Authors Note: POV may change in this chapter, so be prepared.
"To Winterfell we pledge the faith of Greywater. Hearth and heart and harvest we yield up to you, my lord. Our swords and spears and arrows are yours to command. Grant mercy to our weak, help to our helpless, and justice to all, and we shall never fail you. I swear it by earth and water. I swear it by bronze and iron. "We swear it by ice and fire."
Lord Howland Reed intoned the words of loyalty that Greywater Watch had used for centuries with a tone akin to pride, as if swearing fealty to House Stark once again was an act he was relieved to do. Lady Stoneheart watched from a shadowed corner as her son accepted the oath. At benches and tables around Winterfell's great hall, other Northern Lords and Ladies looked on, while to Bran's right, the new Targaryen Queen watched in fascination. She looked intrigued by the acts of fealty shown. When Lord Reed rose, Bran stood and asked for his blessing on Bran and Meera's wedding, which he received. When all was done, the feast began.
It didn't take long for the Greatjon to get drunk and begin to sing 'The Bear and the Maiden Fair.' He was soon joined by Torren Liddle and several other members of the mountain clans and a few Dothraki. Judging by the way they sang the song, these Dothraki were the ones who had ridden with Bran when he had ridden in Essos and across the Dothraki Sea. The festive feeling was soon ruined however. It didn't take long for some drunken squire to drag up history. A voice called out from the back of the hall that the Targaryen's were responsible for more Stark deaths than the Lannisters and that vengeance should be sought. A general murmur of assent went up from the crowd. The murmur of agreement began to swell until Bran banged his fist of the table and stood, Summers loud growls drowning out all other sound.
"Are we Frey's that we would so easily dismiss the Guest Right?" Bran demanded, staring at the assembled crowed, his voice ringing in the silence of the vast hall.
No one answered. Bran gazed around the hall, his eyes lit by some fierce fire.
"We are North Men," he said in a strong voice that echoed around the hall.
"Ours is the blood of the First Men. Our way is the older way," Bran said, and he looked at Osha. "This is Winterfell. Within these walls, anyone can prove themselves. We do not hold children guilty for the sins of their parents. You all swore loyalty to House Stark, and House Stark has sworn loyalty to the Targaryens. Be warned, if you break your oaths, if you break the Guest Right, MINE is the last face you shall see, and MINE is the last sword that will ever swing at you in life."
The hall remained quiet, and those who had been murmuring agreement with the squire moments before looked ashamed. Slowly, the chatter resumed, but Lady Stoneheart slipped out the side door of the great hall, for her grief at the memory of the Red Wedding was threatening to reveal itself to anyone with eyes.
000
Lady Stoneheart had wandered for a long time around Winterfell, not really paying attention to where she was going. When she finally woke from her stupor, she found herself sitting in front of the Heart Tree, and she smiled. Its red eyes did not scare her anymore. She had come to realise much since she had returned to Winterfell. While the Lord of Light may have brought her back to life, it was the Old Gods who were healing her. Her wounds were closing, her hair was growing back and returning to its natural colour, and she could feel her heart beat every so often.
They were unlike any of the other gods she knew, these Old Gods. The Seven were generally silent, the Lord of Light was quick and deadly, and both raised armies to propagate their faith. The Old Gods, however, moved slowly, thinking their long, slow thoughts. Always planning. Always finding chinks in other gods armour so that they may influence people. Always setting things up so that things could happen.
Ned had to die so Robb would go to war. She had to be with Robb or she would have stayed and mothered Bran. Bran had to be free of her influence to go beyond the Wall to learn his ability. The War of the Five Kings was needed to pave the way for the return of the Targaryens. Robb had to die so that the Frey's and Bolton's could be brought down. She had to die and be brought back by R'hllor so that she may learn what she lost and become the leader of The Brotherhood Without Banners. But what of Arya and Sansa? What had their deaths been for?
She pondered this for a long time. She was so lost in thoughts that she didn't notice Bran coming to sit beside her. When she did, she just studied him for a long time. He had the looks of his father, the young Ned that Catelyn Tully had married so long ago. The strong jaw, the thin lips that were by turns serious and joyous. His hair had darkened to a darkish red, almost brown, and his blue eyes were flecked with green. She saw all this because at that moment he was relaxed. He was not Lord Stark here. Here he was Bran.
"I have news," Bran said at last, smiling. "It seems we have found Sansa and Arya. The real Arya and Sansa."
Lady Stoneheart felt her heart lurch and hammer out a few beats before becoming still again.
"Where?" she asked.
"Arya was in Braavos, under an assumed identity. She arrived in Kings Landing and revealed her identity to Lord Varys. She knew details that only Arya could know. Sansa was at the Eyrie. She was living there as the bastard daughter of Petyr Balish. Lord Balish admitted as such when the Lords of the Vale bound and chained him and sent him packing for the wall. Sansa is coming up the Kings Road with Robert Arryn in tow. Arya is coming by sea."
"Are we certain?"
"Positive."
000
Sansa could never remember seeing the Kings Road to Winterfell been so crowded. Many of the Northern Lords were Leaving Winterfell to return to their own holdings, smallfolk were coming to the winter town to trade and there were throngs of southeron Lords and knights who were making their way to the Nights Watch to avoid the Queens justice before she came south. Beside her was Petyr Balish, looking tired and older than his thirty six years. Loras Tyrell, with his flowing long hair that covered the burn scars, rode a little ahead of them, his armour duller than the armour of any sellsword. Lord Randell Tarly rode beside Ser Loras, trying to reassure the disillusioned young knight with things like "if my pig of a son and a bastard boy can survive the wall and rise to high ranks, we are sure to be well received and get good ranks." Sansa doubted it. She had heard of what had happened to Janus Slynt for questioning her bastard brother's orders. Or her cousin, depending on what story you believed.
She was nearing the gate and trying to calm young Robert Arryn, when a skinny young woman rode up beside her. Neither of them spoke to each other. They each knew who the other was, even if they had introduced themselves by false names. Finally, as they passed through the gate, the other woman spoke.
"We are home!"
"Yes, we are," Sansa agreed.
"Romantic fool," Arya muttered.
"Horseface," Sansa shot back.
They both grinned.
A/N: Second chapter done. Any idea's for the third chapter, or anything you want to see in it, let me know.
