could still hunt and dig out of the earth. Of course the few greenhouses helped but it was far from enough to feed the whole population. Jon had instructed experts to try and find solutions but he was quickly losing hope. It might take years till the temperature comes back to its original state and by that time the poorest would have died from starvation. As a result, he had started to lay the foundations for a trading agreement with the Vale. The newly found independence of the North meant that it needed to be self-sufficient since they couldn’t ask the crown for help. But with the dire situation and lack of external support, they needed to merchandize and utilize their monetary resources to buy food directly from south of the Neck.
Lord Manderly and an envoy from House Sunderland were to arrive soon in Winterfell to discuss the matter of White Harbor. The north of both the Vale and the Riverlands had always relied on White Harbor rather than Gulltown due to its proximity. With the separation, a lot of merchants found themselves unsatisfied since the on land carriage of goods to Gulltown was less safe and overall more costly.
During their presence in Winterfell, the three men needed to settle laws and decide on how high the taxes would be. Jon hoped that implementing lower taxes could help weigh the scale when it came to the food trade. Their previous exchanges had seemingly gone well but the fact that the harvests south of the Neck were also impacted by the harsh winter, made Jon wary. It didn’t help that Lord Manderly, although cordial and respectful, didn’t fully appreciate his newfound Targaryen name.
Truth be told, Jon wondered how the old man had managed to survive the Long Night when so many young men hadn’t. Lord Manderly was one of those Lords whose position regarding his reign had been made clear but who still viewed him as a decent man. That was enough to know that he wouldn’t plot to have Jon killed but it was evident that he would take the slightest opportunity to put a trueborn Stark back onto the throne. The Lord also seemed to have a personal soft spot for Arya and that since she was a child. In other words, Jon could do little to have the man’s full allegiance. He wondered for a second if Lord Manderly would advise him to marry her to resolve everything.
“What about you ? Did you receive a response from Lord Tully ?” he asked her finally. They had by mutual agreement decided that Arya would handle the negotiation with the Riverlands since Lord Edmure Tully was her kin. This time it was her that shook her head before swallowing a spoonful of her food. Although he was conscious that the situation was difficult for everybody right now, getting no response still felt vexing. All they had was an agreement with Sansa and Tyrion which was far from enough.
He thought for a second about telling Arya about Daenerys’ second condition but he decided against it. She already had far too much to think about. After washing down the unpleasant taste of both the bad news and the horrible root stew with a cup of ale, he headed back out to release some tension on the training grounds.
His eyes were stinging after spending so many hours working on the Kingdom’s finances. Although a Master of Coin had recently been chosen, Jon still felt like he needed to familiarize himself with how much money was available and how much they could actually afford with it. After a few knocks, Ser. Davos entered his solar holding a pile of papers.
“Here, Your Grace, every single unmarried Ladies from Westeros. The widows and lesser houses are included just like you asked,” the older man said while waving the daunting stack.
Jon closed the accounting book he was currently trying to work with and gestured towards the papers.
“Just hand me the Northern ones. The Lords would have my head if I married someone from south of the Neck,” he said, visibly tired at the prospect of choosing someone to wed.
“Wise decision, Your Grace.” Davos said before taking away a part of the papers. Once the southrons had been ousted, the pile had significantly lessened and Jon didn’t know whether he should feel elated or uneasy about that fact.
The man started to hand him the rest of the papers but he jerked it back at the last second. Quickly, he started to search through it and took one out that he put face down on the southron pile. Jon eyed him suspiciously but said nothing. Davos and him went through each of the Ladies available while his Hand advocated towards marrying a daughter from one his most fervent detractors. Indeed, they could hope that greed could generate a new ally. However, Jon wasn’t sure the Northern pride would allow the Lords to send their daughter to whom they secretly called the ‘usurper’. Jon wasn’t certain that he wanted an enemy so close either.
Feeling utterly defeated, he slumped back against his chair, his eyes drifting towards the southron pile.
“Why did you take one out ?” he finally asked.
Davos looked visibly uncomfortable at the question. “The man who wrote the papers included Lady Arya. I thought you wouldn’t want to see it.”
“Oh. Yes, obviously,” Jon said whilst shaking his head. “You did right. I think we’ll stop here for today. I’m going to need some time to really consider everything.”
With a slight bow, the Onion Knight exited the room, leaving behind an extremely fatigued King. Jon sighed before gathering all the papers scattered across the desk. With a pause, his gaze came down onto the paper that was still face down. He grabbed it and read through things he already knew. Once again he cursed his luck…
To say that the weather was getting on everyone’s mood was an understatement. The sun, a distant light behind the curtain of clouds, was severely missed. Going through the crowd of gloomy faces, Jon headed to the greenhouse of Winterfell. Three older men were already there, limbs flaying as each of them tried to make the others see reason.
“I’m telling you there is no point !” the shorter one shouted.
“You don’t need to be smart to know that mirrors reflect the light, Herwin,” a man with long hair said.
“And you don’t need to be smart either to know that plants need direct sunlight, not some bloody mirrors !” the man named Herwin countered.
“How do you know ? Have you tested it out ?” the third man questioned.
Herwin was about to answer when his eyes caught onto those of Jon who was making his way towards them.
“Your Grace,” they all said while bowing their heads respectfully.
“Any advancements ?” Jon asked.
The men eyed each other warily before the man with long hair decided to speak. “The plants have trouble growing past a certain size and we’ve established that it is mainly because of the lack of light. We were thinking that mayhaps, installing mirrors would help counter the lack of sunlight,” he said while Herwin glared at him.
Jon simply nodded his head, his mind going back to the finances of the North. True mirrors were expensive and finding craftsmen skilled enough to make them would be difficult.
“Would polished-metal suffice ?” he asked.
“We haven’t experimented yet, Your Grace. We don’t know if either would work,” Herwin intervened.
Jon took a look around at the vegetables which, although developing, were still small in comparison to what used to grow there. “Do what you have to do. I’ll instruct the smiths to prepare polished-metal plates for you and we’ll use the mirrors that are already in the chambers of Winterfell for the rest. If it works, I’ll have some new ones made.” As the men immediately started to discuss the number of mirrors and how they would position them to reflect the light, Jon started to think about the rest of the land. “What about the expansion ?” he asked.
“The Maester is still working on his ‘miracle potion’,” the long-haired man said. Judging from the nod of the others, it was easy to see that they didn’t agree with Maester Wolkan’s experiments.
Truthfully, Jon didn’t know what to think either but he didn’t have the knowledge to question the man. Deciding that he should pay a visit to him and see what his experiences were leading to, he headed towards the Maester’s turret.
Getting closer to the room the man used, he heard Arya’s voice.
“Would it be less potent if you filtered the residue at the bottom ? Or will it disappear if you let it boil longer ?” He heard her ask.
Contrary to Jon who liked to stay away from the botanical aspect of the issue, Arya liked to get her hands dirty and try to think of solutions along with the experts.
“If I let it boil longer it would actually make the concoction stronger. But filtering it might be a first step.” He heard Wolkan say.
Jon knocked and pushed the massive wooden door open. He was met with the sight of a gigantic apparatus of glasses and copper utensils with liquids trickling out of them. The strong herbal smell that permeated the air almost made him cough. Maester Wolkan was currently blowing air with a bellow to kindle a little flame while the steam from the pot above it made some brownish liquid boil inside a weird looking glass. Arya stood next to him and held a tiny green cube with a pair of tongs right above said glass. Jon had no clue what was happening and felt like fleeing might be a good option.
Arya met his eyes but Wolkan seemed too focused on his work to notice the knock and the young man who had just slipped in. Although he had served for the Boltons, Wolkan seemed to be a good man. Mayhaps too cowardly. Jon had hoped that Sam would become the Maester of Winterfell but with the advancements he had made regarding the curing of the Greyscale, he had been called to the Citadel to teach his ways to the other members of the Order. Still communicating by ravens, Sam had told him he would come North once his teachings were done. In the meantime, Maester Wolkan was apt enough to work as a healer. However, the scholar being knowledgeable in fields that extended beyond the realm of medicine, Jon had tasked him with working on ways to cultivate vegetables in cold temperatures. He first tried to heat the ground by lighting fire around it to mimic the warmth from the hot spring but the results were not conclusive. After this unsuccessful attempt, the man had gotten the idea of working on the plants instead of trying to change the environment.
He almost barricaded himself inside the turret to try and come up with a concoction that would strengthen seeds and make them more resistant to the cold. Till now, all his attempts had been fruitless.
The man finally managed to notice him. “Oh ! Your Grace, forgive me I didn’t see you. I need the extract of skunk cabbage,” he added, addressing Arya but her hands were already occupied. Seeing that, Wolkan then turned towards him. “Sorry to ask that of you, Your Grace, but could you give me the glass in which the cucurbit is dripping.”
Panic in his eyes, he looked over to Arya. What’s a fucking cucurbit ? , he tried to communicate.
She seemed to get the message. “The one which looks like a bird head,” she informed him.
He reached for the glass under it and handed it to Wolkan who then proceeded to empty it inside the boiling liquid. If Jon hadn’t been so focused on the reaction of the mixture, he would have seen the other two pinching their nose. The foul smell which emanated from it was so sudden, it almost made him retch. He quickly exited the room and headed down the turret in need of some fresh air. A few seconds later he heard Arya come up beside him.
“Couldn’t have warned me, aye ?” he asked, the odor still stuck in his nostrils.
She giggled. “I forgot, I guess.” She then brought a little bottle to his nose which smelled like mint, it helped get rid of the fetid smell.
“I don’t know how that man manages to stay in there all day long,” he said.
“I don’t know either. Usually an afternoon is all it takes for me to feel like a horse has trampled my head” she confessed.
Out of all the people in Winterfell, Arya was the person he trusted the most and he valued her opinion greatly. “Do you have faith in what he’s doing ?” he asked.
She made a lengthy pause before answering. “Let’s say I have hope. I understand what he’s trying to do and every step of his process makes sense but I also have the same worries as the others. What if we’re just wasting our time ? What if it works but the harvests become inedible ? And I keep having this feeling that we shouldn’t have given up working on the ground, that the solution was simple and we just kept on missing it,” she explained while letting her back rest against the wall of the turret.
There were times like this when Jon genuinely thought that Arya was better than most of his council. Unlike her own opinion of herself, Jon could tell that she genuinely cared and wanted to make the North a safe place for the people. Obviously, there were some other tasks that she didn’t enjoy as much but usually, Jon didn’t mind doing those. T’was a great partnership between the two.
“We’ll find something. We don’t have much of a choice,” he tried to reassure her but he didn’t quite know if he believed it himself.
The guards had announced that Lord Manderly’s retinue was approaching a few minutes ago and Jon was anxiously waiting at the Eastgate. As King, he definitely shouldn’t be that nervous but good relations with Lord Manderly were crucial seeing how even more important White Harbor was going to become. His past interactions with the man were good so he hoped not to lose any of the man's respect.
The sound of hooves were getting closer and soon the first guards of House Manderly were coming through the gate. Right behind them, Lord Wyman Manderly stood proudly atop his horse, his gaze seemingly investigating each and every stone of the castle as if evaluating Jon’s work. The man’s eyes settled on him for a brief moment but soon, they were going elsewhere, searching for someone who wasn’t there. It wasn’t difficult to guess who the Lord hoped to see, but the girl remained hidden. Most men would take offense in this show of favoritism but Jon wasn’t one to take it as slight. He knew the intricacies of northern loyalty and politics enough to know that the last daughter Stark would always be treated with the utmost respect, even more than himself. For Arya to be held in such high regards would never be an issue for him but it would be a lie to say that the look of disdain some of the Lords gave him didn’t hurt.
Treated as a bastard for the majority of his life, Jon had always wanted a name for himself, one he could be proud of. Believing that he would never acquire one, he had joined the Night’s Watch in hope to find honor and glory through his actions there. What he didn’t expect however was that he would one day get a name and that said name would undermine all he had done. The irony of it all felt like a slap across his face. Mayhaps he should resign himself and finally accept the fact that life would never give him what he wants.
Lord Manderly dismounted his horse, squires ready to dart towards him in case his knees buckled under his weight. But the man was still strong and managed to get to the ground without plummeting into the muddy yard. He approached the young King, his stride assured and stable. Although Jon had grown into his confidence over the past years, he still admired the poise that came with age.
“Your Grace,” he said while bowing slightly.
“Lord Manderly, glad to have you back in Winterfell. We received a raven yesterday, Lord Sunderland should arrive in three days' time,” Jon informed him.
“Wonderful. I sure hope we will manage to come to a profitable agreement,” the Lord said, his smile dry.
Jon was about to say that the servants would show him and his men to their quarters, when Arya strode towards him.
“Lady Stark !” the man exclaimed, a newfound glint in his eyes.
“Lord Manderly, it’s a pleasure to see you again,” she said, her perfectly rehearsed smile etched onto her face.
“I’ve heard of the experiments you’ve been working on. Mayhaps you could explain them to me while showing me to my room ?” he asked. Arya’s eyes seeked his, looking for approbation since she didn’t want to sabotage his authority.
Although it wasn’t usual for a Lady to lead a Lord to his chambers, Jon couldn’t afford ordering Arya around in front of Lord Manderly so he simply gave her nod. Once they were out of sight, he sighed loudly.
Ser Davos who had been standing beside him this whole time finally opened his mouth. “He’s not a hostile man. Out of all the Lords who’d rather see Lady Arya on the throne, he’s not the one that should worry you.”
Jon rubbed his beard, a habit he got as to show his fatigue. “I know. It’s just...Lord Manderly used to come often in Winterfell when I was a boy. His loyalty for my father and for the Starks was and remains unwavering. It’s tiring not to know how to gain his allegiance.”
Davos stared at the features of the young man who stood before him. An outward appearance so northern you would never be able to tell dragon blood flowed through his veins. “Everybody knew Lord Stark as the most honorable man of Westeros. Righteousness was probably the first word that came to mind when you heard his name. But that kind of reputation takes years to build and you are still young, Your Grace.”
The words of the Onion Knight managed to lift some of his tension off but many issues still remained. The more he thought about it, the more Arya’s future seemed to be the key element that could throw the North into war. Bran and himself wouldn’t be able to keep her unmarried for the rest of her life. If he did so, the Lords would accuse him of trying to belittle her House and of trying to diminish her influence. He could obviously allow her to keep her maiden name if she did marry but she would still have to stay in Winterfell and it would take years for him to move into another castle and relocate the capital of the North. This was hardly an option and Arya herself would probably refuse any Lord that came her way. He needed to tread carefully and the only way he could convince the Lords to keep him as King of the independant North would be to give back to House Stark its rightful place as ruler at the same time. Gods, was there really no other solution ?
“Ser Davos ? Answer this question as my Hand, no personal feelings involved, just the sake of the North. Who would you have me marry ?” he asked, turning to look at the older man. His helplessness with the situation was laid completely bare.
Davos looked taken aback by the question, his hesitancy to answer evident in the way his lips were pinched together. “Marrying Lady Arya seems like a good way to put the Lords’ worries to rest.”
Jon simply hummed in response. “Don’t you think they would still take it as an offense ? Or that they would condemn the marriage because of our past ?”
“You know the North better than I do, Your Grace. If Lady Arya were to keep the Stark name it would show your good intentions and the respect you have for the House you grew up in. And you were searching for an excuse to put more Stark banners around Winterfell, it would make your co-reign conspicuous.” Davos told him. “As for your….relationship with Lady Arya, I’m afraid I have trouble foreseeing what their reactions might be. It would be quite unprecedented after all.”
Jon chuckled. “You mean...for a Targaryen ?”
“Well, perhaps your name does grant you some freedom in that field,” Davos jested but his smile quickly fell. “Are you really planning to take Lady Arya’s hand in marriage ?”
“No, no. I don’t- I don’t think I’d be able to. And Arya would never agree to it,” he explained. Why was this situation becoming more complicated every day ?
After a meal where Arya was the sole recipient of Lord Manderly’s attention, Jon found himself in his solar, awaiting her to talk about the Tully scroll she had received in the afternoon. She strolled in, holding a little wooden box and grabbed a stool to settle herself in front of the hearth. She opened the little box and offered it to him.
“Where did you get dates ?” he asked while grabbing one.
“Lord Manderly, imported from Dorne,” she answered while throwing the fruit into her mouth. “He also brought a few barrels of preserved plums and lemons.” she said, her mouth full since her manners never remained when she was alone with him.
“Why was I not made aware of it ?” he asked while shoving another date in his mouth. Fruits were one of the most rationed foods these days so it felt nice to eat something sweet, although he had grown unaccustomed to the sugariness which was now assaulting his tongue.
“I’m telling you right now,” she said, like it was the most evident thing.
Mayhaps it was the way his jaw ticked or a certain stretch of his lips but Arya did not fail to notice that something was off.
“You’re bothered by it,” she stated, the chewing motion of her jaw halting for a few seconds.
“No...a little. It’s an advantage for us that he’s so fond of you but...I just wish he didn’t look at me as if I were worth as much as the mud under his feet.” He pouted in a way that was unfit for a King.
“He actually sings your praise when he’s with me.”
He perked up immediately. “Really ?”
She chuckled at his eagerness. “Yes, he admires all the efforts you have done for the North. And he has seen me glaring at people for criticizing you.”
“Should I make you the official Guard of the King’s reputation ?” he jested.
“And how about making me your Kingsguard after all ?” she tried.
He couldn’t tell whether she was serious or if it was a bit of humor, but the sudden reminder of her status made his anxiousness return. “And have the Lords storm Winterfell demanding my head for the affront ? I’ll pass on that.” Deciding he might as well try to know the Lord of White Harbor’s opinion through Arya, he started interrogating her. “What does Lord Manderly think about your position here ?”
“Jon. We’re not talking about this tonight,” she quickly shut him off.
“Why not ? I want to know whether he is upset by my keeping you here, is all.” She was eyeing him as he spoke, clearly not in the mood for this conversation. Since she had made her statement in front of the Lords, they had avoided the topic of whether or not he should be the one wearing the crown. What she didn’t know was that right now, it was a second crown he was thinking about.
She exhaled and rolled her eyes. “He would rather see me Queen but he also wants to keep the North as far away from the Dragon Queen and her antics as he can. Happy ?” she said dryly. That information wasn't new. Jon was already aware that Lord Manderly was more mild in his opinion of him.
“But what does he want from you ?” he tried to pry further.
She shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know...To stay in Winterfell and act as your counsel ? Just like I said in front of the other Lords ? He cannot expect me to do much more anyway. Marrying is out of the question since I have to stay in Winterfell. The Lords are smart enough to know that and not ask for my hand.” Jon turned his head away quickly so that she couldn’t read his face. He started playing awkwardly with the handle of his candle holder. He had yet to tell her about all the scrolls Bran kept sending him. Apparently a lot of Lords preferred to ignore the Stark’s rule, especially south of the Neck. Her reputation as the Hero of Winterfell made her even more interesting in their eyes. That conversation would need to happen eventually but Jon feared she would be gone in the morrow if he brought it up. Since he couldn’t directly mention Lord Manderly’s opinion about her marriage or breach the oh-so complicated subject of heirs, he decided to stop his questioning for the night.
“What about the scroll from Lord Tully ?” he asked, turning back to her.
If she caught onto his change of subject, she didn’t say anything. “All he has to offer us is wheat since the harvests were bad. And if I were to translate the rest of the scroll without beating around the bush, he’s basically saying that we will need to spend a mind-boggling amount for each bag of it.”
T’was as if each news was a blow to destroy the last bits of his hope. King Arryn had yet to answer Jon’s own proposition and although she was Robyn’s cousin, it was unlikely that the young man would answer if the plea came from her. After all, even her own uncle wasn’t being agreeable. All in all, they were terribly screwed.
“The people are going to starve and I’m failing at protecting them.” He exhaled while he buried his face in his hands.
Arya got up and headed towards him before wrenching one of his hands away to take it into her own. Her thumb was rubbing soothingly across his knuckles.
“Don’t say that, aye ? We will find a way to get out of that situation,” she tried to appease him.
“And how do you plan to do that ?! I wouldn’t be surprised if Daenerys is behind King Arryn’s and Lord Tully’s belated response ! She could be trying to starve us to get the North back under the Iron Throne…” he started to say while flailing his arms but Arya held strongly onto his hand. “We can’t ask for the tithe anymore since the crops have been destroyed ! The finances are bad and I fucking don’t know what to do about it ! We’re going to have to borrow from the Iron Bank and we’ll be indebted for centuries !” he yelled, the emotions clearly bubbling up inside of him.
She grabbed the side of his face so that he would look at her. “You’ve fought way worse than this so you have no excuse to give up right now. We still have moons left before our reserves run out and root stew is not that bad. There are still so many possibilities we have yet to explore. The free cities, finding men to work in the mines, Wolkan’s experiments...We can do this. And it’s not like we have the population of The Reach to feed.”. He was trying to even out his breathing as he followed what she was saying. “We have a lot to do and the situation is not the best, aye. But we can get through this. Starting with White Harbor. We need to use it to our best advantage so you can’t mess those negotiations up. So now, that’s what you’re going to focus on as well as calming the other Lords' qualms and ire. I’ll write to Bran to see what he can do regarding Uncle Edmure and I’ll keep working with Wolkan.”.
He closed his eyes tightly and nodded. “It’s just...it’s too much.”
“I know,” she said “but you’re not alone in this. Nobody has ever ruled alone.” she said while throwing her arms across his neck to hug him. He did the same, trying to steal as much comfort he could from her tiny body.
For the first time since the talks about marriage began, he realized that Arya would make a good queen, especially in times like this. She was someone who tackled problems and tried to come up with solutions rather than run away from it. Her resilience and her mind were qualities he relied on to rule. But more than anything, it struck him how much of an emotional support she was to him since they had come back from King’s Landing. The Gods were unfair to make his little sister the best marriage prospect he could dream of.
“You should sleep,” she said while releasing him of her hold. “You need to be well-rested to think about what you'll say once Lord Sunderland is here.”
Chapter Text
Physically, Jon was there. Mentally, not so much.
Entertaining Lord Manderly was proving to be quite the delicate task. Despite the apologetic looks that Arya would throw his way and the encouraging words from Davos, it felt as if all his efforts were met with a wall. His sorrow was heightened by Ser.Davos constantly mulling over the Vale’s choice to send Lord Triston Sunderland as their envoy. The older man had been vaguely hinting at his dubiosity since it was announced who would come to Winterfell alongside Lord Manderly but as the day of the Sistermen’s arrival got closer, the Onion Knight’s anxiety reached its peak.
“I still don’t understand why they would choose that man to represent them during the negotiations when it is well known that the hold the Vale has on the Three Sisters is loose at best,” his Hand reiterated.
“They’re the closest to White Harbor and whoever controls the Three Sisters controls the Bite,” Arya monotonously stated.
“Aye, they’ve always relied on the North when it came to trading. It’s quite logical they would send someone who depends so much on the port,” Jon added, only half listening as he jolted down a scroll that was to be sent to Howland Reed. There was much work to be done and soothing Davos’ wariness for the umpteenth time seemed paltry in comparison to the heap of messages which needed his attention.
To his dismay, Davos didn’t seem convinced as he paced the room to and fro, his good hand mindlessly running through his salt and pepper beard. “They do depend on the port. But Sistermen are no better than a flag in stormy weather, they’ll go whichever way the wind blows. They’ve switched sides between the North and the Vale relentlessly for centuries to keep their own power and they still ressent the North for the Rape of the Three Sisters. Why would you send someone like that if there is no good reason behind it ?”
“You’ve told us he’s quite poor, aye ?” Jon asked. “Mayhaps they hoped his desperation for low tariffs would help for the negotiations ?”
“No. Davos is right. It’s suspicious,” Arya said, her gaze overlooking the yards through the window.
They fell into silence, each of them trying to mentally play political games. Davos had told him all that he knew though he primarily talked about the smuggling and wrecking which were commonplace on the Three Sisters. During the weeks that preceded the meeting, they took the time to discuss both the past and current relations of House Sunderland with the different Lords. Because of the constant exchanges of goods between White Harbor and Sisterton, Lord Manderly and Lord Sunderland were on decent terms. Although he could see why the Lord would be the most concerned about the North’s independence, Davos didn’t seem to trust the man. Were the Vale and the crown truly planning something ?
“So what would be the reason to send him here ?” he asked aloud. “Getting rid of me doesn’t seem plausible since the culprit would be evident. Mayhaps they are trying to glean some information ?”
“Lord Triston Sunderland wouldn’t strike me as the right choice for a spy…” Davos answered. “I feel it would be counterproductive for the Vale to send someone whose reputation already depicts him as wary of the North.”
“So he will try to do something. Or ruin the negotiations,” Jon stated, his expression somber as he finally let go of his pen. What a fool he had been to think that the North would now be freed of perfidy and political schemes.
Arya turned around and leaned against the window mount. “Wouldn’t it be going against his own interests ?”
Davos nodded, his face mimicking that of Jon. “It would also go against the interests of the Vale and the Riverlands.”
“If Lord Sunderland has been mandated by King Arryn, I’m afraid the crown doesn’t really care about a few merchants,” Jon reckoned.
“You think they want to erase White Harbor from the trading maps ? That would be stupid !” Arya said, pushing herself off the mount so that she could pace the room alongside Davos. “This would mean that the sea route would start at the Sisters, where there is nothing but fish. They still need our goods, they still need to sell to us.”
“Considering the kind of winter that is awaiting everybody even south of the neck, they will definitely need proper northern furs and wool. So no they wouldn’t try to fully ostracize White Harbor. But they could try to lessen its power.” Jon said, still unsure about this whole reasoning. Was that even possible ? White Harbor was one of the biggest cities in Westeros and the Iron Throne could definitely benefit from having a stable trade with the North. Cutting down White Harbor’s influence could serve in weakening the North even further and make it easier for Daenerys to get hold of it once again. However, it seemed impossible for the Iron Throne to hold that kind of power. The North would still be able to trade with the Free Cities and if merchants from Westeros found the North’s deals to be advantageous, they wouldn’t hesitate to break a few laws just to keep the trade going. “Has Lord Manderly expressed anything about it ?”
Arya shook her head. “He never talked about it and I didn’t want to pry before you conversed with him first.”
Her efforts not to undermine his authority were appreciated but he hoped she would take part in the discussions. It would do good to show Lord Manderly that he respected her opinions. “Ser. Davos could you…?” Jon said.
With a nod and a slight bow, Davos exited the room to try and find Lord Manderly.
“I think we should focus on Lord Sunderland’s reasons rather than those of the Iron Throne,” Arya stated while she got closer to him. “We need to find what he’s gaining from all of this.”
“How do you plan to do that ? Interrogating a guest doesn’t seem like a great way to show hospitality,” Jon scoffed.
“It’s how you play the game, you can only truly anticipate someone's next move by knowing what they want,” she said, her eyes slowly gliding over the room as if she saw things he did not. “And everybody’s searching for something, Jon.” she added once her eyes came to rest upon him.
Peace . The word came to him without hesitation. All he wanted was peace. For the North. For his mind. For his heart.
“What are you searching for ?” he asked.
She shrugged. “I don’t think it exists anymore.”
Jon wanted to know what it was but he couldn’t tell whether she wanted him to ask or if she was avoiding his question on purpose. After years apart, it was difficult to understand where her boundaries were and what was acceptable for him to inquire about.
He cleared his throat awkwardly. “So, how will you conduct your investigations ?”
“Fear not, brother. I have my ways.”
His fist came onto the wooden table with a resounding bang. Using his kingly privilege was something he had hoped to avoid but the negotiations were definitely not going as planned.
Lord Triston Sunderland was everything he had expected, from the way he looked to the way he carried himself. His hollowed cheeks made it seem as if life had already left the man, while the shadows under his eyes put Jon’s to shame. Despite his almost cadaveric appearance, his eyes showed that he was in fact very much alive. His gaze was sharp and acrimonious, undeterred by Jon’s rank. Once again, the young man found himself facing a Lord whose politeness was nothing but a pretense. His only comfort was that Lord Manderly seemed to get the same wry smile out of the Sisterman.
After letting the Lord and his retinue settle inside Winterfell, he had requested for the talks to begin. Appointing new laws had been a somewhat easy part. Lord Sunderland seemed to agree with everything Lord Manderly proposed and the actual logistics of it didn’t pose any problem. Now, there was a big issue…
“My Lords ! Will you please state your arguments calmly ?” he half yelled.
Lord Manderly, whose face was now red in anger, looked at him wide eyed. “In all of my life, I have never heard such nonsense ! Even under the iron throne the tariffs have never been dropped so low ! You hear me ?! Never !” he barked, spittle raining onto Lord Sunderland’s face. It was a wonder how the man managed to remain unbothered by it.
“The wars have been tough on everyone, we can’t afford to fatten you up anymore, Lord Manderly,” Sunderland retorted, venom in his voice.
The left side of Manderly’s face started to twitch. Jon worried that if the man got any redder, he might faint. “ Oh ! Because you have obviously fought a lot Lord Sunderland !” he scoffed. “I don’t remember seeing you during the Long Night. Nor do I remember The Sisters involving themselves during the War of the Five Kings.”
“ I am not here to negotiate solely for myself, you best remember that.”
“And you best remember that the North has suffered the most during the War against the Others, Lord Sunderland,” Jon interjected. “We have agreed to drop the tariffs lower in relation to the trade agreements we might develop with the rest of Westeros in the future. But we won’t settle for any lower and since agreements have yet to be made, I’m afraid your demands will remain unanswered.”
“You call for negotiations but it seems you’ve already decided on everything,” Lord Sunderland spat out.
“I’ve asked for the Vale to send an envoy because I am trying to feed my people while keeping amiable relations with the rest of Westeros, My Lord,” Jon answered, his expression equally as stern and unwavering as his.
Lord Sunderland raised his chin in defiance and glanced at Lord Manderly who was still trying to even out his breathing. “ I feel we will not come to an agreement by the time the sun is set. Mayhaps a little rest…” he said, turning towards the still red-faced Lord “might do us some good, Your Grace .” The way his title was hissed didn’t remain unnoticed by the people present in the room.
Jon had half a mind to refuse and tell him that they were not done for the day but the tensions were already high enough. He lazily waved his hand and dismissed the man. Once he was out of the room, he heard Davos whisper ‘Sea snake’ under his breath and he couldn’t agree more.
Lord Manderly was still rooted in his chair, unmoving. “Your Grace, if I may, this situation is ridiculous. The North is now independent. It would be logical for the tariffs to be raised, not dropped.”
Jon wanted to sigh but he held back. “White Harbor can sustain itself easily even if the amount of ships entering the port decreased. But it’s not the case for the rest of the North. We’ve asked the common folk to gather around the castles of their liege Lords so that they can benefit from the provisions but in less than a year, they will run out and people will start to die. I cannot ask them to go work in the mines, or go and cut wood when I can barely promise food for their wives and children. The North needs as much outer ressources as it can get.”
“If the tariffs are too low, and if you cannot ask for the people to prepare goods to trade, the crown funds will run out. You will be unable to buy those outer ressources you want to rely on,” Manderly told him, his voice finally calm.
It was a conversation he already had had with Davos. It was a risk and he knew that. He hoped that sustaining the people with enough food during the next moons would make them more inclined to work so that they could prepare themselves for trading in kind.
Jon didn’t want to sound defeated but he knew his voice was dropping lower each and every second. “I suppose you are already aware of the very unstable situation that I find myself in.” Jon glanced at Lord Manderly’s face. If he had received words of other Lords trying to rid the North of Jon, his expression didn’t show it. “I have very little time to prove myself to the northern Lords. I receive scrolls daily, telling me of how dire the situation is. I need to give them something tangible rapidly.”
The older man considered him for a few seconds before leaning back in his chair. “Is that it ? Gaining the Northern Lords’ loyalty ?”
“I- No. No, I’m not trying to convince them by negotiating with the Vale. I’m doing what I think is right while answering the Lords’ demands,” Jon sputtered.
“Doing what is right…a lot of men have died trying to do what’s right .” Jon didn’t need for him to say the names to know who he was referring to. “Sometimes you have to choose between two rights. Or two wrongs for that matter. A King needs to quickly realize that if he wants to rule.”
“So I shouldn’t bother myself ?” Jon bitterly laughed.
“I’m simply saying that you will not be able to satisfy everyone. Or even yourself in some cases,” Manderly said, his eyes boring into his own with greater intensity as he said that last sentence. Jon raised his right eyebrow in question. “You do have the opportunity to do the right thing. To rally the remaining Lords to the crown once again. I am positive you already know what I’m alluding to.”
Jon swallowed so loudly the man probably heard it. Although Manderly’s opinion was expected, Jon was thoroughly unprepared for the subject to be broached so suddenly. Eyes filled with panic, he turned towards Davos who was still seated next to him.
“Lord Manderly, Lady Arya and King Aegon still thought themselves to be siblings a few moons ago. It would be-” the Onion Knight started.
“But they are not,” Wyman interrupted him. “ Some northern Lords will only accept your reign if Lady Arya rules by your side. Out of all the issues you are facing, this one is the easiest to resolve.” Seeing how increasingly alarmed Jon was becoming, Wyman’s own expression softened. “Like I said, sometimes a decision, though right, will not satisfy your own self. A right and a wrong can be intricately woven together. It’s your role to see on which side the scale leans.”
The chair cried as the old Lord stood up, waiting for the King’s dismissal. Still affected by what had just been said, Jon mindlessly nodded so that Wyman Manderly could exit the room.
“I’m going to need some time alone, Ser Davos,” Jon said, before quickly escaping.
Because of the sudden gathering of people in Wintertown and Winterfell, there were only a few places where one could be by themselves without being disturbed. The Godswood was one of those places.
The face in the weirwood tree stared back at him, its stillness seemingly mocking Jon’s inner turmoil. Marrying Arya. To say he hadn’t thought about it would be a lie. He had. A lot. At first, it had merely been an afterthought, something in the back of his mind which seemed so grotesque it almost would make him chuckle. But with Lord Manderly’s arrival, he found himself thinking about it time and time again, until he could no longer consider anyone else but her. The political advantages were obvious from the start but the more he thought about the whole ordeal, the more he found the idea of marrying Arya appealing. He knew he never should have allowed himself to imagine what ruling with her by his side would be like, but it was too late now. The strain of reigning could be shared and he wouldn’t be the only one facing the incoming hardships. Yet, his imagination hadn’t solely lingered on the political aspect of this possible wedlock. He desperately wanted the comfort she usually brought him for Arya understood everything. The grief, the pain, the current situation…she understood them all. Better than any other Lady could.
But his mind was a cruel torturer. Soon, he started dreaming about little ones running around Winterfell, bringing life back in between those old stone walls. Children who looked like the North, looked like Arya. He had wanted heirs of his own before he even started to think about going to the Wall. Of course, he would have wanted something which his bastard status denied him. With his vows to the Night’s Watch, he had buried the idea somewhere, never to be found again. Now that he had a name and that Daenerys had raised the issue of descendants, he found himself digging it back out. Obviously bedding Arya was something he would never think of. What he hoped for however, would be to raise Arya’s children, just like his father had. Jon had no doubt he’d love them with all his heart. They’d call him father and that would be more than enough.
As if thinking about it was enough to summon her, Ghost perked up. Jon turned around and saw Arya, so close he should have heard her. She moved like a ghost now. Mayhaps she was one after all.
“Glaring at him won’t prompt him to answer, you know ?” she said, looking at the face engraved in the bark. “Ser. Davos told me the discussions didn’t go too well today.”
To what extent had Davos related the bothersome subjects which were talked about ? “Aye. It seems Lord Sunderland intends on impoverishing us.”
She nodded thoughtfully. “I was hoping he or his advisors would have some clues hidden in their rooms but there was nothing.”
His eyes shot wide open when he realized what she just said. He quickly looked around before grabbing her arm and lowering himself to her height. “Arya ! You didn’t…You can’t do that ! What if someone caught you ?!”
She rolled her eyes and frowned. “The thing is, nobody did. It took me a few days for the guards to be distracted but I’m positive I wasn’t seen.”
If the stress from ruling didn’t kill him, Arya doing reckless things probably would. “Still, one wrong move and all of us will suffer from it !” She stared back at him, unfaltering, until he finally sighed. “Had I known that it was your way of conducting your investigations, I would have told you to stay put.”
She made an indignant little noise. “Ordering me around now, Your Grace ? Well, sadly for you, I’m not done yet,” she hissed before making to go. If that was how she reacted right now, there was no way she would take well to a marriage proposal.
His grip on her arm tightened and he yanked her back to him. “Don’t be difficult. I’m just trying to keep you safe.” A flash of anger took over her eyes but it was gone in an instant. Once he saw her jaw unclench, he realized that what was done couldn’t be undone and he might as well take advantage of it. “So you didn’t find anything ?”
“No. No scrolls, no poisons, no suspicious weapons…” she enumerated.
“So his objective has to do with the negotiations…it doesn’t make any sense,” he sighed.
Ghost came between them, finally prompting him to let go of her. “Make a move that seems to go against you, baffle your foes…or something like that.”
He scoffed. “What kind of advice is that ? That’s a terrible ploy.”
Shrugging slightly, she started scratching Ghost’s fur. “Sansa told it to me once. But she probably heard it from Littlefinger first so I don’t know what kind of weight this has.”
“You sliced his throat yourself. I’m pretty sure that it’s enough to contradict his opinion,” Jon said.
“But it’s Robyn Arryn we’re talking about. He used to love that snake apparently. We have to take it into account,” she answered.
“Alright, but stay out of trouble now. Please,” he pleaded.
She looked at him and all the emotions disappeared from her face. It made the distance between them seem even wider. “I can’t promise anything.” Rounding his body, she started walking away but stopped once she was a few strides from him. “Jon ? I can keep myself safe.”
“They were spotted by some trappers near the edge of the Wolfswood. Three adults, each on their own,” Ser Davos announced.
Fucking bears. Would the world let him have a moment of peace ?
“Aren't they supposed to hibernate right now ?” Jon grumbled.
“The long winter probably disrupted their internal clock. It’s probable that they are heading south,” Davos explained.
“Ask for some bear traps to be made. And make sure that men will be put outside of Wintertown just in case,” Jon ordered as he made his way towards the dining hall.
Lord Sunderland and his advisors were already seated, but got up slower than they should in front of a King. Lord Manderly did the same but barely granted him a glance as he was already idly chatting away with Arya.
He sat down and the usual root stew was brought. Unlike when it was only him and Arya dining, the stew had some meat in it to satisfy the guests. Jon was so worried about the provisions, seeing the chunks of beef would immediately make him anxious. Judging from Arya’s look during every supper since Manderly’s arrival, she felt the same.
“My Lords, some villagers have caught sight of bears near the clearing. It would be judicious to avoid the woods for your own safety,” he informed them.
Some men groaned their hatred of the North but it seemed they all got the message.
Jon spent the rest of the meal in silence, listening in to Arya’s conversation. Regularly, Wyman would throw a pointed look his way, a constant reminder of his duty. After hours ignoring his obligations and thinking about alliances in the Godswood, he had come to terms with the idea of marrying Arya. After all, as long as the marriage wouldn’t be consummated, it wouldn’t change much. The last hurdle was Arya herself. She would never accept, he kept thinking.
Supper was coming to an end and Wyman had finally shifted his focus onto someone else. Before Jon’s courage waned off, he got up and quickly whispered into Arya’s ear. “Come to my solar after everyone’s retired. There’s something I need to talk to you about.” She didn’t react but he knew she would come.
The wood patterns of his desk had suddenly become a magnificent source of entertainment. Jon was nervous and he needed something to get his mind off of the conversation he was about to have with Arya. Although this wasn’t a regular proposal or one to which he expected a positive outcome, it still felt nerve-racking to bring it to the table and especially to the all too honest Arya. He had spent the last hours telling himself it wouldn’t matter if she rejected him. He understood her aversion to marriage and would simply settle onto another northern Lady. Still, he now found himself dreading the ‘no’ that would surely come out of her mouth.
As his fingertips began tracing the same path on his desk once again, he heard the knock on the door. It was sharp. A tiny hand. But assured enough. It could only be her. He swallowed before speaking.
“Enter.”
The door opened and Arya slipped in. She moved towards him but didn’t wait for him to offer her a seat. She plopped down onto the chair on the other side of his desk and crossed her legs in a fashion that Lady Catelyn would have been loathed to see.
“So ? What did you want to talk about ?” she asked.
Jon didn’t answer and simply slid Daenerys’ scroll towards her. She took the little piece of paper and quickly read it.
“Oh. So that was the second condition…” she said. He nodded while rubbing a hand across his face. “Does Robyn know ?”
“He would never have agreed to the marriage if he did.”
“This won’t end well…” She took a deep breath, forcing the anguish out of her body. “So you want my help choosing a bride ? She has to be northern or else I won’t be able to save your ass from the Lords this time. And you wouldn’t be able to tolerate the southron ways for the rest of your days anyway,” she started arguing.
“Actually, I received the scroll almost three weeks ago…I’ve thought about it really hard and I already have someone in mind.”
She looked at him, visibly skeptical about it. “Your face tells me that I won’t like what you’re about to say. You’ve chosen a Southron, haven’t you ?”
He swallowed the lump which was forming in his throat, there was no turning back now. “Actually, no. She’s very much a Northerner.” His eyes drifted to hers, trying to find some composure. “You’re going to think that I’m really stupid for what I’m about to say but please bear with me and listen to my reasoning.” She nodded her assent, her eyebrows still knotted together. “I was hoping that this marriage could be between me and…you.” His eyes studied her face for some sort of reaction but she had already donned her perfectly blank mask. Seeing that she was waiting for him to explain himself, he cleared his throat and continued. “I’m aware your presence here already helps a lot but we both know that it’s not enough to appease some of the Lords. They think I’m disrespecting you and House Stark by keeping you here while I’m usurping a title that is rightfully yours. Ser Davos told me that some of the Lords have been trying to talk to you…” She made to speak but he lifted his hand to silence her. “I know you would not betray me. I trust you. But I don’t trust them. We can’t be sure that they won’t try to plot a rebellion behind both of our backs. I believe that if we were to marry, this could put an end to that issue. You would be queen, thus satisfying the Lords and lessening my own guilt, and I would remain King, thus satisfying Daenerys’ conditions. As for heirs, we would wait until you find a lover, one that has the same coloring as us if possible. I know I’m asking a lot of you but your first child would take the Targaryen name and the Iron Throne along with it. I can’t go against Daenerys for that. The second however, will be named Stark and will inherit the North. You would also keep your maiden name. What do you say ?”
Her face still didn’t reflect anything and he resisted the urge to fidget. “You’ve gone absolutely mad” were her first words. His shoulders fell a bit at her reaction.
“Arya…”
“You are asking me to marry you ! Did you forget what those vows mean ? I know you don’t intend to consummate it but still, you can’t possibly think about taking me for your wife !” she said, finally letting some emotions come back to her face.
“I know this sounds silly but we’re cousins by blood, people won’t oppose it. The way our relationship will be perceived by others will change but deep down it won’t. We won’t. We’ll be husband and wife for everyone else, but in my heart you’ll still be my little sister,” he said while trying to offer her a smile. “Mayhaps they’ll think I’m trying to live up to my Targaryen name by wedding you,” he tried to jest but his joke apparently fell flat. Arya wasn’t amused at all.
“I have so many arguments against it that I don’t know where to start,” she said while crossing her arms in front of her chest. “Besides the obvious moral reasons which make me think that marrying my brother is a horrible idea, you seem to forget that you want me to be a queen. I’m not even a Lady Jon !”
He rolled his eyes. “You already know I don’t care if you want to wear breeches or curse like Tormund but look around you ! Does it look like people have the time or the energy to study how you behave ? No ! All they want now is for us to provide our help so that they can rebuild their home, regrow their crops, take care of their family…that’s already what you’ve been trying to do since we came back ! Obviously you would have more responsibilities but I wouldn’t ask you to do things that aren’t you. I’m sure you’re underestimating yourself here. You’re the Hero of Winterfell, people already love you,” he said, chuckling at her discomfort every time he uttered that nickname.
She narrowed her eyes slightly at him. “Alright, but have you taken into account that I never planned to marry ? I wasn’t even planning to stay here ! The only reason I came North was because the Three Eyed Raven suddenly decided he was better suited as the Dragon Queen’s Hand rather than yours.” Jon could hear the slight rancor in her voice. “And I can’t see myself being a mother,” she told him while shaking her head.
Jon sighed loudly.
“I know that, trust me I do. If there were a better option for us and for the North, I wouldn’t hesitate. But we both know that the situation right now is awfully unstable. Daenerys’ decisions and Bran’s...change of sides, mean that we’ll have to make some sacrifices. It’s not something you want and it’s not something I want either but we don’t have much of a choice.” He made a pause, studying the Targaryen seal he now had to use whenever he sent a missive. “You’re the only one who can keep the Stark name alive. Bran can’t have children and Sansa’s will be named Lannister. Daenerys would never let her name one of her children Stark. If you don’t produce an heir, it will be the end for our- your House.”
She clenched her jaws slightly. He hoped he was finally getting his point across. “Can’t you legitimize my bastards ? By royal decree or something ?” she asked. At least she wasn’t opposed to the idea of having children anymore.
“I could. But that doesn’t solve the other problems. Since there must always be a Stark in Winterfell you’d still have to stay here until your child comes of age. Unless, you’re planning on leaving him for me to raise once he’s born-” She frowned and narrowed her eyes at him in outrage “-but I don’t think you're that heartless,” he added while opening a drawer and getting out a handful of scrolls. “Bran has been sending me the proposals for your hand that he keeps on receiving. He doesn’t plan on betrothing you without your consent but if you stay here as an unmarried Lady of a great House, they will keep on coming. Sooner than later, even Sansa will send you a scroll about the duty that you have as the last remaining Stark woman.”
Arya wasn’t showing her anger as she used to but he could still see her ire at the mention of the proposals. “So what ? You and Bran are going to give my hand to the most promising Lord if I keep on refusing ?”
“I’d put you on a boat to Essos myself before I force you into something you don’t want, but there will be consequences if I do that…That’s why I’m proposing this…arrangement. You have a choice. It would save me from an exhausting marriage and you wouldn’t have to be wed to someone who would try to change you. We could solve the problems with the other Lords that way,” he pleaded.
He felt her gaze on his face, intent as always. It was unnerving when she did that but he was determined not to show it to her. The chair scraped across the stone floor when she got up and she started to pace in front of his desk. She stood straight, head held high and hands clasped behind her back, each of her steps purposeful. The stealth with which she walked now made him nervous. After a few seconds, she finally broke the oppressive silence. “I see the political advantages you’re talking about.”
“But ?” he provided for her.
“But, what if someone discovers the sham ? I mean, you should know better than anyone that lies about parentage always end up being unearthed. If Daenerys discovers that the children are not yours, this could cause a war. My children would be killed for it,” she said, still pacing but her eyes stuck to his.
“You say you read people better than anyone, shouldn’t you be able to find a lover that you can trust ? He doesn’t even have to know that the child is his,” he countered. “It’s not as if they will expect the babe to be silver haired.”
“But she still has a dragon ! I don’t know how long dragons live but he will surely reject the child if he realizes the child doesn't have a single drop of Targaryen blood.”
“A child of ours would be three quarters Stark and we have already established that the direwolf blood tends to be stronger than that of the dragon,” he said, gesturing to himself. “We’ll say he’s just too Stark.”
She sighed and came to a halt. “And what about you Jon ? What about your children ?”
“Your children will be mine in everything but blood,” he said, completely sure about this statement. “I won’t bring you shame by bedding other women and I won’t father any children. But I’ll love the ones we will raise, just like father loved me as if I were his own.”
It looked as if her breath caught when he said that but he could have imagined it.
“You’d put an end to the Targaryen lineage by doing that.”
“I’m trying to save your House right now. The only House that I care about. Daenerys’ should be glad that the name will at least survive,” he mumbled in annoyance.
She was still staring at him, not saying anything. Rubbing a hand across his face, he exhaled deeply. Arya’s impassive mask had made its way onto her face once again and he couldn’t tell whether she was convinced or not. He got up and rounded the desk to stand in front of her. His head fell forward to rest softly onto her shoulder.
“I’m tired, Arya. I don’t want this crown, I don’t want this name, I don’t want to be King. I’ve spent the past years fighting and it killed me. They brought me back just to make me fight again. You don’t know how many times I’ve dreamed about telling everybody to fuck off and just escape to live beyond the Wall where nobody will torment me. But I’m staying, for the North, for House Stark, for you. And if I have to keep on ruling, I wish to do it with someone I could entrust my life to by my side. Not some spy from the Dragon Queen. Not some Lady ready to stab me in the back. I want someone who would actually share the burdens with me, get her hands dirty and not shy away from the bigger issues. I don’t need a Lady, I need a partner. You’re the only one who fits all those things. Let me make this one selfish request,” he ranted, finally letting his exhaustion seep through.
The rhythm of her breathing was calm and he couldn’t help but close his eyes, almost letting himself be lulled to sleep. After a few seconds, she pushed him away gently. Her hand came to rest lightly on his cheek and he sunk slightly deeper into her touch.
“I’ll think about it,” she said, and before he had time to say anything she had exited from his solar.
At least, she didn’t say no .
Notes:
Next chapter is an Arya POV :)
Chapter 3: Arya I
Notes:
Slight TW for this one, with an attempted SA at the end. If you do not want to read that part, skip the paragraph that starts after “it was sharp and smaller than a knife.”
Chapter Text
Herwin was complaining as usual and Arya appeared to be the only one unaffected by his constant chatter. It was a wonder that the man hadn’t been murdered by one of his acolytes. His current issue ? Whether the wooden mount would be sturdy enough to bear the weight of the massive polished iron plate they had just received.
Despite the almost uninterrupted bickering, the three men were working at a very satisfyingly fast pace. Glass mirrors had been dismissed to the greatest joy of Jon. They did work but their reflectivity wasn’t that much higher than silver. As there weren’t many people in Westeros who had mastered the art of making them and because there were only two glass mirrors in the whole of Winterfell, everybody was thankful they would be able to save money on this issue.
The other contenders were polished silver, polished iron, and polished steel. It was quite obvious that silver was the best of them all but Arya hoped dearly that the effect on the plants wouldn’t be that much different from iron or steel. Although Lord Manderly seemed to know where to mine silver, it still was expensive and it would require a great amount of work force to go in the mines. On the other hand, iron and steel were easy to get hold of. After the War against the Others, many had fallen, leaving behind swords and armors. It was a difficult decision to choose not to burn the men with their gear but the North couldn’t afford getting rid of those prized ressources.
Arya felt strange looking at the plate of iron. She wondered whose armor was melted in there. Whose life had been taken.
“It will break, I’m telling you,” Herwin mumbled in his beard.
“Have you seen the size of those mounts ? It won’t break,” Chett answered, his long hair frozen at the tips.
The iron plate was the last one to be installed. For now, the system of mirrors was fairly simple with only one plate of each metal up for the experiment. A more complex installation had already been designed with the help of Wolkan so that the light could be as concentrated as possible but Herwin and the others had decided to only build it once they had decided which metal was the best in relation to its cost.
Arya wasn’t really needed here but she definitely couldn’t stay in the Maester’s turret for more than a few hours without feeling like fainting. Usually, she would talk to Lord Manderly, snoop around, follow Sunderland and his men from afar but she couldn’t afford to stumble upon Jon when he was alone. It had been three days since that bloody idiot had decided to ask for her hand in marriage. She felt foolish not to have seen it coming beforehand but it was probably due to the fact that she never even thought of Jon as a possible suitor. Now, every time she walked into a room where he already was, she could feel his restless energy as he looked at her with hope in his eyes. It would dissolve each time he’d realize that she wasn’t ready to give him an answer yet.
It unnerved her. She was fine with seeing him at meals or when someone else was around them but she was scared he would broach the subject once again if they found themselves alone. She hadn’t told him when he would get an answer but, considering the time that Daenerys had given to him, the number of days necessary for a raven to travel to King’s Landing and a certain amount of days for Jon to decide on someone else, she gave herself a fortnight to come up with an answer. Deep down, she already knew what she would reply, but she felt she owed him to at least consider his offer properly.
It pained her to see how Jon struggled to keep the realm together. It truly did. Still, there was nothing for her here. She had spent years trying to go back to Winterfell, only to find a mere shell standing in its stead. Half of her family had perished and the others were not what they had once been. Could she blame them, little assassin that she was ? The sister who dreamt of princes and knights in shining armor had become a cold strategist. The little brother who used to climb the walls of Winterfell now felt as if all life had fled his body. And Jon…She was proud of Jon. Proud of the bastard who was shunned from the high table and who now became King. Proud of the boy who joined the Night’s Watch and became its Lord Commander. Proud of the hero who had led Westeros against the Others…but selfishness was ugly and Arya found herself longing for the boy she once knew. Before everything went to shit, he used to be…like her. They were the ones who stuck out. Odd in almost everything. Their bond grew from that and strengthened itself through the comfort they brought to each other. Stupidly, she had let herself hope for that relationship. She should have known that life wouldn’t give her that. The moment she saw him, arriving at Winterfell, the dragon queen at his side, she knew she wouldn’t find what she searched for in him. They were a world apart now. Her, hidden in the shadows and him, standing in the light. What had she expected ? That he would sense that she was close ? Search for her eyes in the crowd ? Mayhaps she was still that foolish child after all…
No, she couldn’t stay here. She couldn’t live among ghosts anymore. If she married Jon, it would only show that she still clung to the childish idea that home still existed. That home could still stand here, in the walls of Winterfell and in Jon’s arms. Arya Stark was free, a thrall to no one and to nothing.
Thinking that she might as well try to do something other than just stand there, she saluted the other men and started to leave. She heard a sound and turned just in time to see the wooden mount break while the iron plate collapsed to the earth. Herwin’s triumphant smirk was a sight to see.
She hadn’t even stepped into the yard when she heard the distraught shouts of men. Her feet picked up the pace and she made a beeline towards the gate. In the middle of the commotion, she caught sight of two men who each nursed massive wounds on their arm and shoulder. She approached the scene as two guards rushed past her, holding another wounded. This one had fainted and three deep gashes colored his chest in red. The lower part of his right leg barely hung onto its sinew.
“Go warn the Maester !” someone hollered.
The two other wounded followed the guards while Jon rushed to the yard.
“What happened ?” he asked.
Over the silence which answered him, the deep cries of pain could still be heard. Finally, a guard stepped up. “They say they saw a bear. Right outside Wintertown, Your Grace.” He turned towards a young boy, barely one and ten, before ushering him to speak. It struck her then that Rickon would probably have looked like him save for the darker hair.
Her eyes raked over him, her heart tugging painfully. The poor lad was shaking as if he had just gotten out of a frozen river and his eyes were wide with fear. “The be-bear, he ate a man’s arm and killed him, Your G-Grace,” he stammered. “The others, they tried to stop him with pi-pitchforks. The bear got hurt and the others too… »
Jon nodded and the head of the guards approached him. “The men we’ve put around Wintertown have gone after the animal to finish him off. They should be back soon.”
Everybody stayed in the courtyard as Jon inquired about the size of the bear and the exact location of the incident. Even for the oldest residents of Wintertown, this was a first. Never had bears come so close to the village. If even wild animals resorted to going out of their way, this meant the situation was really critical. It didn’t take too long for one guard to come back to inform the young lad that the man whose chest had been lacerated had succumbed from blood loss. He had just lost his father.
Soon after, horses trotted through the gate, dragging the dead beast behind. Its back was punctured with a few arrows and a bloody trail followed him, like a red ribbon in the snow. Arya approached. She had only eaten bear meat once in her life but hadn’t been able to see the animal before it was cut. When she saw the size of its claws, she understood how one strike could be fatal.
As she observed, she heard the heavy steps of Lord Manderly coming towards her.
“What a beautiful thing…” he breathed out.
She scoffed. “A deadly one.”
“They ought to go hand in hand sometimes,” he replied, a knowing smirk on his face. “You’ve never seen one before, Lady Arya ?”
“No, I-”
“Wouldn’t have happened with Eddard Stark,” one of the uninjured villagers said, before spitting on the ground. “That Targaryen can’t keep us safe.”
Her head whipped in Jon’s direction but he was too far away to hear the man’s harsh words. She clenched her teeth and got ready to give the ungrateful fellow a piece of her mind. Before she even took a step, Lord Manderly grabbed her arm and lightly shook his head, indicating that it wouldn’t be a good idea.
“How can they blame him for a bear attack ? Why can’t they see what he’s doing to provide for them ?” she spat.
“It will take time, as it always does. But the name certainly doesn’t work in his favor. Might be a little help would be needed….” he drawled while redirecting his attention to the dead bear.
Did he have something to do with Jon’s sudden ludicrous ideas ?
Filling her lungs with the biting air of the North, she calmed herself down. Choked out sobs reached her ears and she turned towards the lad who was trying not to wail openly.
“If you keep on crying, your snot will freeze and you will lose your nose,” she told him. He immediately wiped his face on his overly big glove. The inner part of it looked thin, ready to tear at any moment. “Got somewhere to go back to ?” He nodded while sniffling. “Your mother ?”
“Dead. She caught a fever, ma’am,” he croaked out.
“Careful, young boy. You are talking to a Lady,” Lord Manderly interrupted.
The young boy’s face distorted in panic. “I’m sorry, m’lady. I didn’t know,” he said while bowing awkwardly.
Arya waved her hand in dismissal. “You don’t have anyone home ?”
Still trying to stop the tears from flowing, he managed to speak. “An older brother and a younger sister. But she’s sickly.”
“Can your brother provide for all of you ?” she asked.
He hesitated but nodded, unsure. “He works wood.”
She wanted to make sure that he would be all right but the men from Wintertown were already leaving. With a quick bow, he followed out.
“But if we establish some sort of compensation for those who have lost the head of their families, that wouldn’t be favoritism ?” she argued.
“That is basically half the population of the North right now, Arya. And we’ve already assessed the provisions and how much we can give to each family and for how long. We can’t change it now,” Jon answered.
Arya had managed to catch him while he was talking with Davos and Lord Manderly. Although she had her suspicions that the old Lord was fairly aware of Jon’s sudden matrimonial ideas, she was quite sure that Jon wouldn’t make such an affront by bringing it up in front of others. She had used the opportunity to talk to him about the little lad and his family. Her initial idea had been to bring him and his family another ration of food but Jon saw it as preferential treatment.
“What if they don’t have enough ?” she asked, clearly upset.
“They will get as much as everyone else. Might not be enough but it’s the best we can do right now.” Seeing that he was not getting to her, he sighed. “If they can work, we’ll try to see if we can give them something. And if Maester Wolkan is not too busy, I’ll instruct him to go to Wintertown and see to those who are sick, aye ?”
Satisfied with his proposition and knowing fully well that she wouldn’t be able to get more, she dropped the subject and went to see whether Maester Wolkan would come to the village with her.
As usual, the turret smelled strongly of herbs but Arya was used to it now, and was able to walk in without her eyes watering. Her gaze drifted through the multiple glasses and she realized that the Maester was still trying to coat the seeds with a mixture of greases. It was something they already tried. Something that had already failed.
The erudite was currently staring at a pot of dirt with a forlorn look. So he was losing hope too…
He saw her and quickly tried to hide his despair. “Arya ! I thought you weren’t supposed to come today,” he said, with a poor excuse of a smile. Arya liked Wolkan. He was one of the rare people she had managed to convince not to call her Lady and with his knowledge, he was fairly interesting to talk to. It troubled her to see him in such a state. Mayhaps bringing him to Wintertown could make him forget the situation for a few hours ?
“I’m planning on heading to Wintertown to see whether the people need any medical aid. You could always come with me ?” she explained.
“Oh…” he said while looking at his shelves which were now half empty. “I’m afraid I wouldn’t know what to bring if I don’t know what they are suffering from.”
Shit. She should have asked the lad what sickness his sister had gotten. “What if I went there first and tried to get as much information as I could ?”
“That could indeed help me narrow down the number of remedies I need to bring…”
“Alright. I’ll tell you once I’ve gone,” she added before whirling around. It wasn’t even midday so she figured she might as well head there now.
Although the village was full to the brim with people, it felt abandoned. Huddled for warmth inside their houses, nobody dared step outside unless it was necessary. There wasn’t much to do anyway.
She led her horse through the empty streets, not knowing where to head. She had put her trusty old cloak on to go unnoticed but knocking onto every door seemed like a hassle. The sound of a shovel in the snow reached her ear and she tugged on the rein to stir her horse towards its direction.
As Arya got closer, she saw a figure, shoveling snow into a bucket with determination. Under all those furs, it was impossible to tell if it was a man or a woman. “Excuse me ? I’m searching for the boy whose father got killed by the bear.”
The figure stilled and the cloth which hid its face was tugged down to reveal an older woman. Her skin was stretched tight onto the bone, it was leathery and red to the eye.
“Little Mich’ ?” she asked, in a throaty voice. Arya didn’t know the boy’s name but nodded still. “He lives near the Wolfswood, bunch of ol’ chairs in front of it,” the old woman informed her.
Now that she had a vague idea where to find him, it all seemed much easier. Not a minute later and she found it. Just as the old woman had said, the front of it was littered with wooden chairs. A thick blanket of snow had piled upon them, hiding the furnitures from the rest of the world. Most were as simple as can be, but after she brushed some snow away, she realized that a few were beautifully carved. What a shame the snow had already soaked the wood through. Her fingers skimmed upon the carving of a carp on one of the armrests. It seemed oddly familiar in a way she could not wrap her mind around.
“If you wanna steal, do it at night at least,” a deep but hoarse voice interrupted her musings.
Arya turned around and saw a young man standing in the doorway. Arms crossed in front of him, he glared at her menacingly. A husky voice for a husky man , she thought. His eyes seemed hidden in the middle of his thick facial hair but it was obvious they were extremely light. Blue or gray, she couldn’t tell. Upon closer examination, it seemed as if his beard length didn’t match his gentle features.
Not impressed by the man’s stature, she straightened herself. “I came to see Little Mich.”
He raised an eyebrow at that. “What d’you need my brother for ?”
“I came to give him gloves,” she answered as she got a pair of leather gloves out of her satchel. Those were actually hers but missing a pair wouldn’t hurt and her hands were tiny enough for them to fit those of the boy.
Just as she finished her sentence, Little Mich poked his head from behind his brother. “It’s the Lady !” he exclaimed before wiggling his way through so that Arya could hand him the gloves.
“A Lady ?” his older brother aked, confusion seeping through his tone. “What kind of horseshit are you saying ?”
“It’s not horseshit ! She was at Winterfell with a bunch’of Lords ! Am I right m’lady ?” the little one cried out.
“It doesn’t matter,” she answered. “It has been decided that the Maester from Winterfell would head down to cater to the ones who are sick. But he needs to know what people suffer from first and I’ve heard from your little brother that your sister is ill.”
His eyes raked all over her as if trying to see something, a lie, that hid beneath her own skin. “Aye, she is.”
Where Little Mich was pure candidness, his older brother was the epitome of skepticism. “May I see her ? So I’m able to tell the Maester what symptoms she suffers from ?”
If he was about to slander her for the idea, she would never know. Before he had any time to voice his opinion, Little Mich grabbed her hand and started tugging her inside. “Yes ! Come with me m’Lady !” As her shoulder brushed the one of the other man, she threw a little triumphant smirk his way.
“Your brother is certainly not the most gracious,” she whispered to Little Mich.
The green boy made a face. “Mich is always wary of people. But he’s become even grumpier recently.”
The house was full of wooden objects, some finished and some in progress. But what was more striking was the utter lack of light. Every window had been barred with a thick piece of wood to make sure that no cold air would enter. A few holes were pierced here and there but the little beam of light it granted did almost nothing to illuminate the room. A pained whine could be heard as Big Mich closed the door behind them.
“She’s here m’lady !” Little Mich shouted while beckoning her to an adjacent room. It was peculiar how the boy didn’t seem like someone who lost his father not a day prior. She remembered how she had been and it had nothing to do with prancing around a house with a smile on her face.
The second and only other room was as dark as the main one. It was quite a surprise to see that the hovel could accommodate a large bed and one fit for a child. There was an empty spot in the corner of the room which must have once been used to lay a spare straw pallet. One that wasn’t needed anymore.
Arya’s eyes landed upon the still form which lay upon the smaller bed but she did not dare get any closer. The girl had her eyes closed but the twitches from her eyelids and the frown which marred her youthful features showed that this was no restful sleep.
“An old woman from the village told us it’s tetanus,” Big Mich’s deep voice boomed through the room. “She said she’s done for.”
With a cautious step, Arya drew closer to the little girl. Little Mich was already by her side, wiping her forehead with a dirty cloth. The first thing she noticed was how tightly her jaws seemed to be locked, the muscles working in spasms. The girl couldn’t be any older than eight but her hollowed cheeks and the thinness of her arms made her look as if death had already started to dance with her.
“Can she eat ?” Arya asked.
“Hardly. It’s a good day if she can open her mouth,” Big Mich answered while going back to the main room. Two minutes later and he came back, a bowl of what seemed to be a very watery soup in hand. Although his stature couldn’t be compared to that of the Hound, the heaviness with which he moved himself was a stark reminder of her former travel companion. Little Mich helped to gently prop her head up onto his older brother’s lap. The girl was stiff, like a corpse forgotten in the harsh cold.
With his free hand, Big Mich started to dribble the liquid through her clenched teeth. Her difficulty to swallow was apparent, forcing the young man to only half fill the spoon. "We have to be careful or else she'll choke. Takes us way too much time. Well...it's not like Little Mich has much to do anyway."
"Hey ! I've been in charge of melting the snow for moons now !" Little Mich shouted indignantly. In the haste of things, Big Mich emptied the spoon too quickly, making the poor thing cough out what had just been poured into her mouth. With how little she could truly eat, there was no way she'd see the next full moon.
"Shit..." he cursed before turning her onto her side, the remnants of the soup spilling out of her lips. With a few firm pats on the back the coughing subsided and Big Mich was able to resume his feeding. Although Arya had never witnessed the difficulties of feeding someone with tetanus, she found that the scene unfolding in front of her was oddly familiar. The movements, practiced but tired, the eyes, sad and hopeless, the fatigue, settling deep into every crease of one's face. She'd seen it. Over and over, and over again. Big Mich knew what was awaiting. He had let the idea settle into his mind, into his heart. This was the face of a man who could not fight anymore but could not flee either.
"Will the Maester be able to save her ?" Hopefulness is a beautiful thing but it does not hold the power to fight the God of Death. In that case, the blithe tone of Little Mich's question only served to put Arya in a tight spot.
The steel gray eyes of Big Mich met hers as he looked through his thick eyebrows. "Mich. Go get some snow, we need to clean Michaela," he finally said after a few seconds, trying once again to read her. Reluctantly, the young boy left the room.
"Michaela ?" she asked. "Original."
"Are you really a Lady ?" he cut her off instantly. Straightforwardness was always pleasing. Niceties had never done her any good.
"Aye."
A single glance at her breeches. “Lady Arya Stark then," he concluded but the deduction still did not seem to grant any sort of cordiality. "What about the Maester, is that true ?"
"Aye, it is."
He scoffed. Gods, the similar mannerism to The Hound made her want to smile and punch him at the same time. The gentleness with which he laid Michaela back down onto the mattress was a strong contrast with the frenetic rage which now filled his eyes. Just like Valerian steel, she thought.
"How merciful for that dragon to send to the people his own personal Maester. It surely must be quite a terrible sacrifice from him, all cooped up in his comfortable little nest," he hissed, stepping closer to her. Her hands stayed behind her back, far from Needle.
Had her face been displaying any sort of emotion since the beginning of their conversation, it would certainly have turned disdainful by now. "Careful, he is your King."
"He is not my King. Each and every one of my ancestors have served the Starks. And I will not get on my knees for someone who overlooks the death of his people from the warmth of his castle." With that he spat on the floor, a thick lump right beside her foot.
Anger had no place in handling situations, but Arya was definitively irked. Would she need to talk to every single living person in the North to convince them that wolf blood ran in Jon's veins as much as it did in hers ? Would she need to write another song herself to chant the honor by which Jon took his decisions ?
"What you do not see still exists. The walls of Winterfell might hide the work of King Aegon but they won't lessen his efforts. I'm afraid I'd be no better at handling the current situation."
"I will first trust what I see. And what I see are people dying. Not the honorable deaths, the slow ones, the ones that eat at you until you're nothing but a living corpse. I've seen people, the ones who used to be your neighbors, fighting over food like dogs. But that pretty Targaryen on the other hand, I have not seen nor heard. Tell us about his so-called efforts now. Hail your perfectly rehearsed praise of your once brother,” he spat.
Calm as still water. Calm as still...
"You men fret so much over a mere name. The situation would be the same if it were me on the throne. But perhaps you'd find excuses for me, since my last name pleases you,” she argued, stepping closer to him. “And you seem to forget to whom you owe your life. How enraged must you be to think that the pretty Targaryen saved the whole of Westeros. North included.”
“A sword is not a crown. A good warrior doesn’t mean a good King.” Had the situation been different, Arya would have been left aghast by the man’s words. Few were the ones who preferred the weight of a mind over the grip of a strong swordhand.
“You judge him too hastily. How can you decide he’s not fit to be King in the little time he’s had to reign.”
“Because he left ! When the North needed him the fool went South ! He left us, in broken homes, with more injuries than one could count !” he roared.
The sudden raise in his voice seemed to startle Michaela whose whole body abruptly contracted. The distressed moans broke the tension in the room and Big Mich walked to her side. Michaela’s back was arched as if she were trying to levitate off of the mattress.
“Shhhh…calm down” he repeated as he kneeled by her, his soothing hand in her tangled mane.
Her anger slowly subsided. Both were trying to defend their loved ones. She understood how fear could turn into anger and anger into misplaced resentment. But she needed to prove to the people that Jon had their best interests in mind.
“The Maester shall come soon,” she added as she turned away.
Little Mich almost bumped into her as she tried to make an exit. Luckily, none of the snow in his bucket spilled over. “Are you leaving already m’lady ?”
“I have seen what I needed to see.” She stepped outside and started untying her horse under the curious eyes of Little Mich.
“Give back the gloves,” ordered Big Mich.
The young boy’s head quickly whipped around towards his older brother. His mouth hung open in despair as his eyes filled with tears. Reluctantly, he peeled off the gloves and handed them to her.
"You know," she started. "I've always thought that wolves represented the North because of their likeness to the cold." She stepped forward. "The true cold, the one from the very depth of winter." Another step. "Because both bites. And when it's got your little finger in its jaws, it doesn't let go..." she leaned down "until your fingers fall off" and with that she lunged forward and snapped her teeth in front of his hand. The kid quickly recoiled, the gloves snug onto his chest. She giggled at her own antics. "Keep 'em. You'll need your hands to be whole if you wanna help your brother."
One last unsure look at his brother before Little Mich darted back inside, the gloves still in his grasp.
"Gloves won't make much of a difference," Big Mich argued one last time.
"But they are a first step," she added as she jumped onto her horse's back. The chairs once again caught her eyes. “If you need work, go to Winterfell and ask for a man named Herwin.”
She heard the wooden door closing and stirred her horse so that she could circle the village. Mayhaps she could encounter some other people outside and see to their needs. However, the streets were still deserted and Arya's gaze was slowly getting drawn towards the woods. Were the bears still close by ? Had Nymeria and her pack found somewhere to settle ?
The distant sound of some boots on the snow reached her ears and she refocused her attention back to what was happening in front of her. The stout figure of a man emerged from behind one of the houses. Despite being far away, Arya quickly recognized who it was. Lord Rolland Longthorpe was an average man in everything but his loud voice could easily rival Tormund's. All throughout the sistermen's stay at Winterfell, Lord Longthorpe had proven to be a hindrance, especially when it came to negotiations. He seemed to disagree with everything and was very vocal about it despite his utter lack of arguments.
Despite the years she had spent in the company of boorish men, she just couldn't stomach his table manners. She figured that this had to do with the way he ate meat, voraciously tearing into it as if it weren't rationed, totally disregarding the way Jon and herself would only eat a quarter of his own serving. The sauce running along his fingers and through the coarse, black hair on the back of his hands was the only image she had of the man and probably the only way she would ever remember him.
Or mayhaps it would be the lewd looks he would grant her, staring at her arse and commenting about how breeches on women were actually a marvelous idea. She’d seen him groping the maids and she knew he had tried to isolate one of them only to be stopped by Ser. Ultridge, the knight of House Sunderland.
Arya had hoped that he would at least have the famous webbing between his fingers but she had been informed by Davos that House Borrell was the only noble family with it. The disappointment rendered Lord Longthorpe's presence even more disagreeable.
With a firm hand, she tugged onto the rein to hide into the shadow of a house. Lord Sunderland and his men could freely move around within Winterfell and outside but the sistermen had clearly expressed their dislike for the cold which made Longthorpe's presence here quite surprising. Mentally, she scolded herself for not having followed him earlier, she had been too focused on Lord Sunderland and had neglected the rest of his party.
The man was walking with assurance towards one house which stood a little further from the fringe of the village. She saw him bang heavily on the front door before finally kicking it open as there was no response. Arya barely had the time to catch a glimpse of a scared woman's face before he pushed his way inside, leaving the door slightly ajar. What she was about to do could probably be qualified as 'impulsive' or 'foolhardy' but Arya did not care. Her previous conversation had left her quite overwrought and the sudden action after moons of negotiations and problem solving made her heart pump with adrenaline. Ideas about how she'd utilize these sudden circumstances were already starting to sprout into her mind.
With her eyes never leaving the door, she got down from her horse and tied her mount as fast as she could. A single look to see if anyone could see her...perfect. She untied her cloak and reversed it to show the brown cloth that lined the inside of the garment. Sansa had been surprised when Arya had asked her to sew the extra fabric inside her gray cloak so she lied, telling her sister that she found it difficult to get used to the cold after years in the South. Although extremely simple, that little trick had proven to be quite useful to the youngest Stark girl. Tugging the hood down to hide her face, she started walking fast towards the house. She ran her hand along the seam of the fabric until she finally felt the weapon she had hidden there. T'was actually a mere hairpin but it was sharp and smaller than a knife.
Like a breeze, she shimmied herself inside through the opening. Longthorpe had already torn the top half of the poor woman's dress, leaving one of her tit bare. His hairy hand was resting upon her mouth to muffle her horrible cry while his left hand tried to lift her skirt despite her kicking. Through teary eyes, she noticed Arya, looming over her prey. The crying subsided for a split second which was enough to warn Longthorpe about the intruder. His head had barely started to turn before Arya threw her whole weight onto his back, circled his neck with her right arm and jammed the needle into his left ear. He reared back, like a horse trying to get rid of an incompetent rider. But Arya held strong and despite his hands grabbing onto her arm she managed to stir the needle into his brain until he suddenly lost his strength and slumped forward.
She jumped off of him. The woman had crawled towards a table and was trying to grab onto its leg to hoist herself up. The needle in the ear trick was an arduous technique and despite its ability to render Longthorpe harmless, it had failed to kill him. With the heel of her shoe, she pressed onto his neck before harshly pushing on it until she felt it crack.
The woman was waiting for her to speak, still in shock from the previous events. Since Arya was wearing her own face under the hood, she tried to change her voice to that of a green boy. "None of this has ever happened. Do you understand ma'am ?"
She nodded shakily.
Arya grabbed the man by the ankle to drag him closer to the door. She took a peek outside and then unceremoniously dumped him in the snow.
"Stay inside and close the door. What happens from now on doesn't concern you anymore, it's in your best interest," Arya ordered. The older woman didn't need to be told twice as she promptly got back into the safety of her house.
After a few seconds, Arya propped Longthorpe onto his right side to avoid getting blood onto the snow while she ran to get her horse. She hooked his foot in one of the stirrups and prompted her horse towards the outskirts of the forest. With a broom she'd stolen from the woman, she made sure to erase their trace. Once deep enough into the woods, they stopped and Arya unhooked Longthorpe from her mount. The afternoon had only just begun but she needed to act before supper came around. Fast was never the way to go but there was no other choice. She retrieved one of the knives hidden on her body and her waterskin. May her work begin.
Chapter 4: Arya II
Chapter Text
One could argue that a good pair of boots may sometimes be a man’s demise or his salvation and in this wretched land called the North, Rolland could only agree to that. Despite knowing this, the ones he wore were too fucking tight. In all his life, the man had never come north of the Neck which meant he never got to master the art of dressing to fend off the cold. Hence why the shoes his attendants had prepared for his journey hadn't struck him as unsuited for the climate. It had only taken one step into the thick blanket of snow which bedecked the ground to realize his servants wouldn't last long out of Longsister. The soles were as thin as linen rags and the melted snow had seeped through it in no time. He could have been barefoot, the results would have been the same. His squire had shoved some scraps of cloth into the bottom of it to make the rest of the route more bearable and to ensure he would be able to reach Winterfell with all his limbs. Rolland Longthorpe was a belligerent man by nature and having wet, cold and stiff feet was certainly no means to improve his mood. This fact had quickly been acknowledged by the whole of Winterfell and by the King in the North himself. As they finally arrived and he jumped down from his horse into the frozen mud, a string of curses escaped his mouth thus interrupting the curtsies of Lord Sunderland. The wiry Lord had apologized on his behalf and the King offered to provide proper northern boots for the whole of his party. He'd first thought his woes gone but the boots he was handed constricted him painfully, something he never forgot to comment about loudly in the presence of the bastard turned king. Chafed by his behavior, no more boots were offered by the rulers of Winterfell which explained the limp in his walk as he handed the reins of his horse to one of the spare stableboys. If his little toe wasn't trying to mount his neighbor like a horse on a mare, mayhaps he'd reach Sunderland a lot quicker.
Bracing himself against the hot wall of stone, he climbed towards his Liege Lord's chambers. Sunderland was ensconced in front of the hearth, sipping on wine and chatting with Ser. Ultridge. Look at them, sitting so close to the fire . Despite the ongoing conversation, the two men seemed to be half asleep thanks to the combination of wine, boredom and the warmth which emanated from the blazing fire. With all the subtlety he was known for, Longthorpe lumbered his way in between the hearth and his companions so that he could stand with his back towards the heat. Lord Sunderland’s right brow twitched. Annoyance .
"Have men ever died of a frozen ass ? Because I'm starting to think this sad excuse of a kingdom will see the end of me," Longthorpe half-jested, half-complained.
"If you are feeling so sensitive to the cold, My Lord, why not stay inside ? Lest you find our company unpleasant…” Lord Sunderland took another sip of his wine in an attempt to get drunker. Alcohol was a relief — mayhaps even a necessity — when it came to dealing with Longthorpe.
"You're not the kind of company I'm looking for Sunderland, too manly for my liking." A rictus drew itself upon his lips as his gaze turned towards Ser. Ultridge. "Mayhaps if this lad grew out his hair..."
Ultridge's knuckles turned white as the young man's hands grabbed strongly onto the armrest of his chair. The relationship between the Lord and the knight was acrimonious to say the least with Longthorpe constantly deriding the other. Why, one might ask ? Mayhaps it was the clear favoritism which Sunderland showed the knight in total disregard to the fact that Longthorpe was a part of nobility. Or mayhaps it had to do with some sort of inferiority complex which shaped each and every interaction of Rolland Longthorpe with other men, for it was obvious that Ser. Ultridge was a significantly more genteel specimen. The man was comely despite the strange appearance of his skin. It looked gray but there was shine to it which made it seem as if Ultridge was more fish than man, as if he had emerged from the deepest waters of the Bite where krakens and sea dragons dwell. This peculiar coloring contrasted heavily but beautifully with his red mane which resembled that of Sansa's -- Lady Lannister. With his chiseled jawline, straight nose and sharp eyes, it had taken no action on his part for the servants of Winterfell to hover around him like flies, something which seemed to make the older Lord even more boisterous.
"I feel you have trouble understanding what we were sent here to do, My Lord," Ultridge retorted. "If fucking was the only thing which motivated you to come, you should have spared yourself the journey."
Longthorpe laughed, his fat belly shaking with spasms. "Don't be like that lad. Fucking is probably the only thing worth doing while we wait for that Targaryen to deign acknowledge us."
"He'd be more inclined talking to us if you were not constantly frolicking outside of Winterfell."
"Frolicking," he scoffed. "I'm merely keeping myself sane or I might turn into a septon."
"Will you both stop it," Sunderland interrupted whilst rubbing his temples, a headache washing over him as a result of one too many glasses of wine. "We shall be gone in seven days at most. And I do not desire spending those listening to your petty arguments. Talking to Lord Manderly is far enough torture as it is..."
"That old man is as stubborn as he is loud, I'm afraid the results of the negotiations will never please him.”
Sunderland cocked an eyebrow at Longthorpe using the word loud to define Lord Manderly when everybody knew the Lord of Longsister was no better himself. “The results do not matter. Only my endurance does at this point,” Triston sighed.
"I think the Queen would be more satisfied with one outcome rather than the other," Longthorpe experimentally tried.
"Aye, she would but it's a battle with no dead soldiers for her," He looked into his almost empty cup and swirled what remained of his drink. "I used to think I hated negotiations but I have to say that arguing when you've already won is as insipid as this wine," he finished while downing his cup and pouring himself some more.
"What if we didn’t ?" Rolland asked while reaching for the pitcher of the watered-down beverage and finishing it in a single gulp.
"What ?"
"Win," he added, finally moving away from the hearth.
"Weren't you the most confident about this while sailing here ?" Ultridge intervened.
A tired chuckle made its way to Triston’s wine-stained lips. "Are you telling me, My Lord, that Aegon Targaryen's intelligence has made such an impression on you that you believe he has figured out what is awaiting him ?"
It was Ultridge's turn to laugh. "The man who gave the North away for a pretty cunt."
"Laugh all you want, it's not him who has me worried. It’s his Hand. I know smugglers, they see too much, think too much and if they find the slightest breach in your defenses, you’ve got it up your arse.”
Sunderland didn't seem to be convinced by Longthorpe's tirade. "Well, let him figure it all out. It's too late for the fly to see the web once it's already stuck to it."
"That's a quick death you're talking about, theirs won't be. I'm sure they will rather end it themselves or wish they'd just died during the War against the Others," Ser Ultridge added, looking off into the fire. The warm glow licked his cheeks, making him look more fire than sea. "I still feel awful," he said after a few seconds, downing his wine which had until that point remained untouched.
"Acting all high and moral, now ?" Longthorpe snorted. "Winterfell is getting to your head, lad. Don't go all Stark on us."
Once again, Ser Ultridge looked as if ready to jump from his chair and pierce the fat belly of his persecutor. "I've never fully agreed with this. But you. You seem to take great joy staring in the eyes of the countless people you are sending death after." Cloaked in silence, Sunderland refused to acknowledge the guilt which plagued his knight. "For some chests of gold and a few knighthoods," He spat on the floor. "What cowardice."
"But you still came here, my good ser. Whose cowardice are we talking about ?" Longthorpe answered, baring his worn out teeth as he hissed every word. The heavy wooden chair clattered loudly on the floor when Ultridge -- who finally had enough -- surged towards the older Lord.
"Enough !" Sunderland shouted. He seldom raised his voice. "It's kill or be killed, there is no room for sentimentality. We shall not concern ourselves with others too much or we will be the ones paying the high price."
"Sentimentality has never been one of my flaws, my Lord. But the collapse of the North won't take a mere few days. It'll take years before they come begging for the Dragon Queen to help them. I don't see her being satisfied with that situation for long," Longthorpe said, nudging Ultridge harshly with his shoulder as he strode slowly towards his liege Lord. His limp was becoming worse with every passing second.
"And that will be at her own discretion," Sunderland replied. "With the Greyjoys, she's already moved two of her pieces, if she has any more to play, it is none of my business and it should be none of yours. We have our agreement with the crown and our involvement in this plight will not extend beyond that." Oh . He made to get up but the comfort of his warm chair held him under some kind of spell. Once again, his wiry fingers came to massage his temples. "Leave, the both of you. We won't be needed until supper."
Ultridge bowed stiffly and exited. Following him, Longthorpe minced across the floor in an effort to put as little weight on his little toe as possible. The young knight marched away quickly to avoid further discussion with the other man.
"I'm going to the village. You should join me lad, some distraction will do you good," Rolland half shouted to cover the few strides which separated the both of them. Despite only seeing the back of Ultridge's head, he could imagine the muscles in his jaw working as he clenched his teeth, ready for another bout.
"Weren't you just there, my Lord ?" he asked, or hissed would be a better suited word.
"Oh yes, mayhaps I was. But what do you want me to say, my cock seeks warmth and the poor thing doesn't get much of it in this bloody land." He stopped walking and moved his foot within its boot. "My offer still holds !" he yelled.
"I'd much rather stay inside, who knows what lurks in those woods." And with that Ultridge turned the corner.
Once he heard the heavy door from Ultridge's bedchambers close upon itself, he let out a stream of curses, still trying to get his foot into a more comfortable position. The flood of obscenities did not cease even as he hobbled across the courtyard, a scorn upon his features as if daring any servants to even look his way.
When he entered the horse stable, the stableboy gawked at him as if he had grown gills. From the looks of it, he had just finished tending to his steed. Even the horse looked wary when it raised its head from the batch of fresh hay it chewed on.
"Stop gaping like a fish and get on with it," he barked.
The poor runt went back to get the saddle with as much mirth in his gait as a fool exiting the lists after having just been ousted in a joust.
"Hurry, I don't have all day." There was only so much time left until dinner.
The village was even more deserted than earlier with only the cry of the wind rolling upon the snow to fill his ears. When his horse steered too close to the houses, he could hear the faint sound of life made of hushed voices and clattering utensils. The noise would die down once they heard the hooves of his mare and he could imagine women hushing their children before peering through the boards which insulated their houses from the cold. If they could see him, they would pray, pray that he would not knock on their door, for the first time or once again.
But this time, his goal was clear and knocking on doors was not involved. Well, mayhaps on one.
Making sure to avoid the path which led to the house he had already visited, he rode towards the edge of the village. With a grunt he got down from his horse and carried his unwieldy body between the pile of abandoned chairs. He took a deep breath, like a herald ready to announce his own self, and banged on the door. He heard the voice of a green boy saying 'someone's here' and the following shuffle of feet of a grown man.
"Open the door ! I know there's someone in there !" Before he had the time to knock again, the door opened and there stood a man, a head taller than himself. The man had his arms crossed, making his build look even more imposing.
"There is no woman in here if that is what you are looking for," he stated, his voice firm and uncompromising.
"Really ? I thought I heard a woman in there..." he trailed off while his lips stretched into a lecherous smile once his eyes met those of a young boy inside the house. He timorously shuffled into another room.
"Nothing to see here...My Lord," the other man intervened.
"Bah ! I needed to take a piss anyway.”
He eyed the chairs and started unbuckling his belt.
"I wouldn't do that," the other man warned.
"Do you know who I am ?"
"Only by repute," he answered. The slight did not go unnoticed but despite his massive and easily wounded ego, Rolland could still recognize a fight that was already lost.
With a new curse punctuating each of his steps he turned around and started towards the forest.
"Wouldn't do that either, My Lord. Bears everywhere they say."
He did not heed the young man's warning and instead accelerated, his legs arching in the telltale sign of a full bladder.
"Watch my horse. I'll have your kith and kin gutted if anything happens to it."
Stepping between trees and over snowdrifts, he waited till he was far enough to straighten himself. He picked up the pace, this time fully ignoring the throbbing pain in his foot since he did not have much time to find the body once again. Hot air passed through his cracked lips once he finally got to the spot.
His fingers slid along his jawline to find the imperceptible slit before finally lifting the sweltering mask off of Arya’s face. Some faces were more disagreeable to wear than others. Walder Frey had been the worst - in more ways than one. Longthorpe’s felt heavy, almost suffocating, and it felt like his sweat still mingled with that of Arya’s. She’d need a bath.
With all the gentleness she had been taught throughout her time at the House of Black and White, she laid the flap of skin into her saddlebag. Looking at the faceless corpse in front of her, Arya started conjuring an image, that of a man who had been out in the woods for a piss when a bear attacked him. She had never heard about a bear tearing apart someone’s face but there was a first to everything. With what she had seen of the bodies from the recent attack, she started her piece like she was working on a set for a mummer’s play.
She first began by working onto the remaining skin of his face. Her prior cuts were too neat, too human-like. It went against everything she had been taught but with her knife she tore at what remained from the once aggravating face of Longthorpe. His nose, his clothes, his flesh…she tore at everything she could find. It felt awfully cathartic after moons of sailing through the doldrums of life.
Her work was erratic but she could feel time slipping through her fingers and it would not do well for her to be late for supper. Lady Luck was on her side though as the first snowflakes of a tempest came to die on her sweaty forehead. She hoped Big Mich would leave the old Lord to rot longer than necessary, mayhaps even after the storm for Arya could only recreate a bear trail for so long.
After she was done, she started to run, a small figure cloaked in brown, running with all her might against the scathing winds. She ran as fast as she could and managed to thread herself through the east gate before the pork pie -- made with more mangel than pork -- even came out of the ovens.
She changed into a dry set of clothes and scrubbed her skin with a wet piece of cloth as she did not truly have the time to take a proper bath. She found that this was seldom of any use when Longthorpe’s presence still permeated so deep within her skin.
Surprisingly, she was one of the first people to settle herself in the great hall. Lord Sunderland and Ser. Ultridge were already there, their boredom overriding their pride. Ser. Ultridge's eyes followed her movements as she sat down, leaving a seat to her right for Jon and making sure Lord Manderly would be able to sit close to her. The young knight seemed to hold some kind of respect for her and had apologized profusely for each of Longthorpe's misdemeanors towards her.
Soon enough the hall was filled and Jon sat beside her, the never-ending question floating in the air. Shit, stupid Jon and his even stupider ideas had slipped from her mind. He looked at her for a second too long, hoping that perhaps she had made up her mind and as usual, he sighed when he realized that he would not get an answer yet.
Arya herself couldn't even tell whether she had thought about it or not. The proposal would always wriggle itself to the forefront of her mind when she saw Jon or when someone mentioned him but truth be told, the more she thought about it, the more it felt like a bad joke. It was just too ridiculous, too outrageous. But Jon was not a man reputed for his humor. She would wait a few more days, let him think she had properly thought it through, and say no, mayhaps even offer him another name to make up for the wasted time.
But right now, thinking about marriages and political alliances was definitely not her priority. As Manderly started explaining why black beer was superior to all others, she tuned into Lord Sunderland's conversation. Ser. Ultridge was worried about Longthorpe's absence but Sunderland did not share his concern.
She caught 'too busy', 'be back before nighttime' but the din from the room didn't help her prying. She took another bite of her pork pie when suddenly, a man bursted in the hall in search of Davos. It starts now , she thought. Her blood started thrumming as she saw the man grabbing the old smuggler's shoulder and leaning down to whisper something in his ear. She caught the way the Onion Knight’s brows furrowed and the dread-infused look he had when his head turned towards his ruler. He answered the man dryly but she could not understand what he said before the two men exited the hall. This all meant she didn't have much time left to speak to Jon. Her knee bumped into his lightly, making him turn to her for a second but he apparently deemed it an accident. So she did again, slightly stronger this time. He glared at her but did not seem to understand what she was getting at. In frustration, she lifted her foot and kicked him hard in the shin. To his credit, he did not flinch but the sound of her knee hitting the bottom of the tabletop drew the gazes of quite a few men. She cursed inwardly at herself.
"Lady Arya, are you alright ?" Manderly asked.
"Yes, My Lord. Just a cramp. My leg has been aching the whole day, I'm afraid I'll have to retire for the night," she said with a pointed look directed towards Jon.
Sensing he better do something, he got up. "I will escort you to your chambers."
People bowed as they exited, unable to see how she was half dragging the king away. Once outside, she urged him into one of the alcoves, disregarding the fact that her behavior would probably be frowned upon in light of their different last names. With a firm hand on his chest, she pushed him into the wall.
"By the gods Arya, what's going on with you ?" he asked, glancing everywhere, searching to see if there were any spectators to her shenanigans. His hand wrapped around her wrist but she did not budge.
"They're trying to starve us."
"What ?"
"Lord Sunderland. He has some sort of agreement with the Iron Throne but he doesn't have much to do. If you agree to drop the tariffs, our funds will run out. If you disagree, then White Harbor will be crossed out from the maritime maps." He tightened his hold on her wrist, his eyes darting left and right to peer into hers. She sighed and dropped her head, Jon maintained her hand where it was. "The rest of Westeros doesn't need us. We're a dead weight. If word goes around that trading with us has become too expensive, if other ports offer more attractive prices, they won't even bother."
"But that's not enough to ostracize us," he stated, his voice heavy with so many emotions it made her wince.
"He talked about the Greyjoys. What is the common point between the Sistermen and the Ironborn ?"
"I don't-" He stopped like he had just been hit across the face.
"Aye. They will wreck our ships. Steal both what's coming from us and what's coming to us. They know we're in no place to fight and if the Greyjoys already have an alliance with Daenerys and Robyn, it means they're under their protection. And the Sisters, well, they're still under her rule."
"They won't be able to wreck all of our ships."
"No but does it matter ? You think we can afford to lose any freight ? The Greyjoys will have more trouble but the Bite is smaller and Essos is our best chance at trading for sound money. It'll take a long time but at some point we won't be able to stand on our own anymore."
He shook his head and his voice came out hoarse. "Not that long. It's those first years that matter. If piracy becomes too much of a problem, even borrowing from the Iron Bank will become nothing more than a gamble."
"I think Daenerys might have something else planned. If that was her main move-"
"No," he interrupted her. He stared into her eyes with pain threaded into his irises. For the first time she really saw how the crown upon his head made him look older than his years. He was about to fall apart. "Her main move was putting me on the throne."
Crying required strength and Jon had none left. Still Arya understood all the weight this simple sentence carried. In the space of one second, she allowed herself to slip in Jon's shoes. She allowed herself to think of Gendry.
Jon turned his face away from her, his gaze lost in the flame of the torch hanging on the wall. "What does Sunderland gain from it ?"
"Ships to wreck without fear of reprisals, gold, knighthoods for his sons."
He simply nodded, still lost somewhere she could not reach. "And how do you know all that ?"
That was a question she was not yet ready to answer. "Sunderland is a man who knows where his interest lies. You won't convince him to get on our side but you can convince him to play on both."
He finally turned his gaze towards her, ready to point out how she had avoided his question when the sound of boots on the stone alerted them that someone was coming. Davos and a few men emerged from the other side of the corridor.
Understanding that something of importance was happening, Jon pushed her away in an attempt to join his Hand but she grabbed his arm.
“Jon, I had to. Trust me."
Panic dressed in confusion seemed to dance across his features as his eyes frantically searched her own but Arya quickly turned towards Davos.
"Your Grace, Lord Longthorpe has been found dead. A bear attack it seems," Davos declared, out of breath.
There was no emotion on Jon's face for the others to see but Arya noticed the slight tremor in his jaw and the flutter of his eyelashes. He understood.
"Who found him ?" he asked, his tone so emotionless it made Davos' brows jump.
"A man from the village. Lord Longthorpe had left his horse in front of his house. Seeing that he was not returning, he and someone else went to fetch him after the storm. All they found was his body in a pretty ghastly state but he said he recognized the clothes."
"We need to tell Sunderland." And with that Jon walked away.
She sat on her bed, admiring Needle. It had lost some of its sharpness. Tomorrow she would need to go and polish it. In another life, Jon had stood right in front of where she was sitting. The glint in his eyes the moment he unwrapped the sword from the cloth would always be etched into her mind. Will I ever get to see it again ? she wondered.
A breeze and she shook. Embarrassed by the decline of her resistance to the cold, she stalked closer to the hearth. After Jon had left, she had asked for a bath to be prepared. She refused to wait for him in apprehension and had thoroughly cleansed her skin in the meantime. Now, she only wore her breeches and a white shirt which hung far too loose on her small frame. It left plenty of room for the cold air to glide over her bare skin and the cloth — wet from her dripping hair — stuck to her shoulders making her feel even more uncomfortable.
She closed her eyes and saw the sea in front of her. The sun enveloping her naked arms in a sweet embrace as she stared over the water. Her nostrils tingled with the remnants of salted memories. Her ears tuned into the sound of the canals with the gentle splashing of their waters. But the more she listened, the more the tide seemed alike to the sound of an angry man marching furiously towards her.
She stayed where she stood, Jon’s fury would not render her nervous. Soon enough, the door shook as he banged onto it. He would have simply entered had he not known her scrupulousness when it came to barring her door. Like a cat, she stalked towards it and unlatched the lock. There was barely any time for her to jump out of the way before Jon burst into the room.
Never had he been that angry towards her. Arya Underfoot would have felt guilt, fear, sadness but the woman she was now would not. What she had done she would do again and again and with that thought she raised her head and straightened her back, daring him to say anything.
It made him even more angry, a hurricane of ire sweeping over the gray of his eyes. His nostrils flared and turned around to pace further into the room.
Both his hands rubbed at his face and he growled. "What did you do ?! Are you mad ?!" She did not answer. "In what world are you living in Arya ?! That's not how we do things here !"
"I feel like you are under the impression that I did it to glean information. I did not," she calmly stated, as she clasped both of her hands behind her back.
"Wonderful ! That makes it a lot better ! What did you do it for then ?!" he spat.
"Well, if you haven't been made aware of it," And she hoped with all her heart that he did not "Longthorpe has been going around Wintertown raping whichever woman he could get his hands on." Jon's anger slightly receded and his shoulders fell. He hadn't known. The both of them had been too focused on foreign politics to notice what was right under their nose. Big Mich was right, they needed to get out of Winterfell.
"You found out when ?" he asked, his anger turning cold.
"Today, I acted immediately."
"Stop acting like you're proud of it ! You killed a Lord, an envoy from another Kingdom at that ! We're already on the verge of breaking down and you, you decide to go and wreck the only chance we had at establishing a trade !" he yelled while pointing a finger at her. The vein on the side of his neck looked ready to burst when she answered with nothing but silence and impassivity. "Did you even think about the consequences of your actions ? Answer me !"
If one thing hadn’t changed from when she was a child, it was that she did not like being ordered around. "First of all, I did not damage any of your negotiations since there were none to begin with. Did you listen to what I said earlier ? Longthorpe's death will make no difference and we both know he shall not be missed by any of the other Lords. I-"
"It will make a difference when Daenerys learns that Arya of House Stark has killed one of her people !"
"But she won't ! Tell me, would you have ever suspected me of anything had I not told you ?" Her countenance was slowly slipping and her voice was getting as loud as his. His brows were still furrowed and his teeth clenched yet he did not have anything to retort. "You would have bought into the story of the bear as easily as they will ! They have a setting, a story and even a witness, it'll go down as a mistake on his part and that is it. My involvement will never be questioned just like you would not have doubted it in other circonstances."
He turned his head away from her, breaking eye contact for the first time since their dispute had started. "Of course I wouldn't have. You did not kill this man, Arya. You mutilated him." And that's when she saw it. The expression she had dreaded since she had appeared in front of him, beneath the heart tree after so many years apart. Disgust .
Arya recoiled. Something deep within her, something that only Jon could even take a gander at, lurched forward in desperation, begging her to find the right words, the ones which would wipe that expression off of his face.
“Bears don’t stab men. If you wished for Sunderland to truly be suspicious then I shouldn’t have bothered,” she argued, hating how anxious and sulky her voice sounded. It was as if she had locked every door to herself but Jon had managed to get hold of a key. Or mayhaps he had always had it, she just forgot that fact along the way.
“Still…” He clenched his jaw. “How do you expect me to fix what you’ve just done ?”
And again, her anger flared. She felt like the tide, subjected to mysterious forces she had no control over. The Many-Faced God had abandoned her right now and she loathed him for it.
“I’ve literally given you all that you need to know to pursue those stupid negotiations ! I’ve done everything I could to ensure we won’t be suspected of anything and you still manage to treat me like some impetuous child ! Somebody in this forsaken castle needed to do something and I did. You should thank me.”
He shook his head, fire in his eyes. Some silly little voice inside her head japed that she had woken the dragon.
"You want me to thank you ? After the mess you've put me in, you want me to thank you ?" Some bitter and bewildered laugh escaped him. "I do not treat you like a child but I will if you don't stop behaving like your actions don't have consequences ! Since you came back you've been acting like you know every single thing better than the rest of us. Like this is some sort of game ! But it’s not and you better understand if you want us to keep our heads attached to our neck !”
She shook her head and one of her wet locks stuck uncomfortably to her cheek. “Mayhaps you’ll realize now how unsuited I am to be Queen.”
She could feel the silence which followed wrapping around her like a thick blanket. “I don’t understand you. Is that all you wanted to prove ? You acted reckless because you wanted to run free beyond the Narrow Sea ?”
“No, I’ll own up to what I did. It was unrelated to you and your stupid ideas.”
“My stupid ideas ?! I’m doing the best I can to fight against the circumstances but you don’t seem to realize how badly we need that betrothal !”
“But does the North need ME as their ruler ?”
Jon looked at her, his chest going up and down rapidly. “I don’t know anymore,” he breathed, resignation heavy in his voice.
“Then you have my answer.”
She could hear the sound of leather as his hands closed into fists. Anger, disappointment, resentment … “So be it.” The brush of his shoulder against hers as he strode out of her bedchambers felt far more painful than being slapped across the face. Her heart ached and she almost grabbed his arm to force him to stay. Willing herself to stay put, she heard the door closing in some sort of finality which made the room seem even colder than it was before. Even the memory of Braavos could not warm her that night.
Chapter 5: Arya III
Notes:
*cue Becca "I'm alive"*
So...I'm back with a new chapter. I have sadly come face to face with my greatest enemies : procrastination and lack of discipline as I've realized I cannot live a life and write at the same time. Also, I was not expecting my English level to drop so significantly after spending so long not writing in the language but I hope the difference is not too jarring.
This is more of a 'reflexive' chapter which does explain why it took me so long to get the motivation to write it but I still hope you'll enjoy it !
Chapter Text
Not here. Not here either. She’d swear she could feel the pieces of her mind falling apart. It had to be somewhere inside Winterfell but she couldn’t quite remember how or where she had seen it. After spending hours looking at every piece of furniture within the castle’s walls, she had to give in and accept that the Ironborns or the Boltons had destroyed it. Standing in the middle of the room, hands on her hips, she spun one last time upon herself, hoping that it would appear out of thin air. No such luck. It had been two days since her dissension with Jon. Two days during which the poor Davos had to watch the two most powerful people in the North avoiding each other like two petulant children. Albeit being a woman grown, this quarrel with her brother had managed to revert her back to her old ways. And by the gods, old and new, she hated it. Just standing in a room with her brother made her blood boil and cool depending on whether or not she was capable of taking hold of her own reason at a given moment. Her only consolation was that one could easily tell her kingly brother was prey to the same predicament.
To add to her affliction, Lord Sunderland had become warier and more vigilant. It wasn’t that he suspected that Longthorpe’s death had anything to do with them but that he now found himself with only one ally at his side. Ser. Ultridge was now always in his company and the two hardly ever left the Lord’s room unless it was to talk about the trade. This made any further spying difficult and, although she could still try to eavesdrop, she figured she had already gotten all the information she needed. This left her focusing on Maester Wolkan’s work. She had wanted to go to his turret early in the morning but the person she wanted to see the least had beaten her to it. Annoyed beyond reason, she found herself without anything important to do. This led her to finally address something that had been stuck in the back of her mind since she had met the Mitch brothers. Where had she ever seen those carvings from ?
She knew it had to be around here and Big Mitch had mentioned that his ancestors had served the Starks. After snooping through her parent’s chambers and through every room she could think of, she had seemingly lost all hope. There was only her father’s solar left. Well…Jon’s solar.
She stopped in front of the door, hesitating. She had gone into his solar without him being there quite a few times but it had been to wait for him. To go inside unbeknownst to Jon felt wrong, like she did not trust him. Well, it was not like she was trying to find something on him anyway. With that thought, she took out her lock pick and opened the door. The room was cold. Jon liked to keep it that way for whatever reason. It was unlike her father who preferred to keep it cold in the morn and warm at night, when he knew his lady wife would come and embroider by the fire, silently keeping him company. Sometimes, her mother would have her and Sansa come for a talk. On days like this, Sansa would sit on the ground, the skirt of her dress spread upon the furs while their mother brushed her long fiery hair. She would chirp about her day, giving unnecessary details which only served to exasperate Arya. However, it would only last a while as the heat of the fire upon her face, the crackling of the wood burning and the soothing hands of their mother in her mane made her fall silent every time.
On the other hand, Arya would always burst into the room and claim the spot which was rightfully hers, her father’s lap. The tiny girl would perch herself there and look upon her father’s work, acting as if she understood what he was doing. Barely knowing how to read, she much preferred when her father’s maps were out. She would then imagine herself going on adventures, silently daydreaming while she enjoyed the comforting warmth which emanated from Ned Stark.
She strode through the room and sat upon Jon’s chair. It wasn’t the one her father used but the desk had remained the same. Her gaze was lost as she tried to remember how her mother and her sister used to look. It was a pretty sight. A sight she did not belong in for when her mother did her hair, the comb would always get caught in her knots making her cranky and eliciting from her mother another spiel about decorum. Years later she now contemplated her memories wishing she had crawled back to her mother to once more feel her warmth, enjoy the little time that was left for them. She wanted to see her mother in that chair of hers so badly…
She closed her eyes, remembering the sound of the brush, the rustle of her mother’s sleeves, the slight creaking of the armrest…With her eyes still closed, she smiled. Found it .
Mayhaps she’d have remembered it earlier had she been more like Sansa, had she spent more time with her mother. Now that she knew where to focus her memories, she could recall how little trouts swam up the armrests of the chair. Such a little detail but one which held so much consideration for a lady leaving her family to live with a man she barely knew to take a new name, a new banner. When she was but a child, Arya thought Ned Stark to be the greatest man to have graced Westeros, now a woman grown, she still believed it to be true.
It felt like she had unlocked a little chest full of memories and it felt good to just soak herself in them and not think about the more dreadful parts of her past. She suddenly remembered that her father used a tiny wooden box to hold knife, ink and quill. Upon it was the carving of their sigil. She held no hope that this one hadn’t been gotten rid off but she still mindlessly opened each drawer of the desk. The last one was locked yet she didn’t even think before opening it.
Scrolls, more scrolls, Daenerys’ condition…She was about to close the drawer when something caught her eye. Some scrolls at the bottom of the drawer had not one but two broken seals. Each had one of a different house while the other always bore the shape of a raven. When had Jon gotten so many scrolls from Bran ? She exhaled longly, she already knew she would not enjoy what she was about to read.
To Bran Stark, Hand of the Queen
It is with great humility and greater excitement that I dare send you this proposal in hopes that you will sincerely consider it. With this scroll I, now Lord of House Florent, ask for your beloved sister’s hand in marriage. Our current economical situation and consequent food supplies warrant my belief that I could provide Lady Arya with everything a woman of her standing requires in these hard times. Your Lady sister’s happiness shall be my utmost concern in this dealings. I’ll be anxiously waiting for your reply,
Lord Alekyne Florent
Despite her terrible desire to crumple the piece of paper with all her might, she delicately put it back where she took it before taking hold of another. Unsurprisingly, every other one read about the same and all seemed to mention her so-called ‘happiness’. Her first reaction was anger. Towards all those foolish Lords who dared think she’d ever become their obedient little Lady wife. Towards Bran who had forwarded all these missives to Jon instead of her. And towards Jon for being stupid and not telling her. And then towards herself…she knew exactly why Jon hadn’t told her, she’d made her distaste for arranged marriages pretty evident. Still…she hadn’t pegged Bran to be the kind of man who thought her future shall only be discussed between people with a manhood between their legs.
She locked the drawer and slithered towards the door. She needed some fresh air. Or to stab someone. Whichever.
"Can you believe that ??" she argued but was only met with silence as the stone cold stare of her father's statue seemed to avoid hers. "To Jon ! As if I was nothing but a child ! As if it wasn't my own future they were discussing !"
She turned around to pace some more but the carving of her late big brother made her pause. "Don't look at me like that. I've already done my duty, there is no more I can do nor that I am willing to do. Especially not marrying some pretentious old Lord who thinks it would add to his glory to have Lady Arya Stark, the Hero of Winterfell as his spouse."
She laid her back against the wall, avoiding the stares of what was once her family. The crypts had had a weird effect on her since she came back. Its silence and the thought that only Jon and her ever came down there made her feel at peace, less guarded. She could actually feel the muscles of her back becoming more relaxed the longer she spent in the underground. But it also made her do strange things, like talking to sculptures and imagining what their response would be. Mayhaps she had truly gone insane...But after spending so long all alone she felt those who do not breathe were the only ones she could genuinely talk to. Sure thing she had Jon, but the man oscillated between shutting himself away while battling with his own demons and looking dejected whenever she did not give away as much as he'd like her too.
She raised her gaze from the boring floor to stare at the face of the man who gave her life. "He might not be your son but you raised him to be too much like yourself, Father." She laughed bitterly. "To think Jon is part of the suitors I'm whining to you about, what a sick joke that is. The humor of it all might even lie in the fact he's the best one..."
With a loud grunt she let herself fall down on the floor, her arms spread open, ready to welcome whatever idea may get her out of that terrible situation. Yet the answer did not come and the light of the lone torch she had brought with her waned until the shadows came over her like a thick blanket. Not many would find that to be soothing but Arya did. It reminded her of a time long gone, a time which had taught her that focusing on her hearing made her head lighter and her thoughts unravel more easily.
The walls of the crypts were so thick one could not hear what was happening above ground. Instead, it was the earth that spoke. A murmur so low, you had to strain your ear to hear it. Robb used to tell her that it was the dead speaking their wisdom, their grief, their grudges and that if you listened to it for too long the dead would take you with them. Little Arya wasn't scared of her older brother's silly stories but she did make sure her steps would resonate louder when she walked through the tombs in silence. At this moment, Arya did not mind the quiet, she even thought that mayhaps it wouldn't be too bad if her father appeared to take her.
For now, no ghost dared disturb her peace. Her breathing slowed, becoming almost impossible to hear. The crypts whispered in a slow and soft rumble. The sound as well as the warmth from the stone floor enveloped her, each vibration a string weaved into a comfortable cocoon. She spread her fingers wide apart and let her fingertips caress the roughness of her makeshift bed for right now Arya felt like she was lying in water, ready to sink or drift away at any moment. It flowed around her, so comforting yet so threatening. Winterfell felt alive but there was no heartbeat to be heard, only the sound of water flowing through the walls like blood through Arya's veins. Winterfell was claiming her and Arya felt herself sink further into the ground. The sound grew heavier and heavier to the point of being deafening. Thump - Thump . Had she sunk so deep she'd reached the heart of Winterfell, the heart of the North even ? Thump - Thump . No, this was not the regular beating of a heart. Arya felt herself emerge, the materiality of the floor coming back to her. Those were footsteps. Heavy and tired. The fusion between the two noises became division as one overtook the other. She knew Jon was approaching but she did not feel like moving, too entranced by the now barely audible flow of the water through the walls.
Above her, the light of Jon's torch started dancing upon the uneven ceiling like golden silks. The flow of water .
The moment Jon set foot next to Robb's statue, Arya sat up so suddenly it startled the King in the North.
"Sorry," he apologized by reflex.
"It's the heat of the water. Not fire," she mumbled to no one. In a daze, she got up and started sprinting, almost knocking down her brother in the process. She giggled as she crossed the courtyard towards the Maester's turret, the adrenaline coursing through her like a lightning bolt. Climbing two steps at the time, she reached the door and burst into the room without announcing herself. She startled someone for a second time in less than five minutes as Maester Wolkan dropped a vial in a rather large pot causing it to start foaming.
"The glasshouse is heated by the hot springs !" she claimed loudly. Maester Wolkan fumbled with a lid trying to stop the strange mixture from overflowing before looking at her incredulously.
"Yes, that would be the case. But we all know that, don't we ?”
"We need to replicate it !" she explained, clearly overjoyed by her discovery.
"But we've already tried Arya, remember the fires and everything ? What a fiasco..." he added while fetching a rag to clean up the mess.
"It wasn't heating the ground that was a failure ! It was the method ! How does Winterfell manage to stay warm ? Thanks to the water of the hot springs which flows through the walls ! What we need to do is to mimic the hot springs and make it so warm water flows through the ground like it does here !"
Wolkan stood there, frozen in time until his pupils started going left to right as if assessing the situation mentally. All of a sudden his eyes settled on Arya's, his mouth opening in a silent gasp.
Arya simply smiled and nodded. "I can't believe we missed a solution so simple,” the old maester said and started laughing, his eyes welling up with tears. "You are truly a phenomenal Lady."
It had started to snow again. One of those blizzards during which one better not stray outside to avoid getting lost. With such low visibility, a man could die a few steps from his house, never noticing it. Those kinds of storms were scarce in her memories but they now happened twice or thrice a moon. Arya stood by one of the windows in the Great Keep, staring off into the white void. The biting cold managed to seep through the closed windows despite their attempts to fill any possible gaps. Still, the young woman did not care enough to move from where she was. Mayhaps it would help her regain some of her cold resistance, she thought.
"You might want to go to the Great Hall, My Lady. The fire is blazing there," the warm voice of Davos interrupted her contemplation.
"There are too many people there. Too noisy for my liking," she answered, her eyes never leaving the nothingness.
"Well you might at least want to step away from this bloody window, lest you have a secret ambition of catching a cold," he added while tugging at his gloves to make sure no air made contact with his skin.
Arya chuckled. She liked Ser Davos and his distaste of the cold never failed to amuse her. "Aye, mayhaps I will go there and show myself to our guests. I'm sure Lord Manderly is feeling desperate without my being there," she jested.
"You are collecting admirers, Lady Arya. First Lord Manderly, now Maester Wolkan. Their praises for your intellect will not stall," he added as they started walking the corridors towards a far warmer place.
"I haven't done much to warrant their appreciation," she interjected.
Davos shook his head, a fatherly smile playing at his lips. "You are selling yourself short. Maester Wolkan has already started drawing out a system to make water flow under the ground. It is all thanks to you we might one day be able to expand the glass houses to grounds beyond Winterfell. And I believe someone else wants to commend you for the finding…"
Arya remained silent, feeling so much like she used to when her father used to cajole her out of a rift with Sansa.
"You ought not to resent him. It is as hard for him to propose such a solution as it is for you to hear about it, if not more.”
She almost wanted to disabuse him but it was for the better that he thought their rancor to be the result of a failed proposal.
"I do know that. I just feel like I've been cornered and that every single option being put forward is more awful than the other.”
"And what would those options be, My Lady ?”
"Since apparently there is no way for me to keep the legacy of my House alive without coming to an arrangement with Jon and Queen Daenerys, I either marry my brother and stay here, in a Land that has nothing to offer me anymore or I sail away from Westeros, live the way I want, mayhaps have children and hope that in a few decades Jon would have forgiven me enough to legitimize them. Although once again, our dear Queen Daenerys might find something to say against that."
Davos nodded slowly. "It does sound like one seems better than the other.”
"For myself, surely. But for my family…"
The two continued in silence until Davos decided to speak once again. "If I may...you assume staying here would be no better than winding up a noose around your neck but what's to come is a mystery for all of us. Well...apart from your brother I'll admit. But what I mean to say is that a future as Queen of the North might not be as bleak as you deem it to be. The most beautiful flower, the winter rose, blooms in those glass houses despite the harsh cold that surrounds it. It is your choice to either leave the land barren and hostile or to build something upon it and make the most out of it.”
"I never knew you were a poet, Ser.”
"I am a great many things. Poet is one of them. Singer also, but this particular skill only reveals itself on drunken nights I'm afraid," he joked as they reached the entry to the Great Hall.
"Remind me to save a few tankards of ale for you," Arya replied while beginning to scan the crowd. Jon was sitting at the high table, engaging in an animated conversation with his Master of Coin, their guests keeping an ear out for anything of importance. On the other side of the room, Lord Manderly was talking with Herwin, Chett and Baldur. As he saw Arya, Wyman Manderly waved her over. Of course he would , she thought.
"Remember what I've said," he started while staring at his king. “There are too many battles to fight right now, pick the ones which are worth fighting. His Grace needs you to support him and he does want to resolve any conflict between the two of you. I am afraid however, he's not the most socially apt person in this castle.”
Arya smiled and turned her head towards Jon who despite his Master of Coin seemingly running his ear off, had focused his attention on them. When their eyes met, his jaw twitched and his face twisted in what Arya assumed to be an awkward smile although it was hard to tell with how unkempt his beard had become since he started his duties. He nodded which made it hard for her to hold back her laugh. He truly was socially inept, wasn't he ?
"I'd wager he's not the only one. The children with the most Tully blood tended to be the most skilled ones in the art of mingling with others. Sadly, the wolf blood overruns everything else in me...like it does in him," she said, while turning back to Davos. She did not try to hide her smile this time.
"Well, one wolf or two...I have already gotten used to His Grace's ways. I think I've left his side for far too long." With a slight bow, the older man started towards the high table.
"Ser !" Arya interrupted him. "Tomorrow, Maester Wolkan and I are going to Wintertown. I think Jon should come along for a royal tour. It's important that he shows his face to his people.”
"I'll be sure to talk to him about it", the smuggler answered before leaving for good.
Arya herself turned around to head towards Lord Manderly. She dearly hoped Jon would agree.
"Are you sure we will be needing all of that ?" Arya asked, already holding two heavy bags full of medicine.
"We do not know what we might encounter. I better be ready for any situation," Wolkan answered, still taking things off of his shelves.
The jingling of all the different vials filled the room as she thought about all that she saw in the village. The hollow face of Michaëla flashed before her eyes, as she remembered the harrowing sound the little girl made as her body lifted off of her bed, taut and painful. "Do you have anything to cure tetanus ?" she finally inquired.
"Tetanus ? I'm afraid we do not have any viable cure as of yet. The best we can do is alleviate the pain when in the early stages but all the experiments we have led have ended up fruitless." Arya nodded. She did not know if the two brothers would be able to bear the news so soon after the death of their father.
With a final grunt, Wolkan hauled the third bag over his shoulder. "Are we ready to leave ?”
The two walked through the courtyard. The snow had melted under the boots of all the people working in Winterfell, making the mud liquid and hard to step on. Maester Wolkan almost landed on his arse multiple times while commenting on Arya's impressive balance.
A group of guards and horses were already waiting for them at the gate. A chariot full of victuals and warm covers had also been prepared. That was not her idea. That was when she noticed the three spare horses, saddled but without any visible rider in the vicinity.
She over-watched the Maester's attempt to mount his horse before going up to her own. Just as she hooked her foot into the stirrup, Jon along with Lord Manderly and Davos arrived. Swiftly, the young man climbed atop his mare while two valets ran to Wyman's aid. It was rather obvious that the old Lord thought himself to be some sort of protector of the North or at least some sort of indispensable council that had to watch over every move of the new King. Jon was half annoyed with being treated like a greenboy and half admiring of the older man's knowledge of the political field.
The retinue started towards Wintertown. Arya and Wolkan rode towards the back while Jon rode further ahead. She stared at the back of his head, wishing she could just hurry her horse to catch up to him and talk as if nothing had happened. It was strange to miss someone while at the same time seeing them everyday. Mayhaps she'd try to resolve their conflict tonight, after their excursion.
Their travel was complicated to say the least with the horses struggling to tread in the thick but powdery snow. Arya pushed the bottom of her face into her cloak to protect herself from the sting of the wind. Her eyes were watering and her lashes had become frozen together. It almost looked like they were ornate with glass jewels. She could not wait to go inside. The small shacks started to appear, to everybody's joy and she could see Jon straighten up further, ready to assume the role that was his.
Weirdly all conversation ceased within their ranks, as if the silence of the ghost town was something to be respected. Arya turned her gaze towards the barricaded windows. Through the gaps between the planks she could see pairs of eyes, observing and assessing the situation.
'It is the King', 'The King has come' she heard as more people rushed to their windows to better see what was happening.
"King Aegon Targaryen has come to see to those in need ! We have wool, leather, clothes, blankets and food to distribute ! Please, open your houses and come forward if anyone within your home is in need of medical treatment. The Maester of Winterfell will see to them," Davos declared with a booming voice.
For the first few minutes, nobody dared make a move, every door remaining shut. Timorously, a door opened revealing a woman so frail the wind might take her for himself.
"My husband is losing his teeth, he cannot eat anymore My Lord..." she told no one in particular, afraid to even raise her head.
A guard jumped down his horse to help Wolkan who then scurried inside the shack. Arya hurried behind him before closing the door, making sure the cold would not enter.
The whole day unfolded in the same fashion. Scurvy, infected wounds, dysentery...the list of all they had to treat was long but thankfully no major contagious illness was detected. The realm definitely did not need any of those.
Arya followed Wolkan, mostly watching over his shoulder, sometimes helping. She could hear the voices outside. It was as if the village had come out of a long, dreamless slumber. Each time they came out of one house, they were surprised to find that the queue leading up to the chariot had not diminished. Some people, more courageous than others, were standing in front of Jon while they explained their situation and communicated their needs to their ruler. Although she could not quite make out what was being said, she was happy to see that the conversations were going well and that Jon did wonderful at hearing them out.
It was already the afternoon when they reached the limits of Wintertown, where the last few houses stood. After treating so many purulent wounds and barely having the time to eat - not that she could stomach anything - Arya was exhausted, so much so she had forgotten about her initial apprehension to meet the Mitch brothers. What she did not expect was to find the house devoid of its characteristic chairs.
"Just enter," said a deep voice behind them. Big Mitch stood there, his arms full with blankets. Before any of them had the time to move, the door creaked open, revealing the face of Little Mitch. He looked tired compared to the last time she had seen him. His dark circles were so deep he seemed older than he truly was.
The childlike glint from his eyes returned as he saw Arya. "Did you come to heal Michaëla ?!" he half yelled, his voice breaking midway through his question. It was bittersweet to see a boy going through his voice changing, she wished she had witnessed it in Rickon, or Bran even.
"Aye, we did," she answered, her eyes sad for what was to come.
They entered and were hit with the same stench they had smelled throughout the whole day, murky and rank. The smell of death. Big Mitch put down his loot on the table while Little Mitch guided the old maester towards their sister. "Where did the chairs go ?" she asked.
Big Mitch barely glanced at her. "We made them useful," he replied, brushing past her to go to the other room.
The stench got stronger the closer you got to the poor girl who was rotting away on her bed.
Maester Wolkan, his expression somber, kneeled beside her to better assess the symptoms.
"Tetanus," Arya simply said.
His brows furrowed and he swallowed.
"Are you gonna be healin' her ?" Little Mitch asked, hope shining in his eyes. On the contrary, Big Mitch stood in the corner of the room, his eyes darting between Arya and Wolkan, not losing a piece of their closemouthed conversation.
"I am afraid there is no cure to this," Wolkan answered, his eyes stubbornly stuck on the little girl. "For how long has she been bedridden ?”
Little Mitch did not answer, his face slowly falling apart as the meaning of the maester's words found root in his mind.
"Three weeks," Big Mitch intervened. His breathing was becoming faster and Arya could hear a slight whistling noise as he exhaled from his nostrils.
"Her condition is quite severe and the toxins have already had time to damage her nerves, I'm afraid only forcing her into a state of sleep can ease her pain. And then..." Wolkan stopped speaking. As a maester, he had been taught how to diagnose an illness, how to heal with medicine, how to operate a body, what the citadel did not teach however was the art of announcing terrible news to families and friends.
"No, no, no, no...you're lyin', aye ? You're going to save her, aye ?" Little Mitch frantically questioned the maester as he kneeled by his side, his gloved hands clutching desperately at the man’s robe.
Wolkan turned towards the boy, his mouth opening in vain.
"She can't die. She can't," the green boy kept repeating, tears streaming down his face. He turned towards his brother, whose chin had fallen to rest upon his chest making his expression unreadable. "Mitch, he's lyin' right ? Say he's lyin' !”
The lack of answer and the somber expressions of all the adults in the room, forced a guttural sound out of his throat, like he was himself in pain. His boots, too big for his growing feet, almost made him trip as he tried to flee the situation, hoping despairingly that it would change if he got out to get some air. That when he would come back, the maester would talk differently and that, out his fancy bag, a magical remedy would appear and heal it all. Arya had often tried to flee and hope, yet it had never worked. Hope was a fickle thing and it tormented people more than truth ever would.
Once the door shut and the sound of the boy running faded away, Wolkan started rummaging through his bag. "I do have some things left to help her fall asleep..." he started but before he even had the time to grab anything, Big Mitch crossed the room in three big steps and hauled the poor man off the floor.
"I do not care for your remedies if they cannot cure her ! She's been suffering for so long and you dare come now, for what ? To tell us she's already as well as dead !" Wolkan looked terrified as the young man towered over him, their faces inches from each other's. Arya's hand was hovering over Needle, ready to intervene. "May death take you, all of you ! May you suffer as much as she did !" Wolkan was no small weight, but the man flew a few feet when Big Mitch pushed him, his back harshly hitting the wall as he plummeted to the ground. "Out of my house !" Big Mitch screamed once more. Arya rushed to the old man's aid, using all of her strength to help him stand back up. "Out of my house I said !”
Noticeably in pain, Wolkan hobbled towards the door, only turning around once he had reached it. He stopped as he realized Arya had remained in the same spot, unwilling to move. She nodded at him, he hesitated for a second but finally decided it was better for him to leave. Through muffled grunts, Michaëla reminded them of her presence.
"It goes for you too," Big Mitch added, now more tired than angry. The man trudged towards the bed, the straw mattress sunk under his weight. "Shhh girl, it's alright. Everything's alright.”
With his back facing her, Arya could not see his face, but she did notice the tremor in his voice.
"She's in pain. Uselessly so," Arya said, silently shifting so she could catch a glimpse of Michaëla's face. What she saw was no more alive than dead. Her eyes were glazed over, almost white in color. The pain had numbed her mind. Or mayhaps she had numbed her mind to escape the pain. Who knew.
Out of her satchel, Arya dug out a small bottle full of reddish liquid. Knowing he would not want to be seen in this state, she reached over his shoulder and showed it to him.
"Essence of nightshade. Only ten drops are required to fall in a painless, eternal slumber." With a shaking hand, Big Mitch grabbed the bottle.
"I can do it if-”
"No. I will," he interrupted her.
"Aye." For one more second she dove into the empty eyes of Michaëla. A single tear stemmed from her eye before rolling on her skin and dying on the pillow. "Valar Morghulis," she breathed before turning to leave.
"Please," Big Mitch interrupted her, his voice hoarse from holding back his tears. "Please, tell my brother to come back. I do not want to do this without him being there.”
"I will.”
The cold hit her as if it was seeking revenge on her. She was expecting she'd need to run around the whole village to find Little Mitch but queerly, the young boy was standing not far away from the house. He was staring off at the edge of the forest, completely immobile. It was a strange sight, eerie almost.
Even stranger was the expression on his face. His eyes were devoid of emotions but the path his tears had taken had become frozen.
"I can't be scared. It's not allowed," he murmured, his wide eyes never leaving the trees.
"Hey, you need to go back to your house. Your brother is awaiting you.”
He shook his head and his lips turned into a frown as he forbade himself to cry any further. "I don't want to.
"But you need to. It's important." Seeing that the boy was not going to move, she decided honesty was the better choice. "Do it for your sister, it's time for her to go. She needs you by her side, and your big brother does too.”
The young boy grunted in pain before dashing back towards his house with all his strength. Arya watched him disappear among the houses. She then turned her head towards the trees just like Little Mitch did. Jon had seen Rickon die too. She wished she still remembered what her last words to him were.
She felt the pull from the forest, beseeching her to come. An old thrumming of her Wolfblood called out to her and by the gods she wanted to answer, run among the wolves and be as wild as her little brother had grown out to be. She closed her eyes and remembered herself. The woman she had become was no slave to her pulsions and she had things to do.
Glancing one last time at the enigmatic forest, she moved back towards the center of the town to rejoin the others. Their little excursion was coming to an end and there was nothing left of what they had brought. They spent one more half an hour to make sure everybody had received whatever they needed for the daunting days to come.
People started coming out of their house to see the departure of the King, the crowd effectively growing bigger and bigger by the second. Could they see a sign of acceptance in this display ? Her eyes met those of Jon who had a hard time concealing his relief as he climbed atop his horse, a newfound energy in his movements. Arya mimicked him, ready to leave this cold hell and go back to her chambers, but fate always had a way to contradict her plans.
She heard it before she saw it. The whistle of an object splitting the air at high speed made her turn her head just fast enough for her to see the rock come in contact with Jon's temple. Jon's head did not move, his eyes opening and closing half in shock and half in pain but his hand grabbed longclaw, more out of habit than any will to fight. The red rivulets started to drip along his fair skin and Arya ushered her horse towards him while looking for the felon who could afford to make such an affront towards the King.
It did not take long to find him since the crowd had split around the man, not wanting to be associated with his deeds. There, in the middle, stood Big Mitch, his shoulders straight and his gaze unwavering, ready to defy the King, ready to defy the gods themselves.
Two guards threw themselves at him, each grabbing an arm. He did not try to fight them but he did resist once they kicked the back of his knees to make him kneel. "Can't you see ? Can't you all see ? A few blankets to buy your allegiance, is that all it takes ?" he bellowed as he fell into the snow. "That man does not care. That man is not one of ours, not one of the North ! Fuck the Targaryens ! Long live the Starks !" he kept going. The main response to the man's spiel was silence. Were they too scared to speak ? Did they not agree ? Were they left in shock ? One may never know, however some response did not go unnoticed. A slight nod here, a whisper of approval over there; they all resonated far louder than they should and Davos' attempt to cover the sound of the people did not succeed in appeasing their minds.
As Arya's horse got closer to him, one of the guards grabbed a chunk of Big Mitch's hair and yanked it backwards, forcing him to look up at her. "He is not my King," he breathed out, one of his locks stuck to the corner of his mouth.
With a strong hold on the reins of her horse, Arya bent down so that only him and the two guards could hear what she was about to say. "He will be," she stated, calm and composed. Her eyes not leaving his, she got back to her position and spun her horse around. Arya Stark had become a shadow, silence and stealth were her weapons, but in the game of thrones one sometimes had to stand in the light and be loud.
She let her gaze travel upon the northern faces before her while her horse treaded slowly in front of them all. "I am Arya Stark of Winterfell and this, is my home," she started, her voice louder and clearer than it had ever been since she set foot upon the land of her birth. "I belong to the North and the North belongs to me. The Wolfblood runs in my veins as it did in my ancestors'." She took off her glove, the flank of her horse touching that of Jon's mare. She raised her hand to his face, her fingertips dipping into the crimson liquid to then fully dive into it as she cupped his cheek. "If you spill his, it is mine you are spilling. An affront towards him, is an affront towards me and I do not take offense very well. Let it be known that I will always defend my family, my pack...and my people. Winter has come and it is here to stay ! We need unity to get through it ! And we, King Aegon and I, have your best interest in mind ! It is an oath !”
With that, she ushered her horse towards Winterfell, not even thinking about looking back with how many thoughts swam in her head. What she missed however was the pride upon Lord Manderly's face, the thankfulness upon Davos' and the utter shock upon Jon’s.
Her cheeks and nose were as red as a drunkard's when she reached the gates of Winterfell. It hadn't taken her too long since, as soon as she saw the people behind her disappear, she forced her poor horse to gallop back towards safety. She jumped down, the mud spurting around her feet as they made contact with the ground. The stableboy asked her something as she handed him her reins but her mind did not quite catch it, too occupied that it was with the uncertainty of Arya's future. She headed straight towards the Godswood. She did not know why but she wanted - no, needed - to see the Heart Tree badly.
Her dark cloak was dragging across the snow as she made her way through. Among the infinite whiteness, the bloodied leaf of the Heart Tree made for a stark contrast. She fell on her knees before the face engraved in the bark, doing all she could to keep the tears from streaming down her face like an infinite river of passion.
"It's unfair," she said, her voice breaking from the weight of her emotions. "I've earned my freedom yet...it seems as if the gods are never willing to truly grant it to me...I don't want this. I hate it so much." She rubbed away a shameless tear who had escaped against her will. "Please give me strength. I beg you.”
She stayed there with her head down and her knees going numb from the cold. For how long she did not know but the sun had set and the torches had already been lit.
Suddenly, she slapped her cheeks with both her hands and slowly raised her head, her visage completely impassive. All she needed to do now was to wait until the red of her eyes went away.
Chapter 6: Jon III
Notes:
I am truly paying homage to GRRM with this publication schedule...
Chapter Text
The wine filled him up with warmth as he downed his third cup of the night. Was it the cold that made him drink so much ? Tiredness ? Or mayhaps it was the constant worry which swam in his head like a trout in a small pond…Jon knew very well what it was but he loathed to admit it. His thoughts were a mess, and the more he tried to organize them the more they seemed to multiply.
In the battle against himself, he had chosen wine as his weapon but even the vermillion liquid proved to be poor armament when the throbbing pain in his temple kept reminding him of the day's events. He had failed to conquer his people once again. He had believed in his triumph for what seemed like a mere hour before it shattered, a single and oh so simple rock causing the tower he had painstakingly built to collapse upon itself, its ruins a proof of his defeat. The eyes of his subjects had been blazing in his humiliation, they burned through him like Drogon's breath. They had seen his blood, they knew he was not the immortal creature the stories painted him out to be. Jon Snow, the sham behind Aegon Targaryen, was but a mere man, one who did not know how to govern and he had proven it to them today.
The man who had thrown that rock might not have been someone of any importance but his voice had resounded loud, it was the summation of all the voices who did not dare speak and Jon was becoming paranoid trying to imagine how many there were. He had not known how to react, what to do or say to make them cease. But Arya had. What she told the man, he did not know but the reaction of the people after she was done speaking showed precisely who had the North in the palm of her hand.
He rubbed his beard and sighed. What was she thinking ? Where was she even ?
He and his party had come back to Winterfell to find no trace of Arya. The sun had been setting and the already freezing temperatures had become even colder but Arya did not show herself to supper and Jon hadn't dared go into the crypts to see if she would be there. The crypts made the implications of her speech all too real and Jon wanted to evade them for slightly longer. That was what she was insinuating right ? Or was he mistaken ?
Jon did not like covert meanings and he often found himself at a loss, forced to interact with those who spoke in tongues full of riddles. Tyrion was probably the worst but the more he spoke with the dwarf the more he understood that it all was a game to him. Arya and Bran on the contrary were keen on hiding things from plain sight making it harder for everyone around them to understand what they were truly getting at. In this drunken night, Jon could not tell whether this was all meant to announce her agreement to his proposal or whether it was only a way to reassure the people of his goodheartedness.
He put his goblet back onto his table, telling himself there was no use in ruminating and that it was time to go to bed. But Jon knew himself all too well and he knew it would keep him up, unable to sink into slumber. With a sloppy hand he poured himself another glass. His opinion kept changing on whether or not he'd like to see Arya right now. Obviously it would put an end to his questioning but he had to admit it made him nervous. Talking with Arya meant they had to resolve their conflict, talk about her work with Wolkan and mayhaps, if he hadn't misunderstood, put an end to those marriage talks.
After having proposed to Arya, Jon had not-so-gently buried the issue in the back of his mind, thinking he'd dig it back out when the right moment came along. What the right moment was, he did not know but he certainly hadn't expected it to explode back to light the way it did.
Three soft knocks upon his door made him break out of his reverie. Stupidly, he opened his mouth and froze. At this point he could hardly believe she did not have mind reading abilities.
"Yes ?" he answered, not intending it to sound like a question at all. The door opened and Jon felt his hold upon his goblet tighten. Arya slithered her way into the room before standing in front of him, keeping her distance. His eyes traveled everywhere but her face. Why are your knees wet , he meant to ask but Arya got ahead of him.
"Is your wound alright ?”
"Lots of blood but little damage, I won't even get a scar as proof of my bravery against this rock," he tried to jest but his eyes kept avoiding hers, suddenly finding the shades of red in his beverage immensely interesting. She did not answer, silence filling the room through every gap. To tune down the awkwardness, Jon decided to be bold, finally staring straight into her gray eyes. "Arya, I would like to thank you for all you've done for the realm till now," he said, his voice clear and his tone solemn. What he did not expect was the smile tugging at the corners of his little sister's lips.
"I think you can save your grand diatribes for some other time..." she said, glancing down at his attire. Jon did the same, suddenly remembering himself. They were in his chambers which were no place to discuss political matters, especially not with a woman he had proposed to. But Arya was different, she always had been and Jon did not even bother thinking about the virtue of it all. What he did care about however, was his current state. His reddened cheeks, messy hair, bandages surrounding his head, his opened shirt which hung loose upon his frame...he did not look like a king at all and although he had an inkling Arya did not care about his lack of propriety, he did not want her to see him like that.
Obviously, his face could not flush any more than it already was but something about his grimace must have told Arya he was embarrassed. "Oh for fuck's sake Jon, don't you act like a King with me. You know I dislike it.”
"But I still want to thank you. As King but as myself too. We didn't really have much time..." Arya quirked an eyebrow "or desire to talk about your idea for the glass houses. Although we still don't know if it is going to work, Wolkan has been pretty optimistic about it, which is a first. And what you did today too ! You did not need to enter every single house with the Maester but you did. This along with what you said earlier..." His voice faded as he realized he had just indirectly breached the subject he was so nervous to tackle. His eyes once again left hers as he continued, less assured. "It's all a great help.”
Today seemed to be a joyous day for silence since it invited itself at every opportunity while Jon anxiously racked his brain for something else to say.
"I will wear breeches during the ceremony.”
Jon's eyes hastily snapped back to her face. "What ?" he questioned dumbly, not sure if he fully understood the meaning of her words.
"I will wear breeches at the ceremony, it is one of my conditions," she answered, her face calm and her posture composed.
For what seemed like the hundredth time that day, Jon was in shock. His eyes remained locked with hers as he slowly lifted himself off of his seat. "Arya, please say the words.”
Her stiff posture slackened as she sighed and rolled her eyes. "I will marry you," she added, in the tone she used when people annoyed her as a child. Jon did not say anything in response but he did get closer, each of his steps careful as if she'd scurry away the moment he'd move too quickly. Seeing that there was no response from him, Arya's attitude turned into uncertainty. Her weight shifted onto her right hip and she looked at him from under her lashes, swallowing thickly. "That is...if you still want me."
She had barely finished her sentence before he yanked her into his arms, not thinking if he embraced her too tightly. "Of course I do," he reassured her. He felt her body become limp in his hold as she allowed him to lift her feet off the ground. Their fight may have only lasted a few days but it had felt like moons since he last got to hold her. He took a few seconds to relish in the sensation as every last bit of tension left his body. Finally, he would not have to bear this hell alone anymore. Arya would be there too…
Relief left him as soon as it came. The moment they would be joined before the gods, he would become her captor, cursing her to a life she did not want. He gently set her down and pushed her away. Both his hands went up to hold her by her nape, his thumbs rubbing at the skin below her ears as he peered down into her face.
"Are you sure this is what you want ? You'd be tying yourself to me, to this place, for the rest of your life. This is not a small sacrifice, one you could walk back on.”
"I am a child no more. I know what the words I've just said entitle and I've properly thought about it all. I've made my decision," she answered, her voice frail and her eyes shining with tears despite her smile.
"I would never forgive myself if I were the cause of your unhappiness," he added, still holding her close to him. Arya had always held a special place in his heart. They had their own language, one the other members in their family could never understand and although they seemed to have lost their understanding of said language after not practicing it for years, it would be impossible for Jon to ever forget how much he cared for her. As a child, Arya had often come up to him in tears, begging him to whisk her away and take her to a place where she wouldn't be a noble anymore, where responsibilities wouldn't force her to marry someone she did not know. But the gods had a sense of doing things he had a hard time finding humorous, as he now stood in front of her, establishing himself as the one thing she had so dreaded.
Arya grabbed both his wrists before turning her head to nuzzle her face into his palm, sweaty because of the wine and his nerves. She closed her eyes before speaking against his skin. "I am the only one responsible for my own happiness. If I have to find it in the mud, I will. If I have to find it in horse shit, I will. So if I have to find it in the snow, so be it. I've never wanted to get married and love was always something that I left to Sansa. I'd rather not have to do it but marrying someone I deeply care for and respect is probably the next best thing. Do not worry so much for me.”
Jon sighed. "I want to be sure that this is your final decision. I'd rather you saying no now than having you disappear before the ceremony or after we've been wed.”
Annoyance flashed across her features and she pushed his hands away from her face though never letting go. "Do you really think I am that irresponsible ? That I could ever discard you like that ?”
"I don't know," he simply breathed out. It was the truth laid bare and he hoped Arya would not take offense in it and that she would understand his answer for what it really was, a plea to mend what's been broken, a plea for her to let him in once again, even little by little.
Thankfully, Arya seemed to understand as her features softened. "Aye. Well, let me inform you that I wouldn't. You can already think us wed.”
Suddenly, a laugh escaped him. "I'd rather not.”
Arya answered with a giggle of her own. "Me neither.”
Still grinning, Jon embraced her once again, laying a kiss upon her temple, just like a brother would. "I do have my conditions however," she added. "Do not expect me to be a perfect little Queen. No matter what they say, I'll always do things my way.”
"I wasn't expecting anything else of you," he said, smiling.
"I am your equal. Now and always. Promise you won't ever try to limit my freedom.”
"I promise." He held her for a few seconds in silence, gently rocking her from side to side. "Is that it ?”
She took a sniff at his shirt. "And no drowning your sorrows in wine, you drunkard. Talk to me instead.”
"Aye, will do," he said while releasing her. "Mayhaps you shouldn't be in my bedchambers now.”
"Oh who fucking cares," she groaned and he laughed. She headed towards the door but as she opened it, she froze. "Jon ?”
"Hm ?”
"What happened to the man who threw the rock at you ?" she asked.
"He got arrested. He's in the gaols. We'll put him on trial in the next few days," he answered. He had assumed she was worried about having a man like that roaming free and wreaking havoc in the people's spirits but her face did not show any sign of relief upon hearing his words.
"Alright," she said. "Sweet dreams." And with that she was gone.
With calm eyes, he watched the map of the Bear island flutter to the floor in what seemed like an attempt to escape the desk which it previously laid upon. One could barely see the wood peeking through the countless maps and scrolls which were scattered before the three men. In other times, Jon would have been quite overwhelmed by the nightmarish task at hand but today, he took it with patience and serenity. Arya’s long awaited answer to his proposal had lifted a sizable weight off his shoulders, allowing him to look at the kingdom’s affairs with a much clearer mind.
The splendid breakthrough they’d encountered in regards to the greenhouses had sparked further debates and although they weren’t quite sure yet if Arya’s idea would work, Jon had decided to start planning as if it were a sure bet. Indeed, this somewhat simple realization had managed to unify both Maester Wolkan, Herwin, Chett and Don under one common goal; a feat which he couldn’t quite ignore.
Now, taking into account all the available land, which Lords housed the most people and who needed it the most, they had to calculate how many greenhouses were needed and how big each of them would be. With their funds running low, Jon knew they would need to prioritize those who needed them the most, a task he had undertaken with the help of Davos and the – unasked-for – guidance of Lord Manderly.
They had gone through each map and marked the areas which required their utmost attention. Obviously a more thorough examination would be needed but this first familiarization helped them gain a better sense of how much it would all cost.
“Well, I think that covers it,” said Jon while craning his neck from side to side to stretch his stiff muscles.
With a slap on the knee, Lord Manderly started lifting his benumbed body off the chair.
“Wait,” Jon interrupted him. “I’ve been thinking about a new project recently and I’d appreciate it if you were to discuss it with us since it would also concern White Harbor.”
Davos looked at him with surprise. Jon hadn’t quite dared evoke this prior to now. The young man got up and cleared all the superfluous maps from the table, leaving only the one which covered the North in its entirety.
“Unlike the Reach we do not have much to trade. Yet, there is something of ours that could be of interest in Essos and even south of the Neck and that is our timber. This is something we’ve already established but what if there was a way to optimize this trade ? What if we could transport more merchandise ? What if we could do it all faster ?”
Wyman eyed him with interest, bolstering Jon’s confidence. “The problem here is that whatever we have, it needs to be moved by horses through little roads and over great distances. What we lack here is a way to connect the great forests and White Harbor. I do not know if this would be possible but I’ve had this idea. We could start digging here, “ he pointed at a place in the Wolfswood in between Sea Dragon Point and Deepwood Motte, “and keep going east till we reach White Knife. This would extend the river and allow us to better exploit this area of the Wolfswood.”
Davos laid his hand on the desk to get closer to the map, silently contemplating the idea.
“It does seem like a grand venture…On the paper it makes sense but would it be achievable ?” said Wyman.
“If we must move boats through the forest, we’d need to dig deep enough. Do we know if the ground is viable enough to do so ?” Davos asked.
“I do not know,” Jon answered.
Raised to fight and follow orders, Jon had never been taught how to rule a country and make it prosper. Sure, he had led troops and taken a great many decisions in the past moons, but the current work which had been laid upon his shoulders showed to be utterly different. Yet, the bastard turned king couldn’t quite stand merely saying yes or no to others' schemes. Jon wanted to help as much as he could despite his shortcomings. Although he had grown into his confidence, he still felt stupid whenever he tried to propose a new project, as if he were wasting his counselors’ time, as if they only gave him positive feedback because of the crown on his head.
Sensing Jon’s inner turmoil, Davos was quick to reassure him. “Although I fear this might be more of a long term project, this could be interesting to consider.”
“It is always good to have a long term plan. And if you do manage to bring more merchandise to White Harbor, I for sure won’t be complaining,” Lord Manderly added. “Mayhaps when things settle down a little, you could send some men to check how deep the bedrock is.”
“Yes, surely. I know this might not yet be the time to take on such a colossal project but I wanted to get your opinions on such a matter. I don’t want to waste any money on things that you’d deem impossible or of little benefit.”
“In a few moons, when the rest of the…issues we are facing settle down, we ought to start thinking about this,” Davos said earnestly. Jon felt relieved the older men did not treat his plan as if it were some child’s preposterous idea.
“Speaking of current issues, I’m planning to talk to Lord Sunderland tomorrow. After much thinking, I’ve concluded the way we’ve been conducting those negotiations might not be effective at all.” Lord Manderly nodded in solemn agreement. “That is why I want to try a less standard approach. I would greatly appreciate your support.”
Wyman Manderly raised his head and ran a lazy hand through his white beard. Despite his often merry attitude which made him seem like a good natured codger, the Lord was remarkable in business, often strategizing when others thought him clueless. Right now, Jon’s words had a spate of possible meanings. A ‘less standard approach’ could mean throwing themselves at Sunderland’s feet as much as it could mean slitting the man’s throat.
Yet, the older man did not doubt one second that such an extreme decision hadn’t even crossed Jon’s mind. Although he wouldn’t presently admit it, he was putting a lot of trust in the assured growth of this new King. After a little consideration, Wyman decided nothing too extreme would happen and that going along would allow him to observe how Jon would play out his cards.
“I am obliged to you,” he said before exiting the room.
Jon exhaled a sigh of relief. “Does it ever stop being nerve racking ?”
Davos was already gathering the maps to clean up the mess they had created. “Depends on the situation. The more you’ll do it, the more you’ll get used to it,” he answered.
The most stressful conversations were already over but there was still one thing that had to be talked about.
“There’s something I need to tell you. I figured I should inform my Hand before I make an official statement.” The other man made a noise of agreement but kept his focus on the maps. “I have chosen who I will marry.”
Davos halted all movements and finally looked at Jon. “Who ?”
“Arya.”
The smuggler’s eyebrows almost rose up to his hairline and his mouth opened in a comical ‘o’. “I’m afraid I must have hallucinated your answer just now. Would you care to repeat it ?”
Jon laughed. “I’m going to marry Arya.”
The expression of bewilderment did not leave Davos’ face. “I apologize for asking such a question but…Is Lady Arya aware of that ?”
“I’m not suicidal enough to take such a decision without her ascent,” Jon answered with a smile.
Davos breathed a sigh of relief but it seemed he couldn’t quite grasp what Jon had told him just yet. “This is truly the craziest thing you could have told me. I mean it’s a good thing ?” he said but his tone made it sound more like a question.
“You don’t sound too convinced.”
“Well it sure makes my job easier but I wouldn’t have expected you to take this route. And let’s not talk about Lady Arya. How did you convince her to agree ?”
The chair creaked as Jon leaned back into it. “I did not have much of a choice did I ? I guess I finally understand what it means to have a kingdom’s future within your hands.” He opened his fingers and studied his palm, rough from wielding the sword. “As for Arya, let’s say it took her some time to warm up to the idea.”
“You two did seem strange these past few days…”
Jon did not raise his head. It wasn’t a lie the proposal had made them quite awkward around each other but the murder of Longthorpe still weighed heavy in the back of his mind. “Aye. But I’m glad she saw how dire the situation was.”
Misreading Jon’s sudden gloom as anxiousness for his future wedlock, Davos tried to find the right words to soothe him. “Marriage isn’t easy. I think that is one of the rare things in front of which we are all equal. Whether you love the person or hate their guts, you’ll always face issues. But doing so with someone you cherish and respect makes it far less complicated. I’ll argue it is quite a blessing that you will work through life with someone who already holds such an important place in your heart.”
“A blessing ?”
“Aye. And with yours and Lady Arya’s problem solving tendencies, I foresee this going quite well. A great many men have made far less pleasant matches.”
Jon thought about the rumors surrounding Robert Baratheon’s death, Sansa’s unfortunate marriage to Ramsay and even the infidelity of his father Rheagar Targaryen. But then he also thought about Ned and Catelyn Stark whose love was only marred by his own existence, about Sam and Gilly, and all those who had loved before them. It was a shame he’d never be able to have that but his failed romance with Daenerys had sealed the coffin of his love life. It had hurt too much and he did not need to experience such pain once again.
“Why have you never asked for your wife to be brought north ?” Jon suddenly asked.
Instinctively, Davos' mutilated hand reached for the pouch which held his phalanges. “I trust she might fare better where she is.”
This was a very peculiar conception of marriage, one Jon didn't quite understand. The smuggler had never shown any dislike towards his wife so why wouldn’t he want her close to him ? Especially when Davos had made his decision to remain here quite obvious.
“Why ?” he breathed out, somewhat afraid he’d offend his Hand by asking such a question.
Davos hesitated. “Being a good husband demands a lot more than what you’d think. You’ll see that for yourself someday.”
Those words were so ominous, Jon decided to put a halt to his prying. Davos did not seem like he wanted to ramble about his marital life.
“If you were to change your mind at any point, just know she will be granted northern citizenship and a place within Winterfell.”
The older man thanked him with a knowing smile. “Well now, I have a wedding to prepare,” he said before drifting into a spiel about wedding costs and outrageously long guests lists.
“Do not take this as criticism for your hospitality, your Highness, but I am quite glad I won’t have to withstand such a harsh climate soon,” Lord Sunderland said, tugging on his furs to make sure they wouldn’t fall.
To supposedly alleviate the Lord’s boredom, Jon had proposed a walk upon the battlements so that his guest could overlook the glasshouse. Deep down, Sunderland hated the idea but one couldn’t refuse an invitation of a king for the sake of their own comfort.
But finding himself on a walk, in the freezing temperatures of the North with the brooding Targaryen irritated his nerves more than being left alone, cooped up in his chambers near the fireplace. At the front, walked the King’s Hand along with the old Lord of White Harbor - two specimens he could not stand - while behind, lingered his own knight. He glanced back towards Ser. Ultridge. The knight had his hand placed on the pommel of his sword, ready to fend off any attack against his employer. After all, an ‘accident’ could always happen, especially at such height.
Longthorpe’s disappearance had made him wary but one would be stupid to assassinate him, especially when Ser. Ultridge stood so close to the King.
“I don’t intend to keep you here longer than you ought to be,” Jon answered. “But you are not facilitating our negotiations.” Suddenly, he stopped in his tracks. “We will not be dropping the tariffs.”
“All right. Suit yourself. But do not forget I represent the Queen herself in these dealings. You need her more than she needs you.”
Every man standing there could understand the low blow which had just been delivered to the former lover of Daenerys but Jon did not falter.
“I do not doubt a second that you are properly doing the task you were given. Yet, I also do not doubt you know exactly why it is that she asked you to be so uncompromising.”
Despite his frustration and Arya’s reveal, Jon had remained cordial; choosing not to hint at the political game they were all playing. But now that Sunderland’s stay neared its end, he figured it was finally time to drop the facade.
“Well, I don’t think there is anyone in Westeros who ignores the current political state.”
“So tell me, if you are aware of the financial situation of the North and considering the fact that Her Highness Daenerys has significant resources in comparison to us, why would you be asking us to further impoverish ourselves ?”
“I’m afraid this is something only Queen Daenerys would know. I am but a mere messenger,” Lord Sunderland added, the right corner of his thin, wiry mouth twitching.
Jon sighed. This man thought him a fool. Many thought him a fool.
“Please, I might become offended if you keep playing coy.” The sudden change of tone succeeded in getting rid of the smirk which threatened to appear on the Sisterman’s lips. “Her Highness made you privy to her plan, of that I am quite sure. Now I could keep questioning you, in hopes that we could establish some sort of trust or, I could simply state what I think is the reason behind your coming here.”
After days bending over backwards to try and please Sunderland, this bout of assertiveness did not displease Jon.
Mayhaps if he had the same skills as Arya he could have seen the alarm in the man’s eyes but the Lord’s face did not budge. What he did notice however was the sudden nervousness of his knight, who anchored his feet, ready to draw his sword if anything were to go awry.
“Pray tell.”
Jon had hoped the man would speak for himself but he had to admit Lord Sunderland was hard to intimidate. “If you insist. Our tariffs have been about the same for years now, what you are asking is a reduction of over a quarter. I don’t think a financial advisor is needed to understand what this would do. However, I believe the tariffs are only one side of the coin. The other side pertaining to you directly, Lord Sunderland. If we cannot deal with Westeros, we will have to deal with Essos. And how can we deal with Essos when those who control the Bite have been tasked with wrecking our ships ?”
Lord Sunderland scoffed. “This is ridiculous…”
“Is it really ?” intervened Lord Manderly. “I don’t think it would hurt your morals, would it ?”
“Your habits are a secret to no one,” Jon added.
“Has this turned into a trial ?”
“No, but it is an opportunity for the truth to come to light.”
Lord Sunderland stood tall and stiff, staring down at the other men with his sharp eyes. “The truth you’ve already construed. Everything I might say will only come out as a lie if it does not match what you want to hear.”
“I’m afraid that is not how truth and lies work.”
The Sisterman sighed and fussed with his cloak. “I am a messenger of the Queen. I delivered the message. That is all there is. I will go back to Sweetsisters in a few days, perfectly content with my work here. Now, you can keep on digging but none of this concerns me because I’m sure you won’t, you can’t, harm me.”
“Oh he certainly won’t,” said a woman’s voice. “He’s too reasonable for that.”
Sunderland’s demeanor was so rigid, he had a tendency to turn his whole body instead of turning just his head. On one of the crenels, sat Arya. She had come like the wind; unnoticeable until she made herself known.
Jon saw Sunderland’s thin lips tighten even more. The Hero of Winterfell was surrounded with countless rumors, some bearing more truth than others. But each of those rumors amounted to one thing : it turned the small woman into an object of fascination as well as fear.
Triston Sunderland hadn’t escaped their effect and had avoided Ned Stark’s daughter as much as he could throughout his stay.
“I, on the other hand, have been told I act too brashly,” she added, circling around everybody to take her place next to Jon.
The man himself smiled at the sudden nervousness which overtook everyone, Davos and Wyman included. “Do not worry. She’s harmless,” he added. He had been reluctant to implement Arya’s idea into the confrontation but she had managed to convince him by saying the added dramatic tension could prompt him to talk. After all, Sunderland wasn’t a man who would risk his life for the Crown.
“Mayhaps, you shouldn’t wait for him to talk and simply state our offer,” she told Jon before addressing Sunderland directly. “You are a man who knows where his interest lies afterall.”
The word ‘offer’ had the benefit of sparking some curiosity in the otherwise very closed-off man. “Alright,” Jon started. “As I’ve said previously, we think you have been tasked with preventing any ship coming to and fro the North from ever arriving. And this is what I want to discuss with you right now. The tariffs won’t be dropped. They will actually remain the exact same. If Her Highness does not wish to continue dealing with the North, that is something that only concerns us. As for our trade with Essos, all we need is an agreement with you, a safe passage.” Lord Sunderland said nothing, nor agreeing nor disagreeing with the notion that he had indeed come to such accord with his Queen. “Now I am aware that you are a direct citizen of Westeros and that it would be treason to disobey your own ruler but I am also aware that this has never stopped your House from acting the way it wants. My offer is actually that there is no offer besides maintaining the relationship that the North and the Three Sisters have had the past few years.”
Sunderland scoffed. “You are a masterful negotiator, Your Highness.”
The sarcastic remark remained ignored by Jon. “Lord Manderly, would you mind reminding me how the Three Sisters subsist ?”
“Absolutely,” Manderly started with great enthusiasm. He had been waiting for a moment to enter the conversation. “The Three Sisters have great ressources of seafood and have been coming to White Harbor to sell them for generations now. However, their agriculture and their supply of wood are severely lacking which makes them reliant on trade and other less respectful activities…”
“What I’m understanding from this is that you need us as much as you need the South. Now if Her Highness gets her way and stops doing business with us, it means the number of boats passing through the Bite will be reduced by two thirds if not more. That is less ships for you to wreck but it also means no reason for Queen Daenerys to send boats towards the North, towards you. Right now, she needs your allegiance, so she will maintain a pretense of trade with you but soon enough it will all dwindle, leaving you with close to nothing. If the North is not part of the main sea route, you won’t be either.”
As Jon spoke, Lord Sunderland had started to chew on the inside of his cheek; a sign Arya had interpreted as him thinking things through. “And why would we keep on trading with you when you are the greatest obstacle to our business with Essos. Why would we keep sending boats through the Bite when we know the freight will be lost ? I am warning you right now, Lord Sunderland. This is endangering you more than it is endangering us.”
The silence rang heavy for a minute, its only disruption, the wind which swept through the snow and made their cloak dance in unison. “So you are suggesting I play for both sides ?” Sunderland finally asked.
“Yes. It might not be the way I want to deal with such issues but I’m afraid I have been cornered right now. If you tell Her Highness what she wants to hear while at the same time doing nothing, you come out of this winning. The trade does not change, the North survives a little longer and you obtain whatever it is she has promised you.”
Lord Sunderland pinched the bridge of his nose with his long and thin fingers. “And I thought those negotiations would be easy…I must admit I did not expect you to trap me like that.” He hesitated a few more seconds before finally facing Jon once again. “Alright. We have a deal.” With a little nod, he urged Ser. Ultridge towards the stairs. “Her Highness must know nothing of this. It will be a pleasure to do more business with you, Lord Manderly,” he added, raising an imaginary glass towards the old Lord. “Your Highness, Lady Arya” he bowed towards both Jon and Arya, before swiftly exiting the battlement, leaving behind him a fuming Wyman.
Throwing his arm around Arya’s shoulders, he shook her a little. “I can’t believe this worked.”
“I can’t say I wasn’t a bit skeptical,” Wyman intervened, inadvertently cutting off Arya. “but you handled this very well. A shame I’ll still have to deal with him.” And then he started to ramble about seafood quality, about honor and loyalty. A spiel Davos was forced to listen to while the two siblings stayed behind.
When Jon turned to look at Arya, he realized she had already been watching him with a smirk. “What ?”
“Nothing. Just thought you looked somewhat neat when you don’t try to be too honorable.”
“Want me to turn into Cersei ?”
“Ew. No,” she said, pushing him away from her. “But I think we could find a nice balance between the two of us.”
“I can already feel the headache coming,” he jested, earning himself a punch in the shoulder.
“Careful with your words, Your Highness, we are not wed yet. You should be nicer to your betrothed,” Arya replied, taking on airs, like a younger Sansa would have.
Jon was glad she was taking it with humor and he hoped it wasn’t a facade to make him feel better.
With ink stained fingers he dropped his quill. This was his third rewrite of the scroll he was supposed to send to Daenerys. After much thinking he concluded this one was decent.
Following your request to find a suitable wife, I send you this scroll to announce my betrothal to Lady Arya of House Stark. This decision was taken after much contemplation and will not be annulled.
Aegon Targaryen, King in the North
Simple, clear, efficient. Is it too aggressive ?, he thought. No, he couldn’t keep rewriting two sentences over and over. The first one sounded too sad, the second too apologetic. He knew if he rewrote it, it would sound too angry.
He rolled it up and took a raven out of its cage before securing the scroll to its leg. But the raven remained by the window, eyeing the young man. Jon raised his hand to urge him into taking flight but the moment his fingers came in contact with the raven’s feathers, the black of its eyes disappeared, leaving in its place two white orbs.
“Can’t you visit like others ?” Jon asked. He couldn’t quite get used to his brother’s newfound powers.
The crow stared at him blankly.
“I suppose not…I’m sure you already know what the content of that scroll is.” It suddenly crossed his mind that, with the revelation of his true parentage, Bran was Arya’s sole brother and that one ought to address him for her hand. “Was I supposed to ask you for her hand ?” he asked, almost panicked. It truly hadn’t crossed his mind. “I mean…since it’s Arya we’re talking about and because you’ve forwarded to me all the other proposals, I figured…May I have Arya's hand ?” If asking a crow for someone in marriage wasn’t the peak of his Targaryen insanity, he did not know how he would continue to govern.
He was about to chastise himself for acting so strangely when a second raven landed right next to the other one. Jon grabbed the scroll which hung onto its leg and opened it.
Yes, you may.
Bran Stark, Hand of the Queen
Jon laughed in disbelief. “How long have you been planning this ?” That’s when he noticed at the bottom of the scroll, written in tiny letters ‘ a while ’. What an incredible ability to have. He wondered what it was like in his brother’s head. Could one be happy with knowing so much ? Had Bran found what we wanted, what he needed, by staying next to Daenerys ?
“Can’t you tell me if I’m making a mistake ? If we’ll be happy ?” The raven stayed immobile, its blank eyes staring right into his soul. “Will she come to the wedding ?” As he uttered those words he, himself, did not know who he was referring to. Was he thinking about his former lover, whose presence would make the ordeal even more painful, or about the woman he was supposed to marry, whose fear could prompt her to leave him alone under the Heart tree.
No other raven came and before Jon had the time to ask another question, they both disappeared with a flap of their wings. He watched them fly into the gray sky before being engulfed in the fog.
Rubbing at his face with his hands, he tried to compose himself. Everything would turn out fine. He trusted Arya. He’d make her happy. Her own words came back to his mind. “ If I have to find it in the snow, so be it .” Yes. They would be fine.
Chapter Text
If there was only one truth to life, it would be its ability to strive where it wasn’t supposed to, crawling through crevasses, hiding itself from the harsh conditions of reality. One wouldn’t expect a single thing to grow in the gaols of Winterfell but moss of a luscious dark green had long settled itself in the nooks and crannies of every wall and every step. Humidity glistened on the stairs and water droplets ran along the stony walls, making everything slippery and uninviting.
Unlike the crypts, the gaols felt more warm; something which surprisingly made the life of the prisoners even more miserable. The heavy air made one feel lethargic and it was quite impossible to find a way to cover yourself without feeling either too hot or too cold. Yet, the cells were spacious albeit bare and dark except for the few torches which surrounded the guard.
“Watch your step,” Arya said. Her walk was assured in comparison to her companion whose ungainly gait made it seem as if he would slip any second.
The guard who had been dozing off, shook himself from his torpor upon hearing her voice and sprung from his chair, the sound of metal clanking accompanying his every move.
“My Lady,” he bowed awkwardly.
“I’ve come to visit the one who threw the rock.”
With the cold, came the violence and soon after the War against the Others was over, people started turning onto each other. They stole and fought to keep themselves alive, condemning the weaker ones to starve and lose their life to an icy death. With the current situation, punishing all those who behaved unfairly was an impossible task but those whose crimes had been far too violent had been sent to the gaols, filling them to the brim. Through the metal bars, one could see haggard faces lined up next to each other. Some were to be hanged while some were to be used as work force depending on the gravity of their crimes. Out of all these murderers, Big Mitch’s actions paled in comparison but it was his face and his name that had all the people in the vicinity of Winterfell talking.
“He’s there !” Little Mitch shouted, running towards one of the cells. Right before he had the time to throw himself against the bars, Arya reached out and caught him by the collar.
“What did I say about keeping your distance ?” she asked but the boy did not seem to listen.
He ignored her words and started blabbering. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know what to do…the house…They told me to come to Winterfell, they said there was work for me ! I’ve been sleeping inside, it’s so warm Mitch !”
Big Mitch did not stand up and merely looked at him. “You left the house ?”
The smile upon his little brother fell in an instant while his eyes darted around Big Mitch’s face in panic. “I mean yes I did but…I didn’t have a choice. I couldn’t stay there without you, could I ?”
“Well then it’s not our house anymore,” the older man said, pushing the back of his head against the wall.
You could see the young boy’s heart breaking as he realized what his brother meant. Arya thought the tears would start flowing but surprisingly, it was anger who defeated the boy’s liveliness. With a voice that held the typical tremolo of a young boy on the verge of becoming a man, he snapped.
“All of this happened because you decided to be stupid ! You’re the one who’s in jail ! Not me ! You keep shitting on me because you think you’re so smart ? Huh ? Well you ain’t ! You’re stupid ! Fucking stupid !!” It was on that very acute remark that he decided to storm off.
For a moment, silence befell all those who resided in the cells. The other prisoners had been listening closely while feigning indifference. This was after all, all the entertainment they could hope for. Big Mitch on the other hand kept looking at Arya.
"He's not wrong, you know. You are indeed, very stupid," she said. "You're too harsh on the poor kid and-"
"He needs to learn," Big Mitch interjected.
"And you plan to teach him by being an asshole. How manly of you. Considering he's all the family you have left, you should be kinder to him."
He remained silent for a couple of seconds before finally turning his eyes away from her. "Am I to be hung ?" he asked.
"Is that what you think your sentence is ?"
"I struck a King. I'm sure he won't let me out with just a slap on the hand."
"Well, you do deserve more than just a slap on the hand. That's why you'll be sent to work on the new canal once the digging has started."
Big Mitch furrowed his dark and heavy brows. This was not what he had been expecting. "Is that your doing ?"
Arya leaned her shoulder against one of the metal bars. She knew she’d be quick enough to move if anyone were to try grabbing her and she was pretty sure nobody would dare. "No. I think you overestimate how much I care about you. It was His Highness' idea. Actually, he did not consider the death penalty even for one second."
"Are you telling me all of this so that I'll start to approve of him?"
"You'll spend the next few months working in the woods, whether you like your king or not is of little concern to me. However," she inched her face closer to the cell bars. "If you dare hurt him once again, I will cut out your guts and use it as decoration at the gates of Winterfell."
Faint laughs could be heard across the cells as Big Mitch himself held back a smile. "Aye, M'Lady. Or must I call you Your Highness now ?"
The laughs stopped and curious prisoners held back their breath so that they could hear whatever the Stark girl was about to say. Acutely aware of the attentive ears and prying eyes, she decided to avoid the question. "You can call me Arya."
Before he could inquire any further, she spun around and exited the room. Once outside, she steered towards the glasshouses in search of the young boy.
She entered one of the old ones which they kept for the cultivation of vegetables. Straining her ear, she heard soft sniffles coming from the corner, all the way to the back. Dodging all the plants, careful not to step on any of them, she managed to get closer to the sound. There she found Little Mitch, his face stained with tears. Although he could barely see what he was doing, he tediously kept working, securing the stems of bean plants around the stakes so that they would grow upright.
It was a comical sight.
Arya made a noise and the boy quickly tried to wipe his face on his sleeve. She sat down next to him, angling her body so that they faced each other.
"You brother is an asshole," she offered. The greenboy giggled.
"I always thought Ladies never cursed."
"Well, I'm no proper Lady,” She grabbed a bean pod and examined it. “How are you faring ?"
He shrugged. "The work is good. I'm happy with it. It feels good to sleep where it's warm."
"You're doing great."
"D'You think so ? Big Mitch doesn't seem to agree..."
He struck out his lower lip in an adorable little pout. "You know of my sister ? Lady Sansa ?” Arya asked. “Well, when I was young, she used to pick on me. A lot. I was expected to sit like a Lady, do my silly little embroidery like everybody else and more than anything, shut my mouth. Except I did none of that. I couldn't find it in myself to behave the way they wanted me to. My sister on the other hand, she did everything perfectly. And because she did, she thought she had earned the right to criticize me. Now that I'm older, I'm able to see that, although it was shrouded with quite a bit of youthful pettiness, Sansa genuinely thought she was doing the 'right' thing and that I wasn't. She definitely enjoyed messing with me but deep down she also wanted me to come onto what she deemed to be the right path." She paused to see that Little Mitch had stopped sniffling, eagerly listening to the fragments of her past. "What she didn't know is that I would turn out fine, on my own path. Your brother wants you to be like himself because he wants you safe. But you're not like him. Your strengths are different from his and will lead you to do things your brother cannot even fathom. Hold your ground, kid."
Little Mitch stopped his work and sat down on the dirt. "Did you tell him that also ?"
"No. That is not my place to do so."
"I don't think he'd change if I told him all that..."
"Oh, you'll have to repeat it again and again before he even starts changing his tone with you," she added while ruffling his hair. Although she was trying to cheer him up, the boy's eyes became veiled with a dull sadness.
"Can I tell you a secret ?" he asked and she nodded. "I wish my dad was still here." Arya was confused for a bit. How was this a secret ? Her confusion must have shown as Little Mitch proceeded to explain further. "Big Mitch told me we don't speak about the dead. Especially about dad. It means we're weak if we dwell on sadness. That's why every time I think about dad, I go stare at the woods. It shows I ain’t scared of no bears."
Arya didn't know how to respond to all of this. She couldn't preach about mourning and living with grief when she herself had trouble speaking about the death of Ned Stark. She had heard from Jon that Sansa had once told him about what had happened but she had kept all her secrets, from the beheading of her dear father to the massacre of the Red Wedding.
After some thinking she finally decided to speak. "Do you think I am weak ?"
"No !" the boy erupted, terrified he had offended her in some way.
"Well, just so you know, not a day goes by where I don't think about those who I loved and who perished."
He simply nodded in response, smart enough not to pry. Arya got up, ready to leave when he interrupted her. "Is your relationship with your sister better now ?" he asked in a hurry, desperate for a positive answer.
With a shrug of her shoulder she answered : "I would think so."
A thread from her doublet had come loose and she kept playing with it as both her and Jon waited for their guest in the courtyard. Finally, the first men of House Lannister appeared in the distance, soon followed by the carriage of the Lord himself. Despite his sizable beard, the movement of Jon's jaw was easy to see.
He had been assuring her for the past few days that Sansa's upcoming arrival did not bother him in the slightest. Yet, his face was that of a man getting ready for battle. Arya, in the same way, felt slightly uncomfortable at the idea of spending the next few weeks with her sister. Upon being made aware of their betrothal, the redhead had wasted no time in answering that she would help supervise the wedding preparations. What she thought of their engagement, remained a secret up till now.
The carriage came through the front gate with its ill-equipped wheels wobbling hazardously in the mud. Both Jon and Arya straightened their backs when it finally stopped in front of them. The door opened as the new Lady Lannister graciously emerged from her vehicle. If not for the slight bettering of her dark circles, she had not changed in the slightest. She still adorned the same braided hairstyle and her lips were set into a stern line. A knight approached to help her down before Tyrion followed suit.
That Sansa had decided to come weeks before the wedding was one thing, but for the Lord himself to do the same was another. How good was the situation in the Westerlands that the Lord could allow himself to leave for multiple weeks ? Tyrion stepped closer to them before bowing down in an exaggerated reverence.
"Your Highness, it is a pleasure to come back to Winterfell," he said, a hint of malice pervading his voice.
"Do not be offended but I think you are lying," Jon countered with a smile.
"Mayhaps I am a little but I'm sure you'll excuse me for it. Last time I was here I almost got killed by some dreadful creatures."
While her husband talked, Sansa wordlessly hugged Arya and then Jon. She did not bow, something that nobody failed to notice although Jon preferred it that way. "Let us go inside," he said to avoid any unease while Arya observed her sister, trying to decipher her thoughts.
At first, Arya and Jon had hoped for a few hours to better prepare for whatever Sansa was about to do or say. Sadly, the latter did not share their plans and barely took thirty minutes to settle into her own room, before summoning them for a much needed talk.
"Are you scared ?" Arya whispered in Jon's ear.
"Terrified," he mumbled.
Tyrion had been hanging around the two since his wife had apparently been too 'busy' to entertain him. What she was doing, he had refused to tell. "By my Lady Wife I supposed ?” he asked, having overheard Jon’s answer. “Well, having been in her company since you two announced your wedding, you ought to be. She's been-" he started when the source of their anxiety made her entrance followed by a large trunk, so heavy it had to be carried by two men.
"Drop it here," she ordered, in a tone that left no room for disobedience. She then turned towards her husband and silently, with a single move of her eyebrows, indicated that he was not welcome here.
"Really ? You know I love family drama," he said before turning towards Jon and adding, "There is nothing more entertaining than family drama. I'll just make myself even smaller,” he then added to his wife.
"Tyrion."
“See how she's treating me ? You wound me deeply my dear." He got down from his chair before giving Sansa a dramatic look. "Don't worry about me, I know my way to the cellar," he shouted once outside.
Jon and Arya simply stared at their sister, the same way children did when they feared being scolded by their septa. Once she was sure Tyrion was gone, she slowly turned to them.
"So, whose idea was this ?" she asked.
Jon feebly raised his hand. "It was mine."
"Oh ?" she said, her eyebrows shooting up to her hairline. "That's a surprise."
"What ? You really thought that would be my idea ?" Arya challenged.
"No, actually I don't know what I was expecting. Both answers would have bewildered me. Anyway, that's for the better. I would have hated to be the one to bring it up."
"Bring what up ?" Arya inquired, already feeling like she would hate the answer.
"Your wedding. Bran and I had been talking about how this was the best course of action for the North. I was expecting to start broaching the discussion in a few moons, when you both would have settled and a certain someone would have become less likely to disappear in the Narrow Sea."
Arya was fuming by now. The idea of becoming queen and staying in the North for the rest of her life was already insanely upsetting but to think that she had played right into her sister's plan was even more infuriating. Sensing her sudden anger, Jon laid his hand on hers, stroking the bone of her wrist.
"Well, Jon coming to his senses and realizing that this is the best match is the best course of events. I'm happy this happened as fast as it did," she added while tugging at the thin rope which hung around her neck. At the end of it dangled a key.
"I supposed then you're not unhappy about the betrothal ?" Jon questioned.
Sliding the key into the lock of the massive trunk, she opened the lid. "It is indeed strange to think of you two as husband and wife. But I'd rather think about the political advantages of this all. Moreover you two have always been closer than the rest of us, better Arya than me."
At the thought of being wedded to Sansa, Jon was unable to control himself and made a face. He would have died at thirty from the stress of the daily fighting. Luckily for him, the young woman did not see his expression, too busy she was, taking out a piece of garment from the chest.
"Although I do not exactly agree with your choice of wedding attire, I managed to make this," she said before showing the clothing to Jon and Arya. In her hands, laid a beautiful two piece suit that even Arya was forced to marvel at. Made of white cloth, both the pants and the doublet were adorned with silver embroidery which swirled upwards. The neckline had roses made from the same silvery thread which, if you looked closer, were pierced by tiny swords which looked strangely like Needle. The same detailing could be found at the bottom of each flared sleeve.
Arya got up to examine the garment closer. "This is beautiful...I was half scared you would show up with a dress."
When sending out the news of their engagement, Arya had added at the bottom of the scroll that she would marry in breeches, knowing fairly well that her sister would prefer to make the attire herself. Not bothering to hire a seamstress, she simply waited until her sister proved her true. A small bet with herself, if you will.
"Once again, we need you at this wedding. We can't have you leaving the poor Jon alone beneath the heart tree just because of some piece of cloth."
Why did everyone think of her as such a willful individual ? Sure she'd been quite opinionated as a child but she felt like she had - at least a little - grown out of such habits. Obviously, she was still unhappy about having to follow what was expected of her but she knew when to make sacrifices now.
While Arya admired the pierced roses on her doublet, Sansa took out a white cloak with the sigil of House Stark made out of pearls in different shades of grey. The sight was bittersweet as Sansa herself had married without her maiden cloak, burned by the Bolton prior to her engagement to Ramsay. It reminded Arya of what happened during a wedding ceremony and she bit her lip in anguish at the thought of Jon laying the Targaryen cloak on her shoulders.
Just as she mused over that thought, Sansa bent down once again to rummage through her trunk.
"Has Daenerys sent you a Targaryen cloak ?" she asked.
"Aye, she has. I can go and fetch it for you if you want ?" Jon answered, ready to take any opportunity to escape.
"No. I do not care about it. You will wear this instead," she stated, unfolding another cloak in front of them. This one was black with gilded thread embroidered all over it. In the same fashion as Arya's cloak, the sigil of House Targaryen was enthroned in its center as gold and crimson pearls shaped the three headed dragon.
Despite the masterful work and the countless hours spent on this cloak, it did not delight Jon as much as the Stark one had. Jon still had trouble connecting to his new House after all and with his dark hair, pale skin and grey eyes, the idea of wearing gold made him deeply uncomfortable.
"I hope you will appreciate this. Working on this sigil has given me a lot of headaches."
"Thank you, Sansa. You didn't have to," he offered, with a small smile.
"Of course, I had to ! How could you use a cloak that is a hundred years old ? It wouldn't have been you," she said, while turning the cloak around. Inside of it, was the Stark sigil, made out of the same pearls and thread as Arya’s. "If you are planning on uniting House Stark and House Targaryen to co-reign, you need a cloak that is fitting. It might look like it's just a wedding for you two but it's not. It's a political display and this, this is a message, a symbol and also...it's you, Jon. People might come to know you as Aegon Targaryen, but inside, you will always be a Stark."
Jon looked at her flabbergasted. For years he had longed to be called a Stark, something against which Sansa would have firmly opposed a few years ago. Deep inside, a little voice kept telling him that she was now granting him this high honor because of political reasons, yet, he couldn't help but feel touched by this cloak.
"Thank you Sansa, this means a lot."
"Make sure you'll show the inside when putting it on Arya's shoulders," Sansa quickly added but when she turned, Arya saw the corner of her lips lift in a small smile. "Now, introduce me to the wedding planner."
"Hum, that would be Ser. Davos," Jon answered, absolutely clueless to why that would be a problem.
Sansa slowly turned towards him, stretching her neck high and looking down on the lost King. "You mean to tell me that it is Ser. Davos, who's organizing the royal wedding ?"
"Aye ? He's my Hand."
"By the Seven, Jon. A Hand is your political council, not a magical being that can do everything. I do not mean to insult Ser Davos when I say this but he clearly lacks the refinement required for this exercise. From now on I'll be doing the planning," she added, and both Arya and Jon knew there was no arguing with her.
"You might want to start talking to him now, he's about to order yellow silks to decorate the Great Hall," Arya taunted her sister, causing the latter's face to crumble in horror.
She'd been standing in place for what felt like hours. Her muscles were aching, desperately calling for her to stretch them; however, the threat that Sansa would plunge a needle into her skin if she even so dared to move an eyelash was enough to turn her into a statue.
Her wedding suit required some adjustments and the paranoid Lady Lannister refused that her work be touched by some random seamstress. In all honesty, Arya thought it was stupid. Who cares if there is a thread sticking out, or if the waist doesn’t fit ? Nobody would notice and if they did, this wouldn't change anything. Jon and Arya were not the most fashionable nobles in Westeros and everybody knew that. Had she been the one to organize the wedding, she would have worn her most basic clothes and called it a day. She was already tired, just thinking about the wedding ceremony.
She sighed. Heavily. "You just put the pin in the same place as it was before ! One millimeter won't make a difference for fuck's sake !"
"It's because you keep breathing too hard ! We would have been done by now if you could just stay put !"
"Aye, how dare I need air. I will now be suffocating for the sake of this garment.”
"Five more minutes and you'll be able to take it off."
With yet another sigh, Arya resolved her legs not to move. Finally, Sansa laid her last pin, awarding Arya with her freedom. Trying very hard not to prick herself, she took off the doublet and walked towards the chair where her normal clothes were laying.
"I'm sure you're thoroughly enjoying this; torturing me, planning, giving out orders..."
"Well, yes. I do find this very entertaining."
Arya shook her head and breathed out a laugh. She should have known Sansa would have reveled in the idea of planning out a wedding. After all, that had been her biggest dream as a child. Arya's smile fell as she thought of what had happened to her sister while they were apart. The pain that men had inflicted her had been immense and the misery she had endured just as much. When she thought about her own self, her own path, Arya couldn't help but think of that little child who'd been changed to her core, shaped into a cold warrior. She felt sadness and anger for the little girl who dreamed of freedom and of adventures. In a way, she'd gotten all that, in a much more painful way she could have imagined. But Sansa had never gotten any of her dreams. Her life had unfolded as a cruel parody of what she had hoped for and her weddings had turned into nightmares.
"You're stronger than I am..." Arya whispered.
"What did you say ?" Sansa asked, already focused on picking out a piece of thread.
"I just said I wouldn't have it in me to do all this shit," she lied.
Sansa raised an eyebrow. "We both knew that already, didn't we ?"
By the old gods, she would never change.
"Are you really alright with Jon and I marrying ?" Arya suddenly asked. She'd been wondering what the reaction of her two remaining siblings would be but she hadn't expected for them to be so...aloof ? Even if Sansa and Jon had never had quite the close relationship, she knew they still thought about the other as their kin so how was it possible for her not to react ? At least, Arya knew that she would have reacted quite strongly if Sansa had suddenly announced she'd be marrying Jon or Bran.
"This is the best political move we could have done," Sansa answered, matter-of-factly.
"Aye, aye, I get it. But aren't you weirded out by it ?"
"You mean by the idea of Jon bedding you ?" Sansa asked, causing Arya's eyes to widen. She'd forgotten what marriage entailed since it was so clear to her and Jon that any form of affection between them would remain strictly brotherly.
She laughed, incredulous. "That is not what I meant."
Sansa dropped her work on her knees to look at Arya. "Listen, even as a bratty little girl I've never wished for you to make a bad match. Although it is true that thinking of you two as husband and wife is strange, I do believe it is the best for you. To love your husband is the greatest thing that could happen to a woman, whether that love is romantic, friendly or...familial. Jon will treat you well. He'll accommodate you as much now as he has in the past." She lowered her eyes once again on the piece of cloth and pushed her needle in. "As for what happens in your bedchamber, I'd rather not think about it."
"I'd rather you not think about it either," Arya jested.
"Nonetheless, you do know you will have to carry his hire, right ?"
Arya rolled her eyes. "If you could refrain from formulating it that way..." she said, through gritted teeth. "I do know how succession works if that's what you're worried about."
"Arya. You need to carry Jon's children," Sansa enunciated, emphasizing the name of their brother. "Not some other man."
Arya had hoped that she could just go through a silly little ceremony and that afterwards people would stay out of her business. She had never in a million years thought that her sister would one day push her into Jon's bed.
"Are you gonna explain to me what happens between a man and a woman on their wedding night ?" Arya asked, in a futile attempt to change the subject.
"You two can't afford a war. Especially because of a legitimacy problem." She once again looked Arya dead in the eyes. "Are you planning to carry Jon's biological children ?"
Arya stayed silent for one second. The answer to that question was simple but Jon and her had agreed that no other soul should know about their little arrangement, Sansa included. "For now, we have only had one discussion about children. We both know that faking a Targaryen hire might be quite dangerous considering that Daenerys still has one dragon. But the idea of laying with each other is repulsive so we have decided to ignore that matter till our situation is more stable and my fear of pregnancy has subsided a little. Maybe by then they'll have found a way to get with child without having to lay with a man..." she ended. "I won't be bedding Jon on our wedding day or during the years after but I am aware that it will need to happen, happy ?"
Sansa investigated her face, trying to decipher her expression. "I hope you're not lying to me. Duty is duty, I'm sure you already know that."
"Aye, aye. You can't tell me you would find the situation any easier if it were you."
"No, indeed. But I know how to make sacrifices."
Arya cringed at the thought. The idea of Jon and Sansa marrying was upsetting and not only because of the incestuous undertone of it all. It was almost laughable that Arya would still feel possessive of her dear older brother but being back home had reopened the drawers of her psyche, letting old insecurities insidiously seep through the cracks of her consciousness. She did not want to share a life with Jon in the way people were pressuring her to but she did not want Sansa to have access to parts of him she did not have access to either. She feared this insecure jealousy would never resolve, especially with her staying in her childhood home. Or maybe marrying him for the rest of eternity would remedy to that...
"How is it going with Tyrion ?" Arya asked, to change the subject. "Is life at Casterly Rock better than here ?"
"I do not have to complain. The people treat me well, albeit distrustfully. They think me some agent of chaos, who will see to the death of House Lannister. I would argue that they did not quite need my help to destroy themselves but with my involvement in the death of Cersei...Well, they don't especially show a lot of respect to Tyrion either."
"Why did you accept to go there so willingly ? I know sending you there was Daenerys' doing but I expected more of a fight from you."
"We can't win this war against her if we put all of our pieces on the same square. I knew that strategically, the spot I would be the most helpful in would be Casterly Rock. I did want to stay in the North you know, but I'd rather think I can find happiness anywhere in this forsaken Land. It has evaded me wherever I've been led to...but life has been pretty peaceful as in the past few moons. Mayhaps it will get better as I age."
Arya nodded gravely as she mused upon her words. She was reminded of Davos' advice and of her own words. Sansa wanted to play the game but she was tired and hurt. She had retreated to find peace and safety in such a way that it would not fully hinder her capacity to involve herself in politics. Westeros was the board and Jon, Arya and Bran were the pieces that Sansa had arranged.
"Pieces and squares...Have you been playing a lot of cyvasse ?"
Sansa's jaws tensed in an attempt to ward off a smile. "Tyrion has been teaching me."
"You didn't answer my question, how is it going with Tyrion ?" Arya tried again.
"He's good company and he lets me do what I want to do. What more could I ask for ?"
"Are you two planning on having children anytime soon ?"
Sansa narrowed her eyes at her. "We haven't talked about it yet. It doesn't seem as if the impending disappearance of his name bothers him in the slightest. Every night, he joins me in my room. We talk, play cyvasse, sometimes he would read to me while I worked on your cloak. Then he leaves. I know he'll never ask to share my bed, he'll wait till I'm the one asking him to stay. I do not blame my fourteen year-old self for being scared of this marriage but life would have been easier had I not judged him for less than important attributes. It made me leave a great husband, thinking him the worse, to meet evil itself. That was my punishment for being too facetious..."
"There was nothing worth being punished for. You were young, being married off to a man over twice your age. You had every right to be scared, to be disappointed. And what if you had stayed ? You would have remained within Cersei's claws and you might have been assassinated or used against us...What happened with Littlefinger happened because of Littlefinger, no one else. You were tricked and hurt but you didn't know better. You don't punish someone for not knowing, that's called abuse. Now that everything is over, you use what you know and that includes appreciating your husband for treating you with gentleness and respect."
Sansa's hands had stopped moving as Arya spoke, frozen mid act. She did not look at Arya but her eyes took on a glossy shine until one lone tear dropped onto the silver embroidery. Had they been different, Arya would have taken her into her arms and rocked her while she cried, but that was not who they were and Arya gave her all the space she needed until she heard, barely more audible than the winter breeze, thank you .
Ser. Davos and Jon looked panicked as they listened to Sansa, who walked through the corridors of Winterfell as if she had a meeting to attend at every corner. Tyrion and Arya trailed behind, preferring not to participate in the wedding preparations frenzy. After all, one wrong word could trigger the wrath of Lady Lannister.
"I am awfully glad our wedding wasn't orchestrated by Sansa. I think I'd be a dead man by now," Tyrion said, taking a sip of his wine. The man had the ability to materialize a cup of wine out of thin air; Arya had even seen him drink near the Godswood. Should they be worried the cellar would run out before the wedding ?
"Oh because you think you're gonna survive this ? She might kill us one by one, you included," Arya retorted.
"Possible, however I have developed the 'husband sense' during these past few months."
"The 'husband sense' ?"
Tyrion eyed the group in front of them, as Sansa admonished Jon for something that once again eluded them. "Something I fear His Highness hasn't developed yet. It's the ability to tell from a single look at your wife, when you should keep your mouth shut and mindlessly nod at whatever she says. I've gotten quite good at this," he added, whispering it as if it was a secret.
"Please, teach Jon your ways as a wedding gift."
"Will do."
"Is Sansa adapting to Casterly Rock ?" Arya asked suddenly.
Tyrion shrugged. "She's doing very well as the Lady of the house, of course, but I'm sure she misses the North. She does not look unhappy nor does she look happy."
"I'm sure she will get used to it, you know. She knows how to survive. As long as you help her," Arya added with a pointed look towards Tyrion.
"Let me guess. You will tell me I better take care of her and if I do not my blood will join that of Littlefinger's which is still drying in the cracks of the Great Hall's floor."
"You're stealing the words out of my mouth. But I'm glad I don't have to threaten someone else. I feel I've been doing that quite a lot in recent times."
"I would not expect any less of you but just so you know, I do not have much to do in the lion's den, which gives me a lot of time to annoy my Lady Wife. And you know what, this might be my first time as a husband but I feel I'm doing a pretty good job."
"Well then you keep doing that," Arya declared although it sounded more like an order than anything else.
"Of course...Your Highness."
"Do not call me that."
Tyrion turned to her and itched his ear with his little finger. "What did you say, Your Highness ? I fear my hearing is not quite as good as it was before."
Arya rolled her eyes. By the gods, the wedding preparations were gonna be a long journey.
Notes:
<< 'Oh, he'll never be finished.' Maybe they're right. I don't know. >> Same GRR, same...
Chapter 8: Jon IV
Chapter Text
The moon looked eerily blue. It shone on the snow, bestowing the scenery with a cyan tint like he'd never seen before. He tore his eyes away from the glowing orb to look at the people standing before him. Two young boys, whose faces were hidden under their hoods, were lighting the torches all around the assembly. Jon knew all these people but seeing them gave him no comfort. Their gazes were turned straight ahead and he couldn't tell whether they were truly looking at him. Lifeless. Like corpses. He felt a growing weight upon his chest as he recognized the look that the fallen would take on after being turned into White Walkers. Jon searched the faces around him, trying to find some support but when he finally caught sight of Sansa, her eyes looked about the same as the rest of the crowd.
Slower than normal, he turned his body to see who stood beside him but he was met with nothing. Where was Davos ? Where was Longclaw ? Only Ghost could be seen but even the wolf left when their eyes met.
He wanted to move - run mayhaps - but it seemed his legs refused to follow his orders.
It was then that something finally happened. From between the trees, emerged a woman. It only took him a second to recognize who it was. Daenerys . She wore black, strangely, making her look even paler than she truly was. Each step of hers was slow, her journey interminable. At last, she reached him, her face void of any expression. He saw, more than he felt, his hand extend towards her. She did not take it, her own arms frozen by her side.
"Seize him." Before he could understand what was happening, two men emerged from the shadows, grabbing his arms and forcing him to kneel. He looked up at the woman he once loved. She now had a dagger in her hand. Arya's dagger. No, this wasn't right. He was supposed to marry Arya. Where was she ?
The cold metal pressed to the side of his neck and he felt the warmth of his blood trickle down his throat. He stared into the eyes of Daenerys but he could see nothing but his own pitiful reflection in the purple seas of her irises. The dagger cut deeper into his skin. He closed his eyes, refusing to accept death a second time. His mind was a whirlwind of confused thoughts but as they started to fade, only one word was left. Arya !
He woke up from his nightmare startled and drenched with sweat. He brought a hand to his neck, checking for any cut but there was none. Slowing down his breathing, he gently came back to reality while taking in all the features of his room. A nightmare. He hadn't had one since the eve of the War against the Others. After his revival, he hadn't had a single dream, only those two nightmares. He often wondered what it meant but he preferred not to dwell on the question, scared of the implications of the answer.
He ran a rough hand upon his face. What day was this ? What was he supposed to do today ? He walked towards the window and opened the blinds, letting the light in. He frowned, trying to accustom his eyes to the sun. The courtyard was bustling with people already. It took him a moment to realize why there was so much commotion. It was his wedding day ! He felt as if a bucket of ice water had been poured on him as he scrambled to throw some clothes on his otherwise inappropriate attire. The sun was already up, how come Davos hadn't sent someone to wake him ? Looking thoroughly ruffled, he wrenched the door open and ran to Arya's bedchambers.
He hurriedly banged on the door, terrified to be met with silence. However, it was Sansa who opened the door. Her eyes widened with horror when she saw him.
"What is this ?! Why are you not getting ready ?" she asked and he could swear he saw Catelyn Stark looking down at him.
"Nobody woke me up," he answered like a chided child. "I just want to see Arya," he added, trying to peer over her shoulder. His attempt was obstructed by Sansa who moved to prevent him from seeing inside the room.
"You don't need to see her before the wedding."
"I just want to-"
"I haven't fled if that's what you're wondering," Arya said, from somewhere inside the room.
He was awfully relieved to hear her voice but some lingering anxiety still made his heart uneasy. Sansa looked at him, urging him to leave with her eyes.
"Hm...Can I not see her a little bit ? Just a glance ?"
"Absolutely not. Go away."
He heard some ruffling behind the door before Arya's face appeared from behind her sister's arm. She was wearing a bodice which left her shoulders bare. Quickly, Sansa moved her hand so that Arya's skin was hidden from his view, making the wolf girl roll her eyes; they were to be married after all.
"Is our late-to-rise King satisfied ? I am here, going through hell so that I look good before the heart tree, but still here."
Jon took a deep breath, his nightmare from the night before fading away as she smiled at him. "Aye."
"Alright, this is enough ! You've seen her, she's seen you, now go get cleaned up. This is already stressful enough as it is, I don't need you making it worse." She started closing the door in his face but quickly reopened it. "And shave this hideous beard. It looks like a rat died on your face."
Left wondering if he looked as bad as she made it seem, he headed to find his Hand. He finally managed to find Davos at the gate, engrossed in a discussion with a figure well known to him.
"I thought you weren't going to make it !" Jon said, voice loud enough so that he would be heard approaching.
Bran Stark turned his head towards him, a soft smile stretching his lips. "Don't worry, I knew I would be on time."
Jon bent down to give his brother a hug before turning towards the Onion Knight.
"I just woke up," he informed his Hand, whose mouth immediately opened in a silent 'O'.
"I was indeed feeling like I had forgotten something important."
"And me who thought I was indispensable today," Jon jested.
Davos whistled to get the attention of another man who rushed towards him. He whispered something in his ear and the man fled the scene once again.
"You ought to go back to your bedchambers, Your Highness. The team should be ready soon to help you get dressed," Davos said, urging him to leave. The older man looked exhausted already. After all, this was a royal wedding and the guest list was quite long. Jon had proposed to help him with the Lords and Ladies, saying he only needed a bath and could dress himself, but the idea had been rebuked by both the former smuggler and Lady Lannister. He dreaded the idea of being manipulated for hours and was hoping his belated rising would allow him to escape the whole ordeal but it seemed his hopes were all for naught.
He turned to Bran. "I feel like I'm headed to be tortured."
"You do look like someone who just got out of jail." Well, he had an answer to his previous question. He did look bad.
"Aye, I get it. I'll go get prepared. Arya and Sansa are in Arya's bedchambers if you want to join. That is, if Sansa lets you..."
"Oh, I'm sure they will. I'm not the groom, after all."
The experience of being washed and dressed had been as awful as he had expected it to be. Jon did not like people buzzing around him like bees on a beehive, tugging at his hair like he were some sort of rag doll. For years, he had been bathing himself, undressing only when the maids had prepared everything. It felt uncomfortable being examined like he was right now and he couldn't understand those Lords who would choose to be bathed by someone else all the time.
After what seemed like hours, he was finally shown to a mirror. No one could ever deny Sansa's talent when it came to clothes. He had never looked as good as he did now. Getting closer to his reflection, he inspected the man that stared back at him. How they had managed to make him look like someone who slept soundly every night, he did not understand but he was very grateful for their witchcraft. Also, he had to admit that the beard looked way better this way.
One of the old maids approached to better arrange his collar. Once she was done, she couldn't help the words that came out of her mouth. "We're very excited, Your Highness. 'Tis the wedding of the century."
Jon smiled at the woman. "Is that what people say ? I'll feel pressured if you tell me so."
"Oh ! There's no need to feel pressured ! It will all go well I'm sure. A marriage between two heroes, it can only go well !"
The young man felt embarrassed being qualified with such a word.
Another woman chimed in. "The White Wedding will be the greatest in the North’s history !"
"White Wedding ?"
"Aye, Your Highness. 'Tis what the people have been calling it. It couldn't be otherwise with all this snow."
Jon brought his eyes back to the mirror, looking at the color of his own eyes. The eyes of the North. He could only hope the color white would bring them luck.
The afternoon was a blur. Countless people congratulated him on the hymen although it wasn't yet done and Jon couldn't quite tell them he still felt anxious about whether or not he'd have a bride joining him in front of the Heart Tree. There were so many Lords he had to talk to, try to form an alliance with, but he felt so stressed, he hadn't eaten anything since waking up.
He couldn't even hope for the support of Davos whom he could still see running around.
Finding himself at a loss, he went around the yard, acting as if he were inspecting the decorations. At every gate they had put, on each side, a banner : one with the sigil of House Targaryen and one with the sigil of House Stark. The whole of Winterfell was decorated in such fashion and he planned to take off a few of the red banners once the guests were gone. However, he had to admit that the union of the two Houses made for a beautiful color scheme.
As he was admiring the banners, he felt two large arms circle his body before he was lifted off in the air. He turned his head to look at the assailant, only to see a mass of red hair.
“Are you bored already ?” he asked.
“I saw a lonely crow and thought it needed company !” Tormund answered, putting Jon back on his feet. “You invited me for the ‘festivities’ but I see no ‘festivities’. I feel tricked.”
“It’ll start after the ceremony.”
“You look pale. I mean you’re always pale. But now you’re as white as the skin on my ass.”
His friend’s usual crassness managed to make Jon smile. “I’m nervous.”
Tormund roared. “You’ve fought countless battles and now you’re nervous about mounting the she wolf ? I will never understand you kneelers.”
“I fear I do not understand it myself…”
“That’s ‘cause you’re half wildling now. I’m sure you’d feel more comfortable stealing someone. Preferably not someone from your own blood.”
Jon winced at the reminder. It had been quite the feat trying to explain to Tormund that he was marrying Arya and why he had to do so. The Free Folk’s customs were so different to that of the Westerosi regarding ‘marriage’ that Tormund had almost been angry at him for taking such a decision. He had argued that Jon’s lineage would be cursed with sickly children if he were to bed Arya. Worse, the man couldn’t understand why Jon would want to be in his former sister’s bed at all. Unable to explain to him that he would not have children with Arya, he settled on telling him he didn’t have a choice. Tormund dropped the matter but still made sure that Jon would know he did not agree.
“I don’t think I would like to steal someone either.”
Tormund made a face. “I’ve seen how you get women. You’re lucky you have a pretty face.”
“You mean to tell me my seduction skills are subpar ?” Jon said, smirking.
“I wouldn’t call awkwardly staring at someone seduction but if telling yourself that makes you happy at night…” Jon wanted to say something about Tormund ogling Brienne of Tarth but the other man was already speaking. “I guess you should be glad that women deliver themselves straight to your arms. A lot of the wildlings have been eyeing the she wolf and you’re the one who gets to have her when you don’t want her. What a waste,” he said while shaking his head.
The young man frowned. He did not like the idea of some men trying to steal Arya forcefully. Well, at least he would not need to worry about it once she’d become his wife…
“It seems my sister is quite popular then,” Bran said, appearing from behind them. A man from Daenerys’ guard had been sent to care for her Hand. It reassured Jon that Bran had someone to help him out with his wheelchair but it also unnerved him to have a member of her personnel inside Winterfell’s walls.
“Well, I’m sure no one has managed to get through to her,” he said with a smile. Bran and Tormund exchanged a glance.
It was then that Davos decided to approach them. "Your Highness, I think it's time." Jon felt a chill along his spine as the pit in his stomach reopened.
"Have all the missing Lords arrived ?"
"Aye. To the exception of Lord Baratheon. He was seen at an inn three days ago but he might have miscalculated the length of his travel," Davos explained.
"We both stayed at the same inn," Bran intervened. "I thought we'd be leaving at the same time but his...state, might have delayed him a little."
Jon wanted to ask what he meant by that but Davos was already urging him to get moving. He gave one last pleading look to his brother and his friend before heading towards his fate.
Jon stood before the Heart Tree, occasionally smiling and nodding at those who were taking their rightful places in the crowd. He was glad to see that the reality had nothing to do with his wretched nightmare from the night before. People were smiling and talking among themselves as the sun started setting, gilding the trees with its golden glow. It felt more convivial than he had initially thought.
"What are we waiting for ?" he asked Davos.
"The bride," the man simply answered. "She's not missing !" he quickly added, seeing Jon's expression. "It's only that Lady Sansa is quite...zealous."
"I just want this to be over."
"Me too, Your Highness. Me too..."
One man waved to both Jon and Davos, indicating that the bride was ready. The King's Hand cleared his throat and started his speech. "My Ladies ! My Lords !" It did not take long for everyone to cease talking, it was after all the one moment they were all waiting for. "The Crown of the North wishes to thank you for your presence during this great event that is the union between King Aegon of House Targaryen and Lady Arya of House Stark. May this be the beginning of their joint reign and may this stamp the history of the North with devotion, respect and trust. Please, will the bride come forth."
Every single person in the audience turned in unison, waiting to see the one who had remained hidden until now, waiting to see the cherished daughter of one the greatest Lords to have ruled the North.
Jon felt a growing buzz in his chest the more the seconds went by. As his anxiety reached its peak, he saw some movement from between the trees. Finally, the three Stark children emerged into the clearing. Arya, the cynosure of all eyes, stood tall, her expression solemn. Although he had seen the wedding suit before, he only realized how stunning it was now that he could see it on Arya. Or mayhaps it was Arya that made it look so gorgeous, he couldn't tell quite yet. Long gone were the days of Arya Horseface now that the wild little girl had grown into a woman, and despite her unusual clothes, people were thinking about the same thing as he did. His attention had been so taken by her appearance that he hadn't quite noticed her stilling before him.
Sansa, who had been pushing Bran's wheelchair, cleared her throat, reminding him that he was supposed to say something.
"Who comes ? Who comes before the gods ?" he bellowed, his voice deep and hoarse from the nervousness.
"Arya, of House Stark, comes here to be wed. A woman grown and flowered, true born and noble, she comes to beg the blessings of the gods. Who comes to claim her ?" Bran answered.
"Me, Aegon of House Targaryen, King in the North. I claim her. Who gives her ?" It was as if he could barely hear his own voice. Even later, he would still not be able to say whether he had said the right words.
"Bran of House Stark, brother of the bride." Slowly, the young man turned his head towards the woman in question. "Lady Arya, will you take this man ?"
The hearts of every single person present were beating in unison as they waited with clasped hands for her response, but no word came out of her as she stared at him; or through him should he say. The silence stretched and Jon felt the ground opening under him. He couldn't bear being rejected now. Pleadingly, he whispered her name, his face contorting in sorrow.
His voice managed to bring her back and her eyes snapped to his. They were finally looking at each other for the first time since the beginning of this ceremony. The grey of her eyes became glossy with tears when at last, she answered : "I take this man."
As he sighed with relief, he could sense the tension leaving his shoulder. It seemed to have the same effect on the assembly as gasps of joy reached his ears.
He offered her his ungloved hand and she laid her own freezing hand in his. They interlaced their fingers and kneeled before the old gods. Arya's grip was tight like a vice, her nails digging into the back of his hand painfully. He gave her two squeeze and she answered with two of her own, something which seemed to lessen her anxiety. Having taken care of her mental wellbeing, he let his mind go back to his own prayer.
May this union be blessed and may the North prosper under our rule, as it is the reason for which we now stand before you. May the old gods give me the strength to make Arya, whom I hold dear to my heart, happy and fulfilled, as she deserves the world and so much more. To those who have passed, I shall promise I will make it my greatest duty to respect and cherish the woman who now sits by my side.
Despite having finished his own prayer, he did not budge, waiting for Arya to finish hers. He couldn't help but wonder what it was she was praying for. When she caressed his index with her thumb, they both stood up, waiting for Davos to bring the garment. His hands were stiff from the cold, making it hard for him to unfasten the clasps of her cloak. After trading it for the new one, he opened Sansa's masterwork and revealed to the audience the sigil of House Stark that was embroidered on the inside. There were some whispers floating around as he did so, but what Jon saw was the smile of his own Lords and the pride upon Manderly's face.
He threw the cloak upon Arya's shoulders and fastened it around her neck. It seemed to him as if his movements had slowed to an almost stop. It was like time itself was playing tricks on him, letting him sense every second, every grain of sand in Life's hourglass, before becoming a married man.
The last clasp slid into place. It was strange to think how such an innocuous and habitual action now bore such finality. He brought his eyes back to hers while his hands fell to grab her own. There was so much he wanted to tell her, so much he wanted to convey with just his gaze but the world called out to them in a roar of applause. They turned to look at everybody, unsure of what to do next.
Luckily for them, the master of ceremony stepped in. "Let us be witnesses to the marriage of Aegon Targaryen and Arya Stark ! The King and Queen in the North !" The applause got louder with each of Davos' words, filling the woods with a kind of noise it had never known before.
Jon and Arya then walked away, leading the way to the Great Hall so that everyone could enjoy the profligate feast they had prepared for the occasion. Red and silver silks hung from the chandelier, spreading out like rays of sun; a color scheme which found echo in every ornament and every candle. The tables were packed together to accommodate all the guests who had honored them with their presence, making it hard for the servants to move around. Everybody settled down in a rambunctious fashion that had Davos sweating and Jon smiling. When the King and his new Queen had taken their spot at one end of the room, the people of House Stark by their side, Jon stood up and brought his goblet up.
This time, the silence took a bit longer to take hold and the young man had to raise his voice to garner their attention. "My Lords ! I know you are all eager to fill your belly with warm food...I see some people nodding," he laughed. "Don't worry, the cold won't get you in here." He turned his attention again to the rest of the room. "I would like to thank you all once again for your presence today. I am sure you are not without knowing how new the independence of the North is. It is quite a challenge trying to accommodate the unknown. I am certain however that wonderful days are yet to come with someone like Arya leading by my side. She has already shown her valor on the battlefield and will keep on showing the world her vast array of skills. I am deeply thankful that she has agreed to take on the Queen title and I could see no one, but a Stark, on this throne." He turned to her. "I hope I will be worthy of you and of your happiness." She was looking at him, slightly uncomfortable with his praise. Although she was supposed to do a speech herself, she had refused when he offered. Jon was sure she hadn't expected him to say a word about her. He turned back towards the assembly. "I am a man of few words and so is my...wife, so I won't delay your access to food any further. To those who traveled from the South to be here, I hope this evening will be worthwhile to you and to those whose roots lay under the snow, I raise my glass to you. To the North !"
"To the North !" the northern Lords erupted in unison, before the choreographed waltz of servants with platters full of food started.
Jon sat back down, exhausted but happy to see things going smoothly.
"You should have warned me about the content of your speech. I felt like a cornered mouse in front of a group of cats," Arya said. It was the first words she had said since they left the Godswoods.
"You would have asked me to change it. And I didn't want to," he said with a cheeky grin. She rolled her eyes. "I thought you were going to say no," he blurted suddenly.
"I did panic a little," she answered, taking a sip of her wine. "It didn't feel real until I saw the Heart Tree."
"Aye. It didn't feel real to me until I put the cloak on you."
"I could tell," she said with a small smile. "I was watching you when you were concentrating so intently on the clasps. You looked...ghostly."
"Oh gods...Do you think the Lords saw ?"
"Mayhaps. But I don't think they will hold that against you." He made a face and she reached out to scratch his chin, just like she would with Ghost. "You should keep your beard like that. The Tormund look does not suit you."
"Why did you all wait until the day of the wedding to tell me I looked that awful ? I've been going around with a dead rat on my face, to quote Sansa, and you said nothing. I'm surrounded by fakes."
"Well, we did talk about who should bring it up to you but you were a little occupied."
"Surely that's the reason..." he said, jokingly narrowing his eyes at her. "Anyway, now that you're queen, I'll have a little more time to look at myself in the mirror."
She groaned. "Please...stop using that word when referring to me."
A chuckle escaped him. "What word ? Queen ? I'm afraid that's what you are now, Arya Stark, the Queen in the North."
She punched him in a way a wife shouldn't punch her husband. "I hate how that sounds."
"I could try to reassure you and say that you'll become accustomed to it, but that would be a lie."
"Are we both condemned to feel like mummers for the rest of our lives ?"
He shrugged. "There is a slight chance we'll become such good actors, we'll forget that we're acting." A girl came up behind Arya and offered her the first meal of the night, a creamy pottage made of mushrooms, parsnips and turnips. It was a rich kind of soup, the kind that would fill you up for the rest of the night for relatively cheap; something which made Jon more than happy. It would have made him even more satisfied had it been the sole dish of the night and not the first out of five...The pottage was later followed by fried herrings on a bed of leeks, cured lamb with salted wine sauce, chicken with potatoes and finally, blackcurrant pie.
As everybody in the Great Hall rejoiced around the food that was being served, Arya ate just a little bit of the two first dishes. Jon noticed and leaned in. "You should stuff yourself as much as you can. We won't be eating these kinds of delicacies for a while after today."
"I'm glad the guests brought food with them. I don't think we would have ever recovered otherwise."
"I hope you like olives. We have five barrels full of it."
"Are you going to try and form alliances tonight ?"
"Might as well start before the next dish is served. I know some people are leaving tomorrow so I’d like to catch them now." He got up. "You know you'll have to make rounds and talk to people, right ?"
"Tell me about it. I'll follow you after finishing my plate," she said, shooing him away.
Making his way through the crowd was a tough challenge as he had to stop every few steps to accept a handshake and some congratulations. From what he saw, Arya struggled in the same way as he did. She seemed awfully irritated having to smile while some Ladies commented on her wedding attire while Lord Manderly cooed at her as usual. They both forced themselves to continue, ignoring the exhaustion seeping through their bones. He was about to go and take a break at Tormund's table in one of the corners of the Hall when he saw a familiar face entering.
"Lord Baratheon !" he bellowed with a smile, gaining the attention of the young man. "I was starting to wonder whether I ought to send a search party for you."
They embraced and Jon caught a whiff of some lingering alcohol smell. "I'm sorry I missed the ceremony. We had some...troubles."
"That's fine. You didn't miss much. But I'm glad you're here now, we've put a lot of effort into the food. It would be a shame not to enjoy it. Please, sit," he said, urging him towards the wildlings table. It was the only spot with some room left and Jon was sure that Gendry would not take any offense being seated with the rambunctious bunch. They both sat down while a serving girl almost instantly brought the former bastard a plate full of food.
"I heard your wife is with child, congratulations," Jon said.
"Aye," the other man answered, pouring ale into his cup. 'Twas quite a modest response in comparison to the way he had seen other men react upon the perspective of having an heir.
"Are you adjusting to Storm's End ?" he asked, feeling suddenly awkward.
"As good as one can. I'm no Lord and I hardly know how to be one. I'm sure you'll relate to that," he said, bringing the cup to his lips and downing it in one smooth gulp. Jon used this opportunity to observe his friend better. The man had changed, 'twas obvious. His physiognomy was weary, like that of a man who had completely given up on life. There was also a slight underlying anger in his eyes that Jon couldn't quite understand but he could hardly judge him, considering he had himself almost crumbled under the weight of his new title. Mayhaps they could talk better in the morn so that Jon could offer him some advice.
"I sure do. But you'll get used to it. I can't say that is my case yet but I hope I'm getting there."
"At least you got to marry someone like Arya. Where is she ?" Jon decided to ignore the secondhand slight towards Gendry's own wife and looked around the room, trying to spot the young woman.
"She's...gone," he finally said upon not being able to catch sight of her. She wasn't in the crowd anymore nor was she at their table. He did not fail to notice that both Sansa and Tyrion had also disappeared, making him wonder whether something bad had happened. "I'm sure she'll reappear soon. You know how she is. If you'll excuse me, there are some things I need to attend." He got up and gestured towards Tormund, indicating that he should include Gendry in his conversation. He tried to make his way back to his table where only Bran was left. The youngest Stark's attention had been snatched by the Lord of White Harbor and for once, you could tell that Bran felt drained by the old man's conversation. Before he could reach his destination, someone interrupted his walk.
'Twas Lord Robett Glover accompanied by Lord Rodrik Forrester, the new head of House Forrester.
"Your Highness," Glover started, "We wished to congratulate you on your wedding. I know this might not be the moment to talk about it but our missive concerning the wildlings has gotten no answer..."
Jon had hoped to avoid any northern politics today but it seemed as if his luck had run out. "My apologies. I have indeed received your letter but there is a never-ending flow of issues for me to attend to and with the wedding...But I will be attending to your troubles very soon, I promise."
"Pardon my straightforwardness, Your Highness, but that issue needs to be discussed in the next few days, not in a year," said Lord Forrester. "Those...people loitering around The Wall are causing havoc and I fear conversing with them will prove to be impossible."
During Robb's reign and the War against the Others, Rodrick Forrester had proven himself to be a great warrior and a great strategist. To reward him for his efforts, Jon had given the land of the fallen House Umber to his family. Sadly, being the closest to the Wall meant he was the one who had to deal with the wildlings who had decided to remain south of the border. This had proven to be the source of many conflicts since the wildlings' way of living seemed to clash with that of the Westerosi.
Jon did not want to endanger his own people but he did not want to chase the wildlings out either. He had found comrades among the Free Folks and going back on the promise that he was going to help them out would leave a sour taste in his mouth.
"Come to me tomorrow. We'll talk about it," he said finally. "We have a few representatives of the Free Folk among us tonight, we'll see what we can do together."
Lord Forrester and Lord Glover exchanged a look. It seemed as if the idea of talking to the wildlings was repulsive to them. Jon did not understand how it was possible to turn on people who had fought by their side just a few moons prior. "Aye, thank you."
Jon once again tried to make his way to Bran, slightly unnerved by the conversation he had just had. Yet, it seemed as if he would never be able to go back to his table as his attention was once again whisked away by both men and women who were eager to talk to him.
He was talking to Lady Roslin Tully who had shyly struck a conversation with him when suddenly, someone bumped into his shoulder with force. He turned his head to see who was responsible for this and was stunned to see Gendry rush past him. The man looked drunk, which was also surprising considering that Jon hadn't left him such a while ago. What worried Jon the most however, was the blood that was coming out of lip. Jon did not want to deal with a fight right now and he hoped there wasn't someone laying outside in the snow, all beaten up.
He excused himself, heading towards Davos.
"You ought to send someone to look around Winterfell." He felt bad about adding another burden on his Hand's shoulders but they couldn't afford any trouble today.
"Did something happen, Your Highness ?"
"I do not know but the men are getting drunk and I fear there might have been a fight somewhere."
The older man nodded his assent and left to give out orders. 'Twas then that Arya finally reappeared. He grabbed her and steered her towards one of the less crowded corners of the room.
"What's going on ?" he asked, worried.
"Not much," she answered, feigning ignorance.
"Arya, you only worry your lip till you bleed when there is something truly concerning happening."
Her eyes widened and she brought the back of her hand to wipe her mouth, contemplating the scarlet streak it left on her pale skin. "Sansa was feeling a little overwhelmed, is all. You know, with the last wedding that happened in Winterfell..." He felt like an oaf not having thought of how his sister would feel seeing a remake of the worst night of her life.
"How is she ?" he asked.
"She's calmed down now. Tyrion is taking care of her. Although I fear she will not be coming back to the Hall until tomorrow."
"That's fine. I'd rather she rest. And I'd rather we do too...I am tired of this ceremony." They headed back to their table, hoping that the pie would be brought out soon. Davos had the time to report back to Jon, stating that there were no traces of a fight both inside and outside of Winterfell, before the desert made its entrance.
The sweet treat seemed dull in his mouth, too tired that he was to enjoy it. His tiredness did not seem to be shared by the other Lords who were becoming rowdier with each passing seconds. Soon enough, speeches became slurred and the men started making libidinous jokes, asking for the bedding ceremony to begin. Jon felt Arya's nails dig into his thigh. Understanding immediately what she was trying to say, he got up. “My Lords, the feast has now come to an end but the night is still young. The queen and I will now retire to our quarters but I hope the rest of the festivities will be to your liking,” he said loudly. His eyes met those of Davos who, with a slight nod, acknowledged him. The older man raised his hand towards the musicians who started playing a more lively tune. Some women who had been instructed beforehand, rushed to the center of the hall, before dragging the first men they could grab onto to dance with them, despite the lack of space. Some even climbed onto the tables, offering a show that was quite unusual up North. Now that everybody seemed to be distracted, Jon took hold of Arya’s hand before quickly making his way out of the hall. It might be unseemly for the royal couple to quietly escape like cowards but it was always better than having Arya stab someone because some Lord couldn’t keep his hands to himself.
“I thought you’d never do it. I fucking swear if you had let that worthless tradition happen I’d be a widow by now,” Jon chuckled at her feistiness.
“Did you hear ? They call it the white wedding. With such a title, we couldn't afford having the bride dirtying her hands in crimson.” Arya made a face and mumbled some curses under her breath which caused him to laugh slightly louder.
They reached the Lord's chambers and barred the door once finally inside. A silence so thick you could almost taste it on your tongue settled around them. It wasn’t the situation that was awkward. No, it was the room. At first, Jon and Arya had decided that they would take the biggest guest room and make it theirs since the both of them felt uncomfortable with the idea of sleeping in the Lord’s chambers. However, after much convincing from Davos, it was decided that they would take this room. It had been the Lord’s chambers for generations now and it was only fair that the King and Queen resided in it. When he had retaken Winterfell, Jon had refused to sleep there since the place was still full of his father’s presence. Unlike him, Sansa couldn’t feel the ghosts that were still lingering and had gladly accepted the room when he had offered it to her. Even after she was gone, Jon had stayed in his own chambers, far away from the ones the former Lord and Lady of Winterfell had inhabited. The sight of the room and the bed made it all too real. As if taking this bed would suddenly cement his role as King more than any crown could. Similarly, this room was about to seal the new added facet of his and Arya’s relationship. Despite the fact that they wouldn’t lay in that bed as man and woman, it felt like the moment they would slip under the furs they would shift into the role of husband and wife, protectors of the North and rulers of Winterfell.
Arya was the first one to break from the awkwardness, heading straight to the changing room. He waited patiently before he started hearing her curse. She strolled back in, wearing her nightshift and her hair half down.
“Why did they have to use so many of those bloody pins ? Help me out,” she ordered before plopping down onto the bed, her back to him. He got to work and tried to take out all those tiny pieces of metal. He didn’t know how to do it and it felt like she had endless supplies of them hidden in her mane.
“Ow ! No need to stab me with it !” she whined.
Jon snorted. ”I didn’t know I was making vows to become your personal handmaiden.”
“Fear not, that was surely the last time you’ll see me in such a complicated hairstyle.” He took out the last pin and went to change his own clothes. When he came back, she was already under the furs so he did the same.
They were lying side by side, eyes glued to the ceiling. “So we’re married,” she stated matter-of-factly.
“Aye.”
Laughter started to bubble in her throat and soon after she was laughing loudly. A clear giggle that made the air and his heart seem lighter. It didn’t take long for him to join her while he laughed at the absurdity of it all. His sides were hurting from laughing so hard and he could feel the tears at the corners of his eyes. When was the last time he had laughed like that ? Had she laughed like that since they left Winterfell ? And by the Gods, he only now realized how much he had missed her laugh.
Once their hilarity had subsided, Arya rolled on her side to face him. “I missed you”
He turned his head towards her. “I missed you too.” His smile slowly faded and he finally decided to voice out the question that had been plaguing his days. “What do you think they would have thought ?”
“Who ?” she asked gently.
“Rickon, Robb, Father...I already know Lady Catelyn is probably cursing me for lying in this bed and taking her daughter as my wife,” he sighed.
She smiled sadly and for a second he regretted bringing it up. “I don’t think she hated you for who you were. I don’t even think she ever truly knew you. No, she hated what you represented.” She started drawing circles on the bedcover. “Mayhaps...mayhaps if she had lived long enough to know who you truly were, she wouldn’t be cursing you right now.”
“What about the others ?” he asked fearfully. They were, after all, the ones that really mattered to him.
“Rickon...we were gone for so long. He probably didn’t have many memories of us so he might not have grasped the situation as we do. As for Robb, you’d be nursing a broken nose right now,” she chuckled.
“I reckon I would.” Out of the whole family, Robb would have taken the news the worse. They had always been close growing up and the idea of Jon taking his little sister for a wife would have made the poor man go mad. Jon still hoped he would have forgiven him after a while.
“Father...I don’t think he would have taken it badly to be honest.” Jon eyed her quizzically. “He always knew who you were and all he has ever wanted was for his family and for the North to be safe. He would have seen the advantages for the match. And he raised you himself, he knew you would never do me any hurt.”
Jon felt slightly better with Arya’s words even though he knew it would still take time for the guilt to fully disappear.
“What about you ?” she asked.
“What do you mean ?” he said, frowning slightly.
“I know 10 years-old Arya would have been elated with this turn of events. Probably not with the Queen status but I always told Sansa I’d marry you to avoid becoming a Frey. I also never wanted to leave Winterfell when I was nothing but a pup and it did take me quite the detour, but here I am.”
“I thought you didn’t want to stay anymore ?”
She sighed. “I don’t but I’m doing what’s right and you’ve promised you wouldn’t shackle me down.”
“Aye, I did.” He looked at her, mentally apologizing for being part of her torment.
“You didn’t answer my question,” she remarked. “You would have hated it, right ?”
He didn’t want to answer in the affirmative but deep down they both knew that it was the truth. The boy who used to lash out on straw dummies would have opposed this wedding the most, more than their father, more than Robb even.
“We’ve changed. I’m not that boy anymore. It’s what I lived that helped make those decisions, I wouldn’t be able to lead the North otherwise,” he explained.
She eyed him for a few seconds, her eyes piercing into his. “Let’s sleep. I need to prepare for my acting performance.”
“What performance ?” he asked, not understanding what she meant.
“That of a woman who had to bed a man she thought to be her brother,” she said while turning around, her back to him.
He was suddenly reminded that he would also need to act the part in the morrow but how was he supposed to ? It wasn’t a secret that he didn’t know how to lie. Should he act sad ? Disgusted with himself ? Should he avoid her ?
“Don’t fret about it too much, I can feel the anxiety oozing out of you,” she mumbled.
Taking a deep breath, he rolled onto his side to look at her back. He had foolishly thought that sharing a bed with Arya would be similar to when they were kids and she would sneak into his arms. Mayhaps he could still hold her as he used to...Uncertain, he reached out to her and laid his hand on her waist. She tensed under his touch and he immediately jerked it away. What a bloody idiot. They weren't kids anymore and this was their wedding night.
“I’m sorry,” he said before he could stop himself. He waited for an answer but it never came.
Notes:
I can't believe my babies are married, they grow up so fast 😢
Chapter 9: Jon V
Chapter Text
His death had drastically altered his relationship to existence, making it so every awakening felt like a revival. It was almost a surprise each time to come back to consciousness and feel his body, like an old rock imbued with the wind of life.
The night had gone as usual, his mind slipping off into nothingness, away from the realm of dreams and nightmares. He opened his eyes and watched dust dancing in the light beam that illuminated the now empty pillow by his side. Taking a deep breath, he stretched his hand out to touch Arya's side. The bedding was cold but it was messy and still suffused with her smell, indicating that she had indeed slept there.
Stretching a little, he sat on the bed and rubbed off the drowsiness from his face. He had foolishly hoped that Arya would still be there when he woke up so that they could prepare for the obvious attention they were about to get. Alas, he would have to face the curious Lords alone. With a slight apprehension, he got dressed and headed to the Great Hall to break his fast. Luckily for him only his family and a few curious ladies were seated at the tables.
As the King, he obviously had to go and talk to the latter, making sure they were happy with their stay and well fed. He felt uncomfortable under their prying gaze, knowing they expected information about his wedding night he was not willing to give. To their greatest dismay, he ignored their wishes and excused himself to go sit next to Arya. She avoided his eyes as he sank onto his chair and, as soon as the wood creaked under his weight, got up in a hurry.
"I ought to go to the stables," she simply said, quickly rushing out of the hall, not sparing him a glance.
He watched her go out like a child who did not know what to do when someone was upset with them. Almost immediately, the ladies began chattering about the scene that had just unfolded in front of them, while Jon himself reflected on what he could have done to make her wroth with him.
"Well, well, well...That is certainly not the type of reaction a man wants to see on the morn of his wedding night. Were you that bad ?" Tyrion jested.
Was this part of the act she was talking about ? Was it truly necessary to make them think it had been so horrible she could barely stand his presence ?
He caught Sansa rolling her eyes, knowing that her sister was only acting.
"I believe this is no conversation to have at breakfast," he told Tyrion.
"Of course, you're right. But tonight, after a few cups of wine, it will be the perfect time."
"Tyrion..." Sansa called out to her husband, her tone slightly menacing.
"What ? This is the most interesting thing that has happened within those castle walls since a wight burst out from his own tomb. You can't expect me not to be a little curious."
"I thought your curiosity about brother and sister bedding each other would have long been satiated," Jon countered, earning him a glare from the redhead.
Tyrion on the other hand, chuckled whole heartedly. "Well played, Your Highness. Well played."
The banter made Jon feel a little better but he couldn't quite wait to have a talk with Arya. After all, this was the beginning of their life together and he'd prefer to know what was going through her mind right now. He hoped she would join him while talking to the Lords today...
Against all his wishes, he now found himself alone, facing Lord Glover and Lord Forrester. Tormund was also present but he stood in a corner of the room, observing the two other men through his bushy eyebrows.
Jon wanted to tell him he ought to look a little less aggressive if they wanted this conversation to go well, but it seemed as if the other man was intent on making the two Lords as uncomfortable as possible. "Well, Lord Forrester. Please, tell me in detail what ails you."
Lord Forrester straightened up, confident enough to look Jon right in the eyes. "Since the end of the War against the Others, I have been working hard to take care of the land you have so generously gifted me. This task has been growing increasingly harder. More than the lack of resources and the cold, it's the people that are being a problem." Without sparing Tormund a glance, he nodded towards him. "These people."
Jon saw the Wildling narrow his eyes. The redhead might have been unfamiliar with the subtleties of court intrigues, but he certainly knew how to recognize when someone was looking down on him. "Their ways weren't meant for our society and I'm afraid they do not care to adapt."
Tormund scoffed. "Do I bother your little manners, Forest ? Is our presence here making you feel uneasy ?" he asked, mocking the other man.
The young Lord did not turn around. "Do you wish to know, Your Highness, what makes me feel uneasy ? It's having to deal with the tears of a father after his daughter has been stolen by a Wildling. It's having to reduce rations because our resources have been pillaged by people who aren't supposed to be here."
Jon's jaw tensed as Lord Forrester gave him the details of the situation. If he had to be fully honest, Jon knew how high the likelihood of this happening was. However he had hoped for a quick settlement of the conflict : either by peaceful negotiations or by the punishment of the violent elements of the Free Folk.
Unlike the rest of Westeros - which had had decades to infuse the land with a solid judiciary system - the new northern kingdom had to rely heavily on the administration of a set of people by the Lords of lesser Houses. It had been this way since forever. Laws were widespread and everybody knew not to get caught if they were to break some, but Jon knew that if Lord Glover decided to judge crimes according to his own moral compass, there was little he could do considering he couldn't spy on everyone.
"Lord Forrester, I do trust your words and I do trust your judgement. I also happen to know a great many members of the Free Folk and I do know that the majority understands that our way of living is different than theirs and that they must comply with our laws in exchange for our help. The people you loathe are a minority. Why don't you deal with them the same way you would criminals ?"
"I would if I could. Every time we try to defend ourselves against those lawbreakers, we find ourselves facing the rage of all their kind. I cannot punish those who wronged my people because the rest of the Wildlings see it as some kind of provocation."
Considering how prideful the Free Folk are, Jon couldn't deny that what Lord Forrester was saying could be the truth. "Could you recall a particular instance of this happening ? And the reaction of the Free Folk ?"
"Aye. A moon ago, we received Your Highness' foodstuffs. Before the carriage could even enter the castle, a group of Wildlings fomented an attack against the coach, taking half of the crates with them. This food was supposed to last us three moons. We now have to give out barely enough ration to feed one person to whole families. All that so a handful of Wildings could gorge themselves. The man riding the carriage was able to identify the men that had assaulted him and I sent a few men to capture them. We managed to get three," Rodrick recounted.
Jon eyed Tormund, who shrugged under his gaze.
"For such a crime, I was planning on cutting one hand each. A very charitable punishment taking into account the impact of their deeds on my people. But sadly, we did not even have the time to bring the men back to the gaols before words got out, and soon we found ourselves encircled by a whole army. They sent one of theirs to negotiate - no, threaten us for the release of the three scoundrels."
"And ? Did you release them ?" Jon asked.
"Of course, I did ! What else could I have done ? They outnumbered us ! Their monstrous women can fight !"
By his side, Lord Glover tensed and Jon saw how the older man bumped his knee into the one of the younger Lord.
"I had to yield to protect everyone. But what kind of message does that send ? I'm afraid things will spiral out of control," Lord Forrester continued, his tone less aggressive. "Either their leader gets them to behave or they ought to go back beyond the Wall."
"Tormund ? What can be done ?" Jon asked, turning his head towards his friend.
"Not much," the redhead grumbled.
For the first time since the beginning of this conversation, the two Lords looked at the massive Wildling. "Aren't you their leader ?" Lord Glover asked.
Tormund smirked. "You kneelers with your Kings and Queens...Something you don't seem to understand, is that there is no oneness, but a multitude. Clans that only unite for a reason, and said reason, is gone. There is no King-Beyond-The-Wall right now and there is no need for one. I can assure you that people from my clan understand where we are, the situation we're in. But other clans...that's beyond my command," he explained.
"And can you not coordinate a council between all the leaders ? Where you can explain that our laws must not be broken ?" Lord Glover pushed.
Tormund crossed his arms in front of his body and leaned back against the wall, his mouth turning into a dubious frown. "I guess I could try. But that is probably going to be a lot of effort for nothing."
"For nothing ? If these people continue to pillage us without any respect for our ways, we will have to send all of you back from where you came from. If your clan is so peaceful, then they should have a word with those that are not. Because the consequences of their action will fall back on you," Lord Rodrick said, venom in his voice.
"Lord Forrester, please calm down," Jon said. "I will not stand the persecution of innocent people on my lands, is that clear ? Those who breach our rules will be adequately punished but I do not want to see any kind of ill-treatment based on whether someone was born above or below the Wall."
Rodrick took a deep breath in. "Of course, Your Highness. However you must admit that this must cease and we require the help of the Crown for it to stop. I am now asking what it is that you will do to help us."
"I want this to be resolved as peacefully as possible. Firstly, Tormund will try to speak to the leaders of each clan. If they do not see reason then we will have to take more drastic measures. In the meantime, I will be sending more men your way and will make sure that every traveling carriage will be guarded appropriately. Would that be satisfactory to you, Lord Forrester ?" Jon offered.
The Lord in question turned to his former liege, who slightly nodded. "Aye, Your Highness" he then said.
"My apologies for not having considered your queries earlier. Hopefully things will settle down in the moons to come and I'll be able to see to your missives faster. If the situation worsens, do not hesitate to send a scroll. This Kingdom is a young one but I wish for it to grow on solid grounds."
"We'll remember that, Your Highness," Lord Glover said, bowing to his sovereign. The two men took their leave and Jon let out a long breath once the door was fully closed.
"Sorry about that..." he said to Tormund, sliding down his chair to be in a more comfortable position.
The other man finally left his corner and sank in the chair which Lord Glover had been sitting in, using the other one as a foot rest. "I'm used to it now. I do love to see the fear in their eyes, like I'm about to throw myself at them and eat their nose like some sort of cannibal."
"Mayhaps we should shave your beard. It would make you a lot less intimidating," Jon jested with a smile.
"Shave my beard ?? Do you really think that Tormund Giantsbane, the one who nursed on a giant's tit would look any less intimidating without his beard ? Ah !" he exclaimed. He grabbed one of Jon's unused quill to use as a toothpick. "Unlike you, Jon Snow, I do not need to grow some hair to look manlier," he added with a wiggle of his eyebrows.
Jon shook his head at his friend's antics. "I'm sorry about suddenly shoving responsibilities on you," he apologized. He hadn't exactly consulted Tormund before turning him into a diplomat.
"I don't mind. It concerns me as much as it concerns you. And after so much time spent preparing for a war, the past few moons have felt awfully boring. I like the idea of having something to do." He finally put the quill back onto the desk. Jon would need a new one. "But you can pay me in ale if you feel so bad about it."
"Do I need to ? I'm pretty sure our barrels have been mysteriously emptying themselves."
"Must be your imagination..."
"Of course," he said. "Do you think the diplomatic approach will work ?"
"I don't know. I'm sure some will see reason. I'm sure others won't. We will see who outnumbers who."
Jon nodded. At least it was Tormund he was putting his trust in.
One thing he hadn't expected about becoming King was how often it was required for him to act busy if he wanted to catch a break. Leaning on the wooden rail, he watched on as people ran around the yard, carrying laundry, food and so much more. Some of his people looked worn out by the sudden influx of work caused by the Lords and Ladies that had come to Winterfell for the wedding, while others looked delighted by the hustle and bustle.
Jon found himself to be part of the first group, and kept on pestering his guests about when their stay would end, trying to act disappointed when they said they were to leave in a few days. Considering the time it took to get to Winterfell, most people had decided to extend their sojourn so that they could recover some energy before embarking on the journey back to their own castle. Surprisingly, Gendry had left during the night, only warning a servant before he disappeared into the night.
Jon found himself quite disappointed as the young man was one of the rare people he longed to talk to. He was also worried about the state of the man and the reason behind such an impromptu departure. When Davos had warned him about the events of the night, he had decided to send some men to catch up to Gendry so that they could make sure he would make it out of the freezing North safely. Well, the man had a wife and a babe on the way, it was normal he'd rather not stay too long.
"Did you freeze ?" he heard a voice say from below.
"Hm ?"
"We can tell you're daydreaming when you just stand there, unmoving," Arya explained while climbing on top of a barrel and then grabbing the railing to hoist herself up. She sat on the wood, her back facing the yard while he marveled at her agility. "You should at least move your head a little if you want to be convincing."
"Well, I'll be heeding your advice. Mayhaps you ought to give me acting lessons since your skills are so impressive. Where did you learn ?"
She shrugged. "Here and there."
He nodded, knowing there was no use in prying. This Arya wasn't one to reveal her secrets, and he knew that if he ever wanted her to open up, he had to wait until she was the one to shatter the wall of ice that now stood between them. Despite knowing that, being refused access to the mind of the one he had known best many years ago felt strange to him. He wanted his little sister back and his growing curiosity did not make him more patient. Oh well...they had the rest of their life to get to know each other. It would come.
"You were so phenomenal this morning, you had me believing I had done something horrible during my sleep," he said to divert her attention back to something else.
"You did actually."
He looked at her in horror, thinking that mayhaps, she had actually been angry with him at breakfast.
"I was sleeping peacefully - I mean as peacefully as I can with a whole man in my bed - when suddenly your arm shot out and you grabbed the back of my nightshift." She was miming the event as she talked, making it all the more embarrassing. "And then you just stayed like that, not moving until I forced your hand open this morning. Do you know you look dead when you sleep ?"
"I'm really sorry I did that. I didn't mean to disturb you while you slept."
" 'Twas fine. You could have snored. It would have been worse."
"What do you mean I look dead when I sleep ?"
"It's like you're barely breathing. I thought I was a widow for a second."
Daenerys had never warned him of such a strange quirk but now that he knew about it, there was no denying it was due to his brief crossing to the other side.
"I think I'll wait a little more before making you the sole regent."
"Are you scared I will set the kingdom aflame ?"
"I'm afraid you'll have the whole population of the North moving to Essos as a remedy for the Long Night."
"Now that you say it..." Arya jested, making Jon smile.
"I was actually hoping to catch you this morning. I had a meeting with Lord Glover and Lord Forrester. They would have been nicer to me had you been there."
Arya pouted, a facsimile of a compassionate expression on her features. "Oh, were the Lords mean to you ?"
He pushed her shoulder. "Stop making fun of me. I mean it, their behavior with you is completely different from the way they treat me. Not that I really care anymore, since Your Highness the Queen of the North will now be handling one half of the diplomatic issues."
The young woman grunted at being reminded of her new title. "I can't do all those niceties. I'll probably anger them more if I try to talk to them. What did they want to talk about ?"
"The Free Folk. Let's say they haven't been seeing eye to eye for the past few moons."
"And how did it go ?"
"Fine enough. I've managed to appease Glover and Forrester but it seems as if they are determined to push the Free Folk back to the other side of the wall."
Throwing her head back to look at the sky, Arya lost herself in her thoughts for a few seconds. "I guess it is hard to make decisions since we don't know when winter will end."
"We might never see spring in our lifetime. It's necessary for us to act as if the cold will never leave," he said, secretly wishing that their children would one day ride horses through the northern grass, just like they did years ago.
"Life finds a way. It always does." She dropped her chin to look at him. "And the unexpected will keep on happening. Now that you're my husband, I don't think anything will ever surprise me again."
He winced at the word 'husband'. It felt so strange whenever he thought of it. It felt even stranger when Arya said it.
She quickly glanced to the side and then brought her eyes back to his. "You know...Mayhaps we should do it more often." Jumping off from the railing she inched closer to him. "So that we can get used to it ?"
Not understanding what she was saying, he frowned. "What ?"
So swiftly he did not have the time to dodge, she put her hand on the railing and pushed herself on her tippy toes so that her lips met his. It was a barely there kiss, he almost did not feel it, but still, the shock of Arya doing such a thing had his eyebrow shooting up to his hairline. She fell back on her heel, disgust on her features. He almost felt like apologizing. Before he could utter a word, she pushed him out of the way and fled the scene, leaving him completely flabbergasted.
He barely had the time to process that Arya had stolen a kiss from him when he heard someone clearing his throat. He turned around to see Lord Manderly sheepishly standing there. Oh, that's why she did that . He would need to have a talk with her because this was the second time she left him to deal with the consequences of her little act. And taking into consideration this was only their first day of marriage, he did not want to deal with it any more than that.
"My apologies, Your Highness. I did not mean to witness such an intimate moment between you and the Queen," the older Lord said. Jon couldn't help but notice the slight emphasis on the word 'queen'.
"It's nothing..." Jon mumbled, silently cursing Arya for having created such an awkward situation.
The old Lord misunderstood Jon's awkwardness and panic as shyness, something that couldn't even be cleared up. "You know, when my dear wife and I got married, she spent the whole evening stepping on my toes during our dances. I thought that she was clumsy for a whole year after that, only to realize during another ball that she was actually a very graceful dancer."
Jon knew that Lord Manderly and his wife had been married for a very long time before her death, he wondered whether Arya and him would live this old.
"I was a very stupid young man back then and my wife was a Lady well trained in the arts of hiding her disdain," Wyman said with an expression that was surprisingly joyful.
"Did she dislike you for a long time ?" Jon asked.
"A few moons. I did not notice however. I so desperately craved her company, I would put myself in situations that annoyed her even more. It wasn't after the birth of our first child that I learned she had been in love with a man from a lesser house. Her parents had obviously chosen to wed her to someone with greater power and my Lady wife resented them very much for doing so. She obviously also resented the man who had stolen her away from her lover." Wyman put his hands on the railing. "I fell in love with her but my feelings were never returned. Surprisingly it never bothered me as much as one would think because after much effort, she came to like me as a friend. She gave me beautiful children and offered me her great company for many years."
Jon struggled to see how this related to his own marriage, but it seemed as if married people were always very keen on giving advice to newlyweds. "I sure would hope Arya doesn't hate me," he joked.
"Oh obviously, our situations seem to be widely different, Your Highness. However, you will soon see that all marriages grow out of the same soil. Some couples will have far better conditions to strive, but out of everything, the most important thing is constant effort. A husband ought to tend to his wife the same way you would tend to what grows in your most valuable glasshouse. If she is willing to take a step towards you to make this work, then you will have to take two."
Now, he understood what the old man was trying to say and although he agreed, Wyman Manderly certainly had never had to deal with someone like Arya. "She will be well cared for, My Lord. That I can promise."
"Meaning to do well and doing well are two widely different things. We think we have it all figured out at first, but it's only after a while we realize how complicated it all is."
Jon had a thought about Davos and his wife. Although he was curious about why the former smuggler refused to have his wife come up north, he had told himself not to pry.
"You might think it will be easier because you already bear affection for the Queen, but women are surprising," Wyman added.
Knowing they were only playing pretend, Jon was tempted to sweep the old man's advice under the rug. Mayhaps he shouldn't get too cocky. After all, Arya and him would live almost exactly as a married couple. He might as well heed whatever marriage counseling was to come his way.
"I'll try my best to meet her halfway," he said, getting ready to leave.
The old man shook his head with a smile. "I believe both sides should strive to do two thirds of the work."
He could feel his brow bone, a telltale sign that a headache was showing its nose. He wanted them all gone. He wanted to rest.
But it seemed as if his wishes would remain unanswered for a few more days and he'd have to sit through many more deafening supper before he'd finally be granted a little respite.
Turning his head towards Arya, he saw that she shared his predicament.
"I can see you want out," he said.
"Because I do not care to hide it," she answered, her brows furrowed. "I am warning you, if I see just one opportunity to take my leave, I will be in bed in less time it would take you to notice."
"I am going to see this as a challenge," he said, watching the red liquid being poured into his cup by a servant. Once his glass was filled, he turned back towards her and found her seat empty. Confused, he looked around the room and under the tables, she was nowhere to be seen. Well, there was no denying he had lost.
Bran was looking at him with a twinkle in his eyes. "I saw nothing," the young man told him.
"I'm glad to see your duo is as strong as ever," Jon said, taking a sip of his wine.
"Do you want an opportunity to leave too, Your Highness ?" his brother asked.
"I would be overjoyed if you could provide me with one."
"Well then, I would greatly appreciate it if you could accompany me. I'd like to rest before I leave."
Jon got up and nodded to all those who had acknowledged the departure of the king. He grabbed the handles of Bran's wheelchair and pushed him out of the Great Hall. He wasn't happy with the fact that Bran had to leave so soon, but as the Hand of Daenerys, he had to leave at the first ray of the sun.
They moved through the quiet corridors, two lost souls in once familiar walls. "It still doesn't feel like home, doesn't it ?" Bran began.
"Aye. I thought that once the Bolton's presence had left the air, it would feel like Winterfell again. But I was wrong. It feels empty now." He didn't have to say why, they both knew the reason. Winterfell wasn't Winterfell without their family and the absence of Robb, Rickon, Catelyn and their father made for an unfillable void.
"Children would help fill that void," Bran said, taking Jon by surprise. Out of all the people he had expected to talk about children, Bran had to be the last one.
"Not you too..." Jon lamented.
Bran chuckled. "What ? Wouldn't this corridor feel more alive if there were children running around ?"
Jon saw the scene and he felt his heart swell at the idea. "Aye. But you will have to wait quite a bit longer before you become an uncle," he said. Although they had never talked about it, Jon was certain Bran knew about his and Arya's plan for children. Still, it was better not to talk about it aloud. "What about you ? I heard Lord Reed is looking for a betrothal for his daughter."
He felt Bran tense in his chair. "He hasn't come to me yet. And I don't think he will."
"You don't think he will or you know he won't ?"
"I don't think he will. Some things are better enjoyed, when they have the chance to be discovered," Bran added, craning his neck backwards so he could look up into his brother's eyes.
"Then I'll pray for him to come to you."
They moved in silence, until Jon finally found the courage to ask the one question he had been dreading. "How is she ?"
Bran took a deep breath. "She's on a slippery slope. I'm trying my best to keep her from sliding down any further."
Jon nodded. "Do you feel she's apt ?"
"Her political decisions are greatly influenced by the state of her mind. Your decision as well as the behavior of her husband are affecting her a lot. This is no criticism towards you, if you were wondering."
Still, Jon couldn't help but feel bothered by the idea that he had contributed to the political instability of Westeros by refusing to pursue a relationship with her.
"It all started before you," Bran added, sensing Jon's inner turmoil.
"What did you mean by her husband's behavior ?" he asked to change subjects.
"King Arryn is starting to get suspicious about the lack of hires. It will only take one bastard to create a schism within the royal couple. Moreover, he has proved himself a greedy man, inconvenienced by the consort status. The growing animosity between the two is getting on the Queen's nerves," Bran explained. "I don't think you should think about it too much. You have enough on your plate with northern politics."
Jon nodded, although his brother couldn't see him. They reached Bran's bedchambers, and Jon wheeled him in so the young man could rest. "Here," Bran said, pulling out a folded piece of paper, "she asked me to give this to you."
He grabbed the piece of paper but did not open it. "Thank you. Rest well," he said, ruffling Bran's hair before leaving the door. Walking a few steps, he stopped right under one of the torches on the wall. It was just a piece of paper with no seal on it. Expecting the content to be a private letter, he was surprised to read the very usual and basic wedding congratulations he was used to. Even more strange was the fact that he could recognize the handwriting : Daenerys had written it herself. On the bottom, right beside her signature, there was the beginning of an I , as if she had given up on writing whatever was on her mind.
Jon stayed unmoving for a minute trying to see if there was something between the lines or an indication about what she had wanted to write after that mysterious I . He saw nothing. With a sigh, he moved forward and headed towards his bedchambers.
He walked into the room and threw the scroll straight into the hearth. Arya was already in bed, braiding strings of leathers to turn it into a hair tie.
"What was that ?" she asked upon seeing the act.
"A scroll from Daenerys," he explained while taking off his cloak. "She wishes us a prosperous and fertile marriage."
She grimaced, not liking the word 'fertile'. "And ?"
"And that's it." He sat down to take off his boots, the rest of his clothes following suit until he found himself in an attire that was more suitable for sleep. Bringing down the covers, he got in bed while Arya watched him do so.
"Are you still in love with her ?" she asked, going straight for the jugular. He hadn't expected the question but if he were to spend the rest of his life with Arya, they might as well talk as much as they could.
"I don't know. I still care about her, that I'm sure of. But love...Things have changed so much I have trouble seeing her as the person I courted back in Dragonstone. Had I known everything about her, mayhaps..." He stopped talking. This was still awfully confusing for him. Whenever he thought of her, he found himself splitting her self into two different entities : on one side, Dany, the woman he had fallen in love with; and on the other, the Queen of Dragons, who had been ready to burn innocents to obtain what she wanted. "I still wish for her happiness."
Arya nodded, putting down her work on her nightstand. "Tormund told me about your spearwife."
"Ygritte," he said, letting the name roll out of his mouth for the first time in ages. "She was a lot like you in many ways. She died during an attack at Castle Black." He found himself wondering how things would have unfolded had she lived. Would she have remained by his side ? Would Daenerys have lent him so much of her power had they not been lovers ?
"You loved her enough to break your vows for her," Arya said.
"No wife and no children. Technically speaking, I broke my vows later on," he said, not trying to save his reputation. "But I definitely did love her. She taught me what it was."
Arya reached out to rub his shoulder. He offered her a thankful smile before sighing.
"Well, I would rather love stay out of my life now," he added, looking at her. "What about Arya Stark ? Has there been someone during all those years ?" he said to steer the conversation away from him. Although she was a grown woman now, he couldn't quite picture Arya letting anyone into her heart.
She rolled her eyes. "Are you really asking ?"
"What ? You could have had someone," he shrugged, trying to tease her, only to be met with her questioning gaze.
"Do you really not know ?" she asked. Her own expression hardened a little seeing how clueless he was. "I would have thought you would have heard about me and Gendry. It's not like he tried to keep it a secret..."
"You and Gendry ?" he chortled, thinking it was some kind of joke. But Arya looked at him with all the seriousness in the world. "It's not a jest ?"
She flipped around so that she laid on her belly. "I was still a brat when I met Gendry. I thought boys were disgusting. Until suddenly he didn't seem as vile as the other did. 'Twas just a little infatuation, nothing more. And then I saw him again in Winterfell. We were both grown and I guess my feelings were too. I did not want to die without having experienced a man so I gave him my maidenhead on the eve of the War against the Others. I genuinely thought we wouldn't see the next sunrise. I was wrong and led him on. When we were celebrating, he proposed." Jon opened his mouth in shock.
"And what did you answer him ?" he dumbly asked.
She giggled. "I don't know, what do you think I answered, my dear husband ?" she joked while shaking her head. "I told him I wasn't about to become some Lord's Lady."
"Good gods..." he breathed, brushing his face with his hand. What an oaf he had been. He only just now realized why Gendry had been behaving so oddly at their wedding. "You told him you would not become his Lady only to become someone else's Queen."
"Aye. He said the exact same thing..." she said, her eyes filling with sadness.
Compunction overcame him as he remembered the way he had talked to Gendry, brushing it off as if he wasn't stealing the woman the other man loved. Jon himself had refused to attend the very brief and sudden wedding of his former lover. How had Gendry been able to stomach coming all the way here ? Suddenly images flashed before his eyes : Gendry bumping into his shoulder, his wounded lip, Arya's hand wiping the blood off hers...
"You both had blood on your lips..." he murmured.
Arya punched his shoulder. "Don't you start thinking I went behind your back on our wedding day. He followed me outside and then tried to convince me to run away with him. I told him there were too many things at stake and I had to stay with you. He got angry and kissed me. I bit him and then I didn't see him for the rest of the night and well, I won't ever see him again, I believe."
Jon felt awful, like he had interfered with their happiness. "Had I known, mayhaps..."
"There is no mayhaps. The Northern Lords would have still wanted me on the throne. We would have still gotten married albeit with the groom feeling even guiltier. And even if I hadn't married you, I wouldn't have married him either."
"Are you sure ? We can still find a way..."
She groaned. "I didn't go through all of this to give up now. We are married before the Gods and I am not planning to go back on my words."
He scrutinized her face and saw no hesitation there. "Alright. I still think you should write to him. It wouldn't do him and his child any good if he fell into despair."
Arya snorted. "And what would I write ? 'Sorry for not marrying you. I preferred taking my own brother before the Heart the tree' ?"
He thought about what he would write Daenerys. How could he ask Arya to do something he hadn't been able to do ?
"I don't know..." he said, looking into the flames of their hearth.
In the meantime, Arya was looking at his profile. "I'll think about it," she said finally, settling into bed.
Jon sighed. "How was your first day as the Queen ?" he asked.
She shrugged. "I spent most of my days avoiding questions."
Narrowing his eyes at her, he sank on the mattress so he could face her. "While I spent most of my day dealing with the aftermath of your little scenes."
Mischief all over her face, she acted as if she couldn't remember what she had done. "What could you be talking about ?"
He shook his head. "It's only our first day as a married couple and you managed to vanish three times on me. Not to mention, two of those had me dealing with very uncomfortable situations. What was that kiss even about ?"
"The more they believe we are actually working on this marriage, the safer we will be. If you can't even kiss your wife when leaving the castle, what are people going to think ? Better start practicing now."
Considering how proper Lady Catelyn had been, displays of affection between her and her husband had always been very conservative, safe for the usual kisses when Ned Stark had to leave Winterfell. However, Jon was certain a lot of married Lords kept all physical contact with their wife a matter of the bedroom. All in all, he found it unnecessary to put on a show.
"Aren't we affectionate enough already ? If people see me reach out to you the way I've always been doing, they'll at least know we are close. There would be no reason for them to question things any further."
"True. However, I do not think we can afford any form of suspicion. No one will expect us to act as if we were in love, but once we will have children, some sort of intimacy would definitely help so that no one will question the children's parentage. And at that point, if you look disgusted while kissing me, we will have a lot of problems." Jon was a little surprised to see how easily she was now bringing up the subject of kids. Mayhaps she was already getting used to the idea. "And it's just a peck," she said, rolling her eyes. "Did you know that some parents in Essos usually kiss their children on the mouth ? And nobody thinks it's odd. So, practice. Give me a goodnight kiss," she ordered, humorously puckering her lips.
He laughed a little, seeing the fish-like face she was making. She was right after all, it was just a mere peck. He only had to think of it as if he were kissing her forehead. Leaning down, he gave her a quick little kiss. If he only thought of it as a small act of affection, it did not feel disgusting at all.
"See. No one died," she said. "Now, try to remember that the next time we have an audience."
He watched her yawn and fluff up her pillow. Strange girl , he thought.
Pages Navigation
Tennebrae on Chapter 1 Mon 08 Aug 2022 09:56PM UTC
Comment Actions
GigiTheMagpie on Chapter 1 Wed 10 Aug 2022 06:32PM UTC
Comment Actions
woah (Guest) on Chapter 1 Mon 08 Aug 2022 10:39PM UTC
Comment Actions
GigiTheMagpie on Chapter 1 Wed 10 Aug 2022 02:59PM UTC
Comment Actions
Shelly_loves_Kale on Chapter 1 Tue 09 Aug 2022 02:43AM UTC
Comment Actions
GigiTheMagpie on Chapter 1 Wed 10 Aug 2022 12:41PM UTC
Comment Actions
JG (Guest) on Chapter 1 Tue 09 Aug 2022 03:25AM UTC
Comment Actions
GigiTheMagpie on Chapter 1 Wed 10 Aug 2022 03:07PM UTC
Comment Actions
N (Guest) on Chapter 1 Tue 09 Aug 2022 11:16AM UTC
Comment Actions
GigiTheMagpie on Chapter 1 Wed 10 Aug 2022 01:41PM UTC
Comment Actions
elbris on Chapter 1 Tue 09 Aug 2022 01:21PM UTC
Comment Actions
GigiTheMagpie on Chapter 1 Wed 10 Aug 2022 07:37AM UTC
Comment Actions
Scorpius6689 on Chapter 1 Wed 10 Aug 2022 06:49PM UTC
Comment Actions
GigiTheMagpie on Chapter 1 Wed 10 Aug 2022 07:33PM UTC
Comment Actions
Elthyq on Chapter 1 Sat 13 Aug 2022 06:31PM UTC
Last Edited Sat 13 Aug 2022 06:31PM UTC
Comment Actions
GigiTheMagpie on Chapter 1 Sun 14 Aug 2022 09:52AM UTC
Comment Actions
Mel (Guest) on Chapter 1 Thu 18 Aug 2022 04:03AM UTC
Comment Actions
GigiTheMagpie on Chapter 1 Thu 18 Aug 2022 03:07PM UTC
Comment Actions
Danny_Flint on Chapter 1 Mon 22 Aug 2022 06:53PM UTC
Comment Actions
GigiTheMagpie on Chapter 1 Mon 22 Aug 2022 10:58PM UTC
Comment Actions
Danny_Flint on Chapter 1 Wed 24 Aug 2022 08:29PM UTC
Comment Actions
Anam_Cara on Chapter 1 Sun 28 Aug 2022 04:26AM UTC
Comment Actions
7megumin7 on Chapter 1 Fri 16 Sep 2022 12:45AM UTC
Comment Actions
IceAlvaro13 on Chapter 1 Mon 07 Aug 2023 06:22PM UTC
Comment Actions
Kingindafuckingnorth on Chapter 2 Thu 01 Sep 2022 10:03AM UTC
Comment Actions
ENNAICHE on Chapter 2 Fri 02 Sep 2022 02:03AM UTC
Comment Actions
GigiTheMagpie on Chapter 2 Fri 02 Sep 2022 09:14AM UTC
Comment Actions
Kingindafuckingnorth on Chapter 2 Fri 02 Sep 2022 10:20AM UTC
Comment Actions
GigiTheMagpie on Chapter 2 Fri 02 Sep 2022 10:57AM UTC
Comment Actions
Lancaster1517 on Chapter 2 Tue 08 Aug 2023 12:14PM UTC
Comment Actions
ENNAICHE on Chapter 2 Wed 09 Nov 2022 09:13PM UTC
Last Edited Wed 09 Nov 2022 09:15PM UTC
Comment Actions
GigiTheMagpie on Chapter 2 Fri 02 Sep 2022 09:14AM UTC
Comment Actions
Tennebrae on Chapter 2 Thu 01 Sep 2022 11:19AM UTC
Comment Actions
GigiTheMagpie on Chapter 2 Fri 02 Sep 2022 09:15AM UTC
Comment Actions
Danny_Flint on Chapter 2 Thu 01 Sep 2022 03:14PM UTC
Last Edited Thu 01 Sep 2022 06:56PM UTC
Comment Actions
GigiTheMagpie on Chapter 2 Fri 02 Sep 2022 09:50AM UTC
Comment Actions
Danny_Flint on Chapter 2 Fri 02 Sep 2022 03:15PM UTC
Last Edited Fri 02 Sep 2022 03:28PM UTC
Comment Actions
ThedarknigtSoul on Chapter 2 Fri 02 Sep 2022 08:24AM UTC
Comment Actions
katpandora18 on Chapter 2 Fri 02 Sep 2022 08:36AM UTC
Comment Actions
GigiTheMagpie on Chapter 2 Fri 02 Sep 2022 09:45AM UTC
Comment Actions
Scorpius6689 on Chapter 2 Fri 02 Sep 2022 12:38PM UTC
Comment Actions
GigiTheMagpie on Chapter 2 Fri 02 Sep 2022 02:09PM UTC
Comment Actions
MissIves (Guest) on Chapter 2 Sat 03 Sep 2022 04:09AM UTC
Comment Actions
Rai (Guest) on Chapter 2 Sun 04 Sep 2022 09:32AM UTC
Comment Actions
Pages Navigation