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rise-my-angel · 2 months ago

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Heart of the Great Wolf

64 - A Mockingbird's End

Pairing: Jon Snow x F!Baratheon!Reader, Robb Stark x F!Baratheon!Reader (Past)

Length: 16.3k

Warnings: angst/hurt comfort, past character deaths, mentions of violence, disturbing or gory imagery, mental duress, executions, character death

Notes: I'm sorry this took so long to come out. Previous Chapter Here, Series Masterlist Here

The last she had been down here, somehow felt as if she were more lost now compared to then, even despite the turmoil in her mind. Looking up to his statue, Sansa could not say how long she had been there, seeing his face stern in the stone carved just like she could remember it and yet not at all. If she thought back carefully, she could still remember the final good times. How even though she had previously claimed to Septa Mordane that she would never forgive her father, never wanted to speak to him again, she had broken that instantly on the second day of the Hands Tournament.

A silly wishful girl who had been enamoured with Ser Loras Tyrell gifting her a red rose as his favour, and the memories of the day before having watched The Mountain thrust his lance into a mans throat he bled out on the ground. Without any thought, Sansa had leaned into her father, wrapping her arm around his in worry. The manner of softness her father gently held her hand, murmuring that it was alright. How neither let go when the Mountain sliced his great sword through the neck of his horse, or when he attacked the weaponless Ser Loras and too watching as the Hound fought the Mountain in defence. Even when it was all over, only did either let go as Sansa stood to clap.

Her father never got angry with her for what happened at the inn. Never looked at her with a betrayal, only confusion as to what was happening around him. How despite she tried to put the blame on him for being the one to do it, he had delegated the task of ending Lady’s life himself because she deserved better then what they would do to her. How all of the mess had started because she stubbornly didn’t want to side against Joffery when they came across Arya and the butchers boy.

She felt stupid for not seeing through Joffery’s facade of sweetness when it was staring her right in the face. She had trusted in him and yet, she made the same mistake again and again.

She trusted Joffery would keep his word and show her father mercy, and he didn’t. She trusted Petyr to help her, and he had used her for his own gain. But in truth, what other option was there for her? Sansa knew nothing of a life out in the wild to survive on her own, and she had no one she could truly go to that would be able to help her in a way that mattered. She knew little of what her home in the North looked like anymore because he kept it all from her on purpose.

But what was worse, was that Sansa still put trust in him after he had done far worse.

The fight she had gotten into with Robin was childish. She had been building a snow castle of Winterfell, having stepped out into the courtyard and seen snow falling. Her cousin had come in, and for a little bit she felt normal. They joked about whether or not Winterfell had a moondoor, and both tried to come up with a fun way to put one into her girlhood home for the sake of it. But he had accidentally knocked over one of the towers, and Sansa had felt frustrated. Standing up saying he ruined it, only for Robin to argue back that he didn’t. Back and forth they argued about it until Robin stomped on the snow castle on purpose, and Sansa found herself, albeit not with much force, slapping her cousin across the face.

She felt horrible instantly, it wasn’t his fault he grew up so different from the violence she had been around for years and that to him, a slap on the face was enough to send him running away. She tried to call out to him saying she was sorry, when Petyr came down from where he had been watching. Looking down at her hand, she felt that guilt saying she shouldn’t have hit him. Petyr tried placating her, saying that his mother should’ve disciplined him long before now, and to not worry about what she would say when she learned of the little fight.

Standing there all alone, Sansa asked him why he killed Joffery, truly. He had said that it was to get revenge on how Joffery had hurt the ones he loved, but then he...well he made it confusing. Telling her that he loved Catelyn, that in another world he might’ve been Sansa’s own father, but that they did not live in that world. He had taken advantage of her confusion, and kissed her in the courtyard.

It wasn’t Sansa’s first kiss, that was Joffery when he tried to manipulate her into thinking he was a nicer man then he was. Nor even her second, but her third was no more as real feeling as the others. This was one from a man posing as her father, saying he could’ve been in another world and then kissed her. She didn’t really know what to do, and allowed it to happen only as long as it took for her muscles to awaken and pull away. She didn’t want to accept it, that maybe he wasn’t being honest about why he was helping her, but she had no choice.

Even worse, Lysa had seen. Her Aunt Lysa had grabbed Sansa by the back of her neck and held her over the moondoor yelling at her to look, calling her horrible things for a kiss Sansa never wanted. Petyr had come up, telling her to let her go, that he’d make it right and send her away instead. But then he had looked her right in the eye and told her, that the only woman he’s ever loved, was Catelyn. And pushed her out the moondoor himself.

Petyr had wanted her to marry Harry Hardyng, pose her as Alyane and marry her to him but did she grasp why? No, of course not. She did what she was told. But now she knew. Were anything to happen to Robin, the title of Lord of the Vale would go to Harry. It was why they called him Harry the Heir. She had been tricked into feeding her own cousin poison, so that his death meant Harry would take his place and Alyane would marry at his side. She dared not think what would’ve happened then, not after knowing what lengths Petyr had gone to before.

But she couldn’t give excuses anymore. Sansa had lied for him. He protected her more then once, she had no other person there who could protect her and yet she stood there looking at the statue of her father and hated herself. She hated Alyane Stone, she had allowed all of it to happen, she had followed Sansa here to Winterfell and she had allowed Petyr to whisper in her ear trying to tear her apart from her family all without telling any of the truth.

Standing in front of the statue, the tomb of her father, Sansa felt her eyes sting at what betrayals and death followed her nativity even to this day. Her brother had sentenced Petyr Baelish to death, but Sansa wondered who would die with him. Alyane Stone for good, or what was left of Sansa Stark that he would drag down to the seven hells with him.

Footsteps trickled in slowly however, breaking the silence and not yet interrupting it either as a shorter figure approached from the corridors coming close. Neither said a word yet, but both understood that something had to change from the last time. Something had to break before it shattered on its own between them.

It was Arya who found her voice first, quiet as if not to echo across the walls. “That day, at the Sept of Baelor. Joffery said you asked him mercy for father.”

It wasn’t a question, but Arya had the feeling her sister was going to answer it as one anyways. “I did. I never understood why they were trying to claim he did, I knew him. We knew him. He would never do something like that, I had to do something, more then what they already made me.” That time the question was a proper one, asking what they made her do not that the answer surprised Arya. “Cersei made me write to Robb. She said he needed to come down to Kings Landing and swear fealty to Joffery. She said what would happen to father depended on Robb, and on me.”

Almost a laugh could’ve left Arya had the haunting of a tomb that never would be didn’t sit mere feet away. A roughness to her voice was not however, overpowering of the edge almost bordering on cynicism. “The Lannisters put his father and his wife in chains, and they thought Robb would just go down there to kiss Joffery’s ass?” Surprisingly, Sansa let out a burst of a laugh first.

Trying to smother it right away, but Arya only turned to look at her with wide amusing eyes. Trying to steel herself back into a calm, Sansa only let a grin peek through with another laugh that grew infectious on Arya, trying to speak through the laughs to explain herself. “It isn’t funny it’s only- looking back on it I have no idea why Cersei thought that would work.”

Sisters both looking to the other, Arya let herself remain a little less tense, hoping it would ease the air between them further. “It did something alright.” She wasn’t sure the last she had even shared a real joke of any form with her sister.

Pivoting back herself, Sansa found the words to finish towards Arya’s actual question. “When that didn’t work, I pled for mercy. In front of the court on my knees, begging him to simply show father mercy. Joffery looked me in the eyes and said he’d show him mercy if he confessed and said he was the rightful King. And I was stupid enough to believe it.” Glancing to her side, Arya yet said nothing watching as something seemed to sit right at the top of Sansa’s throat before it cracked out. “The day after, he took me up onto the walls and made me look at fathers head, that showing him mercy was giving him a clean death.”

No yet what she wanted to say was out, but Arya filled the gap for her for now. “I tried to stop it, or I wanted too.” Feeling Sansa’s curious eyes on her, Arya only looked up at the statue of her father as her hand gravitated towards Needle just as she had that day. “I didn’t know what I would’ve even done, but I tried to go to him. Even with just Needle I wanted to get there and stop it, but someone stopped me first.” Sansa only asked in a short whisper of who. “His name was Yoren. He was in the Nights Watch, down there looking for new recruits. He recognized me and stopped me. Held me there and told me not to watch. But I could still hear everyone shouting around me, and I could still hear you. Screaming for Joffery to stop. After that day all I could think about was killing him for it.”

A heavy swallow dredged down Sansa’s throat, almost as if once doing so it created a dark upsetting pit in Arya’s own stomach. If the sting in her eyes was anything she knew Sansa too matched if she dared look. “I almost did.” Arya’s head whipped up and over to look at her but Sansa’s eyes had trained more down on the ground, distant in nature. “When I was up on the walls. I looked down to the fall and I knew it would kill him. I can’t remember if I had a plan for what I would’ve done after or if I didn’t care. But I wanted to push him off the walls then and there. For a long time I wished I had killed him.”

Letting the quiet sit, Arya had the feeling that something was about to burst finally and allowed Sansa to simply keep speaking until she had no more words left. “But I did, I didn’t know I did, but I carried the poison. I watched Joffery die. But father, mother, Robb, they were all still dead. And the bad things still kept happening. Beacuse of him. Beacuse just like with Joffery, I was stupid enough to believe I could ever trust anything about him.” Arya never expected her to say it or to even come close to it, but she did. “I’m sorry for bringing him here. I never should’ve trusted him. If I knew what he had done..”

Cutting her off, Arya found the role odd to play comfort to Sansa but yet it came quite naturally as she turned to her a little more. “If you didn’t bring him here, we never would’ve known what he did. Everything he’s done. But you did and we do, so maybe that’s all that matters now.” No words were given back as Sansa continued to look up to the statue until something much more full of life came out of her mouth, changing her tone drastically. “You really would’ve pushed Joffery off that ledge?”

A smile graced Sansa’s face finally. “I came close, I was only a foot or two away from him before someone stopped me.” Though, when Arya asked who, she was both surprised yet not by the answer. “The Hound.”

The two sisters it seemed, had found a whole new discussion between them. A topic of the strangest thing they now had in common, yet.

“You’re sure there’s nothing else I can do?”

Jon could easily see why someone such as Ser Yohn Royce would take to Ned Stark, only ever in written correspondence did they two previously speak but the man in person was a bit on the rough side, serious, and was more blunt then many outside of the North. It was for his fathers sake did he agree to keep Sansa’s identity in the Vale a secret, but it was also for his fathers sake did Ser Royce come to Jons aid now.

A drink shared between them in the quiet of a study, Jon had felt as if finally he had a chance to think, to simply let go of the weight forced down onto him from the days proceedings. Both thanking him and asking if he needed anything, not wanting any strife between him and the Vale now of all times for what he was to do. But Ser Royce was as he seemed to be by nature, stern but blunt. “I assure you, your grace. He may act like it, but he isn’t Lord of the Vale. Executing him will do nothing that would make a single one of us even blink.”

Leaning forward, Jon perched his arms further along the wooden desk he sat across from the man. “What about Lord Robin?”

Only huffing out a laugh, Ser Royce leaned back in his seat. “Boys a handful, no doubt. But getting him out from under Lysa and Littlefingers thumb has done wonders for him already.” Taking a long sip from the wine before him, adding, “He tried to poison the boy too, no matter how little sense one has in their head, you tell them that and love dies out right quick, let me tell you. You take that mans head and no one will shed a tear.”

Nodding somewhat to himself, Jon sighed deeply. Reaching up to run a hand across his mouth, the relief yet stress was clear on his shoulders. He hadn’t had a single moment’s peace in the over a week or so he had been back, it was absurd how much the man had walked into Jons home and thrown everything off kilter so drastically.

Another laugh, that time much more quiet filled the air. “You’re just like him you know.” Raising his head, Jon only gave him a look of question. “Your father. Would sit just like that carrying all that stress on his bloody shoulders like it was about to crush him too. He’d be proud of you.”

Not quite a grimace, but a twisting came over Jons face as he found a break in not knowing how to respond by taking a slow yet steady drink to pass his nerves even a little. “I don’t know if I’d say that.”

Pointing to him a moment, Ser Royce didn’t let that doubt linger. “Now I know you’re just like him. Could never take a compliment, was always too hard on himself. Jon Arryn used to joke that Ned wore stress on him the way women do their gowns.” Part of Jon felt the curiosity, never the chance to really ask but also not knowing how. With what Jon knew was the truth his father hid from them all, asking seemed almost odd. Peeking into a secret he wasn’t supposed to be in on.

“What was he like?” A raise of his eyebrow, Jon specified. “Jon Arryn. I knew my father looked up to him, but I never met him before he died.” Both men were well aware the usage of the word was more for simplicity sake, certainly at this point.

Ser Royce found a bit more ease in his posture at the question. “You were named after him- or well, I’d say I was surprised Ned never told you anything about him, but you lot don’t up easy in the first place do you?” Jon barley shrugged a shoulder, but his eyes were full of a painting speaking the language of a curiosity. “Your father served as his ward for many years when he was young, but, the man was always more like a father to him then anything. No offence meant to your grandfather, but Jon Arryn was just a man easier to open up too. And he never took that for granted, treated your father like the son he never had. Then at least.”

Both let a small smirk out, but Jon felt not quite satisfied, that pricking in his mind like a bird pecking at the inside of his skull yearned for something else. A scrap of anything of a time he now realized his father wanted him to know next to nothing about. “What about the rebellion?”

Inhaling deep, Ser Royce took a mighty drink before settling into the memories of a time long passed. “I fought on your fathers side remember? Horrible thing the Mad King did, Brandon and Lord Rickard didn’t deserve that. But after they died, the Mad King ordered Jon to bring him the heads of Ned Stark and Robert Baratheon. He’d been like a father to them half their lives, asking him to kill them after-” Cutting himself off, Ser Royce took pause, one both could understand wasn’t easy. None of those days could be easy to look back on. “So instead, Jon took up arms. Called on the Lords and Knights of the Vale, declared war on the Targaryeans. All to protect them.”

Jon could only sit in silence, it was an odd thing. Considering the man whom had become his namesake, and hearing something that felt a little too striking for his comfort. A father figure risking everything to protect someone he considered a sort of son. Swallowing roughly, Jon desperately wished to push past it, to shove it back down deep into the depths of his stomach before the wonder of a father that should never have been took place instead.

Ser Royce thankfully, seemed entirely unaware of the turmoil in the man across from him, not nearly an expert on the deepness of the grey within his wide eyes. “He was a good man. It didn’t mean anything insignificant, naming you after him. A great honour.”

Jon again nodded, face twisting a bit to hold back the vision of his fathers face. The risk of what that face could turn into, but he had no image. He had nothing to go on, nothing to compare him to but two men who held looks distinct from him. It all was twisted, he almost regretted the question. A gruff rasp forced itself out to sound casual. “I know. He meant a lot to my father, it won’t bring him back but maybe this could give him something. Whatever justice this is after so many years.”

Leaning forward, through the abrasive nature was an understanding man. “The Queen and your father had started this, looking into his death. Now you and her are finishing it. No shame anywhere in that.” A glance around the room, Ser Royce asked with much more of a brash casual nature as if he could easily flip flop between them. “Where is she, if you don’t mind my asking? Your wife?”

Looking up as if that would give him the answer, Jon pushed up from the desk by his palms with a low mumble. “Let’s find out.” The guard outside his door given a simple instruction to find you and bring you back to the study, he left the door partially open for you before making his way back to the desk. Trying to find an explication that would suffice for your sake, “She likes to stay busy.”

A smirk came over the mans face with a knowing. “No need to explain to me of all people, your grace. I have plenty of daughters, and their own fair share of grandchildren between them. Finding time to do near anything with a newborn is a miracle for a new mother, let alone one with the duties of a Queen.” He meant it in a joking manner he new, but Jon couldn’t help but consider the fact that he could reasonably say he wished you didn’t.

If he had it your way, you’d take care of the baby and yourself. Leaving the worst of things to Jons burden but you were as stubborn as he was protective. He’d have to chain you to his bed to get you to stop trying to alleviate his stress. A rough rasp with what of a smirk Jon could muster. “She’s done more then enough, would rather her take it easy.”

He could see what of Ser Royce his father liked, blunt and to the point. “She’s a Baratheon, your grace. Trying to tell any of them what to do is a lifetime of a challenge in and of itself.” Again, Jon forced a laugh. He knew that certainly between yourself and Stannis, but he dared not stray into Robert. The truth regardless, he was your uncle, and he died. He didn’t wish to let what happened before he was even born get in the way of that, but the thought never really went away.

The man whom was the reason his father would never go to the King and ask to make him a legitimate Stark. Drawing more eyes to Jon from him was nothing of what he wanted, what he lied and gave up to keep. And yet he thought, enough of a man despite that, to inspire his father to name Robb after him.

It was all too complicated, and knowing practically none of them but his father did not help paint a picture to Jon of the world outside the North.

The slick sound of metal swinging through the air should’ve been one which many would give feelings of either a rush of battle or fear of it coming for them. Instead, it flipped and turned in your hand again and again. The gold of the handle held jems of rubies and emeralds, and filtered over to the handle which had carvings each made to outline where the back of a mans hand was to wield it. The black was not it’s natural, scorched from dragonfire and unable to be broken so easily. The dragon bone made to hold a blade of Valyrian Steel, the question rattled through your head. What then?

When Jon did his duty, when Petyr Baelish was dealt with, what then? A man hovering over the traces of your life like a vulture. Seeking any chance to swoop down and take what he decides is his without any care of the rot around as long as he got it. He slithered his way into Catelyn’s life so young that his presence bled into the Starks. Carving his way from one to another.

First Brandon Stark. Betrothed to the young and beautiful Catelyn Tully, Brandon found himself challenged to a duel for her heart. A young, weak and meek Petyr Baelish thinking what the stories always promised. The lesser man always came out in the end, but forgot that the real world was far harsher then that. Defeated with an almost humiliating defeat, he thus suffered the embarrassment, near emasculating fact that Catelyn had to plead to keep him alive. That he was “Just a boy.” So Brandon Stark left him a token to remember him by, a scar carved into him from navel to collarbone.

Then he was murdered, and the still young and beautiful Catelyn was quickly and swiftly married to his brother. Ned was her husband and Stark became her name and off they went out of Littlefingers life beyond his reach for who knew how long. Not anywhere near the revenge he could take upon the man who humiliated him, but his brother became the next best thing. Then he attached himself again further to the others.

A parasite breaking off to infect the other Starks even when they didn’t realize it. Bran attacked with the very blade now flipping in your hand. He hadn’t expected Catelyn to be there still, he didn’t understand the grief a mothers dedication could hold onto and slashes across her hands came just as they were relived on you now. An echo of the stain he left behind in an attempt to spill a child’s blood. A child who could not even think to run or fight back.

He leeched off of Sansa in a sick fantasy of a woman who never loved him, trying to form her to go from girl to woman which was thus made perfect for him. You could think of no worse man to hover over Sansa’s life after that of Joffery. If you thought more of it, you’d consider her true name now.

He had used her to carry poison, knowing the blame would be placed on her and her husband. Tyrion was arrested as she was whisked away to saftey. He would be found guilty no doubt at the hands of half a family whom hated him and she would be free for whatever he desired. She could marry whoever worked best for his own goals. But you looked at that blade and wondered.

What was his plan now? Was that why he brought her here? His plan to free her to marry off had failed? Somewhere out there still lived Tyrion Lannister no doubt. The rumours which had reached you spoke that he was found guilty along with Sansa whom wasn’t even there to defend herself, and in response, he had killed the mighty Tywin Lannister. Shot with arrows in the privvy, as if to show him that even in death, Lannisters were just like the rest of them. Not even they were good enough to shit gold.

He had disappeared the same time Lord Varys did. It took no mastermind to put that together, but yet he was not there when Aegon had crossed the Narrow Sea. You certainly would’ve recalled had any of them mentioned the man, and your own mixed feelings attached to things he had done and what you had once thought of him. Where he was now, you almost dared not consider. You had enough to tackle here and now without travelling into foreign lands to find out.

But the thought returned to your head. What then? Jon cut off the head of Ramsay Bolton, and in his place was something even worse which came clawing it’s way towards you. Somehow being far away from the likes of Euron Greyjoy made it worse, you always knew where Ramsay lurked, you never knew where Euron did. You take away the piece of Petyr Baelish from the world, what comes into his place?

He was a man whom would see this country burn if he could be King of the ashes. What worse would fill that spot when he’s gone? What lurked beyond him?

One always could be found either pestering you by dragging a young girl still not yet a woman into a brothel to force you to do business at his leisure, by the side of Renly making bets and trading laughing insults, typically to the dismay, at your father’s expense. If not then, he would be seen conspiring with Lord Varys. Always the same at small council meetings. The first to arrive and the last to leave, both men normally could be found muttering their mysteries at each other speaking riddles only they truly knew. But Lord Varys, he was not the same sort of man.

He had told Ned Stark once that as strange as it may seem, in his own way, he was a man of honour. Just serving honour in a way which did so differently then the rest of you. He would not take his place, he was not the same sort of threat. It hadn’t escaped you however, that despite being an advisor at Aegon side, the entire time on Dragonstone he was nowhere to be found.

Just as your thoughts were about to fall off the edge of the cliff and down into the sharp rocks below, did your mind get dragged away with a sudden voice coming to your side. A low rasp, but not quite the one you would’ve wound a craving in, but one that seemed to soothe a nerve which had been long untended too. “I’d congratulate you on the bravery it took to say what you did today, but something tells me you don’t quite feel the same way about it as everyone else does.”

Looking up, your hands nearly slipped from their almost instinctive focus, grasping quickly the sturdy hilt before the blade sliced through the find leather gloves and reopened wounds which always seemed to target your hands. What that could mean you dared not think about. Pulling it back down into your lap, you let the golden cover return to it’s just as ornate sheath and sitting it to your side. Or, at least the side of you that was not taken up by the very sleepy bundle covered beside you.

Only a mutter coming from you. “I did what I needed to do. Nothing more.”

A grin came over him, his cheeks did the same thing as Jons when he smiled as charming. Wide and bright, almost a dimple on each side of his smile with a breathy but deep laugh. Making no fuss to sit beside you, it did strike you as interesting that his nieces and nephews were all here to spend time with but it was you whom Benjen Stark seemed to consistently find his way to. “Just take the compliment.”

Your eyes blinked heavy down to the icy pond before you, the ghost of a smile came across your own lips. As much a ghost as the true one sitting on little Eddards other side. A small carrier, almost like a basket to sit him in when treading outdoors, blankets on every single side and heavy to cover him, angled a manner which any falling snow would not accost his face. The large direwolf white as the snow around you lay comfortably in the cold, head resting on the stone right beside where the baby slept.

He followed you both everywhere, and in the small case he was elsewhere, he typically followed you if Jon were not by your side. You almost wondered if Jon even needed to command that, if the two White Wolves simply spoke the same over protective language. Drawing back to the present, your voice was low but only an uncertainty and weight against it as you spoke. “I’m not so skilled at that. Taking compliments.”

Leaning back more comfortably, Benjen seemed at ease out here in the Godswood as Jon did. Men of the North without any doubt, were your son not with you, you’d wonder if you looked a true foreigner sitting here. Benjen joked with an ease, “I’m aware. Heard more then enough from Jon to know that’s true.” Gesturing to the baby, he found a fondness in his eyes. “Everything it took to get him indoors, and it feels everytime I see him now he’s right back out here.”

Your eyes drifted to him, a brightness coming over them as much as something significant was captured in your chest. Hardly a voice at all but Benjen’s simple proximity meant he heard you clearly. “The first week of his life was in a place like this. He never knew indoors until Jon got him to Castle Black. I think part of him feels more at home outside, the only thing he knew besides Jon in the first hours of his life.”

Tilting his head a bit as it to capture your attention to his bemused disapproval he matched it in tone. “Correct me if I’m mistaken, but he knew you for as long he was away from you.” Your lack of response almost said as much as if you let out a monologue of thoughts on the matter. You certainly hadn’t thought of it in those terms. Yet it seemed Benjen read you better then you did him, rooting out that feeling filling you again drop by drop at the thought. “None of that reflects on you.”

Sighing deeply, your head hung. Eyes slipping closed for the length it took to inflate your lungs with the refreshment of a bitter cold down your throat. “Jon tried to tell me that.” Jesting with a casualness that Jon was right, you withheld the desire to sigh once more hoping he took no offence to the stiltedness of your sudden shift in demeanour. “How many mothers could say they spent the most important first few hours with their child, apart from him as he nearly starved?”

The feeling came over you that perhaps Benjen was holding back something more openly comforting then he would’ve naturally been for your sake. Speaking slowly, as if to ensure you understood him. “How many new mothers could say they were kidnapped hours after giving birth? Or could say they killed men to fight her way back to him before it was too late?” You had no such response, and it seemed he knew that, a slight laugh coming from him. “You’re too hard on yourself. I can’t tell if that’s from your father and mother, or if that was simply my brothers influence rubbing off on you.”

A mumble came from you, your eyes drifting back to the baby, turning a little in his sleep as Ghost shifted to see him clearer along with him. “I am afraid that it was far too late for me to pick that up from Ned Stark of all people. If anything he and the others had to be the ones to try and drag that tendency out of me.” The only small smile you could give with any air of amusement, “To varying degrees of success.”

Benjen joined your laugh. The quiet falling between you but without the air of awkward as so many people would make it feel. As if he waited to find a flow where you could be drawn back in with ease, only to find it a feat not easily taken on. Cutting into the quiet on his own. “You don’t need to feel happy about what’s going to happen, but you shouldn’t sit out here beating yourself up for not figuring it out before now. If it weren’t for you, none of this would’ve come out the way it did.”

Was that true? Were you to turn in place and look upon the bleeding face carved into the Weirwood, you considered Bran. What he was capable of contrasted to however it was connected to you, he had even explained it and yet you still didn’t understand. You knew what he was and who came before him but where you it into this which he could not accomplish on his own was still unclear.

Your hands traced over the shielded blade once more, dancing across the jems to the black dragon bone which still baffled you. “And how many died to get here? If I never trusted him in the first place, if I talked Lord Stark out of-”

Cutting you off, Benjen once more came across more amused as if to even you out. “Lord Stark? My brother’s been dead how long and your still referring to him like you didn’t marry two of his sons.” Mumbling that putting it in that way, Benjen laughed running a hand in mocking thought over his facial hair. “Alright, before you married into his family. Twice. With both of his sons-”

The sigh that left you pulled out a far greater laugh which echoed nicely in the wind, your own smaller laugh breathing out just enough to ease the tension so wrought in your shoulders. Inhaling through your nose, your gaze drifted up to the snow covered trees all around. “The things everyone in the south must be saying about me.”

“I’m willing to wager that whatever they’re actually saying is much more inappropriate then you could come up with on your own.” Wide eyes turning to him almost in a bemused audacity, he shrugged a shoulder. “When your surrounded by people all crammed into a small area, you learn quickly that people will say almost anything about someone else to amuse themselves when they get bored.”

Your eyes drifted to the side a little, the weight continuing to lift little by little as if that was his plan, which possibly it may as well have been. “Do you ever get tired of it all? That none of this ever seems to stop?”

“Everyday. But I can’t live my life on what ifs. I spent an entire year asking myself what if when half my family never came home from war. I stopped asking about what ifs then, no amount of wondering what I could’ve done differently will change that it happened.”

Your hand drifted over, running over the top of the blanket safely covering the baby’s head. The small bundle seemingly having drifted further into the comfortable warmth. Why you said it, you weren’t even sure. It came out before you had the sense to stifle it. “Sometimes I worry Jon has what ifs about everything he’s done for me.” But by the time it was out, there was no taking it back. You almost tripped over your words, eyes flickering closed as you grimaced through a head shake attempting to backtrack, as if it were not already too late. “I only mean, either I’m the problem or he’s putting his life at risk trying to fight the problem away from me. Just the wonder what his life would look like now if he had someone at his side who could give him peace.”

The green of yourself in little Eddards eyes not being visible helped. All you could see was hints of a son whom looked so much like his father, and ignoring whatever traces existed that were of you. As if you could imagine a life where the mother of Jons child was anyone better then what you gave him. Before any answer could come to you however, did the interrupting voice of a far less inconspicuous figure come intruding through the godswood.

“My Queen, my lord. Your presences have been requested by the King.”

Looking over at you, a much more bright look sparkled in his eye. “We dare not refuse.” A small smile waved over you again, both of you standing as Benjen waited patiently for you to pick up little Eddard from the smaller cradle, Ghost taking up an instant position to snatch it in his mouth where he no doubt would see fit to deposit it somewhere warm inside the walls. The slumbering bundle resting comfortably in your arms, his head drifting down to rest where he could against you, the action hardly made a dent in his sleep so far.

A respective hand found higher on your back as he guided you inside, Ghost close on the other. Up one set of stairs down the hall and into another did you know you were being led to the study which Jon had seemed to unofficially claim as his own. Away from much of the hustle and noise of the castle, and in a comfortable darkish area that was not quite cramped, but not wide and spacious.

You wondered if it was in part a passing over trait from his time in the Nights Watch. The quarters of the Lord Commander were not unlike it, dark and grim to some but without distraction and mostly to the point. A bow from the guard as you pushed the partially open door to walk through it, did Jons eyes catch your glance first. No doubt gazing over the snow still somewhat melting in your hair and from the white fur once of his still around your shoulders, and the still sleeping bundle in your arms.

Excusing himself briefly, he stood from his seat passing Ser Royce, pulling you just a tad bit closer to his side with one hand, the other finding the top of little Eddard’s head with a gentle smile at how little things phased him now that he was home. Rasping to you while his gaze was directed towards the baby, “Still prefers the outside?”

A tilt of your head to indicate yes, you almost found it in you to smile. “He has much of his father in him, no doubt.” If Jons gaze could smirk, it would’ve been as his grey eyes peeled up to yours, withholding the urge you could read in them to kiss you, at least in front of the present company. Certainly one difference you could note between he and Robb, one was far more willing to show that affection so openly without question then the other. Not that such a thing truly mattered in the grand scheme of things.

Peeking passed him, a smile more of grace came over you to the standing Ser Royce behind Jon. Almost on an instinct were you the one with a small, handless curtsy as if the manners in front of a Lord had been imprinted in your head. A man proper as him in title showed you the same with a smaller bow of his head as Jon and Benjen both shared a glance withholding smirks.

“I believe we have not been properly introduced, my lord.” Stepping closer, you shifted the baby more to come out from hiding under your cloak, the feeling of warmth behind you as Jon took the liberty to unburden you with the weight of the fur. “I must thank you for-”

“No need to thank me, your grace. Simply doing my duty is all that I did.” You continued to thank him regardless, allowing him the freedom to dictate the discussion as he pleased. “There was something that needed to be said, and if I’m the only one brave enough to do so, then so be it.” Your head tilted in a curiosity, but found a parting of your lips as something once more long lost waved through your blood. “Yourself and Robb Stark called upon the Vale to help fight for justice against the Lannisters, and we had utterly failed you both.” Shaking your head you tried to dismiss it away, but it was a distinct bluntness on his tongue that showcased this likely had been something long building up. “Were the Knights of the Vale given the choice to fight for whom we pleased, we would have joined far sooner then the never it turned into. We could only do as we were bid, and Lady Arryn refused any of us to leave for any cause.”

You knew she was a problem during the war. Locked herself and the Knights of the Vale away and refused to come out or cooperate in any manner. Robb had hardly known her, but being his aunt, he had sent her a raven as well as the rest of the Northern Lords when he was the first to take up arms against the Lannisters. She refused to even speak to her nephew on the matter. By law Ned Stark was her brother and he had been murdered and yet still she hid away. Not even coming to the funeral of her own father, something you could only find as an insult beyond belief.

Were you in the middle of the south, received word that your father had fallen at the Blackwater, you’d have had no qualms setting yourself a path to Storms End for the same. On opposite sides of a war or not, but she had shut out her entire family on any side and locked the knights and lords willing to step in and fight for herself. An entire army untouched by years and years of devastation and war and she had them right at her fingers, then Littlefingers, and now, you could only hope it was not too late to give Robin the teachings he deserved to be able to rule.

Your own words tried to express it all however, in fewer words then was likely needed to convey the degree which you needed nor wanted no apology of any sort. “You have helped us enough, my lord. Helped Jon uncover a plot against him in the first place, and today to expose what sort of man he had been painting himself to be. You’ve been of invaluable help.”

Ser Royce raised his eyebrows towards Jon on the other side of the room. “A difficult woman to compliment.”

A more jestingly dramatic sigh came out of Jon as he walked back over, a hand finding your lower back firmly. “You have no idea.” A playful glare shared between you both before he gestured for you to hand the baby over to him. A smaller soft sitting area by the fire with a spot all ready set up to lay his son out with him while he worked it seemed. Laying him down, you silently appreciated how much he refused to allow you to do all the work the way you were prepared to do regardless.

It happened faster then you could stop it, what came next. How it all would look and come out to a man such as him, but it begun as Ser Royce stepped forward, shaking hands as he and Benjen introduced themselves to one another. “A man from the Nights Watch I presume?”

A pride natural on Benjen as he responded, what was over half his life spent there he had an easy time jumping into any discussion of the matter. “I am, the first ranger for Castle Black for..” Reaching in his mind looking back, he had a bit of amusement seeking that far. “Gods, it’s more then well over twenty years by now.”

Nodding for a moment, the thought seemed to register in Ser Royce’s mind, the dots connecting as he in a much more fond manner pointed out what he likely hadn’t considered in some time with everything else going on. “My sons at Castle Black. One of your rangers, not that I’ve heard from him in gods know how long. Imagine you’re all rather busy preparing for winter.”

An understatement if there ever was one, and yet as Benjen tilted his head a little trying to put it together, he found himself asking for specifics. “I’ve been beyond the Wall for longer then I’d like to admit, but if it was somewhere a little over five years ago, I’d know him well.”

If it came to Benjen right away, he didn’t show it, but it didn’t quite come to you right away either. Not the way that most would be able to just attach a name to the face of a man they knew. “Waymar Royce. My third son, had little chance at land or wealth the way his brothers will, so he took the black.” You stood far more still then Benjen did, catching Jons attention in the back of his head but your eye fell far and distant trying to understand the feeling inside of you growing, or what it meant as Ser Royce continued with a fonder amusement. “Last time I was ever in Winterfell, stayed here for a few days or so when I went up with him.” A laugh coming over that to Jons own memory, had him chuckle as well. “If I remember correctly, was back when the Lady Sansa was still just a girl. Think it broke her young heart knowing Waymar wasn’t staying, even moreso realizing where he was going.”

Benjens face was more recognition, details fuzzy in his mind but more collected then yours. “I remember him. Strong lad, we could always tell when we had men come there who grew up in a castle. Was eager to make an example out of other boys during training.”

A raise of his eyebrows as he huffed out, “Doesn’t at all surprise me. Love the boy, but gods help me was he ever arrogant sometimes. Imagine he’s grown out of that now.”

Almost looking to Benjen and Jon for agreement, it didn’t clue in for Jon, but he picked up the hesitation between the flickering of eyes he and Benjen shared. Looking between them, an ask of what came more bluntly from him when Jon tried to start more gently. “My lord..”

That time without meaning it in aggression, Ser Royce was a little more forward as his face twisted in a gruff worry. “What is it?”

Benjen took the start, but the three men had yet to notice the manner which you seemed to have frozen in place. Frozen in more ways then one as something cold ran up your spine that did not enter the room itself. “No one’s seen Waymar for some time.” The man said nothing, a confusion waiting for an answer before he reacted at all. “Went out on orders to track a group of wildlings, and never came back.”

Looking between he and Jon, it was understood to be somewhat true. Jon had never met the man, but that was it. All his time in the Nights Watch and he never met him at all, and it was not a difficult thing to sniff out who the highborns were in a place like that, but Ser Royce seemed to find more confusion at the same instance you grew colder and something in your heart begun to shake. “What do you mean never came back?”

The room fell colder and colder until the roof faded away as did the walls. Stood on a higher floor, yet beyond the stone tiles were snow. Snow and forest and woods all around as darkness creeped as the sun begun to fall behind the sky. The room and men were before you, all the furniture in place and fire blazing but yet it was all covered in the falling snow. Your eyes flickered between the three of them-

Two. Only two men, you were standing where the third was as if you were trapped between both he and yourself. All looking around in a clearing, did you feel the dread rising. His voice was arrogant yet confident, but yours traced along with him in a whisper with wide eyes. “Your dead men seemed to have moved camp.”

All eyes turned to you suddenly, but you saw them none. Much stronger that time you followed the voice of whom you stood with just as you had argued back once before. “They were here.”

Your name was called, by whom you couldn’t even hear. Instead of a rasping voice by your side it was the older face of Gared organizing that you all look around. Your body turned on its own, not feeling how you slipped from Jons grasp. Turning into the room more you paced, almost as if looking for something slowly but with a trepidation, not recognizing that the woods you walked through looked just like the study you also were just in, as if both blended at once.

Again your voice whispered, unaware if any even heard you as the three men behind were not there with you now, as if you couldn’t recall what was happening around you clearly. The voice was not the strong one you stood as but a repeat of what you somehow still knew was said, the sight of Gared nervously picking up the remains of entrails did you whisper, “What is it?”

But the scream was far away, not for your sight again. Horses ran in distress as a cold wind froze your skin and a feeling compelled you to turn. In the room facing them, you yourself looked upon the blue eyes of a little girl whose orange curls were one pinned dead against a tree. Suddenly you felt as if you saw them, yet they weren’t even there. None were in the room close to it, but you felt his need to run.

Not even the force it took of two men to stop you drew you out of the sight before you. Almost falling to the ground did the two pairs of hands guide you as to not hurt yourself but you could not run and thus you watched.

The swift stroke of a blade of pure ice slice a head right off. But not yet done were you, you watched the true one in question force his bleeding self up. Blind from ice having shattered into his eyes, his fine furs unlike the nights watch and dark hair belonged to a man who had refused yet to die after being striked down. Your voice whispered as his did too, standing his ground one last time against an impossible foe. “Dance with me then.”

But the one you watched as, too watched the other man fall. It took no time with the freezing presence surrounding them for him to open his eyes wide and blue just like the girls.

Jons hands found both sides of your face leaning close to you, Benjen with one on your arm and other on your back to keep you steady as breaths gasped for your lungs. The room returned, but beyond them was more of a sight then you left it. Ser Royce stood further away with more then confusion, an apprehension and fear he did not understand. By the door both guards had come in, no doubt at the scene whatever you had done had caused.

Jon called your name gently, moving one hand to run down the side and back of your head through your hair as you caught your breath and pounding heart to settle. Despite the cold you felt as if you had begun to sweat and shake, as if the cold was outweighed by the drive of fear between the men whom had been invading your vision.

His rasp struggled to find itself comforting in your heart as your hands tensed, palms braced against the floor you didn’t realize you apparently fell too. “Darling, look at me.” Barley able to force your eyes to focus long enough to find his worried grey ones wide and bright towards yours, you barley found it in you for a hand to rise up and grasp at his forearm in lieu of speaking just yet. “You’re back here, you’re alright.”

It was mostly a nod to go along with it, still yet your mind yelled too loudly for it to tell any other part of you to settle. Lungs, heart, all overworked as you swallowed roughly to force away the weight in your throat. Your eyes closed, trying to even your breaths out as you heard Benjen gentle beside you. “Is the reaction always this strong?”

You knew Jon wished he could say no, but he was not a liar. A single nod of yes was all that was needed to convey the degree of pain in his heart, as much as it never got better for you, it never got easier to watch for him. A more soothing feeling of Benjen running a hand over your back in a comfort helped along with the warmth of Jon so close, but neither changed the scene you had watched before your eyes.

Cracking out loudly, did you find it within your energy to speak. “Ser Royce...your son..” Eyes opening up as your heart settled enough that your still heaving breaths had begun to finally work in calming your mind, he stepped forward with a large trepidation as if he knew not what to say, not that you would blame him.

More on the rough side did he try to stay formal while also letting a shortness peek through. “I mean no offence, your grace, but if this is a strange, long winded way to tell me my son is missing or dead-”

But your head shaking had him cut himself off. Hand curling into the material covering Jons forearm, he leaned the slightest bit closer to match how his hand on your cheek slid down to the side of your neck more firmly. Eyes casting down to settle the sight but not able to shake it off as it had rattled you to your bones the last time too, you tried to breath out in almost a faintness, “No he- worse. It’s far worse.” Asking what that could possibly mean, your gaze finally rose, switching between both Starks before you as they both realized there might be a discussion coming they weren’t prepared for, or had even planned for. But ignoring the display Ser Royce had seen, was now set to a task that would be impossible.

Jon took the responsibility for it without any hesitation. Looking up and back to him, his voice was low and rough but a seriousness sat within his tense expression which was not to be questioned. “I think my lord, you’re asking questions you might not believe the answer to.” But Ser Royce did not say it with a judgment, only as plain as he could muster through his confusion and concern.

“I just watched the bloody Queen in the Norths eyes go white as snow and start rambling like she was having some vision. I think whatever answer you have for me couldn’t get more unnatural then that.”

Yourself, Jon and Benjen all knelt there wishing desperately that he could’ve been right, but he was nowhere close.

Part of you wished you could stop seeing, not a vision before your eyes or even closing them, but just letting the sights wilt away so you didn’t have to face what you were looking at in truth. Not everyone was looking at you, but there were a good number who kept glancing with an unknown you suspected was weariness. Sat somewhat to the side of the room, you had almost doubted briefly to Jon if you should be holding the baby.

A small mutter as your brows furrowed looking down to him, “If it happens again and I’m holding him-”

Jon had crouched before you, hands braced on the sides of your thighs as you sat looking up to you with nothing but trust. His voice just as low for only you to hear with reassurance, “You’re his mother, I won’t keep him from you just beacuse you’re scared of this.” Trying to protest what if you accidentally hurt him, he cut you off. Reaching up to cup your cheeks, “You won’t hurt him. Alright? I know you won’t.”

Hesitating, you finally nodded as Jon pressed a kiss to your forehead before moving around to the main table. Taken the lot of you to where Sam was, it would be easiest to explain this if there were as many people to validate it as possible. You knew Jon hadn’t intended on approaching the Vale with any of this, and if he would in the future it wouldn’t be bombarding one man without any preparation. That was your fault.

Jon stood beside Sam, and around the other sides of him stood Maester Wolkan, Benjen, Theon, Tormund and Lord Howland with Ser Royce in the middle across from Jon and Sam both. You sat still close, but somewhat off to the side. More to where Gilly was kneeled to the ground playing with Little Sam quietly.

Most in the room kept looking at you whenever Jon wouldn’t notice. You didn’t blame them, you couldn’t possibly imagine how you looked or sounded, but it didn’t stop it from hurting that you were beginning to be looked at from many as something of a pariah. Gilly and Sam both kept sharing looks when they’d glance at you, your eyes cast to the side pretending you didn’t feel it. Certainly you knew Ser Royce kept doing so, and on occasion you would catch Wolkan and Theon both too.

Your head would turn down to little Eddard laying in your arms, him trying to reach out to you as if he senses the distress in your heart and sought to heal it by keeping close to you at all times. One finger almost always had his hand grabbing onto in some way as they spoke to your side.

Trying to explain things to him was a delicate task, Jon had to keep everyone focused on the facts alone and not make it sound like an embellished story more then the truth would appear. Like most Jon had tried before, Ser Royce struggled with it. “These things you speak of, they’ve been dead for thousands of years.”

Tormund had the least tact, but a bluntness with you imagined in his own was, Ser Royce would appreciate. “They weren’t dead, old man. They were sleeping, but they’re not sleeping anymore.”

Sam had interjected to try and piece it together in a more put together sense from how much he’s read thus far. “The old texts say they sleep beneath the ice for thousands of years. And when they wake up, they’ll come for us. All of us.” Asking gruffly isn’t that what the Wall was for, Jon had the answer no doubt.

“It is, but we don’t know what they’re capable of. The First Men barley left anything for us to translate, and we’ve had to piece together what we already have. But they know we’re all on the other side of the Wall, and they clearly think they can get passed it.” Letting others say their peace, most went around the table with what they could provide.

Jon had started with the night a wight tried to kill Lord Commander Mormont, Sam had given the details of the attack at the Fist of the First Men. Benjen was more vauge, talking in depth of the dead they would find and how many rangers disappeared and never came back and how many others begun to desert as a result of what they’d seen.

Ser Royce had fallen very silent when Howland Reed begun to speak, and you and Jon both suddenly understood why he choose to be at this meeting instead of Meera, who had been there. Telling with a heavy heart that his children had gone out beyond the Wall with Bran, and one of those wights had murdered his son out there. That the body had to be burned and never brought home because he would’ve been changed.

If that left pain, it left even more questions which had Theon glancing up at you pretending not to notice as he spoke for you. The day at the Nightfort, the trio of wildlings had died in there, mostly likely frozen to death, and they woke back up with blue eyes and attacked he and you. You ignored with your head down that most of them looked at you, and noted the ones in the room not even bringing up the fire. Just another thing that would make it all look worse on you, a blessing for Jons image was to keep that claim out of it. He didn’t need you muddying the already murky waters he had to wade through in order to try and get outsiders to understand.

By the time it came to what occurred at Hardhome, Jon and Tormund both took great length to explain it, and there was no misidentifying the horror behind both their eyes at the extent of power and death they had watched that day. “If they breach the Wall, they’ll come for everything and everyone. And if no one but the North is ready when they do...we’ll be lucky if five thousand people down south manage to live through what they didn’t even know was coming for them.”

Palms braced against the table, Ser Royce spoke with slow words to try and form a coherent thought of the amount put in front of him. “And you’re saying, my son is one of these things?” Jon specified it was a wight. That the Others could turn nearly anyone into a soldier for their own army.

If any of them noticed the slight manner Jon and yourself glanced to the side to catch the others unnerved gaze, no one seemed to think anything of it enough to say anything. You looked away at that point, catching a glance that time with little Sam. The wooden toy horse he had near his mouth before he noticed you and smiled, waving the toy as if to wave to you. Your smile was small and soft but it made the toddler smile back. Yours however, fell rather quickly when you looked more up to see Gilly’s gaze hesitant towards you, and directing little Sam’s attention back to her.

You had just started to feel like you found a friend who treated you normal, and now you sat in a room full of many people all on your own. Most of them looking at you like you were a curse yourself, or a curse put upon Jon. You hadn’t even heard the question about you being asked, your ears only picking up once you heard Lord Howland speak on it. “She has an ability my son did, the Sight. Something which can show them dreams and visions, give them answers to questions we didn’t even know how to ask.”

Ser Royce made a guess as to a bit of what it sounded like, “You mean those dragon dreams the Targaryeans always claimed to have?”

Jon and Howland Reed both shook their heads at the same time with a no on their lips. The later allowing the former to explain a bit clearer. “A similar idea maybe, but this is different. These are connected to the North itself. The Targaryeans spoke of them like they were prophecies, but she can see the past and present. More then she ever has anything like the future. It’s giving her answers, not promises, but they aren’t always easy to know what they mean.”

He wanted you with him, you told yourself. Jon wanted you by his side more and you wouldn’t disobey that, but you hated sitting in this room being looked at like out of everything being said, you were the strangest one. Bran had what you did and far more to a powerful degree, he wasn’t losing his mind, or appearing like it. That was only you it seemed. It made you want to take your son and disappear where no one could look at you in that judgment.

“And my son turning into one of those is what she saw?”

Benjen took the mantle up for your silent sake. “She saw more then that. Everything she saw that day was from Wills perspective, one of the rangers with him. Sometime after that, he ran. Crossed the Wall and tried to run away, and was caught by my brother.” Jons brows furrowed as he looked up to his uncle asking when did that happen. “A little before Ned was named Hand of the King.”

Jons gaze that time turned noticeably to you, not that you wanted to notice. A wondering rasp distant in his voice as he explained almost to himself. “His brothers were slaughtered by them, turned into wights and he deserted. I was there that day.” Meeting Benjens gaze with a realization striking on his features. “The ranger, Will. I was there the day my father executed him. He kept saying the he saw the Others and then-” Cutting himself off, Jons head tilted a bit as if looking back to his own memories. “Then we found the direwolves...”

Something was there no doubt, but putting it all together was a nearly impossible task. Especially when you knew was much as the both of you did, together.

A shake of his head to draw himself out of it, Jon pulled himself back in as he addressed Ser Royce. “I’m not telling you what you should or shouldn’t believe. I know how impossible this all sounds, but if they breach the Wall, they might not stop until they slaughter every one of you.”

The few who caught the manner in which Jon had phrased that narrowed their gazes, but little was spoken of it otherwise in the moment. Yourself nor Jon had even realized what it was he ended up saying.

“What is it you want us to do?”

Sighing through his nose, Jon swiftly pulled something hidden at his side and placed it on the table. A shard looking like black glass with the heft of a stone that would shine if the sun were still at play. “Dragonglass. It kills them and wights both. I nearly went to war with Aegon Targaryean just to get it, beacuse I’ll do whatever it takes to keep my people alive. But I won’t stand by and let the rest of the kingdoms die if I can help it. I don’t need every man in the Vale up here to fight with me, but I want you and your people to know how to survive. There’s no point in all of this, if I just let everyone but the North get destroyed.”

Sliding it towards him more, Ser Royce picked it up with trepidation. Looking its cool smoothness over as Jon continued. “I’m not asking for an answer. Just that you think about it. Beacuse they’re still coming if you believe me or not. I’m sorry about your son. Really, I am. But what happened to him will happen to everyone you’ve ever known if we don’t prepare for this.”

Tormund if anything, knew how to somehow end on not as firm or strong of a note, but certainly how to end it with a packed punch as he gestured to Jon. “He pissed off damn near everyone in the Nights Watch bringing my people south of the Wall so we didn’t all get slaughtered. Probably helped getting him killed too.”

If anything almost had you cracking a smile, it was the fact that the sentence came from Maester Wolkan’s mouth. “I assure you that story is true as well. Once you’ve seen a man walking around with a stab wound in his heart, you find yourself willing to believe just about anything the North will throw your direction.”

“If you wish to return home after tomorrow, I thank you for your help. But you’re welcome to stay in Winterfell as long as you need to decide if you even believe me.” Dismissing the meeting for the night, Ser Royce offered the shard of dragonglass back to Jon, who handwaved him off. “Keep it. You may need it one day.”

Nodding in a small bow, Ser Royce politely did the same for you before parting with nearly everyone else. As Sam made his way over to Gilly, Jon gestured for Theon that he too could leave. One of the few times he had no doubt in that, Jon was far more equipped to handle you in this specific state then any else.

Murmuring your name, Jon finally reached a hand out as if to beckon you to his side by the table as well. Pulling you gently into his side by the waist when you got within reach and turned you to face him, tilting your gaze up to his eyes by under your chin. “How do you feel? The honest answer.”

Sighing, you kept your hold of the baby close to you as if for more comfort. Muttering in hopes the only other trio of a family in the room couldn’t her your self doubt so evident. “I’m sorry I made you do this all tonight so suddenly.” Murmuring that it wasn’t your fault, Jon let the hand by your chin move so his thumb traced the cheek he was cupping the side of. Not willing to dwell on the topic, your face twisted a bit downward. “The deserter your father executed, you found the wolves that day?”

Nodding, his warm hand and body in general your only comfort so far. “The same afternoon, we were on our way back.” Asking the question of his own for the same clarification, “The ranger you saw through that day, he’s the same one..” Once again you nodded, Jon sighed but not in a manner you thought was towards you at the least. Running down your hair finally, you felt his fingers toying with the loose stands. “Feels like the more answers we find the less anything makes sense.”

Shrugging one shoulder you muttered meekly but earnestly, “You’ve done a good job so far.”

A small, soft grin Jon gave you, before cupping the back of your head. Pulling you in to press another kiss to your forehead, uncaring of the eyes watching. As if noting everyone treated you slightly different for the things occurring with you, except for Jon. The only one treating you without looking at you with a degree of unsettled weariness about being around you. “Come. Let’s get you fed, so we can get him fed.” Gesturing down to the bundle moving in your arms as he had found more ease in sleepiness between you and Jons warmth so close.

Hesitating, you bit your tongue before letting it slip out. “I’m not sure I’m up for being around everyone else tonight.” Jon however, only smiled further turning you to circle the table near the door.

Pulling you close to mumble in your ear with a tenderness that had you leaning more into him. “Good. I wanted a night between the three of us alone.”

Entering slowly, the early hours of the morning meant few were up and about just yet. It left you good time to make your way, the heft of a blade attached to your side hidden under a warmer shall draped across your upper half from the cold. Gently you had called out to him asking if you could come in, creeping the door open enough to slip in before shutting it once more.

Through the open windows, the sun had not yet arrived to the world and would not for some time you expected. Clouds covered the sky thick and dark, and just as you had awoken yourself did what normally would be snow turn into the pattering of rain against the shutters. A rare event in this cold, but it almost felt as if it created the conditions fair to what was to occur. It was much like another event, one which led back to one man as it always seemed to.

Brans room was coated in a gentle light, and a blueish tint covered the rest as the grey from the sky reflected against the white snow below. Seldom did such rain bother you, Dragonstone and Storm’s End both were nothing but scorching sun or torrential rain. You would walk the halls of your home as a girl to the sounds of rain constantly, it hardly even phased you to go outside in it with nothing to protect. Many times when one was outside, you could stand there one moment then the next great swooping clouds rushed over the skies and poured every inch of rain down for all the Seven Kingdoms all over your head.

Your main watching guard as a girl, Allard, he would joke that he could pick you up and toss you into the sea without warning and you’d be perfectly fine with it. You father always preferred you to stay on the island, but the rare occasion he would leave on business to the captiol, Allard would always take you out into the open water. It would always start raining on the ship, and you loved it.

Perhaps it was why you felt few of the nerves now. The calming sound of rainfall soothing something inside long forgotten. Bran was sat up in his bed, but he looked the nervous you expected. Gesturing to the empty side of his bed you asked, “May I sit?”

Nodding, you took a careful seat not to show off the blade just yet. A deep sigh left him before he looked at you in a freely expressed frustration. “I should’ve known about all this already.” Saying his name gently trying to get his attention, Bran only continued over you. “I’m supposed to be able to see things, learn things no one else can. I should’ve put all this together months ago.”

A tender tone on your words, you neither dismissed his doubt nor encouraged it. “You had what? A year and a half to learn what you did? Why should you be expected to know how to see what you didn’t know happened, if you’ve only just started?” Looking down from you in doubt, you continued without giving him a chance to form an excuse against himself. “I’ve been the closest one to all of this for over five years and I only just put it together when you did after knowing for what? Days?”

Doubt shined in his eyes, but something akin to hope almost flashed across them when he met your gaze once more. “You had other things to worry about.” Quick as anything with a smallish smile, did you point out so did he. It drew but a breath of a laugh out, but it was something. Better then the narrow eyed self doubt you came to fix. “When I woke up, and my mother was gone. I was upset about my legs, but also beacuse she wasn’t there. I was angry for a while after that, and no one ever told me why she was gone.”

It wasn’t untrue. Robb and yourself both knew leaving Bran in Winterfell with that information wouldn’t have been good for him in that time. Only telling him the plain truth that she had left to protect the family from something just like what was happening at that time with his father and sisters. Your hands tensed for a moment, putting the thought away. The version of the woman you wanted to think of, whether or not Bran or Sansa should ever learn of the later as Arya was forced to witness. “She could barley bring herself to leave your bedside. For any reason. That catspaw attacking her that night to get to you? It made her move fast. She wanted to be with you when you woke up, but she needed to find out who was trying to hurt you more. Many times she wanted to go back to you and Rickon but the war always got in the way. She never stopped wanting to come home to you.”

Not quite a smile came over Brans face, but it was something perhaps fond enough that it eased the pain inside of him. Fifteen he was now, and yet as he looked up at you again did you just see the innocent face of the boy of ten you left him as. His voice too finding itself dropped deeper but yet still had an air of innocence that you felt relieved still lived somewhere inside what he’d seen and been through. “He’s tried to kill you more then he has me, I don’t understand why you wouldn’t care more about that.”

A raise of an eyebrow sat with an air of playful, despite your dry tone. “I’ve died once, and more men then Petyr Baelish alone have tried to have me killed. Eventually, you become numb to it. Besides,” Pushing back and smoothing out some of Brans messier hair from sleep, the gesture felt something comforting Bran hadn’t had since before his fall. “The night it happened, you were ten, unconscious and crippled. I’ve always been able to at least try and fight back. You were a child, and you couldn’t protect yourself no matter what. You can make an argument for attempting to kill a political rival, you cannot make any for murdering a child.”

The only sound between you both for a moment was the small crackling of fire inside the room and rain against the stone outside, until you found the words to speak it. “I have something for you.” Not saying anything, Bran watched as you pulled it carefully from under your shall.

The cover against it, the entire thing was doused in gold and gems, the black dragon bone handle its only standing out contrast as you carefully placed it in Brans now outstretched hands. Slowly he pulled it open, the metal shining even here, designs traced down the middle in symbols which were not quite writing, but images and patterns meaning nothing now. “How did he even get something like this?”

Your head tilted a bit with a shift near a wince. “I’m not so certain I want to know. A man with no morals and a penchant for influencing powerful people. My guess would be not in a fair manner.”

Bran looked it over the same way you did, something so ornate that it was the very reason such a drastic search for the truth was made. Someone only higher in status could possibly have given the man the dagger, and it painted a grand conspiracy around it. And you had no doubt he did it on purpose. Bran seemed to find the same conclusion. “He said he lost it to Tyrion Lannister in a bet?” You nodded in a confirm. “Do you think he lost on purpose? Planned all the way then to frame him?”

Biting your tongue in thought, you could see something like that. “It’s possible. Always would plot very far ahead, perhaps he didn’t know exactly what he was going to frame him for, but one of his spies told him about your fall and that opportunity seemed too perfect to pass. Everything was already set into place without him even needing to interfere.” Both of you looked at the other in wonder, but those details almost didn’t even truly matter. How he planned what mattered less now, and would matter none in a few hours.

Looking down to the blade, his brows furrowed again. “Are you sure you want me to have this?”

Your smile formed instantly, again such an innocent look on his face as he asked. “I am. You can do what you wish with it, keep it as a reminder that you have more then one way to fight back even as you are now. Make sure you can protect yourself before Summer is almost too late.” It was a strange thing to grin over, but both of you did. Adding one more however, you knew this was the far more important reason. “Besides, the blade is Valyrian Steel. It the worst comes for us, for you and theres no one else there? This might be the one thing that could save your life easily. It can actually withstand their weapons and-”

“And kill them.”

Repeating it back firmly, you moved to let his hand curl around the handle more as if to prompt him to keep it close. “Most of us have ways to protect ourselves here, we know dragonglass works against wights and whatnot, now you have a weapon that can do both.”

Thinking for a moment, Brans face twisted in doubt. “You and Arya don’t have anything Valyrian Steel.” Clarifying that Arya and yourself both know how to fight with more then just dragonglass, Bran laughed a little. “I always wanted to be a Knight of the Kingsuard. Who knew you and my sister would be able to fight way more then I can by now.”

Nodding moreso to himself in general, your tone unknowingly echoed one told the same to Arya who posed the same sort of upset over it for Bran years ago. “You can do far more then need to fight. Men who aren’t fighters have done great things before. Rule as Lords of a Holdfast, sit on a Kings council. Who knows, one day you might even build castles, like Bran the Builder.” That one got a better smile from him. Leaning forward you caught his eye. “You’re worth more then your legs, Bran. More then whatever ability you’ve come into. You’ll always be a Stark first.”

It was just as your hand made contact with the door handle when he called your name. Half turning back, something more troubled sat on his face. “What were you doing last night? When you had that vision?”

Hesitating, you at the minimum could count on one hand whom would not look at you as if you were mad for it, and thankfully, Bran was at the top of that small list. Your eyes narrowed however as you answered. “Nothing. It happened completely out of nowhere...you weren’t-”

Shaking his head no, Bran knew your ask but he was nowhere close to contributing to it he was sure. Both of you looked at each other before you shook your head. Assuring it probably didn’t mean anything before telling him when to make way to the courtyard, Bran clearly didn’t believe it didn’t mean anything, nor did he think it was a mere strange one off occurrence.

And neither did you.

The rain had yet to let up. It poured as an echo of the last time you stood in a spot just like this, and how it wrapped around to the same man. Petyr Baelish was not responsible for Torrhen Karstark’s death, but his manipulation of Catelyn had led to a spiralling of events leading to a moment similar to now. Whereas then you had been in the courtyard of Riverrun at the side of Robb.

Rickard Karstark had been walked out into the clearing in a calm silence, he and Robb both spoke firmly but without any franticness or even denial of what was to come. The man understood this was to happen and had accepted it with everything left in him. The rain poured down on you all in that day too, making the morning sky appear dark like the eve as it matched how all felt.

You would never forget that day, you never had. You hated to think back on it, the way it was truly a curse. An omen cast upon Robb which came true so shortly after it was shocking. As if he predicted it in his final moments. The only anger he showed in those final minutes did Robb ask if he would speak a final word. Rickard Karstark had looked Robb up in the eye and spat out with nothing but a hatred in his soul.

Robb had brought his sword down in anger of his own. For everything he had done with the wrongs around him, he was still told he was no longer worthy of the title bestowed upon him by his own men for nothing but who he proved himself to be as a man.

Yes Catelyn had released Jaime Lannister, and it was treason. Robb nor you ever denied that. Instead of acting a boy showing her sympathy for her plight it was for the girls, Robb spoke low to her condemning her for what she had done. His own mother was all but a prisoner for the remainder of her life for what she had done. Robb loved his mother and she knew that, but she also knew why he treated her that way and did not fight it. And Rickard Karstark had heard you plain as day when you revealed that she had been manipulated by Petyr Baelish to do this. And he blamed her for his woes anyways.

Those boys. No older then Bran was now. Willem and Martyn Lannister. Two good, innocent boys who did their duties as squires and were not the enemy for their name alone. You had promised them mercy and they had died thinking you a liar when they were dragged from their cells in the middle of the night and murdered. And Rickard Karstark had blamed Catelyn, felt nothing towards those two dead boys, and insulted both Robb and Ned Stark in one breath.

What would have happened if Jaime Lannister had never been set free? Only the gods know for sure, but you knew it traced right back to him. It felt as if it always did. A shadow following the ones you love, a plague slowly infecting each of you drip by drip. For who was left of the Starks, it made sense it was whom it was here to witness.

He tried to murder Bran, he had used and manipulated Sansa for years, and his betrayal in Kings Landing was what sent Arya on the run in the first place. Had he never betrayed him that day, she wouldn’t have had to run from the Red Keep and she never would’ve spent years without even so much as a roof over her head to call any kind of home.

It however, felt almost ironic. The one Stark not named so, the one he had never actually plotted against so directly, that was to be his final opponent. Jon had never been but a tool to him, a name to drop when needing to manipulate the right people and nothing more. He had been looked down on and forgotten as unimportant and yet he was Littlefingers final judgment.

Where Brandon Stark had shown mercy, where Ned Stark had wished he didn’t, where Robb never even had the chance to try. It was the bastard he couldn’t care less about which was the one who would stand before him this time. Eyes glancing to the crowd, covering him quite comfortably as she held him close you met your mothers eyes. The first she had truly seen anything of you in years, after thinking you were gone was the day you were the one with the sword heading towards the block.

She had hardly recognized that side of you then, and she barley did now. The roughness of a life she hardly understood, but stood there in the crowd with the rest. Beside Maege Mormont, near Ser Yohn Royce who stood in a watchful silence. Not so far from Tormund who watched almost with a curiosity of the finality of events which to him were vastly over complicated. It felt something, that so many stood here one in the same in the pouring rain.

If anything, perhaps it gave just the slightest bit of hope. That perhaps not all was lost and Jon was uniting people more then he understood. Without him no one would truly be here this way, and maybe the rest of the cause was not entirely lost.

Those somewhat behind where the four of you stood parted a bit as Jon approached. Dark eyes even darker then normal. A tenseness in his muscles and clench in his jaw, he took not a moment of this lightly you knew. Not for a second did he consider anything but giving this every honour and respect that most would never grant Littlefinger for what he had done.

Approaching Sansa as she stood beside you, a hand came to brace against her upper arm comfortingly. Jon’s voice was no less rough as he clearly appeared to feel. “Are you sure you want to be here for this? You don’t have to.”

A darker scowl had been etched into her face the entire time thus far, but she had been silent and still when she took her spot. Unlike yourself, she and Arya both had hoods hiding them from the rain whereas you simply allowed it to drain around you. Vaguely you could see her eyes flicker over to Arya and Bran before finding Jons again with a stern confidence. “I need to be here.”

Watching for a moment, Jon seemed to wait to see if doubt flashed across his little sisters eyes and found none. Flickering his gaze to you, no words needed to be said in your case. He read you as you did him. You had hardly any time being home, and neither of you had a chance to breathe. You both felt as ragged as you had for months in the far north.

You both knew this would not be a solution to everything wearing you down, but you did trust in Jon when he reassured you that it would be enough. Give you a chance to breath like you so desperately needed. No doubt much was coming in the near future, but Jon was adamant. He had what of his family left there was, and he needed to mend the remainders of those broken bridges between them.

But also, Jon needed to breathe beacuse he needed a chance with you. With the baby. Jon felt as if he was hardly being given a moment to be a father, to be a family with you and he needed it. You needed him, and he needed you and your son needed you both. And the looming eyes of one man had been getting firmly in the way of that. Jon needed you to trust him that it was going to be alright, because he needed you to know that he would take care of you.

Stark blood ran through his veins, but those here now calling themselves Snow needed time to each other and never truly had you had that since bringing the baby into the world. Jon never had that with his mother, and thus you wanted the three of you together to have it no matter what.

Theon on one side and Benjen on the other, it was a symbol that this wasn’t justice alone. This was truly a matter of family in uniting for this act. He had spoken somewhat, but you hardly heard a single word of it. As if suddenly the rain poured so heavily overtop of you that it deafened voices into nothing. He had looked to the girl beside you, his voice speaking but only could you make out the form of the plead of “Sansa,”.

You did not know if she said something, or nothing. He had no response to either possibility, but Theon and Benjen tossed him roughly to his knees, head over the block. Jons stood, hair pulled back, fur adorning his shoulders making him look that much more intimidating with his black eyes staring down. The hilt of Longclaw sat on the ground as both of his hands sat across the top with a patience.

You could see the words on Jons lips, and you could sense despite the tense nature of his entire demeanour, he spoke with a low rasping respect. You knew what words came from him, reading as if that was all your senses had. “If you have any last words my lord, now’s the time.”

But the rain was so loud it grew and grew. It blotted out the light peeking through the dark grey clouds and blackened around you. The rain grew muffled in that darkness but you saw not Petyr Baelish in your eyes unblinking sights.

Rain poured, and with few witnesses in the courtyard of Riverrun, you could recall seeing eyes looking towards you with a hatred that this was your fault. It was his father and he would be the only son remaining once it was done, and you knew somewhere along the way, he held guilt for what happened to you, and too maybe, what happened to Rickon. You didn’t know how but you knew why, and you saw the same anger in his eyes as you did in his fathers.

For all that had led up to getting here, you saw none of it. Your eyes had painted over white, and in the dark scene of pouring rain none had noticed until it was finished. All you could see or hear was what felt like the Sight trying to tell you something, but Bran had watched the execution in front of him. This was not his doing, whatever this was, was trying to speak to you alone. But you didn’t know what they wanted. You were supposed to bear witness to the final moments of Petyr Baelish’s life, but all you could hear was the spitting anger of Rickard Karstark on that day in Riverrun.

“Kill me and be cursed. You are no King of mine.”

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