Ask, and you shall receive.
Lets get to know our new characters! CH2 coming veeery soon ;)
Enjoy!
Even in the spring, it was cold.
She pulled her fur cloak around her shoulders, shivering only a bit. The sun had begun to rise over the Wolf's Wood, dark gray of the morning streaked with pink and yellow. The wind caressed her face, her white hair dancing in the breeze. It was a gentle sort of cold; the taste of snow was long gone from the air. The castle had begun to stir, and she knew that the inhabitants would awaken to disturb her soon. She liked it up here on the battlements; her father had brought her there with him daily as a child, to watch the sun set. Her brother never joined them; this was their place.
"Good morning, Rose."
She jumped, her blood turning to ice. It was her father, of course, lean and bright eyed. Gray streaked his black hair as it curled gently behind his head, where he had tied it back.
"Hello, father," she said, leaning into him as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
"Usually it's me that's alone up here to watch the sun rise," he said, his dark eyes scanning the horizon, "but you'd beat me here today."
Rose shrugged. She had been too excited to sleep, but she was loathe to admit it.
"I was watching for aunt Arya," she replied, and her father turned to look at her.
She had all of her mother's features; the high cheek bones, gentle sloping nose. But the eyes that reflected back at him were his, only darker; black as pitch and shining with excitement. Jon Snow brushed a strand of white hair from his daughter's eyes.
"And have you seen her?" He asked, knowing the answer almost before he asked it.
"No," Rose said, her voice colored with disappointment, "I never do. She always just...appears."
At that, Jon laughed. "Aye, she's been known to do that."
They stood for a few more moments in silence, as the sun appeared over the horizon. The horses whinnied for their breakfast, heifers mooing in the fields behind the keep. Jon watched his daughter thoughtfully.
Rose had been much easier for Enrin to carry. She was gentler on her mother than Ned had been, and Jon loathed to admit that he loved her for it. She had decided, however, to make her appearance early; in the middle of a dinner in the Great Hall, no less. Jon had carried Enrin to the birthing bed himself, and they'd scarcely made it before Rose was fighting her way out of her mother's body. Enrin had been a true queen in that moment, gritting her teeth and bearing the pain, but the fear had shown in her eyes. Their daughter was several weeks early, and small babies were that much harder to keep alive.
In the end, it had been Jon that delivered his daughter into the world, red faced and strong. She was not peaceful, like her brother. Rose wailed so loudly that her parents were sure the entire North could hear her. Jon remembered touching the smattering of white hair on her head; his children bore the burden of his true heritage. That frightened him more than anything.
"Roselyn," Enrin had murmured, remembering the Winter Rose bush that Ned had found, on a day that felt so far away.
Ned had taken to her immediately. He had only just seen his fifth name day at the time, and yet he was convinced that Rose was his baby, and had a hand in raising her as much as the rest of the family had.
Try as she might, Sansa could not groom Rose into the perfect little lady she'd always dreamed of. Sansa had refused to marry, no matter how many eligible suitors fought for her hand. She'd never had children of her own; instead she helped with raising Jon's.
But it was Ned, most of all, Jon remembered. It was Ned who had woken first when Rose cried; Ned who had gifted her with her first dagger. Ned had taught her to ride a horse, to swing a sword, to stand up for herself when the other little lordling boys taunted her for being a girl. It was Ned, too, that had been the first to laugh when Rose had knocked them all into the dirt. Ned was Rose's first protector, and for that, Jon could not have been more thankful.
He understood now why his daughter waited on the battlements for her aunt with a sad trepidation.
"I know you don't want him to go," Jon said, his voice gentle, and Rose quickly looked away. Her dark eyes had once again filled with tears, something she did not want her father to see. Her father and mother had never asked much of her; just to be strong. She did not want to fail them now.
"I just…" she began, and then swallowed thickly, "I just want to see aunt Arya before she disappears again."
It had been two weeks since Daenerys had asked to host Ned for the remainder of the spring. Jon had thought to escort him to King's Landing himself, but the messenger from Braavos had arrived not even a day later. Arya was stopping through Winterfell on her way to the capital, on her way to visit Gendry. Jon and Enrin would not need to ask, they knew Arya would be happy to have Ned with her on her travels, if only for a few weeks. It was cemented then; Ned would go to stay with their parent's oldest friend, and Rose would stay here, at Winterfell.
Jon and Enrin knew the true reason for Daenerys' request; twenty years ago, just after Ned's fifth Name Day, she'd written them to share the news of the birth of her daughter, Princess Rhaella. For twenty years Daenerys requested that they tie their houses together, binding their son to her daughter through marriage. She was refused each time. They would be allowed to choose themselves, when the time came, and the King and Queen in the North knew that it was near.
The thought of Ned becoming King in the North after him was something that had kept him up most nights. It was out of custom for a King to step down, to allow heir to succeed him before his death; but Jon was tired, his children were grown, and he had never asked to be King.
Enrin had forbade Jon from doing it, not until Ned had married. His reign would be in question until he was able to provide an heir, they both knew that. Jon also knew that without Enrin by his side to rule with him, he would have been dead a long time ago.
Rose leaned into her father's side as he wrapped his cloak around them both, and she pressed her head into the crook of his neck. She sighed, contented. They spent many nights up on the battlements, just like this; both wrapped in Jon's cloak, watching the sun set.
This time, it rose, spreading pink and purple across the inky blackness of the sky. The sun chased away the darkness and soon, the world was bright again. She heard the wolves singing their songs in the forest, and her heart longed to join them. She wanted to run into the forest and live there forever, among the pack, never having to deal with the pain of human things.
"Your mother will be looking for us," her father said after a long while, and Rose only nodded. They went down the battlements together, shoulder to shoulder, the silence comforting.
When they entered the open, both father and daughter looked up immediately. Loping across the yard to them were two white wolves; one was larger with golden eyes, like melted honey. Ghost wound around Jon's middle, resting his head on his master's shoulder. Ghost was old now, the long reigning king. He and Night were content now to spend more time indoors, at the keep, sleeping at the feet of the King and Queen. Their children ran the forests now, their grandchildren after them, the Dire Wolf population bolstered after the last twenty years, each generation larger than the last.
"Shouldn't you be out hunting?" Jon asked the golden eyed wolf, who looked on the King calmly.
"You leave Silver out of it," Rose said, wrapping her arms around the wolf's neck. Silver hummed affectionately. Ghost had taken Silver under his wing has of late, running and hunting with him alone. Jon couldn't help but wonder if Ghost, too, was grooming his final son to take over ruling for him as well.
They entered the keep together, the wolves behind them. As they came into the Great Hall, Night looked up from her place at the hearth, her graying ears swiveling toward them.
Enrin was there, the light of the fire behind them making a halo around her dark hair. She smiled at them, wrapping her arms around her husband's waist as he and Rose strode up to meet her. She was just as beautiful as the day she had first entered that Great Hall so many years ago, Jon thought as he placed a kiss on her lips.
Rose had never seen two people more in love than her parents. Even now as they sat at the long table to break their fast together, their bodies were in sync.
Her mother wore a dress of crushed red velvet, the squared neckline plunging just below her collarbones. Rose saw the edge of the thick pink scar poking up over the fabric. She knew the stories well; her mother had died for her father, just like Jon had given his life for their people. Rose could not help but hope that one day someone loved her that much.
Silver raised his head, a welcoming rumble leaving his panting lips. Another wolf had entered the Great Hall, his sister, a hulking she-wolf with shaggy gray fur. She flopped down next to her brother, resting her head against Rose's boots under the table. She didn't have to look, she knew who followed.
Her brother came into the keep then, his black hair windswept across his forehead. His purple eyes found her immediately, and he grinned, their own joke. They both knew that Ned was always late, always last, and before an excuse could form on his lips, their mother held up her hand.
"I don't want to hear it, Eddard," Enrin said, kicking out his chair across from her, "sit down and eat."
Ned plopped down on the bench across from them, plucking a sausage from Rose's plate and popping it in his mouth. His father grinned, shaking his head.
"Where have you been?" Jon asked, eyeing his son's tousled hair. His own grin reflected back at him from Ned's face.
"Banshee and I were out in the forest, hunting rabbits."
At the sound of her name, Ned's wolf lifted her head. He took another sausage from the tray on the table, offering it to her.
"I told you that next time you decide to run off in the middle of the night, leave a scroll," Enrin's voice was stern, but mirth danced behind her eyes. She was enraptured by his face, as she had been the moment he'd left her body. She recalled the days of his boyhood, when she'd begged that Jon let him stay a child a while longer. Often it seemed that Ned had never left those days behind. He was mischevious, a trickster. He was rarely serious, the first to laugh and boast. Moreso than that, he was kind. He was smart, quick witted, and just as good as his father with a sword. She saw in him all of the things that she loved about her husband, and much more. It was when her eyes traveled to her daughter that her heart constricted.
Where Ned was loud and boisterous, Roselyn Snow was quiet and contemplative. Her dark eyes were always watching, her keen ears always listening to the whispers of the castle. She was calm and rational, with a sharp mind and an even sharper bow arm. Yes, Enrin thought, as she laid her eyes on both of her children as she laid her eyes on both of her children, she and Jon had done quite the job.
It made Enrin sad now, to see the pain dancing behind her children's eyes as they glanced at each other across the table.
Since the moment Roselyn had been born, she and Ned had been inseparable. They were so close that it seemed sometimes, they need not even speak; Enrin was sure that they had entire conversations with only their eyes. There was a tension at the table, a cold apprehension that breathed down their necks. Enrin shook her head.
"Your aunt Arya should arrive today," their mother said, sipping hot wine from her cup. Ned seemed to shake himself, his amethyst eyes clearing from the mist that had covered them.
"I wonder where she's been this time," he remarked. Ned loved to hear his aunt's stories. Once every three years or so she passed through Winterfell, stopping to visit her family on her great trek to visit Gendry in the capital. Their father had asked him to stay on at the keep after the Great War, but the dark haired man had refused him. It was too cold here, he said, and Winterfell already had a blacksmith. If he stayed, Gendry knew that his days would be spent watching wistfully the horizon, awaiting Arya's return.
When the children had been quite young, Rose had asked their aunt why she had not stayed with Gendry. They could have been Lord and Lady of some far off castle, Ned had added. They could have been together. Rose remembered that night, curled up under one of their farher's thick fur cloaks, watching the snow drift almost lazily from the sky. Arya had smiled fondly, running her finger's through Ned's dark curls.
"We could have, little ones," she'd replied, "we could have been married, and I could have given you cousins. But that's not me."
She'd tucked a white curl behind Rose's ear then, and it seemed to glow brighter than the snow that blanketed the ground.
"After all that's happened, I know now that I'm doing exactly what I'm meant to do. One day, when the time comes, you both, too, will know your purpose in this world."
Rose remembered their aunt's words well, so much so that she contemplated them each night before sleep claimed her. What was she meant to bring to this world, that seemed as if it already had everything? Only the Gods knew, she thought.
Their morning passed uneventfully after that. The children had gone to their training; first with their swords, and then their bows. It was Jon and Enrin who taught them both, their bodies still sinewy with muscle. They had little enemies left in this world, but they knew better than to let their guard down. A kingdom with strong leaders faired much better than a kingdom with a drunk, fat king.
Each time the wind whistled past their ears, they found themselves straightening, eyes casting around them. The yard was loud with the clamor of weapons and the raucous voices of the working people. Rose felt some pride as she watched them. They were safe and happy, well fed, and there were more children now than she'd ever seen before. The North had become great again, after all the years of turmoil. She felt eyes on her again in that moment, and turned to see her aunt Sansa watching them from over the parapets, her red hair glowing like fire in the dying light of the late afternoon.
Sansa had begun training with a sword, long ago. Jon had insisted upon it after the Great War, and it had lasted about a day and a half before Sansa had put her foot down.
"Why would I need to learn how to use a sword?" she'd shouted at her brother, in the middle of the Great Hall no less. "I have you and Enrin to protect me and the castle."
After that, Sansa busied herself with the finances and running the house; all the things Enrin hated to do, but Sansa loved.
It was then that she chose to make her appearance, materlalizing from the shadows beside the keep like a sprite.
It was Jon that felt her presence first, and he turned with a knowing grin. "Arya."
Her short brown hair was pulled way from her face, curling on her shoulders. She was dressed in her one shouldered cape, her Needle protruding from beneath it. Sansa's hurried footsteps were the only sound across the yard; it had gone silent, her presence louder than them all.
She flung herself at Jon and he lifted her from the ground, spinning toward the rest of them as he released her. Sansa and Enrin embraced her next, togehter, each of them clasping hands. No matter how long she had been away, it always felt like just yesterday since they had seen eachother.
Ned came bounding over, abandoning his practice sword in the dirt. "Aunt Arya!" he shouted, lifting her from the ground just as his father had. Rose leaped on them as well, locking her arms around Ned's neck and holding on tight. They tubmled into the dust, their laughter echoing off the stone walls. The rest of the yard had begun again, and each eye watched them fondly.
"Gods, it's only been three years," Arya said, brushing the hair from Ned's eyes. She rested her hand on Rose's cheek, her thumb skimming the blush there, "you're both grown now. Are we really that old?"
She looked to her siblings, and Enrin cocked an eyebrow.
"Old? You?" she scoffed, "You're the third youngest here if my math is correct. And you look it, too."
She took Arya's hand, hauling her up from the ground. "That would be thanks to the sun, sister," Arya retorted, "you should see it sometime."
"Careful," Jon piped up, winding his arm around his wife's waist, "she's not so old she couldn't knock you into the dirt."
Good humor danced behind Arya's eyes. "I'd like to see any of you try."
They supped in the Great Hall that evening, a feast roaring around them to celebrate Arya's breif return. They drank and laughed, memories flowing freely from their lips. Rose sat between her aunt Sansa and her mother, quietly taking in the scene. She could feel the wind whispering through her hair as the wolves in the forest raced through the night, the cool kiss of the moonlight on the top of her head. She had one ear with her family, and another ear with the pack. She could see it on her brother's face as well, the stars shining behind his eyes. He grinned at her, another one of their private jokes. Her throat constricted as she remembered what the morning brought. This was no ordinary visit.
"You know," Arya spoke up from down the table, her keen eyes watching Rose's every move, "I'm only staying in the capital for a day or so before I'm on my way back to Essos to tie up some loose ends. The trip won't take much time, and I promised Gendry I wouldn't take so long between visits..."
She trailed off, and Rose was well aware of the way her father's shoulders had tensed.
"You could come with me, Rose. Get out and see a bit of the world before you're trapped up here for the rest of your life. I could use the company."
A thrill ran down Rose's spine as she opened her mouth to reply, but her father spoke first.
"No. Rose will stay here."
The ember of excitement that had lit in Rose's chest slowly died, and she met her aunt's eyes with a wan smile. Arya scoffed, but said nothing. It was Ned that spoke up in his sister's defense.
"Come, father," he said, "I shouldn't be the only one who gets to get out and have a bit of fun. Let Rose come along, at least to the capital."
Enrin all but dropped her cup on the table, the sound thundering, silencing all of them.
"Last I checked, Rose was a woman grown, and can make her own choices." Her eyes were like ice, glaring at her husband.
They each looked at her in turn, and the weight of their gazes threatened to swallow her whole. In all her years, she'd never spoken against her parent's word; especially not in a place so public as this.
Something awakend in her, a small thing, yawning and blinking in the light.
"I would like to see the capital," was all she said, quirking her brow in the way her mother always did. She raised her wine to her lips, taking a long drag. Jon nodded, his mouth set in a grim line. Something haunting crossed his face.
"So be it," he said, as the voices began to ring around him again. They had all gone silent as the princess faced off with the rest of the table.
"Excellent," Arya said, downing the rest of her ale in one mouthful.
Rose picked up her fork again, her hands shaking. For the first time in weeks, she thought, perhaps her brother's trek wasn't such a bad idea after all.