Chapter Text
1.
Jon
He woke up just before dawn.
He laid in the bed, Dany sprawled across him, head on top of his chest after a somewhat late night. They were both naked, having huddled underneath some furs to keep as warm as possible against the Northern winter, although Sam said that he was seeing signs that winter was starting to wind down as Root of the Children had promised them. That will be a shock to the Northerners who’ve been expecting one of the longest winters in ages .
Jon ran his fingers across her silver-blond hair, fanned out over her back. Despite Missandei’s best efforts, Dany will have to refix her hair. However, he had to admit that seeing her tousled hair was starting to become something of an arousing image to him, as it made him think of how it got that way. She was half-laying on her side – the roundness of her lower stomach might still go unnoticed, but he was aware of it. Can babes be smothered inside the womb? No, that doesn’t make sense. However, he hoped that she – and the babes – had passed the night comfortably.
As he slowly began to regain consciousness, thoughts of what was ahead that day started flooding through his mind. He’d have to check to see if they’d received any ravens or couriers from the Riverlands, Reach, or any of their other far-off allies to confirm their movements to Harrenhal. He wanted to see how work was progressing on the rebuilding at Winterfell – the gates and walls had been restored, but work had just started on rebuilding the homes in the winter town. Will we need more dwellings there than usual or less? More people might be homeless… but there’s likely much fewer people in the North because of the Others.
He shook his head at the idea that he would have any say over how Winterfell and the North was ruled, after his bastard childhood. Things were changing. He recalled distant memories of being in this room, which had been Robb’s room so long ago, him and Robb and Theon, thick as thieves, plotting a late-night escape or a ride out into the Wolfswood. How Theon treated him from day to day depended on his mood, but Robb had never treated him as anything other than his brother. He always had a smile for him, would always make sure he was at the table next to his siblings when it was not a big feast. We embraced each other when I left for the Watch, when we were still children, really… and I didn’t know that would be the last time I’d see him again. He found himself wiping the corners of his eyes in a frenzy, then he burst into a fit of sobbing right there in bed. He covered his face with a pillow, not wanting to wake up or disturb Dany. When is that going to stop, that feeling of things seeming normal until a sight, a sound, or a random memory sets off the grief? Maybe it never does. Father never spoke of his sister, my true mother, but then again he hardly spoke of his parents and elder brother, either. How those deaths must have laid on him… and maybe now I’m starting to realize what that was like for him.
He thought back once again to those small meals that he and his family had, the ones where it would only be Father, Lady Catelyn, his brothers and sisters, and even Theon. They were able to bond together in the privacy of that smaller dining hall, not having to be lords and ladies but just a family like any other. It had been too long since they’d had a meal like that, complete with the japes, the laughter, and the warmth between all of them – well, perhaps not him and Lady Catelyn, but everyone else. We need that again, especially after all this. And there are other people I need to get to know better, now, people that are likely to be new members of the pack.
It was then that Dany stirred against him, staring up at him with bleary but kind violet eyes. “Morning, husband.”
“Morning, wife.”
“You were smiling just then, it was good to see,” she said, letting her fingers drift over his chest, trace its scars. “What were you thinking of?”
“A good memory or two,” he said. “Dany, I was wondering if you’d be willing to host a feast with me?”
“A feast?” she said, with the smallest of frowns. “Not that I’m opposed, but… our food supplies are in good shape, but modest… for what occasion?”
“Oh, not a large feast,” he said. “I was thinking, something for the family. And, for those that are likely to join it.”
She sat up in bed at that revelation. “Indeed?” she said, a sly smile spreading across her face.
“I think it’s time for you to experience an authentic Northern family dinner,” he said.
#
Arya
“Is that all you’ve got?” she said.
She had been sparring with the woman now known throughout the castle as the Lady Knight for nearly a quarter of an hour. The taller Stormlander woman had forced back any attacks that she’d attempted against her, while she managed to dart out of the way of any thrusts or swings Brienne had made.
Even in the winter chill, Brienne was perspiring enough so her shortened, straw-colored hair clung to her forehead. “Anyone ever tell you that you can be quite annoying at times?”
“My sister told me that often growing up. Shame we never got into sparring – that might have reduced tensions between us,” Arya said. Taking a couple of steps back, she sheathed Needle and withdrew her new staff from its holster on her back.
“Wanting to try your new toy with me?” Brienne japed at the younger woman.
“Don’t worry, I’ll keep the blades sheathed.” Bull had just made the wooden ends that fitted over the blades for her, allowing her to wield it just like a regular staff, which also made it safer to carry around.
“Speaking of that, how is your Lord smith feeling these days?”
Arya glared at her, somewhat irritated. “He’s not my Lord, thank you very much.”
“You want him to be your lord?” the lady knight asked in all innocence.
That set her off. Arya went back on the attack, lunging in with her staff at first, but got nowhere with Brienne using her blunted sparring sword to bat it away. She switched to a wide swing at Brienne’s legs, but she blocked low, spun to her left, and then threatened with a lunge of her own. The blade glided just above Arya’s head, and she had to bob and weave backwards avoiding several more thrusts. Then Brienne swung faster than she had yet in an overhand chopping blow that she just managed to parry. She swung again, nearly knocking the staff out of her hands… she swung a third time…
…only to swing at air and thud into the dirt as Arya separated her staff into two, hopping to her left. As Brienne brought up her sword, Arya whacked it away to the right with one short staff, twirled the second in her left hand for a moment, and then brought it in a short, chopping arc to within an inch of the taller woman’s nose. “Finally,” Arya huffed.
“Not quite,” Brienne grinned.
She looked down. With her sword away from her body and in her left hand, Brienne had managed to draw a dagger from her belt with her right hand and now was aiming it at the left side of her neck. “You’re not the only one who can wield two weapons at once. Draw?” Brienne huffed.
“Draw, bloody Hells,” Arya harumphed as she stepped back, rejoining her staffs, and slipping it onto her back sheath.
“Didn’t answer my question,” Brienne said as she sheathed her dagger and sword.
“Didn’t think it was serious. Usually, you don’t care about that rubbish.”
“Maybe I’m just curious now,” Brienne said. “You seem to be in a much better mood since he awakened.”
Arya stared at her feet for a long second before answering. “I… don’t want to be him a lord and me a lady. At least, not in the way it usually is… not even the way that my parents were. But… aye, I want to be with him… and I guess it really doesn’t matter anymore how that happens. We’re together in the ways that count now, and the rest we’ll figure out as we go along.”
“He in agreement with that?”
“It’s about all we talk about nowadays half the time, what the future might be like,” Arya replied. “You looking to snag Ser Goldhand for yourself?”
Now it was the lady knight that was staring at her feet. “We haven’t gotten to that point yet.”
“What’s stopping you? He wouldn’t be my choice for obvious reasons, but…”
“Everything that’s been going on, honestly. What’s coming up, as well.”
“There’s always things going on, Brienne,” Arya whispered to her. “Might as well do what you want – the world tends not to wait for you.”
“He seems a good man, at least,” Brienne said. “They talk about how he looks like King Robert, but there’s more than a hint of his uncle Renly in him.”
“The one you served, the one that was your friend?”
“My best friend,” she said, smiling. “I would have died for him, but I had to settle for avenging his murder.”
“That I can relate to,” Arya nodded.
“Preparing to take on Cersei’s entire army, sister?” she heard from behind.
She glanced around to see Jon there, dressed in one of the old black fur and woolen outfits he’d kept from his old days in the Watch. He often wore them at times when he wanted to walk around Winterfell without attracting attention. “You just keep ducking my challenges to you, Brother,” she grinned.
“The work of a ruler at war, unfortunately,” Jon said. “However, I will do that before we head south. Anyway, I have another thing to ask you.”
“Name it, Jon,” she replied.
“Would you be willing to join Dany and myself for dinner? I wanted to have us together in the old small dining hall, like we used to be with Father and Lady Catelyn.”
Arya perked up at that. “Oh, that would be lovely,” she said. “Any idea what we’ll have…?”
“It’ll be a surprise,” Jon said, spreading his arms out wide, then pointing to her with glee. “Oh, and Arya? Gendry is invited as well.”
Arya did everything she could not to react, and was proud that she’d succeeded. “We’d be honored, Jon.”
“Wonderful! We’ll see you at sundown,” Jon said. “See you then.”
As Jon left the courtyard, Arya muttered “Seven Hells” at his departing form. “What’s wrong?” Brienne asked.
“The pack is about to judge the new blood,” she japed as she brushed off her trousers. “Let’s get some breakfast, anyway.”
#
Sansa
Finally, the work was starting.
She looked on from the South Gate over the winter town as any who were able to do any work, however light, made busy rebuilding. There were countless roofs caved in or burned, walls and hearths tumbled. The men and even women were busy raising wooden frames and planting stones, and even any able-bodied children were kept active making muck for the walls and carrying roofing materials to the building sites. Though House Stark was not able to pay anything for them to work, Sansa knew they were working for both their food and the opportunity to wait out the winter in the homes that they were building. Although they had set up temporary shelters in and around the castle, the opportunity to spend the cold nights in a cozier home with a hearth was plenty incentive for them to speed up their efforts.
I wonder if we’ll need all these homes in the end. Never mind how many people died in the battle, how many had the Others slaughtered in the months beforehand? In the end, she decided it would be better to have extra room in the town rather than too little room. Best to plan for the future, for future generations. She looked behind her at the castle, and thought of the things undone there, like rebuilding the First Keep and the Broken Tower. For a long time I thought my family had no future. Now, the responsibility for that future is in my hands.
The idea of being the leader in the North, not just the beautiful appendage of the occupant of the Iron Throne that she fantasized about in her youth, was more daunting in fact than any of those old dreams. But this felt more substantial to her, of more value, than anything she’d ever wanted before. These people, the people she had known all her life, were people she wanted to protect, wanted to help prosper. After all these years wishing to leave the North and never come back, now she was dreading having to follow her men south, even temporarily, to help her brother become ruler of Westeros.
“They seem to be making good progress,” she heard from behind.
Sansa turned to see Daenerys walk up behind her, trailed by four Unsullied guardsmen that Grey Worm insisted stay around her for her protection away from the castle. “I wish we were able to fit more of them into the castle.”
“Not enough room, even for Winterfell and even with the fewer people there are now,” Sansa said, sad to make the admission. “Well, it looks like this will get sorted out as soon as they can. I know Bran and Lord Samwell said the rest of winter is only going to last a few months at most, but I think that people will need to live here for longer than that. Never mind any food shortages in the countryside, many of these poor people have lost everything. We will need to shelter them until they can rebuild their lives.”
Sansa looked down at her goodsister’s midsection. “They’ve grown a bit recently, have they not?”
“Haven’t started moving yet – not for a while, I would suspect. Back when I had just one it would keep me up at all hours of the night rolling and tumbling – I wonder to think what two of them will do. Would babes wrestle each other in the womb?”
Sansa burst out laughing at that idea. “If Arya and I had been twins, perhaps… but I’m hopeful you will be luckier. More hugging, maybe.”
“Maybe,” Daenerys said, appearing to smile at the thought. “Oh, I remembered why I sought you out. Jon was wondering if we could get together later.”
“Oh, for some tea, perhaps? That would be lovely,” Sansa said.
“Actually, he was wanting to invite you for dinner tonight with us, in the family dining hall.”
“Dinner? Erm, sure, I would love to.”
“How is that Northern knight of yours, Ser… Joren?”
“Ser Joren, yes. He’s doing better, than you for asking. He’s finally out of bed most of the time.”
“Oh, wonderful. Do you think he could make it to dinner as well? Jon said he’d love to have him come as well.”
She was glad that the court of Robert Baratheon and Cersei Lannister had trained her to keep her emotions to herself. “Indeed? Ah… I think he would love that, actually.”
“Wonderful!” she said, taking her hands in hers. “We’ll see you at sundown?”
“Sundown it is.”
“Well, I won’t keep you any longer,” Daenerys said. “I have to meet with the new Khal Jommo and discuss what will happen after we take King’s Landing. Wish me luck – thankfully I won’t have to eat another horse’s heart at the end of it,” she said, rolling her eyes.
“Excuse me, a horse’s heart?” Sansa said, her eyes bugging out at the idea.
“A tale from my youth in the Dothraki Sea,” she chuckled, patting her on the shoulder. “Maybe I can recount it tonight.”
“I look forward to it.”
They exchanged kisses on the cheek, and with that, Daenerys made her way to the Dothraki encampment with her Unsullied guard in tow.
“Seven bloody hells,” Sansa breathed to herself. It appears Jon’s interested in seeing what Joren’s intentions are. This is going to be an interesting experience.
#
Bran
He was sitting in a place he knew to be the Neck, although he’d never traveled there, only heard the stories of Old Nan and his father’s tales. Everywhere was green and brown – it felt like something that might be the promise of spring. He felt an eerie calm watching first a centipede and then a small swamp snake treat his unmoving legs as just another land obstacle to overcome. The only thing that was clear in his mind was this place is alive. He half expected some of the Children to be there, maybe hidden behind the moss-encrusted tree he was leaning against…
“It’s beginning to get irritating to see you in my dreams every other night,” a harsh female voice hissed in his left ear.
“I don’t mean to do it,” he insisted. “I’m just… led here.”
“Of course,” the pale, rail-thin young woman snorted. Meera Reed came around and kneeled before him, dressed as roughly as she had during their journey Beyond the Wall. Her emerald eyes blazed at him, only partly obscured by a mass of black curly hair. “I’d prefer to get some warning.”
“Trust me, this is new for me, as well.”
A note of doubt crept into her expression. “You’re not dead, are you? This isn’t because you’ve become some ghost haunting me?”
“I’m very much alive, if a bit sore,” Bran said. “Your father is well, too.”
“Glad to hear that. About him at least, you… I’m not sure. You ready to tell me why you were such an ass the last time we parted?”
“It would likely be easier to tell you in person. This… isn’t quite reliable.”
“That going to happen soon?”
“As soon as I’m able…”
“Bran?”
He woke up with the scent of wetness and green in his nostrils. “What?”
It was Jon standing there, in front of his bed. I’m back in Winterfell. Yes. “You awake?”
“Awake enough, I guess,” he said, attempting to smile without hurting something.
“You need water, help to the toilets?”
“Not right now, thank you. Somebody can help me with that later.”
Jon walked over to the side of his bed. “I was wondering, do you feel up for dinner tonight?”
“Dinner?” he replied, trying to sit up in bed but feeling the pinch from his broken ribs. “I might.”
“We were going to have it in the old family dining hall, like old times, Arya and Sansa and us. Dany with, too.” He grinned at his brother as he took his hand. “Think you’d be up for it, Brother?”
“I’d be up for that,” Bran nodded.
“We’re inviting Gendry and Ser Joren to join us, as well.”
Bran’s blue eyes widened at that thought. “They’re not on the menu, hopefully?”
Jon shook his head. “No, no, not at all,” he said. “Dany and I… felt it was time we got to know them better, make them part of things.”
“You need me to help with that?” Bran said with a crooked grin.
“That’s a thought,” he chuckled. “But no. Just come over at sundown and relax. It’ll be just like the old days.”
“Exactly like the old days?”
“Well, maybe not,” Jon said, ruffling Bran’s now shaggy hair. “This needs cut, maybe. But no, maybe not the old days… but at least something like it.”
Bran nodded. “If someone can wheel me there, I’ll get there.”
“If I have to do it myself, I will,” Jon said “It’s a promise, then.”
“Promise,” Bran nearly whispered as he began to sink back to sleep.
#
Gendry
He was glad that he’d decided on bronze for the work.
Gendry had begun the work of building the form he would use for casting the new hand of Jaime Lannister that he’d requested a few days back. Iron was always more durable, and he had years of experience with the metal, but bronze was easier to melt, cast, and work than iron. It was at least more durable than gold, and if he cast it into two pieces… I might make this into a hand that might be of use to him.
It felt more than a little strange being in Winterfell’s forge now, not as Gendry or even Gendry Waters, but Gendry Baratheon, the acknowledged son of a one-time King of the Seven Kingdoms. He’d long given up his room in the back of the forge to three other smiths who shared it, but he wasn’t totally secure sleeping in Arya’s childhood room. Although he had not formally accepted Daenerys’ offer of serving her as High Lord of the Stormlands, Arya and he had quietly been discussing the matter, and he was surprised that she was leaning towards him accepting the offer. She’d always insisted on the idea that she was not really a lady – but from what she was saying now, maybe there was a way that she could be a different type of lady. Maybe an improper lady, in the eyes of some, but something that she could live with.
And yet, here he was in the forge again, crafting something he’d never yet attempted and loving the challenge of it. This always calms me down, gives me something to hammer and push into shape, a challenge that he could face… likely nothing like the challenges of ruling people would be like. He was thankful that if he did become the Lord of Storm’s End, she’d be able to help – at least she’d been raised highborn…
Just as he was thinking of her, she appeared by his side, somewhat dirt-strewn and ruffled, which was typical after one of her morning spars – but she seemed well out of sorts. “Bull, you have a moment?”
He set aside the mold for a moment and turned to her, grabbing a rag to mop his brow. “Sure, Arry, what is it?”
“Jon and Daenerys are hosting a small feast for the family, in the small dining hall we used to have our suppers in.”
That doesn’t sound bad. “Oh, yes, of course. That seems like a great idea to be with your siblings for the evening…”
“He invited you to come along,” Arya huffed. “I’m getting the feeling that Jon’s trying to size you up.”
Gendry shook his head. “Seems like he sized me up enough when he caught me in your bed,” he groaned.
“Yes, but… I… I guess he wants to really know who you are. I mean, I know you traveled Beyond the Wall with him, you’ve fought alongside him, but he wants to know more about you. Makes sense, since I don’t want to let you go now… ooop!” she squeaked in surprise as Gendry whisked her up in the air with his right arm.
“Makes two of us, Arry,” he grinned. “Guess I’ll have to get a bath before I eat with your family.”
“You don’t have to…”
“I want to. You made me pack, remember? I need to start acting like it. It would be my honor.”
She seemed to calm down with that. “All right. Make sure you bathe – but don’t try to slip into a tub with me. I want to be on time.”
“Of course, my lady.”
“Don’t… ugh,” she sighed with a grin, choosing to punch him in the shoulder before exiting the forge.
Gendry returned to getting the mold right. He had the feeling it would be easier than negotiating the ins and outs of House Stark that evening.
#
Joren
He’d been able to move around the castle now that his wounds had begun to heal up. To try and start building up endurance, he’d begun to walk around the entire perimeter of the outer walls, starting at the Great Keep, proceeding along the western wall along the godswood. Eventually, he’d had to stop along the northern wall, looking out on the plain that had once been full of the dead and the living fighting to remain so.
My father’s keep is in… that direction? North by northwest, roughly. Now this will be my home. Guess I should get to know it. One of these days, he’d like to go back to the Flintwatch, visit the graves of his wife and daughter there. I hope both of you understand. I’ve never forgotten you.
He noticed Sansa approaching from his right, wrapped up in a wolf’s pelt cloak against the still formidable cold. “My Lady,” he said, bowing as she approached him.
“For fuck’s sake, get up,” she whispered, pulling him to his feet with one hand and laying the other on his cheek as he stood. “You don’t need to do that with me – not when we’re just us here.”
“I don’t want to get out of the habit,” he said, smiling.
“Anyway, I have other news. Their Graces have requested that I and my siblings join them for a family feast tonight.”
“That sounds lovely, My Lady. Do you need me to oversee the work in the winter town if you needed to prepare?”
“Their Graces asked that you come to the feast as well.” Sansa said in a deadpan voice.
“Me? Errrm, why, Sans – My Lad – Sansa…”
“My brother wants to get the measure of you,” an abrupt female voice barked from behind. He jumped to see Arya Stark scowling behind him. I never can sense her sneaking up from behind, he thought, shaking his head. “My Lady… sorry,” he stumbled over his words, attempting to bow.
“He invited you and the smith?” Sansa asked.
Arya nodded. “Looks like Jon’s interested in learning more about his future goodbrothers.”
Sansa blushed for a moment as she turned away from them. “It’s not like we’ve announced anything yet.”
“Don’t know what you two are worried about – even the septons don’t worry all that much about the virtue of widows,” Arya cracked. “Now, me and Bull… not like I give a fuck in the end. If Jon was mad, he would have tried to stab Gendry when he caught us together. This will be interesting.”
Sansa shrugged. “Well, it’s been too long since we we’re all together. It might wind up being a good time.”
Arya cackled at that. “It’ll be interesting, I’ll say that.”
#