Jon walked into the room that used to be his father's solar, and glanced over at Daenerys next to him. She was very pale; her face was drawn and somber.

"Winterfell is very nice, Jon," she said quietly, not meeting his eyes.

Jon frowned. "If you're not feeling up to it right now, we can give them the news later…"

Daenerys shook her head hard at this, and Jon raised his eyebrows, startled. "I've been through worse than this," she said firmly, a steely glint in her eyes. "I've lost worse than this. I'm going to fight through it. Just as you said, Jon, the Night King will pay for what he's done."

Jon nodded, but he was still a little worried. The way she had reacted to the news of her dragon being turned into a wight…it didn't line up with the Daenerys he was looking at now. He sensed she was bottling her feelings up, more than anything.

Ugh. Jon shook his head as the two of them moved to the far end of the room to let the others in. What is love doing to me? I can't stop worrying about her…she's a conqueror, she's done amazing, dangerous things and been through just as much as me. She can take care of herself.

And then he turned, and faced his siblings. Sansa stood behind Bran's wheelchair, holding the back of it in an almost protective manner. Davos and Tyrion had moved to the sides, already knowing the news themselves. Brienne of Tarth stood behind Sansa. Jon stared at the woman, and she suddenly looked sheepish.

"Your Grace, if you wish it, I will…" she began. "No," Jon interrupted. "You can stay, Brienne. I trust you. Lock the door."

She turned around and did so, while Bran looked at his half-brother…sorry, cousin…expectedly. This could be my chance to tell him, Bran thought. It's a shame Sam isn't with us. I will have to find him after.

Jon didn't fail to notice Bran's gaze, and shifted uncomfortably before beginning. "Where's Arya?"

Sansa frowned. "No clue. Can you tell her later, or would she have to be here?"

Jon sighed. "I suppose I can tell her later…somehow, I have a feeling she wouldn't like it."

"What?" Sansa raised an eyebrow. "Wouldn't like what?"

Davos looked nervous, while Tyrion stared at the ground. Daenerys spoke up.

"My alliance with your brother is not just a political one. We're going to be married."

"We're in love, you see," Jon explained, forcing the words out of his mouth.

Brienne's eyes widened, and Sansa made a noise of surprise, her eyes darting back and forth between them. Bran, however, did not look surprised in the slightest. Instead, he seemed almost…irritated? Disappointed? Jon's embarrassment gave way to confusion.

Sansa was at loss for coherent words. "You…you…and her…"

"You two knew about this?" Brienne looked pointedly at the two Hands in the room. Davos shrugged sheepishly. "Knew? Yes, you could call it knowing," said Tyrion. "Do I approve? No, not particularly. But I'm only the Hand of the Queen after all. Hands aren't for listening to counsel, every great ruler knows that."

Davos laughed, but Daenerys shot Tyrion a glare. "Only a jest, my queen," Tyrion said softly.

Sansa felt a smile creeping to her face. "This is…this is wonderful!" she exclaimed, almost feeling like her younger self again, still obsessed with knights and stories and falling in love. "I'm so happy for you two!" Without thinking too much, she walked over to Daenerys and took the dragon's queens hands in her own. Daenerys started, but then found herself smiling as well. "Yes," she said to Sansa. "I'd be glad to be a part of your family."

Bran didn't share the celebration. "How will it work?" he asked Jon, his voice level and his gaze unfaltering. "You're King in the North, and she is contending for the Iron Throne. Do you plan to reintegrate the North into the Seven Kingdoms?"

"Erm…eventually," Jon said, feeling very uncomfortable with his younger brother's behavior. This is not the Bran I knew, he thought. "The idea is once Daenerys and I…well…have an heir, he…"

"Or she," Daenerys interrupted.

"Right, or she…will be accepted as a legitimate ruler of both the North and the South, by all the people of the North and the South. Since they would be the child of both of us. The kingdoms will be ruled separately by Daenerys and I until our child comes of age, or until we die."

"This was all my idea, by the way," Tyrion tossed in.

Bran had no words for this, but he did go, "Hmm." Jon felt very unsettled.

"With respect, Your Grace," Brienne began. "Aren't we being presumptuous here? The whole point of going to Kings Landing was to make an alliance with Cersei, who is already sitting on the Iron Throne. It sounds like you're planning to betray her."

"It would no less than what's she's done to us ten times over," Sansa said reflexively, her mood suddenly worsening.

Jon scratched his head, and glanced at Dany. "I…well…"

"And that's even assuming we don't all get killed by the white walkers," Tyrion put in.

Dany huffed. "Isn't that the whole point of this alliance? So we can destroy the white walkers? Our marriage can only strengthen the bond between my forces and these Northern forces. You would have suggested a political marriage anyway, Tyrion. Everyone would have suggested it. But because it's for love, along with the political benefits, you disapprove."

Tyrion opened his mouth, as if to make a retort, and then closed it. He couldn't think of anything to say, because he didn't actually know what to think. Was that really the reason he disapproved? He searched his mind, for something…anything, but there was no cohesive thought. Only a distant barrier of worry, and horror.

"I think we can disperse for now," Jon said, sensing the tension in the room. "Thank you, Sansa, for giving us your blessing."

Sansa nodded, not feeling all so great as she had before, and turned to roll Bran out of the room. Brienne and Davos were already going. Then she felt a tug on her sleeve.

It was Tyrion Lannister. "Sansa…" he began. "I wanted to speak to you, about…some things…" Ah, I botched that. My big mouth only seems to come to me when I don't need it, and when I do, it takes its leave.

Sansa briefly looked surprised, and then her face turned cold. "That's quite alright, my lord," she said brusquely. "No need to trouble yourself." Then she turned, and rolled her brother out of the room.

Tyrion stood there silently, regretful, as Jon and Daenerys walked past, out of the solar.

Jon walked across the roofed balcony of Winterfell, looking down into the courtyard forlornly. Bran's reaction had been nothing like he had expected…in fact, Bran himself was nothing like Jon had expected. Dany sensed something was bothering him, but she said nothing. She was in no place to pry about someone else's inner demons. Why, why is it like this? Dany thought. We're supposedly in "love", yet we won't even speak to one another about these things.

Then Jon saw someone standing up ahead next to Sansa and Bran, and his heart soared.

Arya looked at the brother she'd missed for so long, and six years rushed through her mind, going backwards. Killing Littlefinger, destroying House Frey, leaving Braavos, learning the ways of the Faceless Men…and then the memories returned to Westeros. The Hound. The Brotherhood without Banners. Gendry and Hot Pie. Harrenhal. Kings Landing…losing Nymeria on the Trident, and finally Winterfell, when Jon had first given her Needle.

Arya ran across the balcony, and jumped into her brother's arms, crying for the first time in years. Jon staggered backward as he reciprocated the hug, speechless for a moment. Sansa and Davos laughed, and Daenerys took a step backward, letting out a giggle. Bran watched with a slight smile.

Jon found himself instinctively reaching down to muss up Arya's hair, as she broke the hug off. "Hey, quit it!" she said defensively, batting his arm away. "You may be a king or whatever, but you're not getting away with that!"

Daenerys raised her eyebrows, and Arya noticed her for the first time. "You must be Daenerys Targaryen, my brother's future wife," Arya said. "I'm Arya." She extended her hand for a handshake, and then quickly retracted it. "Sorry, am I meant to bow? Gods, where have my manners gone?"

Daenerys was laughing heartily now. "Hello, Arya," she said, smiling. "It's very nice to meet you."

Arya nodded and looked back at Jon. "You've changed, I think," she said, biting her lip. "You got bigger."

Jon looked her up and down, grinning. "I…don't think you got much bigger at all, actually."

Arya punched him in the arm. "I did too!"

Sansa laughed again, watching the scene. "It's good to see everyone acting…like they used to," she said, meaning to aim the comment at her brother in the wheelchair. Bran didn't respond, and then Sansa was reminded of one particular person not acting at all like they used to. Her smile faded.

Jon was laughing along with his sister, but in truth she had changed quite a bit. She was in soldier's clothes, and her hair was tied up in the same way Lord Eddard's had been, back in the day. She still wore the sword he had given her at her hip.

Arya noticed him looking at Needle. "Yep, still got it," she said proudly. "Well, I lost it for a bit, but then I got it again…not really important. Well, I guess it is. I have so much to tell you…"

"Jon?" It was another voice, coming up the steps. Jon turned and saw his old friend from the Night's Watch, Samwell Tarly.

"Sam!" He walked over, and the two of them hugged. As Jon looked over Sam's shoulder, he noticed Gilly standing behind him nervously, with her toddler son walking around her feet.

"Gilly," Jon said, acknowledging her. She simply smiled back, probably unsure of how to react to all this.

"I've found out quite a bit, Jon," Sam said. "About the white walkers…and other…things." He made a face, and then looked past Jon towards the others.

Bran returned the gaze knowingly.

Sam glanced over at Daenerys. "Oh, gods, I forget myself." He bent the knee. "Your Grace."

"Rise," Daenerys said gently. "Who might you be? You wear the blacks of the Night's Watch."

"This is Samwell Tarly," Jon explained. "An old friend of mine, from the Watch."

At the word 'Tarly', Dany's face paled. Wait, he...I…

He doesn't know. He doesn't know I burned his family. Daenerys forced herself to smile, and say, "Well met, Sam Tarly."

The day had brought joy, but there had been an undercurrent of worry and anxiety, as all the new allies found themselves in some complicated situations…

…

Tyrion realized his stunted little legs were taking him past the Winterfell godswood, and he kept moving. He had seen something from the castle walls, something slightly amusing.

Up ahead, looking quite out of place in the blankets of white snow, stood Varys, looking down at a gravestone. "It's a bit cold out here," Tyrion called to the Spider. "You'll catch a freeze in those billowing robes of yours."

"Perhaps," came the whispery answer. Varys was deep in thought.

Tyrion joined the eunuch at his side, and stared at the gravestone. There were words engraved into it. "HERE LIES PETYR BAELISH," Tyrion read aloud, "WHO DANCED TOO CLOSELY WITH WOLVES." He swallowed. "The northerners have more humor than I initially thought."

"He was my greatest enemy for years, did you know?" Varys said. "My greatest opponent. I enjoyed his presence immensely, of course. And then he came north, out of some twisted…love? Who knows? And he died. Lord Eddard Stark came south as a man of honor and died, but here it was the reverse. And now…I've come north." The eunuch's face was tight, and he shivered, but Tyrion did not think it was from the biting wind.

"Are you saying the north is only meant for people of honor, and the south is meant for schemers?" Tyrion asked. "As a southron, you wound me greatly, Varys."

Varys didn't react to the jape. "Cold things have broken through the wall," he murmured. "They are coming for us here. The war for the entire world will be upon us, soon enough. This is no place for me. I don't belong here. My network of little birds is broken; they've all gone silent. There is nothing I can do anymore."

Tyrion, for the first time, felt a rush of pity for the man. "Yes…" he said slowly. "We will be in a war soon. Against enemies we haven't fought in thousands of years…enemies more powerful than anything we've ever faced. And you know why we're fighting? To survive. That's what you can do, Varys. You can survive, and after surviving, you could…we ALL could maybe even live."