#i will do bran rickon ned and cat as well i promise

[irlplasticlamb]

when the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives.

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[ladystoneboobs]

[Cat, to Brienne:]"And Arya, well . . . Ned's visitors would oft mistake her for a stableboy if they rode into the yard unannounced. [...]" -Catelyn VII, aCoK

ok, this is another thing that makes me feel like i'm taking crazy pills bc i never see it talked about with all the implications behind it. so if anyone is more versed in androgynous medievalish clothing, feel free to correct me here, but my thinking is if unannounced visitors mistook arya for a stableboy, would that not mean she was wearing boyish riding garb, trousers and all? bc if she was running around with messy hair and a dirty gown, wouldn't she more likely be seen as a female servant? if my reading is not wildly offbase that does not jibe with the idea of arya being terrorized all day by both septa mordane and her mother to be more ladylike. rather, this limited freedom to be mistaken for a servant could suggest that pragmatic catelyn was picking her battles with arya too, not forcing her to always appear prim and proper on days when they were not expecting any guests to see her. catelyn "despaired of ever making a lady of" arya, though neither she nor ned could abandon the goal, which could mean a more measured approach, not exhausting herself by going after arya for every unladylike move she made, especially when she was still a prepubescent child. the quote above starts a paragraph which ends with catelyn feeling "as though a giant hand were squeezing her chest" after saying she thought arya was dead like bran and rickon, after no word of her since ned's arrest. in that context of grief, i think all her words about arya should be read as coming with bittersweet fondness, just being honest about their problems, not sugarcoating any of it.

but let's compare catelyn's trials with arya, including her often running around looking like a stableboy, to arya's interactions with lady smallwood, somehow seen as an even better mother-figure than her own mother, whom arya found easier to comply with bc of her kinder manner. first of all, lady smallwood's efforts to make arya ladylike included two baths and two dresses in one day after arya and gendry ruined the first dress, before finally giving her boy's riding clothes to leave in. i would argue a full second bath was unneeded when they could have just washed the dirt off her face and hands, and, furthermore, that both the dresses were an impractical waste when she knew arya would be riding back out with the outlaws and could not look a highborn lady when doing so. idt pragmatic catelyn would have gone to all that trouble just to make arya look ladylike for a few hours when there were no other ladies around. as for the claim that arya found it easier to comply with her? no, that's just flat-out demonstrably false. the text says she was "forced" into a tub and "they insisted" she wear girl's clothes. what room did she have to refuse as a hostage in a stranger's castle? she certainly felt no compunction about fighting gendry in the acorn dress she'd been forced into, and only felt bad about it afterward when lady smallwood talked about her dead son.

now, let's move on to the only canon quotes we have from cat to/about arya in arya's pov.

"Sansa's work is as pretty as she is," Septa Mordane told their lady mother once. "She has such fine, delicate hands." When Lady Catelyn had asked about Arya, the septa had sniffed. "Arya has the hands of a blacksmith." -Arya I, aGoT Her father had hunted boar in the wolfswood with Robb and Jon. Once he even took Bran, but never Arya, even though she was older. Septa Mordane said boar hunting was not for ladies, and Mother only promised that when she was older she might have her own hawk. -Arya V, aCoK Her mother used to say she could be pretty if she would just wash and brush her hair and take more care with her dress, the way her sister did. -The Blind Girl(/Arya I), aDwD

in the first quote we don't know catelyn's reaction to septa mordane's rude disapproval of arya, certainly not if she agreed with it. what we do know is she was not interested in only hearing endless praise of sansa and wanted to hear if arya had made any progress. although admittedly that was a vain hope, which ignored arya's true strengths and the possibility that she could never master and enjoy needlework the way catelyn did.

the second quote better shows the difference between arya's mother and her septa. catelyn does not criticize arya for wanting to hunt boar nor dismiss her interest. instead she tries to mollify arya and accomodate her desire with the promise of a future hunting hawk. that this was a promise, not just an idle thought, suggests this would have happened in due time and could have been a bonding activity for them if the plot hadn't intervened.

the third quote is definitely a backhanded compliment and doubly unhelpful in comparison to sansa, but at least it shows catelyn did not think one of her own daughters was ugly. she thought both were pretty even tho sansa was the more admired as traditionally beautiful, and she thought arya's looks were held back by her messy hair and clothes. (useful to remember for those fans who like to keep track of how many characters called arya pretty vs. how many call her ugly.)

yes, it is a bad sign that arya genuinely wondered if her mother would want her back, dirtier than ever in her disguise as a peasant boy. their relationship definitely had faults which the adult parent must bear responsibility for. but we must remember that arya also worried if robb would pay a ransom for her, and was most ashamed about the people she'd killed, and couldn't bear the thought of ned knowing all she'd done. and we must keep in mind that even ned never openly gainsaid septa mordane on-page either, and that arya desperately wanted to renunite with her mother and felt confident gendry could stay with her if she vouched for him with her mother. that confidence would seem completely unwarranted if their mother/daughter relationship was as utterly bad as some fans make out.

[allovesthings]

You have also in s2 the Talisa plot change. In the books Robb marriying Jeyne after sleeping with her while he is grieving the deaths of Bran and Rickon shows us how Ned raising Jon in WF as his bastard has shaped the rest of his family. Robb witnessed the shame of his mother. He witnessed the pain of being the outsider of Jon. And rather than wash his hands at the mere possibility of fathering a bastard he marries Jeyne.

But this gets changed by Robb having the hots for miss doctor without borders (really out of place) and not caring about his promise to Lord Frey.

Yes. This. All of this right here.

So this is going to be less about misogyny in the game of thrones writing team that wasn’t there in the books and more of a general ramble about that season 3 plotline in general (although there quite a bit of misogyny in this tv storyline as well but that’s not the point here)

I think they weren’t interested in showing how a specific family dynamic/conflict can and will affect people in theirs politics (which is a theme for litterally all the noble families with points of views in the book but whatever) and dumbed down the plot for us, which they also did with the Lannisters and Tysha but this post is about the Starks..

Speaking of dumbing down things in this plotline, they also dumbed down the characters by having Talisa at the wedding anyway. Jeyne is not there because that would have been an insult to the Freys. Cat is the one with the idea and Robb agrees and it’s a good one.It’s smart,it’s the right thing to do (because while the book!characters can make mistakes,they are not actually dumb)

Instead she is here and she get stabbed in the stomach for shock value and gore, instead of doing the actual work of giving side-characters like Dacey Mormont or the Umbers the importance they had in the book so that theirs end (or in the case of GreatJon, his imprisonment) works.

And also not have SmallJon be randomly on Ramsey’s side in the battle of the bastards when he was killed at the Red Wedding with Robb and was loyal to the Starks until the end, It’s as disrespectful as Dorea betraying Dany in Quarth when she is already dead in Dany’s arms in the book. I just can’t.

If they really wanted to change Jeyne (which...why ?) to Talisa, it would have worked better if she was part of Tywin’s plan to bring down Robb without knowing about the Red Wedding specifically,meaning she could still die there and it would actually make sense as to why she was there in the first place.

The two last points I want to make are more nitpicks then anything and the second one is maybe gonna make me sound a bit...too much, 

I wish they kept the scene where Robb ask Cat why would anybody wants a crown, it’s such a good moment for Robb who is getting overwhelmed by the responsabilities, it’s such a good moment too.

I also kinda wish they let Michelle Fairley go all out with grief like in the book with the scratching her face and the hysterical laugh that turn into a scream at the end of the red wedding because she has the range, she really could do it, it would have been awful to watch but damn that would have been impactful (and might also have been a lot better than seeing the gratuitous stabbing of a pregnant woman, you know)

I will also forever be bitter about Stoneheart but that’s for another post.

Thank you so much for the ask. You just gave me a reason to ramble about the red wedding.

[kellyvela]

Hi! I wanted to ask you something. Jon and Sansa thinking about having children and having domestic life with their respective partners is a strong foreshadowing for jonsa. Then there was Jeyne W who also told Cat that Robb was going to name their firstborn after Ned. While Robb is dead, it's not sure if jeyne is pregnant. Sansa didn't married to Willas and Jon will not gonna steal Val. Do you think it's foreshadowing something?

Before actually answering your question, I think we can't compare Robb and Jeyne, who willingly married, actively tried to have a baby, and were arguably in love, to Sansa and Willas (they never met, they never married, they weren't in love), and Jon and Val (they never had sex, they never married, they weren't in love).

Also, while having the wish to name their children after their late father and siblings, Sansa couldn't stop thinking about Loras, not Willas; and Jon wished Ygritte were alive so he could marry her instead of Val.

And Loras is a stand in for Jon the same way Ygritte is an stand in for Sansa.

. . .

"A king must have an heir."

Jeyne Westerling told Catelyn that Robb was going to name their firstborn after Ned???

Are you talking about this passage???

"Jeyne," she called after, "there's one more thing Robb needs from you, though he may not know it yet himself. A king must have an heir."

The girl smiled at that. "My mother says the same. She makes a posset for me, herbs and milk and ale, to help make me fertile. I drink it every morning. I told Robb I'm sure to give him twins. An Eddard and a Brandon. He liked that, I think. We . . . we try most every day, my lady. Sometimes twice or more." The girl blushed very prettily. "I'll be with child soon, I promise. I pray to our Mother Above, every night."

—A Storm of Swords - Catelyn III

Because it was Jeyne who told Catelyn that she (Jeyne) was sure to give Robb twins to be named Eddard and Brandon, and that she thought Robb liked her idea (Jeyne's idea).

We don't know if Jeyne Westerling was, at some point, pregnant or not.

With all the Tully super fertility references, Jeyne could have been pregnant, but, as you can read in the quote above, her mother Sybell Spicer was giving her an abortifacient all the time, and sadly, that's what happened to Lysa Tully in the past... That's why a guilty Hoster Tully repeats "Tansy" in his sickbed several times, since "Tansy" was an ingredient of the abortifacient that Lysa took all those years ago...

The Lannister not only plotted to kill the King in the North, but also to prevent that said king have an heir... Sybell Spicer and the abortifacient were part of the plot.

And if there was still the slightest chance that Jeyne was pregnant with Robb Stark's heir, the Lannister would not hesitate to kill the unborn child and the mother, if necessary.

Actually, I'm afraid that in the next Book Jeyne Westerling will die anyway...

Now, Robb also used the same phrase "A king must have an heir." while later talking with Catelyn about the North's Succession, and guess who were the ones actively mentioned during that conversation? Any thoughts?

The answering is, a "Lady Lannister" (lol) and a "bastard Snow". Let's see:

"I had hoped to leave Jeyne with child . . . we tried often enough, but I'm not certain . . ."

"It does not always happen the first time." Though it did with you. "Nor even the hundredth. You are very young."

"Young, and a king," he said. "A king must have an heir. If I should die in my next battle, the kingdom must not die with me. By law Sansa is next in line of succession, so Winterfell and the north would pass to her." His mouth tightened. "To her, and her lord husband. Tyrion Lannister. I cannot allow that. I will not allow that. That dwarf must never have the north."

"No," Catelyn agreed. "You must name another heir, until such time as Jeyne gives you a son." She considered a moment. "Your father's father had no siblings, but his father had a sister who married a younger son of Lord Raymar Royce, of the junior branch. They had three daughters, all of whom wed Vale lordlings. A Waynwood and a Corbray, for certain. The youngest . . . it might have been a Templeton, but . . ."

“Mother.” There was a sharpness in Robb’s tone. “You forget. My father had four sons.”

She had not forgotten; she had not wanted to look at it, yet there it was. “A Snow is not a Stark.”

“Jon’s more a Stark than some lordlings from the Vale who have never so much as set eyes on Winterfell.”

“Jon is a brother of the Night’s Watch, sworn to take no wife and hold no lands. Those who take the black serve for life.”

“So do the knights of the Kingsguard. That did not stop the Lannisters from stripping the white cloaks from Ser Barristan Selmy and Ser Boros Blount when they had no more use for them. If I send the Watch a hundred men in Jon’s place, I’ll wager they find some way to release him from his vows.”

He is set on this. Catelyn knew how stubborn her son could be. “A bastard cannot inherit.”

“Not unless he’s legitimized by a royal decree,” said Robb. “There is more precedent for that than for releasing a Sworn Brother from his oath.”

“Precedent,” she said bitterly. “Yes, Aegon the Fourth legitimized all his bastards on his deathbed. And how much pain, grief, war, and murder grew from that? I know you trust Jon. But can you trust his sons? Or their sons? The Blackfyre pretenders troubled the Targaryens for five generations, until Barristan the Bold slew the last of them on the Stepstones. If you make Jon legitimate, there is no way to turn him bastard again. Should he wed and breed, any sons you may have by Jeyne will never be safe.”

“Jon would never harm a son of mine.”

“No more than Theon Greyjoy would harm Bran or Rickon?”

Grey Wind leapt up atop King Tristifer’s crypt, his teeth bared. Robb’s own face was cold. “That is as cruel as it is unfair. Jon is no Theon.”

“So you pray. Have you considered your sisters? What of their rights? I agree that the north must not be permitted to pass to the Imp, but what of Arya? By law, she comes after Sansa … your own sister, trueborn …”

“… and dead. No one has seen or heard of Arya since they cut Father’s head off. Why do you lie to yourself? Arya’s gone, the same as Bran and Rickon, and they’ll kill Sansa too once the dwarf gets a child from her. Jon is the only brother that remains to me. Should I die without issue, I want him to succeed me as King in the North. I had hoped you would support my choice.”

“I cannot,” she said. “In all else, Robb. In everything. But not in this … this folly. Do not ask it.”

“I don’t have to. I’m the king.” Robb turned and walked off, Grey Wind bounding down from the tomb and loping after him.

—A Storm of Swords - Catelyn V

As you can see from the quote above, Robb and Catelyn were pushing to prevent Sansa or Jon from inheriting Winterfell and the North after Robb. For Robb, the problem was that Sansa was "Lady Lannister," and for Catelyn, the problem was that Jon was a bastard "Snow," and a brother of the Night's Watch.

Ironically, Robb ended up losing Winterfell and the North, and it will be precisely Sansa (the Lannister by marriage) and Jon (the bastard Snow) the ones retaking the ancestral seat and all the lands of House Stark, and I suspect they will do it together.

Indeed, Robb and Catelyn's conversation is also very telling because Robb said: "By law Sansa is next in line of succession, so Winterfell and the north would pass to her". But since Sansa was married to Tyrion Lannister, Robb had to name another heir, Jon.

Robb's reasoning is a contrast to Jon's reaction to the offer of getting Winterfell and the North.  Stannis Baratheon used the same argument (Sansa's marriage to Tyrion Lannister) to convince Jon to accept his offer to become a legitimized Stark and Lord of Winterfell, Stannis even called Sansa “Lady Lannister”, but no matter what, Jon didn’t accept Stannis's offer.

And what was Jon's answer?

“By right Winterfell should go to my sister Sansa.”

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon I

Jon said, “Winterfell belongs to my sister Sansa.”

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon IV

Beautiful, isn't it?

And Jon and Sansa could also produce a new generation of Starks, honoring their late relatives by naming their children Eddard, Robb and Catelyn, the ones that are actually dead, because fortunately Arya, Bran and Rickon are still alive, even if Jon and Sansa believe they are all dead.

She pictured the two of them sitting together in a garden with puppies in their laps, or listening to a singer strum upon a lute while they floated down the Mander on a pleasure barge. If I give him sons, he may come to love me. She would name them Eddard and Brandon and Rickon, and raise them all to be as valiant as Ser Loras. And to hate Lannisters, too. In Sansa's dreams, her children looked just like the brothers she had lost. Sometimes there was even a girl who looked like Arya.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa II

I would need to steal her if I wanted her love, but she might give me children. I might someday hold a son of my own blood in my arms. A son was something Jon Snow had never dared dream of, since he decided to live his life on the Wall. I could name him Robb. Val would want to keep her sister's son, but we could foster him at Winterfell, and Gilly's boy as well. Sam would never need to tell his lie. We'd find a place for Gilly too, and Sam could come visit her once a year or so. Mance's son and Craster's would grow up brothers, as I once did with Robb.

—A Storm of Swords - Jon XII

Be still my beating heart!

. . .

So if you're wondering if the sad fate of Jeyne Westerling and Robb, who had a similar wish to Sansa and Jon's wishes, to name their children after their late father and siblings, could mean something negative for Jon and Sansa in the future. The answer is no.

[madamebaggio]

KILLING STRANGERS - JonSa one shot

Summary: "We're killing strangers, so we don't kill the ones that we love"

Jon Snow is an expert assassin who left his fair share of bodies behind. He'd thought he'd lost everything when the Starks, the family that took him in, were murdered one by one.

But now he knows where Sansa is: hiding at the Continental, under the thunb of Petyr Baelish.

Jon made many decisions he regrets; but he's getting Sansa back.

And he'll kill whoever gets in his way. (John Wick AU)

<<This story is complete, and it can be found here.>>

***

“I’ve found her.”

Jon’s eyes turned sharply to Edd. The man was standing by the door of his house, looking beyond uncomfortable.

“Where is she?” Jon demanded.

“Jon…” The other man started, worry etched on his face.

“Where is she?” Jon growled the words.

Ghost, who’d been lying by his master’s side, got up and growled softly at Edd too.

“The Continental.” He finally said. “Petyr Baelish took her to the Vale and put her there. She hasn’t left the hotel ever since.”

“Is she a prisoner there?” Jon wanted to know.

“I don’t know.” Edd admitted. “As far as we know… She isn’t. She’s been singing at the bar under the name Alayne Stone, her hair is darker, but it’s her.”

“How do you know?” Jon asked, his eyes hard and cold.

“Brienne of Tarth.” The name meant a lot to any idiot with half a brain. “She’s been looking for her as well.”

“Why?”

“She made a promise to Catelyn, to find and protect the girl.”

“Is she on the Vale?”

“Yes. She’s staying at the Continental.”

Jon was quiet for a moment and that was even more unsettling.

“Jon?” Edd called carefully.

“I’m going to the Vale.” He declared.

“Jon…” Edd’s voice was full of concern.

“And I’ll burn down the Continental if I have to, but I’m getting Sansa back.”

XxX

Jon Snow didn’t know how things had gotten to that point.

The Starks were gone.

Ned. Catelyn. Robb. Rickon.

There were the ones he didn’t know if were really dead: Arya, Bran and Sansa.

Well, not until yesterday.

Now he knew where Sansa was and he was getting her back.

Fuck Continental rules. He’d shoot Petyr Baelish in the middle of his eyes, in the middle of the foyer if he had to. Fuck the consequences.

The Vale was a swanky area in Paris, so it wasn’t shocking to Jon that Petyr had hidden there and keeping Sansa there.

If it even was her.

Jon didn’t want to get his hopes up, but he couldn’t find Arya or Bran -he refused to believe they were dead -so he needed to find Sansa.

He failed the Starks when he left for Castle Black. He should’ve stayed and worked for them, as he’d planned at first.

Instead he chose to become an assassin and left.

Ned -the most honorable mobster Jon had ever met -had been the first to be betrayed and killed. Robb had been trying to avenge his father when he was taken down, alongside Catelyn.

Jon hadn’t been there for the family that rescued him from the streets.

He’d never been as close to Sansa as he’d been from the others, but he wasn’t about to let her on Petyr’s hand.

Edd had reminded him that Jon didn’t know if she was there against her will, but it didn’t matter. Jon knew Petyr had a finger on Ned’s death.

He was a dead man, anyway.

Jon stopped his rental in front of the Continental and threw the keys to one of the boys. He was about to step in, when he saw her across the road.

Brienne of Tarth.

She was leaning against the wall of the building across the street, wearing a black suit with no tie and looking directly at him.

Jon crossed the street.

“Brienne.” He nodded at her.

“Jon.” She nodded back. “Why are you here?”

It was a risky move, but he had to know for sure. “From what I’ve heard… The same reason as you.”

Brienne arched a brow at him, then looked around, making sure they were alone. “I talked to her. She didn’t want to come with me.”

“Why?” Jon wanted to know.

“She wouldn’t say. But I think she’s scared of the Lannisters and thinks that Baelish can protect her better.”

“They still think she killed Joffrey?” Jon asked.

“Yes.” She gave him a look. “I found Arya.”

Jon’s heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest. “Where?” He demanded.

“The last time I saw her was in Mexico, but it was a few months ago. She was with The Hound.” Brienne sighed. “She didn’t want to come with me.”

Arya was walking around with The Hound? Why the fuck? He worked for the fucking Lannisters.

“Why is she with him?” Jon asked.

“I have no idea, but I couldn’t convince her to come with me, the same way I couldn’t convince Sansa.” The woman seemed beyond frustrated by that.

“I should warn you…” Jon started. “I intend to get her back by any means.”

Brienne arched a brow. “What about Continental rules?”

“Fuck the rules.” Jon told her, deadly serious. “I know you’re one of the old guard, and you think the rules are important. I’m giving you the chance to go and remove yourself from the situation.”

Brienne was totally still. The code of honor of the woman was legendary; she took principles and rules seriously and Jon knew that the situation would make her uneasy.

“If you get her…” Brienne started carefully. “Where will you go after?”

“Winterfell.”

She arched a brow. “The Boltons are there.”

“I know. And I’m gonna kick them out of there.”

She didn’t look overly impressed. “You’re going need help.”

“Are you offering?”

She took a deep breath. “I’ll check out now. See you at Winterfell, Snow.”

“I’ll see you there, Tarth.”

XxX

Jon entered the bar and took a seat near the stage. The young man behind the counter had told him that Miss Stone would be singing that night.

Jon let his eyes take in the place and who was there. Even though the Continental was considered neutral ground and it was forbidden to conduct business in it, nothing would prevent one of them from shooting his back as soon as he stepped outside.

He saw Daario Naharis sitting alone, which was suspicious, since Jon knew he worked for Daenerys Targaryen. Ellaria Sand was also there with one of her daughters -Jon wasn’t sure which one, since he’d never been actually introduced to any of them.

He arched a brow when he saw Yara Greyjoy there. Now that was surprising, especially since she was alone -if you forgot the woman on her lap.

Brienne was nowhere to be seen, but Jon saw Podrick Payne, Brienne’s right hand. So she might have left, but she also wanted to keep her eyes there.

Fair enough.

Jon’s eyes found Petyr Baelish sitting alone on a corner booth, his eyes already on Jon. When they locked gazes, Petyr gave him a slimy smirk and raised a glass in his direction.

Jon just nodded at the man, even if his fingers itched to press the trigger of his gun.

Then the lights on the stage went out. Jon turned his attention back there.

At first, it was only a man on the piano, but the sweet voice came, a second before the lights showed the person singing.

“You. You think you’re a lion.”

Jon wasn’t sure if he was delirious or not. For a second, the light blinded him, and it was difficult to see the woman on the stage, but when he could…

There was a second of pure male appreciation. It caught him by surprise, as he took her shape, since the long-sleeved green dress she wore did nothing to hide it; her pale skin seemed to shine under the lights and her platinum blonde hair was side-swept in beautiful waves, falling over her left shoulder.

Her platinum blonde hair.

Jon had to blink and look again, to be sure of what he was seeing, but the color of the hair didn’t change.

Blonde.

It seemed so wrong for her to have that color. That was not Sansa Stark, who was always so proud of the beautiful red shade of her hair.

Then she turned her blue eyes in his direction. Her Tully blue eyes and Jon knew: this was Sansa. It really was.

And she knew he was going to be there.

“Can you hear the sirens?” She sang, as her eyes passed him by. “I’mma put you under. Like novocaine.”

Jon let his gaze take in the tables around him. If Petyr had men around they were good, because he couldn’t see anyone; but Littlefinger hadn’t become the manager of the Continental by leaving things to chance or by trusting others.

“Boys are like rules. They were made to be broken.” Sansa’s sweet voice called from the speakers.

Jon refused to call her Alayne, no matter the color of her hair. He was going to get her out of here -this night -and he dared anyone to try and stop him.

She stepped down from the stage, and sat on Yara’s knee as she sang. The woman laughed and slapped her ass as Sansa moved on, touching Daario’s chest and winking at some other man.

Jon felt a surge of possessiveness so strong he had to grip the table, just so he wouldn’t do something stupid. Of course, he felt pretty stupid right now, just for feeling like this. Sansa had never been his to protect, even though there was a time he’d have done anything to have that honor.

It’d been just a stupid adolescent crush. He repeated this many times in the years after he left Winterfell, trying to convince himself that he’d get over the feeling.

Then he went ahead and dated a red head, then another one.

Then Sansa got engaged to Joffrey Baratheon in a desperate attempt to unite the two families. Then Ned died, then Robb, Cat, the others disappeared…

Jon was always one step behind, always finding out the dirty after the bodies were already cold. He’d been late to protect all of them.

But this ended now.

She came to him, still singing, sat on his lap as she sang that girls were like guns, and man had better run if they were smoking.

He put his hand around her waist and looked into her blues eyes. He knew his eyes were telling her she was coming with him. He made sure they did.

“Go away.” She whispered to him, mic far from her mouth, a second before she slipped from him to finish her song.

She wanted him gone? Well, she’d have to tell that to his face with much more conviction than a whisper could offer.

He wasn’t going anywhere without her.

XxX

Well, this night just kept getting better and better.

Apparently, he was correct on being warry of Daario’s presence: he was there in name of Daenerys Targaryen. He was, also, looking for Jon.

There had been a rumor going around, saying that Jon was the son of Rhaegar Targaryen. Jon didn’t care much for these rumors, it hardly made a difference to him, since his supposed father was still dead and he only felt loyal towards the Starks.

However, Daenerys had a different opinion on the matter; she wanted him to come and work for her. Or the family, as she was calling it now. Jon didn’t think that one living person constituted much of a family. If she wanted to bring the Targaryens back that was her problem.

Jon was focusing on the Starks. He was getting Sansa back, then he’d look for Arya. If they were alive, maybe Bran was too.

So he kindly told Daario to fuck off. The man seemed amused by this and told Jon he’d pass the message along, but he knew Daenerys wouldn’t be happy about it.

He threw his jacket on the armchair and rolled the sleeves of his shirt up. He needed to think of a plan now. What was he going to do to get Sansa out?

Then he heard the door of his room opening,

Jon turned with a gun on his hand, only to see Sansa entering his room like she owned it.

She looked passively at his gun, then at him. “And here I thought you actually wanted to see me.” She commented dryly, but still came in and closed the door after herself.

Jon lowered his weapon and took a chance to look at her. She had a bottle of whiskey on her hand -something very expensive -and she wore a dress that had Jon’s hands itching.

It was a wrap dress, midnight blue with silver flowers in it. It was long and flowing, but every time she moved it revealed her long legs in all their tantalizing glory. It had a plunging neckline, showing the curve of her breasts. And the only thing that held all of that together was a ribbon, tied like a bow.

If Jon pulled that… It would probably feel like opening a present. Which actually made it very suspicious. It was too easy.

Then he finally let his eyes take her face and hair. She wasn’t blonde anymore. Her hair was a dark brown, almost black, pulled back on a carefully messy chignon.

“What the fuck did you do to your hair?” He demanded.

She snorted and walked to the side bar on the room. “After all this time, this is what you ask me?” She inquired as she pulled two glasses.

“It’s brown, Sansa.”

She arched a brow on his direction. “It’s Alayne, actually. And it’s Espresso, not brown.” She poured drinks for both of them.

Jon came closer, his eyes on her. “You told me to leave. What are you doing here?”

She passed him a glass, then picked hers up. “I’m here to seduce and drug you, so Petyr can kill you.” She informed him sweetly, clicking his glass with hers.

Jon seemed mildly amused and he watched her downing the whole glass in one go. “Is it the whiskey?”

“No.” She pulled something from behind the ribbon on her waist; a small pill. “I have to put this on your glass. It dissolves and it has no taste.”

Jon sipped his drink -it was a really good whiskey. “Then what?”

“Then I call Petyr, his men drag you out of here and kill you a few blocks away.” She finished like she was just telling him about her plans for the weekend.

“What about Continental rules?” Jon asked, more to see her expression.

“Do you think he cares?”

Jon put his elbow on the counter that separated them. There wasn’t a lot of space between them, but after all these years, it felt like a lot.

“So are you? Going to drug me?” He added when she didn’t immediately answer.

She poured herself more whiskey. “Why are you here?”

“What happened to your hair?” He insisted. “It was blonde before.”

She rolled her eyes. “There are those magical things, called wigs.” She replied sarcastically. “Why? You liked the blonde better?”

He leaned his body until their noses were practically touching. “I like the red.”

“There’s no red, no Sansa. She’s dead.” She informed him, perfectly calm, not taking on single step back.

“Then why are you here?” He wanted to know.

Her eyes fell to his lips and Jon felt his breath hitching. “You’re playing with fire.” He warned her.

“No. You are.” She told him, straightening herself, then taking one step back for good measure. “You’re also leaving tonight.”

“I’m not going anywhere without you.” He informed Sansa.

She huffed. “Why are you here, Jon?”

He was confused by her question. “I thought it was obvious.” He spoke.

“It isn’t. Is it because you think you owe us something? Is it because of father? Do you have some fucked up sense of honor that’s forcing you to be here?” She demanded, her voice rising at the end of her question.

Jon didn’t even remember moving. When he realized he was holding her arm and they were face to face.

“I’m here because I want to.” He growled at her. “I’m here because of you. Not your father, not your family. You.”

She looked at him, her mouth parted, but no sound came out of it. Jon let her look at him, without moving or saying anything. He felt that Sansa was trying to figure him out and he’d let her, as long as she understood he was there for her.

“Jon…” She licked her lips. “This is a bad idea. Baelish has power.”

“I’ll worry about Littlefinger later. Just say you’ll come with me.”

“Where?” She wanted to know, a challenge in her voice. In her mind they had nowhere to go.

But they did. “Winterfell.”

“The Boltons…”

“I’ll kill them all.” He assured her.

“Why?” She whispered.

“For you.”

“Jon…”

“Come with me.” His voice failed at the end; it was supposed to be a demand, it almost came out as begging.

“You’re insane.” She murmured, her breath fanning against his face.

Jon was already crazy, she’d just said it. He might as well let it go completely.

“It’s all because of you.” He whispered against her lips before kissing her.

He’d thought she’d freeze, that she’d push him away. She didn’t; she kissed him back, bit his lips, grabbed his hair, pushed her body against his.

Sansa let him pick her up, carry her to bed; she let him undress her, let him taste her body.

Jon got lost on her taste, on the feel of her. He never wanted to be found again.

XxX

When Jon opened his eyes again, he was alone on the bed. He touched the side Sansa had slept on, and the sheets were cold, so she had left a while ago.

The sun was just rising, the sky starting to brighten. He pressed the heel of his hand against his eyes, willing himself to wake up completely.

The room was empty and dark.

Jon pulled his pants on, looking around. Sansa had left at some point, but he didn’t want to think about what that could mean. He was still alive, so she hadn’t betrayed him…

Had she?

No, she hadn’t. She wouldn’t. They were going home together, she had said so.

Jon walked into the bathroom, only to find one page of the hotel’s stationery left on the sink.

I convinced Littlefinger to have breakfast with me on the terrace on the penthouse.

There’s a building across the street with perfect view to it. And it’s obviously not Continental ground.

How good of a shot are you?

S.

Jon smirked. He was one of the best snipers in Europe.

They were going home.

Sansa could be a Stark again. They’d get Winterfell back. They’d destroy everyone that got in their way.

[chispas-and-broken-bindings]

A Preview...

Someone requested a fix for their birthday...I don’t have the next chapter for I Just Think I’ll Scream quite ready for prime time, but here’s a sneak peak: 

Ch 20 Sansa

Robb and Ned were up and away before Sansa emerged from her shower in the morning. The house is chaos as Catelyn tries to wrangle the remaining Starks out the door. "Sansa, stop feeding Shaggydog scraps from the table and get dressed! Bran, there are two boxes of gourds by the back door that need to be brought to the store for the window display. Be a dear and put them in the car. And where are Arya and Rickon?" 

 Sansa skips up the stairs before she's pulled into the hunt, almost knocking into her younger sister as she slides down the bannister. "One of these days that's going to break."

 "Whatever, killjoy."

 "Mom is looking for you, but you better change. We are supposed to wear floral for the Women's Club Bake Sale. It's themed and Cersei Lannister is going to be there, so we have to be on our best behavior." Her little sister is wearing their dad's old Falcon's sweatshirt and ripped up jeans, looking for all the world like she's about to spend the day painting a house or cleaning out a garage, and not hobnobbing with their mother's friends and clients. 

 "I'm not working the bake sale. I'm selling tickets to the haunted fun house with Mycah." 

 "Says who?" 

Before Arya can respond, Catelyn is at the bottom of the stairs. "Me. You know that it'll be better for everyone if Arya isn't cooped up all day in a tent with the Women's Club ladies. Help me get through the midday rush, Sansa, and you can slip away and spend the afternoon with Harry if you'd like." 

 "Gods, Mom! They broke up weeks ago! Catch up!" Arya yells as the back door slams behind her and Sansa is alone, staring down the steps at her mother whose face has fallen into a look of concern. 

 "Oh, Sansa, dear. Why didn't you tell me?" 

 She sighs, "It's fine, Mom. Like Arya said, it happened weeks ago, and it was just a high school fling. They aren't meant to last." She turns back up the stairs, not waiting to see if her brush off was convincing. She dresses in the dark maxi dress waiting on her hook, with its long flowy sleeves and pattern of intricate woodland flowers. Usually, she feels like Florence Welch in it. Today though, as she inspects herself before the mirror, it's coming off less stylishly bohemian and more dowdy Victorian with the small ruffles along the high collar and shoulders. Ygritte would never wear something like this, a small ugly voice whispers. 

 Just as she's about to dive back into her closet, Bran yells up the stairs, "We're going to leave without you, Sansa," and it makes her choice for her. It's fine. She'll just hide in a corner of the tent with Old Nan and sneak lemon cakes all day. No one has to see her. So what if the band is playing this afternoon? It's not like any of them care if she watches their show, and she's basically heard the whole set already in rehearsals. It's not like Robb told everybody at school about it. It's not like she promised to get there early and save a spot up front with Marge and Jeyne. 

Ygritte will probably be there to watch Jon. Best to skip...at least until she gets over her absurd crush. 

 "Sansa! Mom is literally starting the engine!" Bran yells again. 

 "Coming!" The best she can do is throw on sunglasses and a wide-brimmed fedora and hope no one recognizes her. Outside, Arya is still arguing with Rickon about buckling his car seat and Cat is on her phone, pacing up the driveway while Bran sits on the back step, whistling the march from Bridge Over the River Kwai. "Liar," Sansa flicks off his baseball cap. "We're nowhere near about to leave."

 "She was starting the engine before her phone rang."

 When they finally find a parking spot, it's apparent to everyone that they would have been better off leaving the car at home and walking. Though the festival hasn't officially started yet, the main street is closed off, and the big parking lot has been covered in carnival rides overnight. Arya peels off from their group when Mycah gives her a holler from on top of the Ferris wheel, leaving Bran and Sansa to lug the several boxes filled with decorative gourds to the hardware store, while their mom takes Rickon and their contributions to the bake sale in the opposite direction.  

 Outside the store entrance, Benjen is struggling with his pop-up tent, which keeps leaning to one side in the wind, while Meera watches him from the front step. "This is your fault, Sansa! Making me set up a stand, like I'm some lady selling doilies at a craft fair," He curses when the whole thing folds up on top of him.

 "Good morning to you too, Uncle Ben," she rolls her eyes. "Where is Robb? He can get you bags of sand to anchor the tent. And don't knock doilies. There are entire rooms at the Met devoted to Myrish Lace alone. You can poke fun at craft fairs once even one of your pieces is on display at a similarly storied institution. Until then, you better get comfortable setting up this tent because I have three holiday craft markets lined up for you this season."

 "You're just supposed to be sprucing up my website, not taking over the business! And don't get me started on your brother. I haven't had my morning caffeine fix yet because he disappeared on a coffee run ages ago. How long does it take to pour a bloody cup of coffee? If Jon Snow is holding up my joe with some pumpkin spice, whipped cream nonsense-"

On cue, Mr. paparazzo himself, appears in the doorway and before Sansa can land on an emotion, he's lifting the box from her arms with a gruff "G'morning Sansa," and then he's back in the shop, leaving her empty-handed and a bit empty-headed. 

 "He looks like he needs caffeine more than you," she remarks at last, meeting eyes with her uncle.

 Meera sniggers. "You think? He looks like he spent the night sleeping under a car." Sansa wouldn't go that far, but it was hard to miss the circles under his eyes or how pale and papery his skin looked in the cold morning light. 

 "Give the kid a break. They played their first show last night, didn't they? If he's a bit wrung out this morning, that just means he's doing it right." Benjen jumps to Jon's defense. 

 "Well then, he's been doing it right every weekend. He's looked like this every morning since he started at the store," Meera says, heading back inside to supervise since Robb is still M.I.A. Sansa thinks about Ygritte's Instagram feed with its late night cigarettes and coffee at the diner and regular parties in what looks like someone's grungy basement. So, Jon works hard and plays hard. It's not entirely shocking. It niggles at her though; how tired he looks and how he doesn't talk about partying when he's at Winterfell. Her other friends are always eager to share their weekend escapades, but when Sansa asked how his party went when his Mom was out of town, Jon just gave her a noncommittal shrug and told her it was fine. 

 That's because you aren't really friends. She turns, more than ready to join her mom at the bake sale, when Robb comes skipping across the street with a drink carrier in hand. "Sansa! Just the girl I'm looking for." Her brother is as chipper as ever, seemingly inured to whatever effects from last night's show have taken the wind from Jon Snow's sails. "Can you help with the window display? Mom told me to spiff it up for the festival, but you've got a better eye for that kind of thing."

 "Oh, sure. Skip out of work for an hour to flirt with some barista and then come back at the last minute to coerce your sister into doing your job?" Benjen barks and Robb's face turns scarlet. 

 "I… uh, what? No… I wasn't flirting…" 

 "Aren't you doing the same thing to me, Uncle Ben?" Sansa retorts, saving her brother from his bumbling. She makes a note to stop by the coffee shop and find out who this barista is. Uncle Benjen may be onto something. "Come on Robb, give Uncle Benji his coffee and I'll spare a few minutes for a consultation." 

 Inside, Bran and Meera are balancing tiny pumpkins on their heads as they wind through the aisles, trying to trip each other up. Jon Snow is leaning against the paint counter, looking ragged. She fights the urge to ask him if he's okay, opting instead to tip over Bran's pumpkin and herd him over to the window display. "Here, help me before Mom walks by and turns Robb into the headless horseman." They distribute the gourds in artfully artless piles throughout the window, as Jon and Robb hang a paint chip mobile over their heads; the autumnal pièce de résistance that Sansa spent hours making last year.

"Sans, I wish you could have been there last night. It was amazing," Robb excitedly recounts the band's show, "Jon was on fire, and apparently some promoters from White Harbor were there and Satin thinks he can book us some shows at North State! Isn't that great?"

 "Yeah, though, won't that be hard with swimming?" She doesn't want to rain on Robb's parade, but maybe Arya is right. She is a killjoy.

 "I have a meet in White Harbor next month. Maybe we can book a few gigs around it. What do you think, Jon? You up for a weekend road trip?"

 "Uh.." Jon scratches at his neck, blearily. "I mean, that's a long drive to do late at night."

 "Don't worry, we'll get a hotel for the weekend!"

 "I don't know-"

 The bell jingles at the door, and before Meera can scramble off the counter where she's been reading a comic, Catelyn is inside, gazing around the space, looking deeply unimpressed. 

 "Mom, uh, we were just finishing up with the decorations." Robb wobbles on the ladder in terror, unable to hook the last end of the mobile in place, and Bran ducks behind a pile of pumpkins, trying to hide his glee.

 "Robb, you should have opened the store fifteen minutes ago. How are you just now finishing the decorations?"

“Well, the gourds only just arrived-” Robb starts, lamely. 

“Never mind,” their mom sweeps through the space, picking up the boxes still out from stocking, tidying the candy by the register, before turning one last critical eye on her teenage employees. Jon cups his neck as he holds the ladder with his other hand. Robb scrambles down, having finally managed to hang the mobile correctly, rushing forward to grab the empty boxes from his mother. “Cersei Lannister is going to be here any minute. Get this garbage to the back. Meera, flip the sign and Jon, take the ladder back and...splash some water on your face or something. You look like death, warmed over. Jory is coming around ten, if you need to take the afternoon off.” 

Jon’s ears turn pink as he folds up the ladder beside Sansa, and she looks out the window, mortified. “Sorry Mrs. Stark, but that’s not necessary” he begins, but Catelyn is already walking back to the office with a tired wave. 

“I said it was a lot of hours you were taking on between school, the lumberyard and this. Just make sure you are fitting sleep in or you’ll make yourself sick, dear.” 

[butterflies-dragons]

the first ones are 1. what do you know of my heart, priestess. What do you know of my sister and all of the connections to Arya being his heart : his heart stopping when Alys reminded him of Arya, him connecting his torment over Arya's marriage with his own black bastard heart. 2. Arya kissing the black bastard king-of-the-castle cat. 3. jon "grinning like an idiot", remembering mussing Arya's hair when his hand was burnt and 4. "I want my bride back, I want my bride back, I want my bride back"

Okay Anon, I know some of the passages you mentioned, but for others I would need more context to be able to comment on them. But I'll do what I can.

One

What do you know of my heart, priestess? What do you know of my sister?

In the shadow of the Wall, the direwolf brushed up against his fingers. For half a heartbeat the night came alive with a thousand smells, and Jon Snow heard the crackle of the crust breaking on a patch of old snow. Someone was behind him, he realized suddenly. Someone who smelled warm as a summer day. When he turned he saw Ygritte. She stood beneath the scorched stones of the Lord Commander’s Tower, cloaked in darkness and in memory. The light of the moon was in her hair, her red hair kissed by fire. When he saw that, Jon’s heart leapt into his mouth. “Ygritte,” he said. “Lord Snow.” The voice was Melisandre’s. Surprise made him recoil from her. “Lady Melisandre.” He took a step backwards. “I mistook you for someone else.” At night all robes are grey. Yet suddenly hers were red. He did not understand how he could have taken her for Ygritte. She was taller, thinner, older, though the moonlight washed years from her face. Mist rose from her nostrils, and from pale hands naked to the night. “You will freeze your fingers off,” Jon warned. “If that is the will of R’hllor. Night’s powers cannot touch one whose heart is bathed in god’s holy fire.” “You heart does not concern me. Just your hands.” “The heart is all that matters. Do not despair, Lord Snow. Despair is a weapon of the enemy, whose name may not be spoken. Your sister is not lost to you.” “I have no sister.” The words were knives. What do you know of my heart, priestess? What do you know of my sister? Melisandre seemed amused. “What is her name, this little sister that you do not have?” “Arya.” His voice was hoarse. “My half-sister, truly …” “… for you are bastard born. I had not forgotten. I have seen your sister in my fires, fleeing from this marriage they have made for her. Coming here, to you. A girl in grey on a dying horse, I have seen it plain as day. It has not happened yet, but it will.” 

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon VI

Earlier in this chapter, Jon was thinking about Arya and her situation (trapped with the Boltons), and he was frustrated for not being able to help her. Then he remembered Ygritte, he confused Melisandre for Ygritte.  

So, reading all the context:

What do you know of my heart, priestess? = This is about Ygritte. He is still hurt and mourning for her. 

What do you know of my sister? = This is about Arya and her situation. 

This is an excellent example of how GRRM plays with our minds with his tricky words:

“At night all robes are grey. Yet suddenly hers were red”.  He is introducing us to the Grey Girl and her true identity.

Jon thinks he is seeing Ygritte but he was actually seeing Melissandre.

Melisandre and Jon also believe this grey girl of the visions is Arya Stark, but the person trapped with the Boltons is Jeyne Poole. And later, Alys Karstark was not even wearing a “grey” cloak. 

For me the grey girl is neither of them. The answer is hidden in this line: “At night all robes are grey. Yet suddenly hers were red”. 

Roose Bolton summons all leal lords to Barrowton, to affirm their loyalty to the Iron Throne and celebrate his son's wedding to …" His heart seemed to stop for a moment. No, that is not possible. She died in King's Landing, with Father. 

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon VI

My heart would also stop at the prospect of my 10 years old little sister marrying a well known psycho.... 

She looked enough like Arya to give him pause, but only for a moment. A tall, skinny, coltish girl, all legs and elbows, her brown hair was woven in a thick braid and bound about with strips of leather. She had a long face, a pointy chin, small ears. 

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon IX

Is this the passage you mentioned? Making a pause to inspect a person you were expecting it was your little sister, is not like your heart stopping. 

Jon felt as stiff as a man of sixty years. Dark dreams, he thought, and guilt. His thoughts kept returning to Arya. There is no way I can help her. I put all kin aside when I said my words. If one of my men told me his sister was in peril, I would tell him that was no concern of his. Once a man had said the words his blood was black. Black as a bastard's heart. He'd had Mikken make a sword for Arya once, a bravo's blade, made small to fit her hand. Needle. He wondered if she still had it. Stick them with the pointy end, he'd told her, but if she tried to stick the Bastard, it could mean her life.

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon VI

Is this the passage you mentioned? This is about his conflict between his vows as a bother of the Night’s Watch (his only family) and his blood family, represented this time by Arya. He felt the same about Robb and he actually ran away but was stopped by Sam and the others. His bastard status always makes him feel his is not worth, so once again he thinks he is a bad person because he can’t stop thinking about helping his siblings, despite being Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch.   

Two

Arya kissing the black bastard king-of-the-castle cat. 

When she was three steps away from him, the tomcat bolted. Left, then right, he went; and right, then left, went Arya, cutting off his escape. He hissed again and tried to dart between her legs. Quick as a snake, she thought. Her hands closed around him. She hugged him to her chest, whirling and laughing aloud as his claws raked at the front of her leather jerkin. Ever so fast, she kissed him right between the eyes, and jerked her head back an instant before his claws would have found her face. The tomcat yowled and spit. 

—A Game of Thrones - Arya III

The cat didn’t want to be captured or kissed. After the kiss the cat wanted to claw at her face, then the cat yowled and spit. 

Three

“jon "grinning like an idiot", remembering mussing Arya's hair when his hand was burnt”

"First lesson," Jon said. "Stick them with the pointy end."

Arya gave him a whap on the arm with the flat of her blade. The blow stung, but Jon found himself grinning like an idiot. "I know which end to use," Arya said. A doubtful look crossed her face. "Septa Mordane will take it away from me."

—A Game of Thrones - Jon II

Jon and Arya relationship is one of the purest in the Books. Their memories of each other are always so beautiful and lovely.  And this is how I imagine Ned and Lyanna relationship was. 

Grinning like an idiot when you are with the ones you love is natural and sincere, especially between two close siblings.  

My favorite quote about Jon and Arya relationship is this one:

The memory of her laughter warmed him on the long ride north.

—A Game of Thrones - Jon II

The memory of a beloved person laughter is a powerful image. Is what I remember the most of the ones I lost. That’s why this quote is so special for me.   

I didn’t find anything about this bit: “remembering mussing Arya's hair when his hand was burnt”, sorry.  But I know that Jon always remembers mussing Arya’s hair. It’s a very cute memory.

Four 

"I want my bride back, I want my bride back, I want my bride back"

“I won’t say you’re wrong. What do you mean to do, crow?”

Jon flexed the fingers of his sword hand. The Night’s Watch takes no part. He closed his fist and opened it again. What you propose is nothing less than treason. He thought of Robb, with snowflakes melting in his hair. Kill the boy and let the man be born. He thought of Bran, clambering up a tower wall, agile as a monkey. Of Rickon’s breathless laughter. Of Sansa, brushing out Lady’s coat and singing to herself. You know nothing, Jon Snow. He thought of Arya, her hair as tangled as a bird’s nest. I made him a warm cloak from the skins of the six whores who came with him to Winterfell … I want my bride back … I want my bride back … I want my bride back …

“I think we had best change the plan,” Jon Snow said. 

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon XIII

Take note that this is after Jon read the Pink Letter. So, again, thinking about your 10 years old little sister as the bride of a well known psycho is awful.  And it gets worse if the well known psycho is mad and making revengeful promises.

Jon remembered all his siblings, but it’s only logical that he focused on Arya, that is the one in present danger, the one that he can actually help.  And at the end, he decided to help her, despite his Night’s watch vows. 

[agentrouka-blog]

There is something that both Ned and Jon share. The unworthiness of being the Lord of WF, have a wife and kids. In AGOT Ned thinks that WF, Cat... should have been Brandon's who was the firstborn and heir not him.

Yes, Ned had a big chip on his shoulder about that, enough for Cat to liken Brandon’s shadow to Jon’s mother’s, standing between them. 

He is actually a big drama queen about it. (I am saying that with love.)

“Gods, Catelyn, Sansa is only eleven,” Ned said. “And Joffrey … Joffrey is …” She finished for him. “… crown prince, and heir to the Iron Throne. And I was only twelve when my father promised me to your brother Brandon.” That brought a bitter twist to Ned’s mouth. “Brandon. Yes. Brandon would know what to do. He always did. It was all meant for Brandon. You, Winterfell, everything. He was born to be a King’s Hand and a father to queens. I never asked for this cup to pass to me.” “Perhaps not,” Catelyn said, “but Brandon is dead, and the cup has passed, and you must drink from it, like it or not.” Ned turned away from her, back to the night. He stood staring out in the darkness, watching the moon and the stars perhaps, or perhaps the sentries on the wall. Catelyn softened then, to see his pain. Eddard Stark had married her in Brandon’s place, as custom decreed, but the shadow of his dead brother still lay between them, as did the other, the shadow of the woman he would not name, the woman who had borne him his bastard son. She was about to go to him when the knock came at the door, loud and unexpected. 

(AGOT, Catelyn II)

I love this exchange. There’s Ned being about as Jon-level damatic as we have ever seen him, and Catelyn doesn’t necessarily rush to reassure him because this is a familiar tune and she just wants him to get a grip and focus. You know, like typical married couples. 

But as he Stares Woefully(tm) she softens and the urge to comfort him rises up. Like typical married couples. 

People focus a lot on Cat’s hurt feelings about Jon’s mom (and they are right to, Ned handled that entire business atrociously bad) but there is a well of insecurity in Ned about his not much older brother, even though he probably knew him about as well as he knew Lyanna, which is… they hadn’t seen each other in a while. Brandon was fostered in Barrowtown and Ned was fostered in the Vale. I imagine Robert actually reminded Ned of his wilder brother. They must have nevertheless been close, because Brandon understood his shy brother well enough to arrange a dance with Asharah at Harrenhal. (How close were Lyanna and Benjen, though? Very??)

Considering just how we, canonically, know Brandon is described (wolf’s blood, etc) and how he handled the situation with Lyanna (riding up the KL and essentially yelling at the monarch), Ned is so obviously irrational about this idea of Brandon being waaaay more suited for the Lordship or always knowing what to do. It’s likely rooted in survivor’s guilt, same as Jon displays. 

When Jon had been very young, too young to understand what it meant to be a bastard, he used to dream that one day Winterfell might be his. Later, when he was older, he had been ashamed of those dreams. Winterfell would go to Robb and then his sons, or to Bran or Rickon should Robb die childless. And after them came Sansa and Arya. Even to dream otherwise seemed disloyal, as if he were betraying them in his heart, wishing for their deaths. I never wanted this, he thought as he stood before the blue-eyed king and the red woman. I loved Robb, loved all of them . . . I never wanted any harm to come to any of them, but it did. And now there's only me. (ASOS, Jon XI)

And Jon never had any of them literally die in his arms. (Though I think the Ygritte-Lyanna mirror is deliberate and foreshadows something, too.) 

Hilariously, Ned almost forces himself to follow in Brandon’s footsteps. Brandon would have likely fathered bastards, Ned gives himself the appearance of having done so. Brandon got himself caught in a death trap on KL, Ned.. yeah. 

But we know he did a very good job as Lord in the North. His bannerman (save the flaying enthusiasts) clearly adored him, his children universally admire him, his wife loved him in spite of a very rocky start to their marriage and he had some pretty visionary ideas for settling the Gift. (Which Jon took over.) But Ned cannot see it. Considering Cat is clearly familiar with this subject, I doubt he has been very responsive to genuine praise in the past. Though, I imagine, the inability to open up about Jon played a role in that. The secret was a millstone around his neck that trapped him with one foot in the past.

There is no doubt in my mind that Jon will struggle with the same issues if/when he comes into a position of political power in the North, constant guilt like above, constantly comparing himself to Robb, self-doubt. Here’s hoping he will be more receptive to Sansa’s efforts to both honestly criticize him (and Ned and Robb!) and praise him. But “Don’t... tell... Sansa!” and his not-so-communicative leadership style as Lord Commander hints at an unfortunate future decision to keep her out of important information loops (like Ned did with Cat and Sansa, too) to their mutual detriment. 

Let’s hope Jon will get a chance to learn from his mistakes and do better in the very end, when it comes to moving forward from all this destruction and rebuilding, the way Ned never quite could. Sansa is Ned’s spiritual heir, but so is Jon. 

[ladycatofwinterfell]

A new marriage and an old one, pt1

Summary: Robb is getting married and Catelyn have been married for many years. This is a happy story about the Starks (mostly Ned and Cat, but also the others) that takes place in a world where AGoT never happened and they’re all living happily in Winterfell.

Rating: I’d say mature, but message me if it should be changed.

English is not my first language, so I apologize if there’s any spelling and grammar mistakes. I hope you enjoy it :)

~*~

She had not seen Ned since morning the day before. He had told her that he had to work all day and didn’t want to be disturbed. Then he had not been in the Great Hall for supper and he had never came to her during the night. Even though he had promised that he would. And he had not been in the Great Hall to break his fast. She just couldn’t find him. He was not in his chambers, not in his solar, not in the godswood, not in any courtyard, not in the Great Hall, not with any of their children. She just wanted a simple good morning-kiss, but Winterfell was too big for her to search all of it, it would take her a week. She would have to go back to her duties and wait until he appeared again.

Robb was to marry in a little more than two weeks and Margaery Tyrell was to be his bride. She was a lovely girl and Catelyn had no doubts about that they could have a good marriage, even if it was arranged. But before the marriage could begin, there had to be a wedding. And a wedding required so so so much preparations. Catelyn had, along with many other things, been tasked with making a veil to match the dress Margaery was to wear and she was not quite finished yet. Catelyn didn’t understand why Sansa, who was better than her at embroidery, had not got that task placed in her lap. Not that Catelyn was bad, she was better than most, Sansa just had an incredible talent and Catelyn had so many other things to do. But Margaery had wanted her to do it and who was she to deny the bride of her son? She knew fully well about the hell with summer snows and horrible cold that Margaery was experiencing, she would do whatever she could to make her time in the North a little better. It was also and incredible honor to be chosen to make a veil for a bride, and it was rude to deny that honor.

She had almost arrived back at her own chambers when she rounded a corner and walked straight into Margaery. Since her future daughter-in-law leaned more towards the petite side, the collision almost sent the poor girl flying. What a good start.

”Oh” she gasped. ”I’m so sorry, did I hurt you?”

But Margaery only laughed. She was very pretty with her brown doe eyes, sweet features and long chestnut hair.

”No need to apologize, Lady Catelyn” she said. ”No harm was done, now was it?”

”I suppose not” Catelyn said relieved, it would not have been good if she had injured Margaery so close to the wedding.

She expected the smile on the girl’s face to falter, but she remained smiling.

”Have you finished my veil?” she asked.

Damn it, of all tasks she could have asked about, it was the veil. Catelyn had finished so much, just not the veil. She was sure of that it would be finished in time, but it still bothered her that it had taken her so long to make it.

”Uhm, no” she admitted. ”But I was just about to continue with it. And I assure you of that it’s almost done, just give me another day.”

Margaery shook her head slightly and laid a hand on Catelyn’s arm. She looked very assuring in a motherly way for being so young. She was half Catelyn’s age and still Catelyn felt like it was the other way around.

”No, no, no. I didn’t mean to stress you, take the time you need. I know how much you have to do” she said.

She had a lot to do. And still she had just spent more than an hour running around the castle in order to find her husband so that she could get a kiss. Reasonable way to spend time when you were buried in duties.

”You said you were going to work on the veil now, would you mind if I sat with you?” Margaery asked.

”It means bad luck if you if you see the veil before your wedding day” Catelyn immediately said.

That was common knowledge, the bride was not supposed to see the veil before she put it on on her wedding day. If she did see the veil, it meant an unhappy and childless marriage. Highborn girls were taught that early, surely Margaery knew about it.

”I know, but I can sit with my back to you” she insisted.

Catelyn was still unsure. She didn’t want an unsuccessful marriage for her son and his sweet bride. They were so young, they had everything in front of them. Ruining it now would be incredibly foolish.

Margaery leaned closer to her so that the people passing them wouldn’t hear what she said.

”I’m very nervous, and I have a lot of questions” she whispered.

“I’m sure your lady mother would answer your questions“ Catelyn said.

“But she hasn’t done this whole northern thing. You have. I just want to speak to someone who knows what it’s like to do all of this.”

For a second Catelyn saw herself standing there. Nervous and scared about marrying a northern man she barely knew. Walking around with the knowledge of that she would have to live in his frozen castle until the end of her days. The North was not a welcoming place, she really understood why Margaery was nervous about marrying into it all. And she would answer her every question to the best of her ability.

”Of course” Catelyn said compassionately. ”Just make sure you never turn your head.”

”Thank you so much” Margaery said and smiled again.

They walked together the last few steps to Catelyn’s chambers. Catelyn called for a servant to get a fire burning in the hearth, it was so ungodly cold in the castle and she didn’t want to sit with her cloak on. Then she placed Margaery in a chair with her back towards her and took the veil out from the drawer in her desk where she kept it when she was not working on it. It was definitely one of her finer works. Fine white transparent fabric, and she was working on embroidering a golden rose with grey wolves circling around it. It looked quite good, she hoped that Margaery would like it.

”Ask whatever you want, I will answer your every question” she said as she started with her needlework.

She had to distance herself from the fact that it was her son that would be Margaery’s husband and just think of it as if she was to marry a person Catelyn did not know.

”How long have you been married to your lord?” Margaery asked.

Catelyn had to think a bit to answer that question. She had been married for a long time, and it didn’t immediately come to her exactly how long it had been since her wedding. But she managed to remember.

”I think it should be about twenty years now” she finally said. ”And I have been up here for almost nineteen.”

She had spent a year away from her husband just after they married and remained down in the south while he was off at war. She had birthed twins that year. Robb had came first, and Jon second. They were the same age, but Robb had been first and would therefore inherit Ned’s titles as Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. At times she felt bad for Jon, he had been so close but still he wouldn’t get more than Hoster, who was her last born son.

”Then I know I can survive at least nineteen to twenty years” Margaery joked.

Catelyn chuckled and could imagine that Margaery smiled even though she couldn’t see her face. She was confident in that both of them would survive a good bunch of more years, even though she at times believed that the cold would be the end of her.

”With a bit of luck it will be even more” she said. “Though it will sometimes feel impossible.”

Margaery was quiet for a while. Catelyn guessed that she was thinking of her next question and waited. She focused on her embroidery, didn’t want to push Margaery.

”I have thought a lot of children” Margaery said after a while. ”I want to give my husband many little ones, is it difficult getting with child? Does the cold climate change anything?”

Personally, Catelyn didn’t have much trouble with getting pregnant. She had been with child pretty regularly since she married. In twenty years she had got Robb, Jon, Sansa, Arya, Bran, Rickon, Lyanna and Hoster. The last two were also twins and had been born two years after Rickon. But she also knew it was hard for some women, her sister for example. In regards to the horrible cold, she didn’t think it make it harder. If anything it had made it easier because it was even more pleasant to have a warm body close when it was very cold outside.

”I haven’t had any trouble with it at all, but I know women that it is hard for. I think it’s different for everyone, some easily gets pregnant, some has to try many times and for longer periods of time in order to get pregnant” she said. “But of course willingness from both parts doesn’t hurt. And the cold doesn’t change anything from what I know. Except for that it’s nice to have someone close.”

”How long did it take for you the first time?”

”I conceived Robb and Jon on my wedding night.”

Margaery mumbled something under her breath that Catelyn couldn’t quite hear, but it sounded like it was something along the lines of ”hard to do it faster”. Catelyn had to bite her lip in order to not laugh.

”What is the bedding ceremony like?” was Margaery’s next question.

Bedding ceremonies was something made up by men. No woman enjoyed it, but they had to endure. Hers had included torn clothing, hands in places where she wanted no one to touch her and comments that she could have lived without. And the actual bedding had not been very good either. Nothing against Ned, but she had not felt much at all.

”I can say that being carried off is the worst part. When it’s time for the bedding most men will be quite deep in their cups, so they won’t be very... careful with you. And they will say bawdy things. At my bedding a man told my husband that my breasts were so good that he wished he had never been weaned. That is the kind of stuff you will hear. You can return it if that makes you feel any better. The bedding itself isn’t bad, but also probably not the best thing you’ve felt that first time. But don’t worry, it gets better.”

Catelyn and Ned had absolutely not done it perfectly that first time. It had been a little clumsy and not very pleasurable. It had taken time to learn each other, but all that time was entirely worth it. She knew every little part of Ned and exactly how to make him feel pleasure. And Ned knew precisely what to do in order for her to come undone in his arms.

”Does it?”

”Practice makes perfect, my lady” was all Catelyn could reply to that.

Margaery giggled.

”Do I have to share a bed with my husband?”

”Not if you don’t want to” Catelyn assured her. ”There are no laws that say that a lord and lady must share a bed. You don’t even have to share chambers if you don’t want to.”

”Do you share a bed?”

”We do.”

Catelyn was too cold to sleep alone. She didn’t understand how she had survived the first two years up in the North when Ned had only came to her occasionally. Or how she had not frozen to death during the night since he seemed to have abandoned her.

In the early years she had been bothered by her lust for Ned, had been ashamed of how wanton she was and had been afraid of that he would be disgusted by it. But he filled her every need each time she wanted him to, whispered about how beautiful she was, how much he enjoyed what they were doing. And with time the fear and shame faded. Though she was still sometimes embarrassed by herself.

”Is religion a problem?”

”Not if you respect each other. You may not believe in his gods, but as long as you respect that he does, and he does the same for you it’s alright. Faith won’t be a cause of conflict.”

Ned had built her a little sept that she could pray in, respected that she didn’t like the godswood and its heart tree. When Margaery married Robb the sept would be hers too. Their husbands could keep the godswood for themselves.

“That direwolf...” Margaery said. “Do I need to be careful? It’s so big. And it’s got big teeth.”

“The direwolves are kind, they won’t hurt you. At least not intentionally. Though they can be quite fearsome, I know. I would lie if I said I wasn’t afraid of them in the beginning.”

She missed the time when they had been pups. They had been easier to handle, easier to feed and not so scary. Now all of them were freakishly large. And though they were tame and loyal like common dogs, they were very different from dogs and a lot harder to take care of.

”Do you ever get used to the cold?”

Catelyn laughed. You didn’t. Never. You walked around wrapped in furs and you slept wrapped in furs and you ate wrapped in furs and you prayed wrapped in furs. You lived your life wrapped in furs. And you were still cold.

”No, you don’t. Not me, at least. I keep my husband in my bed for a reason.”

Margaery laughed a little.

”And here I thought it was love.”

She looked up and saw Ned standing in the doorway. That’s why Margaery had laughed. So he had finally decided to turn up. Where the hell had he been? It had been more than a day since she last saw him.

”It’s really cold up here” she said with a smile. “And you’re warm.”

”Starks were made for cold” he said.

”And I was not, good thing I have you. Now, I’d like it if you told me something. Where have you been? I haven’t seen you since we broke our fast yesterday.”

”I can tell you many things, my lady, but not that” he said. ”Not right now, at least. You will get to know soon.”

What an annoying answer. Couldn’t he just tell her where he had been and why he had abandoned her the night before?

”So what are you doing here then, my lord?”

”Do you know what day it is?”

That was not an answer to her question. Not even a little.

”No, Eddard, I don’t know what day it is. The celebration of abandoning-your-wife-and-not-telling-her-where-you-have-been?” she asked.

”Lady Margaery, may I have a moment alone with my wife?”

”Of course, my lord” Margaery said and rose from her chair. ”Thank you so much, Lady Catelyn.”

”Come back if there’s anything more you want to know” Catelyn told her.

Margaery didn’t turn to look at her, but she curtsied anyway.

”Thank you.”

Then she left and Catelyn put the veil on her desk. She leaned back in her chair and looked up at Ned.

”Now tell me, what day is it?”

He closed the door, and walked over to Margaery’s chair. He turned it around so that it faced her and sat down.

”Do you really not remember?” he asked

Catelyn tried to remember. It was the middle of the summer, there were no celebrations. It had been an extremely long summer and a warm one, even up in the north, but there was nothing to celebrate, that wouldn’t come until the the big autumn harvests. And there were no namedays, and the wedding was to take place in two weeks.

”I’m sorry, but I really don’t remember. What day is it?”

”I’ll have to show you something to make you remember then. Come with me” he said and stood up again.

That made her curious. What could he show her that made her remember? Did it have something to do with where he had been?

Ned offered her an arm and she took it as she rose from her chair. He caught her lips in a kiss before she was standing straight. It took her by surprise, but she quickly wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer. She had missed him during the night, the bed was so cold without him.

”I’m sorry for leaving you last night” he said when they broke the kiss. ”I’ll make it up tonight. I promise.”

Why couldn’t it just be tonight already?

”Sounds nice to me” she smiled and kissed him again.

”But before that” he mumbled. ”I will show you what I’ve been up to.”

~*~

[jackoshadows]

This is a write-up regarding the situation in the North as of the last book A Dance with Dragons regarding the Starks and their claim to WF and the North. It’s a rather long post with book quotes that looks at why each character has a claim to the North/WF and how much support they have for that claim going from the character with the strongest claim/support to the weakest.

Contenders currently in the North:

Bran Stark: Currently in the lands beyond the wall with the 3ER. Prince Bran Stark was the Prince of Winterfell and the Stark in Winterfell when King Robb Stark was campaigning in the South. He ruled over the North until Theon’s betrayal and attack wherein Theon became the Prince of Winterfell with his father Balon Greyjoy as King. Ramsay then sacked Winterfell and Roose Bolton took over as Warden of the North with Ramsay Bolton as the Lord of Winterfell, by way of marriage to ‘Arya Stark’.

Rickon Stark: Currently in Skagos. Next in line to Bran Stark.  Has the support of the powerful Wyman Manderly to become the Lord of Winterfell/Warden of the North under King Stannis Baratheon as per the deal made with Stannis’ envoy Davos seaworth. Robett Glover also agrees to join Stannis’ campaign if Davos brings back Rickon safely from Skagos and sends weapons and hunters to Stannis to help in his march on Winterfell against the Boltons. Davos is currently headed to Skagos to bring Rickon back.

Characters that know that Bran and Rickon are alive: Theon Greyjoy, Wex, Wyman Manderly, Robett Glover, Stannis Baratheon, Davos Seaworth, Samwell Tarly, Gilly, Osha, Hodor, the Reeds and the Liddle of the mountain clans.

Additionally, Bran is communicating with Jon, Arya and possibly Rickon through their wolf dreams and in Theon’s case through the WF Godswood. Jon sees Shaggydog eating a unicorn in Skagos through Ghost. He sort of ‘knows’ that Bran and Rickon are alive through the direwolves communicating with each other.

Jon Snow:  Ned’s bastard son only comes into the picture through Robb Stark’s will. So let’s take a look at this will. Before his death, Robb Stark creates a will to ensure that the Northern kingdom does not die with him. At this point, Robb thinks that Bran, Rickon and Arya are dead. First, he needs to make sure that the Lannisters don’t get the North:

By law Sansa is next in line of succession, so Winterfell and the north would pass to her.” His mouth tightened. “To her, and her lord husband. Tyrion Lannister. I cannot allow that. I will not allow that. That dwarf must never have the north.”

“No,” Catelyn agreed. “You must name another heir, until such time as Jeyne gives you a son.”

Robb and Cat seem pretty determined that Sansa, her husband and any children they have will never get the North/WF. This indicates that there is a provision in the will where Sansa is explicitly debarred/disinherited from getting the North. This seems to be a pretty popular idea as, up North, Stannis is of a similar mind –

"Lady Lannister, you mean? Are you so eager to see the Imp perched on your father's seat? I promise you, that will not happen whilst I live, Lord Snow."

So anyways, Sansa is out. Next, Robb decides to legitimize Jon Snow and he trusts Jon so much that he decides to do this before even knowing whether his wife Jeyne Westerling is pregnant or not. Catelyn is so distressed over this, that she would rather Robb select some cousin from the Vale to be Lord of WF/KITN than Jon Snow because she thinks that Jon will steal Robb’s child’s birthright. And that once Jon is legitimized it cannot be taken back. They argue over this:

He is set on this. Catelyn knew how stubborn her son could be. “A bastard cannot inherit.”

“Not unless he’s legitimized by a royal decree,” said Robb. “There is more precedent for that than for releasing a Sworn Brother from his oath.”

“If you make Jon legitimate, there is no way to turn him bastard again. Should he wed and breed, any sons you may have by Jeyne will never be safe.”

“Have you considered your sisters? What of their rights? I agree that the north must not be permitted to pass to the Imp, but what of Arya? By law, she comes after Sansa . . . your own sister, trueborn . . . ”

“ . . . and dead. No one has seen or heard of Arya since they cut Father’s head off. Why do you lie to yourself? Arya’s gone, the same as Bran and Rickon, and they’ll kill Sansa too once the dwarf gets a child from her. Jon is the only brother that remains to me. Should I die without issue, I want him to succeed me as King in the North. I had hoped you would support my choice.”

From all this we can speculate that the Robb’s will has provisions that disinherits Sansa, legitimizes Jon and makes him KITN if Jeyne does not have a child – since the only uncertainty at the time the will is written up is whether Robb will have a child or not. 

The following lords are signatories and witnesses to this will: Jason Mallister, Raynald Westerling, Greatjon Umber, Galbart Glover, Maege Mormont and Edmure Tully.  We don’t know where this will is – it’s speculated that Galbart Glover and  Maege Mormont are in possession of the will and were last headed for Greywater watch, the residence of Howland Reed.

If Robb’s will comes into play, then Jon goes from Jon Snow to Jon Stark and that automatically pushes him to the head of the queue as the eldest Stark, even if Bran and Rickon are alive. Of course, ultimately it all depends on which houses will support Jon Stark and which houses will support Bran, Rickon or Arya stark.

Contenders currently outside the North:

Because much of the North and house Stark is patriarchal, the girls come further down the line when it comes to their claims to WF and the North.

Arya Stark: Currently in Braavos. She is involved in the Northern plot in the book through Jeyne Poole – who marries Ramsay Bolton as ‘Arya Stark’ to help the Boltons hold the North. With Jon’s help, Stannis engages with the Mountain clans and they agree to fight under him to defeat the Boltons and free Arya. As Big Bucket Wull explains:

Winter is almost upon us, boy. And winter is death. I would sooner my men die fighting for the Ned’s little girl than alone and hungry in the snow, weeping tears that freeze upon their cheeks. No one sings songs of men who die like that. As for me, I am old. This will be my last winter. Let me bathe in Bolton blood before I die. I want to feel it spatter across my face when my axe bites deep into a Bolton skull. I want to lick it off my lips and die with the taste of it on my tongue.

So the clans and Stannis are fighting to save Arya. While Stannis himself is not interested in Arya as a heir to WF (he wants to rescue Arya for Jon’s sake and send her to him), the clans and some of the Northern houses in the game – who don’t know about Bran and Rickon being alive – could be plotting to get rid of house Bolton and restore WF/North to Arya as Queen in the North. Even Roose’s so called Northern allies are not pleased with the way ‘Arya’ is being treated.

Barbrey: The bride weeps ... Dressing her in grey and white serves no good if the girl is left to sob. The Freys might not care, but the northmen ... they fear the Dreadfort, but they love the Starks.

Theon: Not you.

Barbrey: Not me, but the rest, yes. Old Whoresbane is only here because the Freys hold the Greatjon captive. And do you imagine the Hornwood men have forgotten the Bastard's last marriage, and how his lady wife was left to starve, chewing her own fingers? What do you think passes through their heads when they hear the new bride weeping? Valiant Ned's precious little girl. Lady Arya's sobs do us more harm than all of Lord Stannis's swords and spears.

“Night work is not knight’s work,” Lady Dustin said. “And Lord Wyman is not the only man who lost kin at your Red Wedding, Frey. Do you imagine Whoresbane loves you any better? If you did not hold the Greatjon, he would pull out your entrails and make you eat them, as Lady Hornwood ate her fingers. Flints, Cerwyns, Tallharts, Slates … they all had men with the Young Wolf.”

“House Ryswell too,” said Roger Ryswell. “Even Dustins out of Barrowton.” Lady Dustin parted her lips in a thin, feral smile. “The north remembers, Frey.”

Meanwhile, Lord Commander Jon Snow at the Wall has send Mance Raydar – the King beyond the wall – to rescue his sister. After he receives a letter from Ramsay Bolton informing him that Stannis has failed and that Mance is dead, Jon rallies the Wildlings to go attack the Boltons and save Arya. He is assassinated at this point.

So while all this is happening in the North, the real Arya is in Braavos. How would she connect to this plot? Well, if Jon is dead at the wall, fake Arya/Jeyne Poole may end up going with Justin Massey to Braavos – where Stannis has send him to get more mercenary soldiers and men to fight against the Boltons. Imagine Arya’s surprise when she comes across Jeyne masquerading as Arya in Braavos while Arya is walking around with someone else’s face?! This could very well be the spur that pushes her to make a trip to the Wall or the North. The only obstacle is of course that Winter has come in the books and the snowstorms are so bad that Stannis and his army is stranded unable to march even to WF. It’s not going to be easy for Arya to get North at this point. It’s possible that Arya therefore travels to the Riverlands or even the Vale since weather wise that’s easier to do.

Sansa Stark: Currently in the Vale. She is LF’s nominee for the North/WF. The major obstacle for her getting the North is her marriage to Tyrion. Currently she is still married to Tyrion as of the last book. This marriage can only be annulled by the high Septon in KL – which means there should be a regime friendly to Sansa in KL before this can happen. Or Tyrion should die. This is what LF is hoping for - that Cersei somehow manages to kill Tyrion. LF’s plans depends on both Tyrion and SweetRobin dying. Hence why Sweetrobin is being given dangerous levels of sweetsleep, despite the Maester’s warnings. LF also thinks that Bran and Rickon are dead.

So according to LF’s plans, Cersei kills Tyrion, SweetRobin dies, Sansa marries Harry the heir and is unveiled as Queen in the North/Lady of Winterfell.She gets the North and the Vale in one swoop.

But unfortunately for Littlefinger, the North is moving full speed ahead with their own plots and games. Bran and Rickon are still alive, some Northern houses are pushing for Rickon, others support Arya and Robb’s will basically disinherits Sansa Lannister. LF does not know any of this. There’s also the fact that with winter coming to Westeros and the snow storms, no army is going to be able go North any time soon. No single person would be able to do the same. Alys Karstark nearly died riding from Karhold to the Wall. So Sansa is going to be stuck in the south for a while yet.

So with Sansa in the vale, Arya in Braavos and Bran beyond the wall, the closest contenders for WF and the North location-wise are going to be Rickon and Jon. And Jon is still lying dead in the snow. So it’s very likely that we will get either Lord of Winterfell Rickon Stark if Stannis wins or KITN Rickon Stark if Stannis dies in the next book.

[5289belle]

The Dragon Wolf chapter 2

The horse galloped into the woods, spurned on by it’s rider. With haste she steered the steed deeper into the woods, finally she declared she was far enough that no one would discover her here by the stream. Dismounting her horse she took off her oversized helmet and began working on the mismatched armour.

“I should have known the knight of the laughing tree was a woman, after all your size compared to the other knight is miniscule.” He declared with amusement.

Startled by his voice she turned around and was greeted by the sight of the silver haired prince. Decided that it was foolish to lie she replied “Your grace, I will not go without a fight! I do not intend to die a fiery death.”

A look of understanding flickered across his features, with the wind billowing around them he looked into her steely grey eyes and spoke with kindness

“My lady, you misunderstand me. I would not reveal you to my father, however please tell me why you wished to joust?”

Lowering her shoulders she studied him, his face seemed to hold truth in it. Deciding to trust him she licked her lips and began to delve into a story of how two days ago one of her father's bannermen was accosted and beaten by some squires. How she yelled at them and told them to be gone. Deciding that the squires needed to be taught a lesson in honor and respect, she gathered odd bits and pieces of armour left about and entered the jousting tournament to unseat the squires. She never intended to reveal herself or cause suspicion on the knight.

“ I understand, I will keep you secret. Although I'll need your shield to show my father, to keep him satisfied with the shield. I’ll tell you I could not find the knight , only his shield was left here in the woods.

“My thanks, your grace.” She replied with a sincere expression. Their eyes met and she was lost in his indigo eyes. The reminded her off plums, a dark purple with a hint of blue.

Waking from her dream Lyarra was disoriented, the dream was so vivid. It almost felt as if she was there as if it all really happened.

Rising out of bed and dressing for the day she left to break her fast.

On her way to the kitchens she caught sight of Arya trying to sneak in and pilfer some cakes.

“Just what do you think you’re doing?” She said with a semi serious voice. Smiling down at her she watched as Arya jumped in surprise and turned out.

“Lya, you scared me!” Arya shouted.

A giggle erupted from the raven haired girl, “Yes well that’s what big sisters are for”

“Now are we still going to have our secret lessons in the godswood today after your lessons with Septa Mordane and all the other little ladies in Winterfell?”

“Of course, why shouldn't we?” Arya replied worried that her lesson was in danger of being cancelled.

“Just checking, you never know if you changed your mind.” she said with a laugh.

“Now come lets break our fast before the boys awaken and eat all the food!”

 

“Arya will you please slow down!” Lyarra yelled towards the younger girl.

Picking up her skirts she hurried after her.

“Lya, if I don’t hurry then I won’t be able to practice my sword practicing skills with you, Lady mother might call upon me any moment now! Or worse Septa Mordane…” Rubbing her knuckles in memory the girl quickly hurried forward into the godswoods with her sister at her heels.

“Yes, however if you fall again you’ll have scrapes on your palms you’ll need to explain to your Septa and Lady Stark.” Lyarra muttered with frustration. Shaking her head she followed Arya through the godswood to their spot.

“Of course when the King and his entire retinue arrive we'll pause our lessons until they leave.”

“Or we could be very secretive about, please Lya!?” Arya pouted her lips and begged her sister.

Laughing with humor Lyarra replied “Arya you promised that if I agreed to teach you in secret that you would listen to every instruction I gave, this counts as one. It’s too dangerous to be sneaking around with the kings guard around.”

“Yes.” Lyarra interjected with a look. “No buts. Now let's begin the lesson” with that she lunged towards her and began dueling with her.

With each lesson Arya was improving. Raising her sword to block an attack to her right she took a step forward with her left foot and drove her back.

Entering the Godswood Jon stopped to watch his two sisters sparring.

He never doubted Arya would have begged Lyarra to train her until she agreed, after all Lyarra had a hard time telling her no. She was her favorite sibling or sister.

Robb was definitely her favorite, they spent every minute together since they could walk. Though in the last few years they spent less time together, Robb was off with Theon or himself, while Lyarra spent her time riding and sparring with Arya or himself. If she wasn’t with any of her siblings she was playing her harp and singing ballads to Rickon and Bran.

Sensing a presence behind her Lyarra stopped their sparring and quickly turned around, relief spread across her features when she realized it was only Jon.

“The king and his caravan has been spotted, they’ll be here within the hour” Jon announced, continuing on with a smile “I thought you would like sometime to prepare, style your hair and change into a fancier dress.”

Arya scoffed in annoyance at having her lesson interrupted by the arrival of the King. Lyarra raised her eyebrow and answered in a snicker “Of course how could I not prepare myself for the arrival of the King and his court. After all Robb, Theon and yourself had to shave and trim your pretty locks of hair”

“Let’s go and prepare for their arrival, after all what would your Lady mother say about her less than adequate appearance” she said to Arya.

Rolling her eyes Arya merely nodded her head and followed her two older siblings back to the castle.

 

“Where’s Arya?” Lady Stark asked Sansa, she merely shrugged. Arya quickly ran up and surprised her parents by wearing a helmet. Jon and her tried to contain their laughter and smiled in amusement. “What are you doing with that?” Ned asked his daughter as he took off the helmet. She gave him no reply and hurriedly took her place beside Sansa and told Bran to move out of her spot in the family order.

Standing beside Jon and Theon behind the Stark family Lyarra watched as the Kings retinue rode in. In the front was a blonde boy, that was Prince Joffrey most likely. He radiated cunt energy, she bet that was a real pratt, then there was the man with a helmet shaped in the image of a dog, that must be the Hound.

Then came the royal wheelhouse, with the King. She could hardly believe that King Robert was ever able to wield an enormous warhammer much less win a single fight, the only thing it seemed he wielded nowadays was a turkey leg in one hand and a wine goblet in the other.

Bowing her head and kneeling down as he dismounted her horse she heard the King approach Lord Stark.

When Lord Stark started to rise, everyone else followed. Lyarra kept her head bowed. “Your Grace” Lord Stark said with respect, King Robert looked at him and replied “You’ve got fat.” Both men gave each other a look, everybody tensed up until they broke into laughter.

One by one the king greeted the Starks “Cat” he said with a smile and gave her a hug, moving on he merely patted little Rickons head. Moving back to Ned “Nine years since I last saw you. Where the hell you’ve been? He asked.

“Guarding the North for you your grace. Winterfell is yours” He replied, then the King went to Robb “What have we here? You must be Robb. They shook hands, walking on to Sansa “Aye, you’re a pretty one”, she smiled in reply. Leaning down towards Arya he asked “Your name is?”

“Arya '' he nodded his head and went to Bran “Ooh, show us your muscles' ' Raising his arm up Bran flexed his muscles, hissing in laughter he replied “You’ll be a soldier. Then he looked up and stopped dead in his tracks.

“Lyanna” he said as if he saw a ghost.

Realizing he was talking to her, she froze. Lyanna? That was her aunts name, the one she never met. Looking up she saw the King was staring at her intensely.

“That is Lyarra your grace, one of my bastards.” Ned said to the king hoping to distract him. Coming to his senses Robert nodded his head.

“You look just like you aunt” looking over to his best friend he followed with “better keep a close eye on her, all the men will be fighting over this one.

Grimacing Ned nodded his head.

Looking over Lyarra watched as one of the Kings guard removed his helmet, while flipping his golden hair in the process. “That's Jaime Lannister, the Queen’s twin brother” Arya said in wonder, with annoyance Sansa replied “Would you please shut up” Always the same those two. He was quite handsome the tales did not lie, although he was nothing compared to Robb and his auburn hair and blue eyes.

Walking over the Queen went over to Lord Stark and reached out her hand, taking it and kissing it he said “My Queen”. Giving a contrived smile in return. “My Queen” Lady Stark said with a bow.

“The crypt I want to pay my respects” Robert announced.

“We’ve been riding for a month my love, surely the dead can wait” Cersie replied.

Ignoring the Queen, Robert nodded to Lord Stark and commanded him to take him to the crypts. “Ned”

Well clearly the King and Queen is miserable in their marriage Lyarra thought.

Where was the Queen's other brother? Looking over she noticed the Queen and her twin were talking about something important from the looks of it.

Ignoring the glare Lady Stark was throwing her way for no doubt distracting the King and having Lord Stark announce his bastards to the whole court, Lyarra turned away and left.

“Noticing his mother's venomous looks towards Lyarra he went and followed his sister.

All the while Jaime watched with curious eyes. Perhaps Winterfell would not be as boring as he thought.

[the-velvet-worm]

I’m back to defend Sansa.

Shit, here we go again.

Does anyone really, truly believe that Sansa is being deceitful right now in order to protect and preserve her own self-interests? Seriously? Fuck off. How quickly we forget everything Sansa’s been through to get to where she is now.

Sansa was a shell of a human when the Lannisters had her, when Littlefinger had her, when the Boltons had her. And then she heard three words that changed her entire outlook on life. “The North Remembers.” Did everyone forget how crushed she was when she learned of Robb and Cat’s deaths? How she was forced to watch as her father’s head was chopped off? Someone try to tell me again how little her trauma has mattered to her. She has always harbored so much regret over the state of her relationships with her family members when their time together ended. She regrets how rude she was to Ned. It pained her to write that message to Robb. She regrets not being able to see Robb and Cat again. She regretted not protecting Arya (until she realized Arya was better off running away than she would have been in King’s Landing, knowing she would’ve been subjected to much of the same abuse that Joffrey and Cersei inflicted on her). Sansa threw herself into Jon’s arms when they were reunited. She profusely apologized for how poorly she treated him in the past because she was trying to do anything and everything in her power to make up for her wrongdoings and become the person she wanted to be. An honorable person, like Ned. A fair and compassionate person like Robb. A person who protects her family and their legacy like Catelyn. She did what she had to do to stay alive, holding onto hope every single step of the way that there was something on the other side of this. And last season, she found that something.

She convinced Jon to help her take back Winterfell, to take back the North. (Like Robb would have wanted, like Ned would have wanted. There must always be a Stark in Winterfell.) And then the North turned around and named Jon king. I’m not saying that Jon didn’t deserve it, but Sansa deserved it more. Sansa is the one who’s fought to preserve the name Stark, to honor her family and protect who she has left. And Jon has made it very clear, time and time again, that he is not a Stark. He had a chance to be one when Stannis offered it to him, and he refused. He had a chance to uphold Northern independence and act as the head of House Stark when Daenerys asked him to bend the knee and give her the North. He had a chance to be one when his sisters proclaimed that he was their true brother. (I have a lot of feelings about what the fuck is going on with Jon right now and to be frank, I’m VERY confused. This Jon is not my Jon.)

Sansa ruled the North while Jon was away playing with Daenerys in Dragonstone. Sansa (and Arya and Bran) brought Littlefinger to justice for the crimes he committed against the North and their family. And then Jon shows up with Daenerys after throwing away his title and his claim to the North (Sansa’s claim to the North) and Sansa is supposed to accept that with a fucking smile on her face? I think the fuck not. Sansa can see straight through Daenerys’s act. She can see the power that she holds over her brother. She can see history repeating itself and she can see Jon making an even bigger mistake than Robb ever made by betraying his vow to the Freys. Robb might’ve been stupid, but he was never this stupid. But yeah, Sansa is totally just supposed to hand Dany the keys to Winterfell and let her walk all over Jon. Sansa is supposed to give away the kingdom that her brother fought and died for. Sansa is supposed to forget what loyalty to the Iron Throne did to her grandfather, to her uncle, to her father. Again, I think the fuck not. What the Lannisters and Targaryens did to the Starks didn’t happen that long ago, you guys. Aegon the Conqueror forced the Starks to give up the North and look what happened then. The Targaryens got wildly out of control and the Starks were helpless to do anything to protect themselves and their people. Of course Sansa wants control and agency (two things that have been stripped away from her entirely, two things that she’s fought tirelessly to regain) but she does not want those things for herself. She wants them for her people and her family. She wants them for Jon. She wants to protect Jon. She couldn’t protect Robb or Rickon, she couldn’t save her mother and father, but she can protect Jon and Arya and Bran. She told Tyrion, “The men in my family don’t fare well when they go south.” She still sees Jon as her brother even after he’s just told her that he’s not. She sees Jon making one of the biggest mistakes of his life.

So she told Tyrion Jon’s secret. She did it to save the North and she did it to save her brother from a fate like Ned, a fate like her grandfather and her uncle. Because to her, Jon is still a Stark. “The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives.” With this move - perhaps one of, if not the biggest, smartest political move in the show’s history - she is not only preserving her kingdom and her family’s legacy, but she’s trying to make Jon see that he’s always had a place in Winterfell, and now that she has him back in her life, now that they’re all back in each others’ lives, she’s not letting him get away. When she arrived at Castle Black, Jon said, “If I don’t watch over you, Father’s ghost will come back to murder me.” You think Sansa forgot that? You think Sansa’s gonna let Jon throw away his life when Ned kept a secret from the world that could’ve cost him his own life to protect Jon all those years? You might say that Sansa’s not respecting Jon’s wishes or that she went back on a promise and you might be right, but Sansa would rather have Jon alive and angry at her, she would rather have the North, and she would rather have her family safe.

I’m a Jon stan and I just have to say if by some miracle Jon is still standing at the end of this all, we can thank Sansa for it.

[nobodysuspectsthebutterfly]

So we know that Ned and Catelyn fell in love right? But there’s something in the books that had always bothered me, Ned not once thought about how he loved her, like Catelyn thinks of his good heart and how much she had enough love for any woman and all but Ned never used the word Love when thinking of her. He thinks about how he loves Robert and Lyanna and the children but not his wife, that’s a bit odd. So do you think Ned loved Catelyn *less* than she loved him?

You need to reread, Ned does use the word “love” with and about Catelyn. And he uses other words as well.

“…let them grow up close as brothers, with only love between them,” he prayed, “and let my lady wife find it in her heart to forgive…" –ADWD, Bran III

“I ought to know better than to argue with a Tully,” he said with a rueful smile. He slid Ice back into its sheath. “You did not come here to tell me crib tales. I know how little you like this place. What is it, my lady?” –AGOT, Catelyn I

He looked at Catelyn. “What is it? My lady, you’re shaking.” –AGOT, Catelyn II

Ned crossed the room, took her by the arm, and pulled her to her feet. He held her there, his face inches from her. “My lady, tell me! What was this message?” –AGOT, Catelyn II

Ned kissed the tears from her eyes before they could fall. “Thank you, my lady,” he whispered. “This is hard, I know.” –AGOT, Catelyn II

Not for the first time, he wondered what he was doing here and why he had come. He was no Jon Arryn, to curb the wildness of his king and teach him wisdom. Robert would do what he pleased, as he always had, and nothing Ned could say or do would change that. He belonged in Winterfell. He belonged with Catelyn in her grief, and with Bran. –AGOT, Eddard II

Ned Stark dismounted in a fury. “A brothel,” he said as he seized Littlefinger by the shoulder and spun him around. “You’ve brought me all this way to take me to a brothel.”“Your wife is inside,” Littlefinger said.It was the final insult. “Brandon was too kind to you,” Ned said as he slammed the small man back against a wall and shoved his dagger up under the little pointed chin beard.–AGOT, Eddard IV

Inside, Catelyn was waiting. She cried out when she saw him, ran to him, and embraced him fiercely.“My lady,” Ned whispered in wonderment.–AGOT, Eddard IV

“I feared you’d never come, my lord,” she whispered against his chest. “Petyr has been bringing me reports. He told me of your troubles with Arya and the young prince. How are my girls?”“Both in mourning, and full of anger,” he told her. “Cat, I do not understand. What are you doing in King’s Landing? What’s happened?” Ned asked his wife. “Is it Bran? Is he…” Dead was the word that came to his lips, but he could not say it.“It is Bran, but not as you think,” Catelyn said.Ned was lost. “Then how? Why are you here, my love? What is this place?“–AGOT, Eddard IV

He saw her hands then, the awkward way she held them, the raw red scars, the stiffness of the last two fingers on her left. “You’ve been hurt.” He took her hands in his own, turned them over. “Gods. Those are deep cuts… a gash from a sword or… how did this happen, my lady?” –AGOT, Eddard IV

“My lady,” he said, turning to Catelyn, “there is nothing more you can do here. I want you to return to Winterfell at once. If there was one assassin, there could be others. Whoever ordered Bran’s death will learn soon enough that the boy still lives.”“I had hoped to see the girls …” Catelyn said.“That would be most unwise,” Littlefinger put in. “The Red Keep is full of curious eyes, and children talk.”“He speaks truly, my love,” Ned told her. He embraced her. “Take Ser Rodrik and ride for Winterfell. I will watch over the girls. Go home to our sons and keep them safe.”“As you say, my lord.” Catelyn lifted her face, and Ned kissed her. Her maimed fingers clutched against his back with a desperate strength, as if to hold him safe forever in the shelter of her arms.–AGOT, Eddard IV

He took her in his arms again. “The Lannisters are merciless in the face of weakness, as Aerys Targaryen learned to his sorrow, but they would not dare attack the north without all the power of the realm behind them, and that they shall not have. I must play out this fool’s masquerade as if nothing is amiss. Remember why I came here, my love.” –AGOT, Eddard IV

Robert had left him no choice that he could see. He ought to thank him. It would be good to return to Winterfell. He ought never have left. His sons were waiting there. Perhaps he and Catelyn would make a new son together when he returned, they were not so old yet. And of late he had often found himself dreaming of snow, of the deep quiet of the wolfswood at night. –AGOT, Eddard VIII

Some secrets are safer kept hidden. Some secrets are too dangerous to share, even with those you love and trust. –AGOT, Eddard VIII

“My lady wife is blameless, Your Grace. All she did she did at my command.” –AGOT, Eddard X

His regency would be a short one, he reflected as the wax softened. The new king would choose his own Hand. Ned would be free to go home. The thought of Winterfell brought a wan smile to his face. He wanted to hear Bran’s laughter once more, to go hawking with Robb, to watch Rickon at play. He wanted to drift off to a dreamless sleep in his own bed with his arms wrapped tight around his lady, Catelyn. –AGOT, Eddard XIII

When he kept very still, his leg did not hurt so much, so he did his best to lie unmoving. For how long he could not say. There was no sun and no moon. He could not see to mark the walls. Ned closed his eyes and opened them; it made no difference. He slept and woke and slept again. He did not know which was more painful, the waking or the sleeping. When he slept, he dreamed: dark disturbing dreams of blood and broken promises. When he woke, there was nothing to do but think, and his waking thoughts were worse than nightmares. The thought of Cat was as painful as a bed of nettles. He wondered where she was, what she was doing. He wondered whether he would ever see her again. –AGOT, Eddard XV

(augh, my heart…) Well… hope that helps!

[themindmates-blog]

Chapter 1 - The White Wedding

"I actually can't believe it." Robb said as he stood in his bedroom, with his best friend sat in his bed.

"You knew this would happen." Theon answered with a smirk. "I have been her betrothed for years now, Robb."

"I know, Theon…" The younger boy rolled his eyes. "Still, it's my baby sister. And she's getting married. Before me. To you, no less. It's a lot to take in. Forgive me."

"Ylina is not your baby sister." Theon noted. "And if you say that anywhere near her, she'll have your head."

"She can say all she wants. Ylina is my baby sister and she'll be forever."

"Well, your baby sister is about to become a woman soon."

At that, Robb almost choked, reaching for one of the pillows near him and throwing it at Theon. When the Greyjoy chuckled, Grey Wind, who was until now laying by the foot of the bed, lifted his head when Robb scoffed.

"Careful, lad. It's my sister we're talking about." He warned as Theon simply shrugged.

"You do know what happens after a wedding, don't you?"

"I do." Robb nodded, reaching for his dress shirt to pull it over his head. "But if I hear anything that's happening between you two later tonight, I swear to all the gods…"

When he shivered, Theon laughed.

"I can't promise anything." He smirked.

"Oh, just shut up."

Before any of the boys could say anything else, there was a knock on the door.

“Are you two decent?” 

When they heard Ylina’s voice coming through the wooden door, Robb threw a dress shirt at Theon and the Greyjoy boy quickly covered himself with it.

“Never!” Robb called out, hearing a chuckle in response.

Pushing the door open, Ylina leaned against it as her eyes scanned both boys. Daria, her direwolf, ran past her and straight to Grey Wind, as the two of them started to roll around and bite each other lightly as usual. Neither Robb or Theon had even the time to greet the younger girl, before her eyes went wide and she shook her head quickly.

“Oh, no. You two better get dressed right now, because the King and his family are almost here and if we get there late to greet them, I will be the one Lady Catelyn will be putting the blame on.”

“But we were the ones who weren’t dressed.” Robb spoke up, causing Ylina to scoff.

“You know Mother. She’ll just assume.”

Walking past Robb, Ylina reached in his desk for the golden pin of a kraken that always laid there and, as soon as Theon had put on his overall coat, the girl placed the pin in place, right in the middle of his chest. Watching her gently, Theon grew silent, only smirking down at the girl when she lifted her eyes up to meet his.

“What?” She asked with her eyebrows lifted.

“Nothing.” Theon shrugged, placing one of his glove-covered hands one the small of her back.

When Robb pretended to gag, Ylina rolled her eyes and walked toward her brother, grabbing the silvery wolf pin from his hands as he expected her to place it on his chest as she had done with Theon. Instead, the girl smirked at Robb and placed her hands on his cheeks, squeezing them slightly as she talked in a quite high pitched voice.

“Oh, look at you… All trimmed up and pretty. Did you do that for my wedding, finally?”

“Actually, I did it for the King, but whatever.” Robb shrugged, causing his sister to laugh.

“I wasn’t aware you were into older man.” She said.

“Shut up, Lily.” He chuckled as Theon laughed loudly behind them. “Mother made us all cut our hair for the King. Do you like it?”

With a shrug of her shoulders, Ylina let go of Robb’s cheeks and started to pin the wolf to his coat.

“You look less like Father, so I guess that’s good.”

At that, the three of them laughed, but before any of them could say anything else, a trumpet sounded in the distance and they all exchanged a look, already knowing what it meant: the King was in Winterfell.

“Oh, by the gods…” Ylina mumbled, before ushering both boys out of the room and running with them through the hallways of the castle toward the open grounds where they were supposed to wait for the King.

As soon as they came into view, Catelyn gasped, reached over to grab Ylina by the arm and placed her beside Sansa, where she should’ve been minutes before.

“You’re late again, Ylina.” She reprimanded, as the girl sighed. “Even Arya was here before you this time.”

Looking down the line of her siblings, she saw that, in fact, Arya Stark was, for once, in the place she was supposed to be in with the clothes she was supposed to be wearing before her. Her younger sister showed Ylina her tongue, causing the girl to scoff. Before she could respond, however, Sansa nudged her side and Ylina’s eyes fell on her.

“The King.” She warned lowly.

Ylina turned from her sisters to the open space in front of them, just in time to see the first of the Lannisters bannermen riding through the gates. Soon after, came a young boy, blonde of hair with a pretty face that Ylina supposed to be almost her age. Maybe a bit younger. Prince Joffrey, she assumed. Glancing at Sansa, she saw the smile on her sister’s face and the glimmer in her eyes as they locked with the prince’s and she could barely contain her giggles when she noticed the way Robb’s jaw clenched in pure jealousy.

Luckly, no one else noticed, being too caught up on the red chariot that stopped in the middle of the grounds and then, noticing King Robert riding in after it. All too familiar with the formalities, everyone kneeled and looked down as the King approached them. Standing in from of their father, King Robert signalized for him to stand up and so Ned did, soon being followed by everyone else. 

“Your Grace.” Ned bowed his head slightly.

The whole place was silent as the two men stared each other down.

“You've got fat.” King Robert noted.

At that, Ylina glanced at Robb, only to notice he was already looking at their father. Doing the same, she noticed how, wordlessly, Ned motioned to King Robert and, after a second of silence, the two old friends started to laugh before sharing a hug.

“Cat!” King Robert smiled, moving to embrace their mother.

“Your Grace.” She nodded at him politely, as the man messed with Rickon’s hair, who was standing beside Catelyn.

“Nine years…” King Robert sighed, moving to stand in front of Ned again. “Why haven't I seen you? Where the hell have you been?” 

“Guarding the North for you, Your Grace.” Ned smiled at his friend. “Winterfell is yours.”

“Where's the Imp?” Ylina heard Arya ask, as they watched Queen Cersei walk down the steps of the carriage.

“Will you shut up?” Sansa answered quickly. 

“Who have we here?”  King Robert asked, as he moved from Ned to Robb, who was standing beside their father. “You must be Robb.”

Once they exchanged a strong handshake, the King’s eyes fell in Ylina.

“Last I saw you, you were a little girl.” He said, as Ylina smiled up at him. “Now here you are… Ready to become a woman.”

With a bow of her head and a well put smile from the girl, King Robert moved to Sansa, saying what everyone always said upon meeting the young Stark girl.

“My, you're a pretty one.” He said, as Sansa smiled. “Your name is?” 

Robert crouched down in front of Arya and Ylina could tell she was annoyed. The older girl bit back a smile knowing how much her sister hated those formal meetings.

“Arya.” She said, as the King nodded, moving to Bran next.

“Oh, show us your muscles.” He said, as Bran smiled brightly and flexed his arms. When the King laughed, so did Ylina. “You'll be a soldier.”

“That's Jaime Lannister, the Queen's twin brother.” The girl heard Arya whisper, before looking around just in time to see Jaime Lannister pulling off his helmet and shaking his long blonde hair.

With a roll of her eyes, she imagined he would be one of those lords who thought that, just because he had money and a pretty face, he could get any girl he wanted in his bed at any time.

“Would you please shut up?” Sansa whispered back at Arya, causing the younger girl to look for her sister for support, only to notice she was already looking at her with a small smile. 

Looking back at Queen Cersei, Ylina noticed how she approached her father and extended her hand for him to kiss. Doing so, Ned bowed his head slightly again.

“My queen.” He said.

“My queen.” Catelyn repeated with a bigger bow.

“Take me to your crypt.” King Robert demanded, causing everyone to look at him. “I want to pay my respects.”

“We've been riding for a month, my love.” Queen Cersei spoke up. “Surely the dead can wait.”

They exchanged a few cold glares before King Robert decided to ignore his wife.

“Ned.” He called, already walking away.

With a last bow to Cersei, Ned followed his old friend and glancing at her mother, Ylina waited for her next instructions.

“Winterfell is your, you Grace.” Catelyn told Queen Cersei. “I hope we can make you comfortable. Now, if you excuse us, I have to help my daughter into her wedding gown.”

With a nod from the Queen, Catelyn walked toward Ylina and linked their arms together. As they walked away, the girl sent Robb and Theon one last glance and the smile in both of their faces was the last thing she saw before Lady Catelyn guided her inside the Castle and toward her bedroom.

***

Her hair was done to perfection, her natural red waves curled just a bit more and pinned back from falling in front of her eyes with her usual silver wolf pin. Her makeup was also a nice touch. Sansa had spent a lot of time on it and, even if she didn't want to admit it, Ylina was scared. Her younger sister was good with this type of things, but she was young. What if it turned out bad? Would she have the heart to tell her? Luckily, she wouldn't be having to. Sansa had done a wonderful job, knowing all the shades she had to use to highlight her vibrant Stark grey eyes and all the ways not to cover her freckles too much.

And her dress… Her dress was beautiful. It was a long sleeved white heavy dress to endure the cold. It had silver details all over it, accumulated more in the coursette and growing more and more apart in the end. It had a long tail following her that her mother had insisted on since she refused on using a veil. Ylina was wearing a small overall coat of white fur and big high heeled boots that made her slightly taller than she actually was.

As she looked at herself in the mirror, she couldn't help but smile. She was getting married to a man she cared for and who cared for her. Not many ladies like her had the opportunity to say the same. Sure their relationship had started quite rocky, but growing up together, both, Theon and Ylina learned to appreciate each other. And now that they were getting married she couldn't be happier. At least, that was what she thought until she spun around in her bedroom only to find her mother trying to hold back tears as she sat on her bed.

"Mother?" She asked, stepping forward and sitting beside Catelyn and reaching over for her hand. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Ylina. Don't worry about me." Catelyn said, wiping her tears away with her free hand. "It's just… You grow up so fast. All of you. I remember the day you were born. So little and fragile in my arms… And now, here you are… In white, ready to become a proper woman. A proper lady. I can barely believe it."

Holding her mother close, Ylina stayed in silence for a while, waiting for Catelyn to calm down. Once she did, Ylina frowned, lacing her fingers through her mother's.

"Do you love me, mother?" She asked.

At that, Catelyn's head snapped in her direction. Her eyes filled with hurt and surprise. Holding her daughter's face in her hands, Catelyn forced Ylina to look at her.

"Ylina, listen to me." She said, sternly, watching as the girl's eyes filled with tears. "I love you. Like I love all of my children. Sure, we usually don't see eye to eye, but you are my daughter. My first daughter. And I love you, Ylina. I'm proud of the woman you've become."

"But I'm not the lady you wanted me to be." She whispered, as Catelyn shook her head.

"No. But you are kind, my love. You are smart, just and fair. Maybe you're not up to all the standards of a lady, but if you ever have to rule, I know you'll be the best leader you can be."

"Mother…"

"Ylina. Don't you ever doubt my love for you, do you understand? I love you, my beautiful daughter, and I'm proud of you, alright?"

"I love you, Mother." Ylina whispered as Catelyn finally let go of her daughter's face to pull her into a hug instead.

And as they held each other, she finally understood. It had been so long since the two had had an intimate moment that wasn't based on them both yelling at each other that Ylina had even started to doubt her love for her. And then, Catelyn felt guilty. How could she ever have let their relationship grow so cold that Ylina would think she didn't love her? How could she ever have allowed her to believe that she'd only appreciate her if she was a real lady, like her sister Sansa? How could she ever have been so blind as to not see the signs so clear? 

She had been stupid and taken their relationship for granted. And, in that moment, she vowed to never let it happen again.

"Very well, let's dry those tears before they ruin the makeup Sansa put so much effort in." Catelyn smiled gently, pulling away from her daughter's embrace as the girl lifted her eyes to meet her mother's. "Get up and let's go. Your father and siblings are waiting. So is the King. And your soon to be husband."

At that, Ylina smiled, nodding slightly and taking Catelyn's hand in hers as her mother guided her out of the bedroom and toward the carriage that would take them both to the woods.

The ride there was quiet, but they held hands the entire time, exchanging gentle looks and smiles and, before they knew it, they were there. Catelyn helped her daughter out of the carriage and walked her toward the first tree of the Godswood, knowing that, turning around it, the most beautiful pathway was made for her to walk down. Kissing her forehead lightly, she smiled one last time at her daughter.

"I'll be at the end of the isle, love." She whispered, before pulling up the ends of her dress and walking toward the end of the isle, standing beside all of her children on the left side of it.

Ylina waited for her father to appear so he could take her to Theon, but, instead, Robb came. With a smile in her direction and fancy clothes covering his body, Ylina watched as he made his way toward her.

"I thought father was supposed to walk me down." She said, linking her arms in his as they stood in front of the closed doors of the sept.

"He was." Her brother nodded, smiling down at her sister proudly. "But someone from Theon’s family had to officiate the wedding, right?"

And as the two of them started to make their way down the aisle, Ylina barely noticed how everyone waited up for her to enter with torches in their hands to light up the way and make the cold air of the night in Winterfell a little bit warmer. Even the King and Queen of Westeros. She barely noticed her mother standing beside her siblings at the end of the isle just beside Ned. All she could see was how her own Father stood proudly right in front of the sacred weirwood heart tree, representing the Greyjoy family members that didn't come, taking Theon as his son even before he married his daughter.

Again, her eyes filled with tears, but before she could start crying properly, Robb was tugging her forward so that they could make their way to the front. And as she passed everyone who had gathered to watch the ceremony of her wedding, her eyes never once left Theon, nor did his leave her.

After Ylina and Robb made their way to the front and her older brother gave his best friend a warm smile, everyone sat down and the ceremony begun.

"Who comes before the Old Gods this night?" Ned asked, as Ylina lifted her eyes to meet Robb’s.

Smiling down at the girl in front of him, Robb lifted his head to face his father again.

"Ylina, of the House Stark, comes here to be wed. A woman grown, trueborn and noble. She comes to beg the blessing of the Gods. Who comes to claim her?"

When the words left Robb’s mouth, Theon glanced at Ned and, when the man nodded at him, he took a step forward as Ylina smiled.

“Theon, of House Greyjoy, lord heir of the Iron Islands. Who gives her?”

“Robb, of House Stark, her brother and lord heir of Winterfell.”

With a nod from her father, Ylina finally let go of Robb’s arm and stepped forward to grab Theon’s hand instead. When he saw the smile on his daughter’s face, the man chuckled. He could’ve done a thousand bad things in his lifetime. He was sure he did. But wedding his daughter to Theon Greyjoy was certainly not one of them.

“Lady Ylina, do you take this man?” Ned asked as the girl nodded.

“I take this man.”

As soon as she was done talking, they both smiled at each other, their happiness shining through their eyes. Exchanging a glance with Ned, Catelyn smiled once she saw the few tears rolling down his face. As Theon placed his hand over Ylina's cheek, he felt the girl leaning slightly at his touch, as excited for the next part of the ceremony as he was.

"With this kiss, I pledge my love." Theon announced, before leaning down and pulling Ylina toward him as their lips met.

Once they broke apart, Ylina reached for Theon's hand and laced their fingers together as they turned around and faced the crowd in the sept as they clapped. But as the warmth from Ylina's hand passed to him, Theon couldn't care less about the applause.

He was part of the Stark family now. He was hers and she was his. From this day, until the end of his days.

[jonsastan]

Author Interview

Thanks for the tag @foreverreadingbeautifulbooks​ 💖

Name: Lily

Fandoms: MANY! Mainly Jonsa in Got and Asoiaf. But I also write for the Anne of Green Gables fandom, and Pride and Prejudice

Where You Post: Ao3 and Tumblr

Most Popular One-Shot: By Kudos, Retail Romance

Most Popular Multi-Chapter Story:  Again, by Kudos it’s Brandon’s Bastard. I haven’t finished it and really want to work on it.

Favourite Story You Wrote: Probably Warm and Home. Which sparked a multi-chapter story that I have also not finished because I’m terrible at finishing things. 

Story You Were Nervous to Post: Ahhhh, probably things for prompt weeks I haven’t felt super happy with but had to post because deadlines are important. 

How You Choose Your Titles: I like things that are alliterative or come in twos or have meaning to the story/character. You can see from my fics in this post. 

Do You Outline: I never outline one-shots, I tend to go with the flow on those. I didn’t used to outline multi-chapters, I was a very freeform kind of writer, but I’ve started outlining and it’s nice to have something to refer to. 

Complete: A few one shots! I haven’t yet finished a multi-chapter (please don’t judge me. I have a short attention span.)

In Progress: Promise Me - Rhaegar Wins!Au and an Arranged Marriage!Au. I’m considering re-writing this one.  Whispers and Wolves - Sansa gets smuggled to Meereen instead of the Vale and Jon finds his way east to his Aunt. (I’m working on this one the most tbh.) Brandon’s Bastard - Ned brings Jon home from the war and tells Cat the truth. Cat accepts Jon, but they say he is Brandon’s bastard, not Neds. (Super excited to write this one after I finish Whispers and Wolves)  

 Coming Soon/Not Yet Started: A few prompts people have sent me! And the next chapter of Whispers and Wolves (exert below!)

~~~

“You have the honour to be before the Regent Jon Snow of Hou-”

“Yes, the bastard and I are old friends.” Tyrion Lannister said, examining his fingers, interrupting Missandei. 

“You’ll show respect here, dwarf.” Jon almost spat from his spot, standing next to the empty marble bench throne. He might be regent, but he was not the king and he would not take what was his aunt’s. Jon’s fury burned as he looked at Tyrion Lannister.

She was barely more than a child and you married her Jon thought, his fist clenching at his side. 

“Why did I expect a better greeting from House Stark in Meereen than I received in Winterfell? Robb Stark bore naked steel to greet me. I see you have mildly better manners than your brother. Or is he your cousin?” 

Jon almost flinched at the mention of Robb’s name. A sense of shame at abandoning his family welling in chest when he thought of Robb dying at the Twins, of Bran and Rickon dying at the hands of the Greyjoys, of Arya lost and probably dead. 

I chose the wrong brothers. 

Jon felt Sansa’s fingers trail gently down his arm.

~~~~

Do You Accept Prompts: HELL YES I DO! SEND THEM TO ME! :) 

Upcoming Story You Are Most Excited to Write: Every prompt that is sent to me! And also the next chapter of Whispers and Wolves.

Tagging: I’m terrible at tagging people! Umm.. @annawoodhull, I’m like 99% @amymel86 has been tagged, but I’ll tag her again. And anyone who feels like it! Please fill it out and tag me, I’d love to know more about other writers and have more ficrecs! :)

[sydneysageivashkov]

Everything We’ve Done (Is There On Our Faces) 8/?

It started, once upon a time, with Ned Stark finding a litter of orphaned dire wolf cubs, with Robert Baratheon riding for Winterfell, with Ned becoming Hand of the King in the viper’s pit that was King’s Landing.

It restarts like this:

Arya and Sansa wake up as children again, a message ringing in their ears. The Old Gods need Westeros to be strong and united to defend the Wall, and the Old Gods don’t forget oaths easily.

(Time travel AU. Eventual Sansa/Theon, Arya/Gendry, Jaime/Brienne.)

AO3 | FF.net

“It’s a terrible thing, what happened,” said Wyman Manderly. “I can’t imagine it would have been easy, for the two of you.”

Ned exchanged a glance with Benjen. “It wasn’t,” agreed Ned. “But it’s over, now, and Sansa can look forward to her marriage with Theon Greyjoy.”

“And good riddance with the Bolton bastard!” exclaimed the Greatjon. “The Gods know we don’t need someone like that as Lord of the Dreadfort, especially with the Long Night coming.”

“He might even have brought back flaying,” agreed Manderly.

It was almost amusing to see the two bannermen who were the most separate culturally agreeing with each other. Perhaps if it hadn’t been over Ramsay Snow, Ned would have found it truly amusing. But with Roose Bolton having already left for the Dreadfort, well before any of the other lords had departed, Ned couldn’t help the coil of worry in his chest.

Roose Bolton was always going to be a threat, regardless of whether they had left Ramsay alone. He had conspired with the Lannisters to murder Robb and Catelyn, and take the other lords of the North hostage, to become Warden of the North, without any provocation. Ned kept reminding himself of it, but it still didn’t sit any easier in his chest.

Howland Reed sat straighter. “Speaking of the Long Night,” he said, “it seems to me that if any castles still have records of the first, then it would be the one built by Brandon the Builder himself.”

“We’ve searched the libraries already,” said Ned. “Maester Luwin just about turned the entire tower upside down, looking for information. There’s nothing.”

“But the Library Tower isn’t the oldest part of Winterfell, is it?” pressed Howland. “Winterfell must have been built and rebuilt a hundred times over, over the centuries. Perhaps it’s only in the oldest parts of the castle that the truth remains.”

Benjen met Ned’s eyes. “The crypts.”

“The oldest parts are collapsed,” said Ned. “It will take time to access them fully. But – we can try.” Something like a cross between anticipation and dread settled in the pit of Ned’s stomach. It was the best lead they had, one that they had never had before – but the idea of venturing into the depths of the crypts unsettled him. And he would have to take the girls with him, because if anyone knew what was relevant, it would be them, even though every instinct in him rebelled against it.

“Winterfell isn’t the only castle that dates back to the first Long Night,” said the Greatjon. “Last Hearth does, as well.” The Dreadfort, too, thought Ned, though he expected that Roose Bolton would be of little help.

“The Nightfort is the oldest castle on the Wall,” said Benjen. “It’s been abandoned for a long time, though, and it was rebuilt many times – I don’t know if there would be any writings left.”

“It’s worth a try,” said Ned. “Perhaps you should look at manning it again, with the fresh men coming to the Wall.”

“Hopefully, we’ll be able to man more of the castles than just that,” said Benjen. “If we’re to have any chance, we’ll need to man them all.”

“The King will be in Winterfell soon,” said Ned. “When he hears of the situation, he’ll send more men north to man the Wall. All of Westeros will be ready to fight the Walkers when they come.”

“The Age of Heroes come again,” said Catelyn. Ned turned to see her standing in the doorway. She entered to sit by his side. “I never much wanted heroes, but it seems I’ve no choice in the matter.�� A peaceful life, raising their children and ruling the North; that was all he and Catelyn had wanted since they had married, so long ago now.

“My lady,” greeted Manderly, inclining his head slightly. “You spoke very well at the meeting.”

“She always speaks well,” interjected Ned.

Catelyn gave him a small, pleased smile. “It is an important issue, my lord,” she told Manderly. “I knew that it would be difficult for anyone to believe, but I hoped that my word – that of an Andal – might sway more people.”

“It certainly did that,” rumbled the Greatjon.

“We were discussing searching the crypts and having the Nightfort searched for information about the Others,” Ned told her.

“They were both built by Bran the Builder,” explained the Greatjon.

“I’m aware, my lord,” said Catelyn. “Was Storm’s End not also built by Bran the Builder, according to legend? I know that most maesters do not believe it was, but most maesters also believe that the Nightfort and Winterfell weren’t built by the same man.”

“Another thing to speak with the King about,” said Ned, nodding. “If Bran the Builder truly had a hand in Storm’s End, it’s possible he left something behind there.”

Catelyn turned to Benjen, Manderly and the Greatjon. “If you will excuse us, my lords, I would like to speak with my lord husband.” She waited for the three men to shuffle out of the room before she turned back to Ned. “I think that you should send someone else to the Wall.”

“Sansa and Arya both say that Jon is our best chance of treating with the Wildlings,” said Ned, his shoulders tensing.

“I mean in addition to the boy,” said Catelyn. “I won’t lie and say that it will not ease my mind, having another of our children on the Wall while Jon Snow treats with the Wildlings – but I trust Sansa and Arya’s judgement. I have to. So no, Ned, that is not the only reason I have for sending someone else.”

“What else?” asked Ned, his tone still wary.

“Sending one of our trueborn sons to the Wall shows that we are serious about the White Walker threat,” explained Catelyn. “While you and I know why you can’t go yourself, there will be some who see your absence as Winterfell not taking the threat seriously. If we send one of our trueborn sons, then it demonstrates that we are.”

“Robb, then?” asked Ned. “Bran?”

Catelyn hesitated. “I’m not sure,” she admitted. “Bran is so young, but if things go wrong while you’re in King’s Landing, we need Robb here.”

“Things won’t go wrong,” promised Ned. “I am as prepared as I can be, Cat. I won’t wait for Robert to die to break the news. Sansa and Arya will be both be there to advise me.”

“Cersei Lannister is still the daughter of one of the most powerful men in Westeros,” said Catelyn. “We cannot underestimate that family, Ned. It’s one mistake that we made the other time, and half our family died for it.”

“I won’t,” said Ned. “Like you said, we have to trust Sansa and Arya’s judgement, and I will. I promise.” Catelyn pressed her lips together, not meeting his eyes. “Cat. I swear to you, on the old gods and the new, that I will not make the same mistakes that I did the other time.”

Catelyn almost smiled, and said, “That oath still means you can make new ones.”

“I have no way of knowing what those mistakes will be, so I can’t promise you that,” said Ned. “I would if I could, though. You know that I would; that I wouldn’t do anything to harm you or our children.”

Catelyn’s eyes squeezed shut, and she turned her back to him. After a long moment, she whispered, “Then why have you not acted about Jon Snow?”

Ned’s heart skipped a beat. All he could think was she knows, she knows – but that was impossible, he realised as his rational brain caught up with the rest of him. “Jon wouldn’t do anything to harm our children.”

“Oh?” asked Catelyn, her voice icy. “He took our children’s birth right when he allowed himself to be crowned King in the North. It was Bran’s by right, and even if they didn’t know about Bran’s survival, then the crown should have fallen to Sansa. It was her birthright and he took it, just like I always warned you.”

“Sansa and Arya both say that they supported him,” said Ned. “You said that you trust their judgement.”

“They shouldn’t have needed to support him!” cried Catelyn. “It should never even have been a question. The lords should have never seen him as an option when he had a trueborn sister sitting right next to him.”

Ned’s breath caught. He didn’t know how to argue that; she wasn’t wrong in her assessment, even if Ned struggled to imagine Jon actively setting out to steal his sibling’s seat. More likely, he thought, that one of the Northern lords had named him and he hadn’t protested when Sansa hadn’t. But Catelyn was right in that, too; by all rights, Jon shouldn’t have been an option.

Before he even had a chance to formulate a response, Catelyn continued, “The only reason I have not asked you to remove him from Winterfell is because I know that we will need his help, no matter what my feelings are. But something has to be done, my lord.”

“What do you want me to do?” he asked. “Do you wish for me to punish him for something he hasn’t done? Even Theon, who remembers what he did in the other time, I only sentenced to squire for Ser Rodrik and to help Bran and Rickon with their studies. What would you have me do to Jon?”

Catelyn deflated. “I don’t know,” she whispered. More clearly, she said, “I don’t know, my lord. But can we risk him taking my children’s rightful place?”

-

The fire in Sansa’s chambers was roaring wonderfully warm. Sansa was crammed into her bed with Bran on one side, Arya on the other, and Rickon at her feet, because he had seen the other two lying in bed with her and refused to be left out. Jon and Robb were on the few chairs she had in her room, and the direwolves had all crowded into the room, and were lying half on top of each other by the fire. Sansa wasn’t sure she had ever seen her chambers so full, but she also couldn’t remember the last time she had felt this safe and warm.

“They were magnificent,” Arya was saying. “We couldn’t have fit them into the courtyard. I was so jealous that Jon could ride on one.”

“Rhaegal,” remembered Sansa. “He rode Rhaegal, named after Rhaegar Targaryen.”

“Little ironic, isn’t it?” said Robb wryly. “Riding the dragon named after the man who kidnapped our aunt.”

“The other options were riding a dragon named after Viserys Targaryen or a Dothraki warlord,” said Sansa, her voice dry. “Daenerys told me a little of her brother, while we tried to find an accord. I don’t think he was any better a namesake.”

“I’m more caught on the fact I rode a dragon at all,” said Jon.

“Oh, you did more than that,” jeered Arya. Robb choked on air at the innuendo while Jon gaped at her openly.

“More than ride?” asked Rickon, peeping up at them with wide, innocent eyes.

“He helped look after them,” said Sansa quickly. “Like how Theon has to help take care of the horses.” Arya opened her mouth, a smirk still on her face, so Sansa cut her off. “And you can’t talk, or did you not spend our last few hours with a certain blacksmith?” Arya’s mouth snapped shut.

“She did what?” demanded Robb, as Jon crossed his arms as if he was ready to threaten the blacksmith here and now.

Arya buried her face in her hands. “Oh, gods, Sansa, you really had to go right for the throat, didn’t you?”

“What blacksmith?” pressed Jon. “Is he here in Winterfell?”

“No,” groaned Arya. “He’s in King’s Landing, far from your reach.” Jon and Robb both huffed, sharing a look. “Oh, for the love of – I was a woman grown! I thought I only had a few hours left and I started it, you bloody idiots.” Jon looked faintly ill at the thought of Arya starting anything of the sort.

“Maybe I’ll have to join you when you go to King’s Landing,” grumbled Robb, though only half-heartedly.

“If there’s one thing you should know about Arya,” said Sansa, “it’s that trying to forbid her of anything will only make her want it more.”

“He’s not an it!” said Arya hotly, at the same time as Robb conceded, “That’s true.”

“What about you, Sansa?” asked Bran, snuggling closer. “Did you find anyone?”

Sansa swallowed, looking down. “No,” she said, softly. “I’m afraid I didn’t, Bran. But that’s okay, because I found you again, and Arya and Jon and Theon. I wasn’t alone.” There was silence for a moment, as Arya laid her hand against Sansa’s shoulder. Sansa let herself smile as she leant her head against Arya’s.

Robb broke the silence, saying, “But back to the blacksmith. I need to know his name, at least.”

“What, so you can tell Father?” scoffed Arya. “I’m not an idiot, Robb.”

“I didn’t say you were,” said Robb, looking put out.

“You married a girl from Volantis,” intervened Sansa, taking pity on Arya and Robb both. “It was a love match. Talisa, her name was.”

“Talisa Maegyr,” supplied Arya. “They say she was kind. She was a nurse, I think.” Robb whispered the name to himself with something like wonder in his voice. Arya smiled. “Left a comfortable life in Volantis to become a nurse. I think I would have liked her.”

“I think I would have, too,” said Sansa.

“Then I hope I’ll meet her again,” declared Robb. Sansa couldn’t quite meet his eyes, so she looked down at her hands. She wasn’t sure how to tell him she already had other plans for him. But the girls I’ve picked out for him are good people, too, she reminded herself. Meera protected Bran, Wynafryd seems to be decent, and Margaery – unlikely a match as she is – was always kind to me and to the smallfolk. He can be happy with them.

“What about me?” asked Bran. “Did I have anybody?”

“And me!” exclaimed Rickon, though Sansa thought it was more because he didn’t want to be left out than any actual interest in girls.

“You were too young, Rickon,” said Arya, “and no, Bran.”

“But we can fix that,” Sansa added quickly. “Shireen Baratheon’s about your age, isn’t she?” It was a good match to make, since it tied them more closely to a powerful Southern House, should the worst happen. Bran would be betrothed to the second in line to the Iron Throne when Cersei’s infidelity was exposed. It might even discourage Robert from seeking any other betrothals between House Baratheon and House Stark, or at least pacify him when he discovered that he couldn’t marry Sansa off to Joffrey.

Bran made a face. “I don’t have to marry her anytime soon, do I?”

Arya snorted, not even bothering to pretend to cover it with a cough. Sansa shot her a look and said, “Of course not. You’re both still too young to be married.”

“Good,” said Bran, slumping back down in the bed.

“I remember wanting to name my children -” started Sansa, but was cut off.

“Oh no,” stage-whispered Arya. Sansa drove her elbow into Arya’s side, and Arya half-groaned, half-laughed.

“I wanted to name them after all of you,” said Sansa. “When the Tyrrells tried to marry me to Loras, I used to dream about having children that were like having you back.” She spotted Robb hiding a smile, and she cocked her head. “What?”

“Nothing,” said Robb, shaking his head. “It’s just – that’s the most Sansa thing I’ve heard you say in months, dreaming of marriage and children.” Sansa ducked her head. “I hadn’t realised that I’d missed it.”

“I still want them,” she said, quietly. “It’s just that I can’t see how I can bring children into the world, knowing what’s coming, and still be a good mother.”

Robb’s eyes widened slightly, and he looked down to the floor. “Then I shouldn’t meet Talisa Maegyr,” he said. “Or if I do, I should tell her to go home to Volantis while she still can.” Sansa’s heart squeezed painfully in her chest at the thought: Robb giving up a chance at happiness to keep his happiness safe. It was stupidly noble, but oh so Robb.

“Come here,” ordered Sansa, holding out her hand. He looked ready to protest, so Sansa repeated more forcefully, “Come here.” Robb reluctantly stood up from the chair and took her hand, looking unsurprised when she tugged him down so he collapsed on top of the bed. Bran let out an ‘oof!’ as Robb landed partly on his legs, and Arya laughed with delight.

Jon was watching them indulgently, but with a closely guarded jealousy that Sansa would never have recognised the first time around. “What are you still doing there?” she asked pointedly.

Jon started. “I couldn’t -”

“Yes, you bloody well can,” said Arya, as Bran and Rickon started to call out their own encouragements.

“Arguing with our sisters in very unwise, Snow,” said Robb, who was still rearranging himself in an attempt not to crush any of his younger siblings. “Gods know how you’re going to find a spot, though.”

Jon perched on the very edge of Sansa’s bed. Arya rolled her eyes, pulling him down so that he was half-lying across her lap, head bumping next to Robb’s. Bran pulled his legs out from under Robb as Rickon gleefully collapsed on top of Robb, aiming all of his weight for Robb’s stomach.

“Good gods, Rickon, when did you get so heavy?” Robb complained half-heartedly, but his arms encircled Rickon automatically.

“You know that the only reason we have any chance at all is because of the two of you,” said Jon, looking up at Sansa and Arya. “I mean, we all died in your time, but now we know what’s coming. We can still win this. You can still have your children, Sansa, and Robb can still meet Talisa Maegyr if he wants.”

“And I can still become a knight!” said Bran.

“And me!” added Rickon, again unwilling to be left out.

“And you, Arya?” asked Sansa. “What are you going to be doing?”

Arya hummed for a moment, thinking. “I don’t know, yet. I just want to make it through, right now.”

“We’ll do it,” said Sansa. “We’ll do it, and my children will have to have names all of their own, because you’ll all be here with me.”

-

“Are we all ready?” asked Ned, glancing down and into the darkness of the crypts.

“Should your daughters be coming?” asked the Greatjon, his voice blunt.

“We’re daughters of House Stark,” said Arya tartly. “Those our ancestors in those crypts. What’s your reasoning for entering Winterfell’s crypts, again?” The Greatjon looked startled enough that Jon had to swallow back laughter.

“Let them come,” advised Ned. “No doubt they’ll follow us down if we tried to leave them behind.”

“No doubt,” agreed Sansa frostily.

“Then we should move on,” said Ned. Jon gripped his torch tighter and followed Ned into the crypts. Arya walked beside him, Robb and Sansa only a step or two behind, and Benjen, the Greatjon and Howland Reed taking up the rear. The air chilled as soon as they stepped into the crypts. Jon resisted pulling his cloak tighter around himself, knowing that it would only grow colder as they descended deeper.

“It’s been a long time since I was in here,” murmured Sansa. Jon glanced back. Her face was pale, and she clutched at her torch so tightly her knuckles were white. He had forgotten, until this moment, that Sansa had died in the crypts, but it was obvious Sansa hadn’t. She glanced nervously into the shadowy corners of the crypt, walking slightly closer to Robb than was necessary.

“They’re all in the tombs,” promised Robb. Sansa’s lips puckered, and Jon knew what she was thinking as clearly as if she had said it aloud: For how long?

Jon glanced at Arya. Although she gripped her torch tightly, she otherwise seemed unbothered by being surrounded by dead men, even after everything she had seen.

“We need to keep moving,” said Ned. “The tombs go deep, and I don’t think any of us want to be in here any longer than we have to be.”

“Of course, Father,” said Sansa, her voice subdued.

They had descended another two levels when Arya spoke up. “Why do all the tombs have swords across their laps?”

“Old Nan always said it was to keep their spirits sealed in,” said Jon. “Though I’ve got no idea why they thought that would work.”

“No, but…” Arya trailed off as she approached an old tomb, peering up at it. “Placing a sword across your knees shows that you aren’t offering guest right. Why are our ancestors refusing guest right?”

Jon’s mouth opened, though he didn’t have an answer. He exchanged a glance with Robb. Around them, Ned, Benjen and the lords looked around at the statues, more apprehensively than they had before. Suddenly, the faces carved into stone did not look as familiar as they had done, all of his life. They seemed to take on a new dimension, not like a Stark in their features, but something distinctly alien.

Even if Arya’s right, these men would have lived too long after the Long Night to remember what happened, Jon told himself. They’re Starks, like Robb or Arya or Sansa. They won’t show us harm.

“Who are they denying guest right?” asked Sansa. “They couldn’t deny us guest right, could they? We aren’t guests in Winterfell.”

“Maybe the Others?” suggested Robb.

“We might not be guests to Winterfell, but we’re guests to the crypts,” said Ned, his voice dark. “We have to be more careful, going forwards.”

“There aren’t any White Walkers hiding in the crypts,” pointed out the Greatjon. “No matter who they’re rejecting, they can’t do anything about it.” Jon saw Sansa and Arya looking at each other out of the corner of his eye; neither of them seemed reassured by the Greatjon’s words.

The ground seemed to creek beneath under Jon’s feet as they made their way further down, dust kicking up at his feet with every step he took. With each level, the dust grew thicker, until Jon thought that he could choke on it if he breathed too deeply.

“We’ll be seeing the cave-ins soon,” warned Ned, not bothering to look over his shoulder. “It’s going to be dangerous. If anyone wants to turn back, this is the time.”

“Couldn’t find my way back even if I wanted to,” grunted the Greatjon, to which Howland Reed made an agreeing sound.

“We should keep moving,” said Arya, and Jon nodded in agreement. Ned cast a worried glance at Sansa, but in spite of her pale face and uneven breathing, she stepped forwards to stand in line with Jon and Arya.

“We’ll all go on,” she told Ned. A flicker of pride flashed through Ned’s eyes before he nodded solemnly.

They picked their way carefully through the remainder of the tombs. This far deep, the features had been weathered away, leaving only faceless statues watching their progression with brittle, broken swords across their knees. Somehow, this felt worse than statues at the top of the crypts; the statues no longer felt like Stark ancestors, but an ancient, unknowable force. The broken swords were the only comfort; even if they somehow got loose, they wouldn’t be difficult to repel.

Jon turned back to help Sansa over rubble, the partially collapsed remains of the roof. Arya scrambled behind Sansa, her breeches looking beaten and her hair a mess. Lady Stark might have a heart attack when she sees Arya, thought Jon, amused. Up ahead, Ned, the Greatjon, Reed and Robb were working to clear the path.

“Do you think we’ll find anything?” asked Jon. He hated to think that they’d ventured so far down when there was nothing to find. The dirt above their heads seemed ominous, as if it would fall in any second.

Arya shrugged. “I haven’t the foggiest.”

“Lord Reed is right, though,” said Sansa. “If anything remains, it’ll be in the depths of the crypts, and we need all the information we can get.”

“Girls, Jon!” called Ned. He and the others had managed to clear a small hole at the top of the cave-in. Howland Reed was already scrambling through it. It looked hardly large enough for the Greatjon to fit through, but he managed to cram his way through. Jon sent Sansa and Arya ahead of him, before making his was through the last of all.

“There’s something up there,” said Sansa, brushing dirt off of her skirt. “All boarded up, by the look of it.”

Sansa was right; it was hard to see it in the low light, but someone had made an effort to place wood and earth across a narrow entranceway between two tombs, just as the crypts turned a corner. They were on one of the lowest levels, now, although not quite at the bottom – they were far enough down that they were in the levels Brandon the Builder himself had probably walked the halls of, building tombs and burying his family members.

Arya slipped away from the others before anyone could stop her, approaching the door. “I think it’s newer,” she said, surprise colouring her voice. “All this wood, I mean. It hasn’t rotten away as much as the supports, and it’s definitely been hammered in over the top of the door.”

Silence met her report. Jon didn’t want to think it, but he couldn’t help but wonder: what had been hidden in there?

Silently, without any discussion, Reed and the Greatjon withdrew the daggers from their belts. It hadn’t been easy to find enough dragonglass around Winterfell to create any daggers – there weren’t even enough to go round. Ned took his dragonglass dagger from its sheath, motioning for Arya and Sansa to get behind the others. Arya made a face, but obeyed. Jon and Robb got to work tearing the wood from the door, the other men hovering behind them with daggers at the ready. The wood came free easily enough. It may not have been as rotten as the rest at this level, but it was still thousands of years old, old enough that it made Jon dizzy to think about.

When the wood was cleared away, Robb tried the door. It didn’t move. Gritting his teeth, Robb backed up a few steps before throwing his whole weight against the door. It gave way and Robb stumbled into the room, Ned rushing in after him. Jon followed.

It was clear that the room hadn’t seen life in generations: everything was covered in a thick layer of dust, and the air felt stale and still. Against one wall was shelves full of books, still in tact even after all these years, and most remarkable of all was a sword, resting against the wall opposite Jon, held up in what seemed to be a position of honour.

“Ice,” breathed Ned, because there was nothing else that the sword could be. This had to be the original Ice, the one that had been replaced by the Valyrian steel sword somewhere above their heads. With a sudden rush of horrified understanding, Jon realised exactly where the name had come from.

Arya crossed the room and stared up at the sword with wide, flinty eyes. “This is the kind of sword the White Walkers used,” she whispered. “The kind of sword that killed me.”

“Why do we have a sword of the Others?” asked Robb, even though there was no one living who could provide him an answer.

“They sealed this away,” said Sansa. “I always thought that the original Ice must have broken, but it wasn’t. One of our ancestors purposefully sealed it away and hid the truth from the rest of us.”

Howland Reed alone had moved to the bookshelf. Gingerly, he took down a stack of parchments. They had been discoloured by age, but otherwise seemed unharmed. “If there are answers anywhere, it will be in these.”

“Be careful with them,” cautioned Ned.

“Being sealed in this room must have preserved them,” went on Reed. “The air is so still – water couldn’t have gotten in and the temperature probably didn’t change much in here. Your ancestor might be the one reason we have any records at all.”

But why do we have an ice sword? Jon thought, but didn’t bother saying, because no answers were forthcoming.

Sansa handed her torch to Robb and took some parchment from Howland Reed. With Robb holding the fire close to the documents, Sansa skimmed through the first few pages, murmuring to herself.

Jon went to stand before Ice. A chill seemed to emanate from it. It must be magic, he thought to himself. How else could it have survived all these years, rather than melting away with the summer? It was larger than a great sword, although not by much. Jon wondered if it was heavier or lighter than the Valyrian steel sword. Valyrian steel was already lighter than ordinary steel – was ice lighter again?

“Arya.”

Sansa’s voice cut through the still room, short and brittle. Jon realised that he had been reaching for Ice, and snatched his hand back and away from it. Arya was hurrying to Sansa’s side.

“The Three-Eyed Raven watches us all,” Sansa read aloud. “We cannot hide from him. We don’t know how to escape him.”

Arya stared at Sansa. “They’re talking like -”

“Like they’re scared of the Three-Eyed Raven,” finished Sansa. “But Bran was the Three-Eyed Raven, wasn’t he? He couldn’t have been back in the first Long Night.”

“He wasn’t the first,” said Arya. “That’s why he went north, to learn from the one before him. They must stretch all the way back to the Long Night. But Bran was on our side. Why are they scared of him?”

Sansa scanned the rest of the piece of parchment. “A thousand eyes and one,” she read. “Stay inside the keeps. The Heart Tree can no longer be trusted. He controls the Godswoods.” She looked up. “It’s a letter from an Umber to Winterfell. A warning, apparently.”

“But Bran was trying to stop the Others!” protested Arya, desperation in her voice. “Why would we hide from Bran? Why would they hide from the Three-Eyed Raven?”

Sansa stared around the room with wild eyes. “What if he wasn’t?” she whispered.

“What are you saying, Sansa?” asked Arya, her voice low and dangerous.

“He told us a hundred times over that he wasn’t Brandon Stark anymore, just the Three-Eyed Raven,” said Sansa. “The first time I spoke with him after I came home, do you know what he said to me? He said that I looked beautiful, the first night Ramsay - ” Sansa broke off with a shudder. She wiped a tear furiously from her eyes before she continued. “He didn’t hug me at all. He barely hugged you. Does that sound like Bran to you?”

“Who else would it be?”

“What if…” Sansa licked her lips nervously. “Bran called us ‘sister’ when he sent us back, but he never called us that after he became the Three-Eye Raven. So what if it was Bran, or whatever was left of him, that sent us back, not the Three-Eyed Raven? What if Bran overpowered the rest of the Three-Eyed Raven to send us all back? What if that’s why Ramsay came, too? Because Bran couldn’t control it enough, because he wasn’t truly in control, and he accidentally sent Ramsay with us, because he had technically sworn an oath to me, even if he’d never had any plans of fulfilling it.”

“But then what was the Three-Eyed Raven planning?” asked Arya.

“I don’t know,” said Sansa. “I don’t… But we have an ice sword, here in the crypts, sealed away.”

“It could be a trophy,” said Ned. “The first of the Starks may have taken it from the Others as a prize.”

“Then why seal it away?” fired back Sansa. “We’ve been telling the world winter is coming for thousands of years. If there was any proof that the White Walkers had existed, it was that sword. So why would one of our ancestors be ashamed of a trophy?”

“You’re saying that we got it from – what? A trade?” asked Robb.

“I don’t know!” exclaimed Sansa. “I don’t know. But I think the story is a lot more complicated than what the Three-Eyed Raven told us. I think there’s more to the Others than wanting to destroy the world’s stories.”

“You think the Three-Eyed Raven lied to you all,” said Ned. “What motive could he have for that? Assuming that there is a way to communicate with the Others – because how else could we have made a trade? – why would the Three-Eyed Raven lie to you all? What’s his motive for all of this?”

“The answers, if there are any, will be in these,” said Sansa, holding up her stack of parchments. “We need to read them all before we do anything else.”

Arya gasped, sinking to her knees.

“What?” asked Jon, dropping to his knees beside her. “What is it?”

“If the Three-Eyed Raven is evil…” said Arya. She looked up to meet Sansa’s eyes. “We’ve been meeting in front of the Heart Tree. He knows. He knows everything.”

-

Arya threw the door to the library tower open and sprinted up the stairs. She could hear voices calling for her, and footsteps following her, but she didn’t pause until she reached the top of the stairs, scanning the room for only half a second.

Maester Luwin was at the front of the room, lecturing from a book, while Bran and Rickon sat next to him. Theon was kneeling next to Bran, saying something to him quietly. Arya ran to Bran’s side, knocking Theon aside in her haste.

“What the fu -” started Theon, before cutting himself off at a look from Luwin.

“Are you okay?” demanded Arya, looking over him for any signs of the Three-Eyed Raven’s influence, like it would be visible.

Bran looked at her, curious but a bit bemused. Good; that was good. Emotions meant that the Three-Eyed Raven hadn’t gotten to him yet. “I’m fine, Arya.”

The footsteps pursuing her stopped at the entranceway. Arya glanced up; Ned was in the doorway, with Robb, Jon and Sansa crowding behind him.

“You’d tell me if you had any strange dreams, wouldn’t you?” pressed Arya. “If you had any dreams about ravens, for instance?”

“Not one,” said Bran. “What’s going on?”

Arya slumped, dragging Bran into a bear hug. “Tell me or Sansa the second you wake up from one, alright? Promise me.”

“I promise,” said Bran, even though it was clear from his voice he had no idea what he was promising.

“Maester Luwin, could you take Rickon to finish his lesson elsewhere?” asked Sansa. “And send Mother and Lady Brienne here, while you’re at it.”

Maester Luwin bowed his head. “Of course, Lady Sansa. Come along, Rickon.”

“What’s going on?” asked Theon, his voice weary. “I thought you were all just going down into the crypts.”

“We were,” said Sansa. “We found documents, and…” Sansa shook her head in disbelief. “A sword made of ice.”

“Like -?” started Theon, unable to say it aloud.

“Like the ones the Others used,” confirmed Sansa. “Uncle Benjen, Lord Umber and Lord Reed are bringing some of them up now, but we’ll have to make return trips – especially since we had to chase after Arya instead of bringing some up for ourselves.”

Arya jutted her chin up, unrepentant. “I had to see Bran.”

Sansa sighed, coming to kneel by Bran herself. “Are you sure, Bran? Sure that you haven’t dreamt of any three-eyed ravens?”

“I swear it,” insisted Bran.

“Wait – Three-Eyed Raven as in Bran?” asked Theon. “I mean, the other Bran.”

“No, not Bran,” said Sansa. “There’s been one more of the Three-Eyed Raven, and – well, let’s wait for Mother and Brienne to arrive, so we don’t have to explain it twice.”

“It is very important that you tell us, Bran,” said Ned, his voice solemn. Bran nodded, wide-eyed, his face beginning to pale. Robb sunk into the chair Rickon had just left, rubbing his face tiredly.

“I can’t believe we might have cocked this all up,” he said, voice muffled by his hands.

“We?” repeated Sansa. “No, this is on Arya and me. You knew nothing. We should have guessed.”

“How could we have guessed?” asked Arya. “He was helping us; he sent us back. How were we to know?”

“But he told us a dozen times -” started Sansa, but was interrupted as the door opened again. Catelyn and Brienne entered, surveying the room quickly.

“Something’s wrong,” stated Catelyn.

“Very wrong,” said Sansa. “Gods, Mother, we might have doomed us all.”

Brienne blanched at Sansa’s words, but Catelyn held firm, her eyes widening only a little. She strode across the room and took up Maester Luwin’s old seat, looking more like a queen in it than Cersei or Daenerys ever had. “Tell me everything.”

“We found documents,” said Ned. “They mentioned the Three-Eyed Raven.”

“What Bran was, in the other time?” checked Catelyn.

“It’s what we thought he was,” said Arya.

“There is more than one Three-Eyed Raven,” explained Sansa. “Bran was taught how to become the Three-Eyed Raven. The line stretches all the way back to the first Long Night.”

“Except that what we read in that parchment didn’t match up with what Bran – or what we thought was Bran – told us,” said Arya. “Whoever it was writing that record, they were scared of the Three-Eyed Raven, as scared of him as they were of the Others.”

“I’m going to be as evil as the Others?” whispered Bran, pulling away from Arya.

“No!” exclaimed Arya. “No. You still saved us, remember? It was you who sent us back.”

“I think that the Three-Eyed Raven is like…” Sansa hesitated. “It’s like a castle, that’s been added to a hundred times over. Maybe more has been added to it than what it began as, but it’s still a castle, you see?” To Bran, she said, “It’s like if they added a Maester’s wing to a castle that had never had one before. You’re the Maester’s wing; you’re the good part.” To the rest of the room, she said, “I think that when we were dying, Bran managed to take what was left of him, inside the Three-Eyed Raven, and sent us back. So it wasn’t the Three-Eyed Raven that sent us back, it was Bran, using the Three-Eyed Raven’s abilities, and he tried to send people back to help us. That’s why Arya and I were told to stop everything, and Brienne and Theon were only told to fulfil their oaths – their oaths to us, to help and protect us.” Sansa paced back and forth across the room. “Except Bran couldn’t fully control it, or maybe the other parts of the Three-Eyed Raven tried to sabotage him, and that’s why Ramsay was sent back, because he did swear an oath to me, even if he never had any intention of fulfilling it.”

“We’ll stop this,” promised Arya. “You’re never going to become part of the Three-Eyed Raven, Bran. I’ll die before it happens.”

“I don’t understand,” cut in Catelyn. “How does this make us doomed?”

“The Three-Eyed Raven can see through the faces of the Heart Trees,” said Arya, “and Sansa and I have been talking in front of the Heart Tree since the first time we woke up back here. The Three-Eyed Raven knows everything.”

“That still doesn’t mean we’re doomed,” said Brienne. “The Three-Eyed Raven, regardless of whether it was Bran or not, was helping us against the Others.”

“Was he?” asked Sansa.

“I’m sorry?” said Brienne.

“What did he do against the Others?” asked Sansa. “He told us that he was what the Others were pursuing, but we don’t have any proof of that. He didn’t tell us much about their movements; he didn’t help Arya or me when we were – he didn’t tell us any information that could have persuaded Daenerys Targaryen sooner or Cersei Lannister at all. What did he do to help us?”

Theon and Brienne sat silent at that, dumbfounded.

“A monster stole our brother’s body,” hissed Arya. “He stole Bran’s body and he’s been spying on us all this time.”

“But none of this means that he was working against us,” pointed out Catelyn.

“What more proof do you need?” demanded Arya.

Catelyn held her hand up. “I believe you,” she said. “But you’re missing several puzzle pieces, such as: what was the Three-Eyed Raven doing, if not helping you? And why do you think he was lying about the Others’ motivation? Why did the First Men go back to using the Godswoods, if they were so scared of the Three-Eyed Raven watching them?”

“We found a sword in the crypts,” said Ned. “It must have been the original Ice, because… because it was made of ice, like the weapons of the White Walkers.” He glanced at Sansa. “I’m still not convinced, but Sansa has suggested it is evidence of a trade.”

“Why hide it?” asked Sansa. “Father says it may be a trophy, but why would our ancestors have hid a trophy? No, I think they had to have been ashamed of it, and that only makes sense if we won it peacefully, somehow – as part of a trade, or as part of a peace agreement, or something. We’ve been warning people of the coming winter for thousands of years, and why would we hide away the proof of the White Walkers’ existence if there wasn’t some kind of shame attached to it?”

“None of that means that we traded with the White Walkers, or that we had any kind of agreement with them,” pointed out Robb. “How would we, anyway?”

“The Night’s Watch deserter said that they spoke to each other,” said Jon. “Maybe our ancestors learnt it, same as we could learn any language.”

“What kind of agreement would we have made?” asked Ned. “There are holes in your theory.”

“But not the inescapable kind,” said Arya. “We might be able to find answers in the crypts.”

“Do you believe Sansa?” asked Catelyn, looking directly at Arya.

“I’m not sure,” said Arya. “All I know is that the Three Eyed Raven isn’t who he said he was, so we can’t trust anything he said. But the Night King didn’t offer any parley…” Nothing fits together, thought Arya in frustration. If the Three-Eyed Raven was a threat, was he the same threat as the Others? Was he a separate threat altogether?

The Old Gods were meant to be the ones living in the weirwoods. Where did they fit into all of this? Did they exist at all, or had it always been the Three-Eyed Raven rustling in the trees, leading people to exactly where he wanted them?

For all of that, though, some things fit far too well for Arya to dismiss them. Sansa’s theory made sense: why else would Ramsay have been sent back? There was no way Ramsay Bolton would have ever even considering helping to stop the Others. If it had been the mistake of a boy who couldn’t fully control his powers, or the deliberate sabotage by someone who could, then the puzzle pieces began to slot together.

“Robb said, once, that the White Walkers now probably aren’t the same as in the Long Night,” said Jon. “Perhaps this Night King is more ruthless than the last.”

“Perhaps,” sighed Ned. “We need more information.”

“But we have enough information to say this: we must be careful in what we say before the Heart Tree,” declared Catelyn. “Avoid it whenever you can.”

“We can’t,” whispered Sansa. She cleared her throat and repeated herself. “We can’t. If we suddenly stop discussing things before the Heart Tree, then he’ll suspect that we know.”

“So we keep feeding him information?” scoffed Arya in disbelief.

“Some,” said Sansa. “Not our most important plans and our secrets, of course. Sometimes we might even deliberately mislead him. But if the Three-Eyed Raven is a threat, we need to keep him unaware that we’re on to him for as long as we can, so he has less time to outmanoeuvre us.”

“Sansa…” Ned shook his head, his forehead creased with worry. “I know that you have played the game of thrones and that you have won, but if all of this is true, than the Three-Eyed Raven will be far beyond anybody else in Westeros. He will have had millennia to plan. It might be best for us to remove ourselves from his game altogether.”

“But we can’t remove ourselves from his game,” argued Sansa, jutting her chin up defiantly. “Don’t you see? Whatever his game is, it has to do with the Others. So long as the Others are marching on us, we are a part of his game. The only option we have is to outplay him.”