Introductory Note:
The single-line breaks mean what they always have in this story, a break in time or train of thought.
The double-line break indicates the change between Jon's and Arya's POV.
Jon Snow was in the stables brushing his black mare when Ser Brynden Tully found him.
"You're a brave lad and a diligent squire," the weathered knight said with a firm expression, but the hint of a smile in his eyes. "You're sharp when wielding a sword, with time and practice you could one day be better than most knights. You ride well, though you are barely passable with a lance under your arm." With that, a wry grin escaped the Blackfish's composure.
"When I first heard of Edmure's sally against the outlaws," he continued, "I let my worry drown my opinion of you. After two years as my squire, I should have known better," he admitted. "I sent two ravens to Winterfell. The first of which was a mercifully incorrect notice of your death. The second, I just came from sending. It told them of your deeds in my . . . brave? . . . nephew's ill-planned pursuit. Maester Vyman said that you sent a raven to your family upon your return with Edmure."
"Aye, ser," answered Jon. "But. . . the maester insisted upon reading it first."
"Again, my apologies for my mistrust. To continue, the letter I just let fly will tell the Starks of your knighthood, in case any should wish to witness it. We'll plan for me to dub you once we receive word back."
"You? Ser Brynden? You mean to knight me? And to do it yourself?"
"Surely even in the North, Ser Brynden the Blackfish of House Tully is an honorable name?"
"No, ser! That is to say, yes. It is an honorable name, Ser Brynden."
The Blackfish laughed and assured Jon that he would be pleased to do it.
"Ser, about the knighting," Jon said. "I am aware of the ceremony and what knights do. But, I keep the old gods. When the time comes, would you allow me to sit my vigil and then to do the kneeling, all in the godswood not the sept?"
The Blackfish chuckled. "A man spends his vigil in naught but his small clothes. Sure that you won't fall ill from the chill?"
Next was Jon's turn to laugh.
"Ser, we're in the Riverlands, and it's still summer," he said, as if no further explanation was necessary. Still he japed, "In two years, I've never lit the brazier in my cell nor closed the port-hole window. I'm a Northman."
Jon won a smile in return.
Tully said to him, "In recent years, many knights choose not to sit a vigil at all. Others are knighted on the battlefield without any ceremony. The vigil and the knighting can both be in the godswood, just choose two separate spots and be sure to walk barefoot between them." Ser Brynden also insisted on a septon anointing Jon with the seven oils, saying it was only proper. He moved to leave through the wide, stable doors.
Jon was elated by the prospect of being knighted by no less a knight than the Blackfish, and by the praise he'd received. When he saw Brynden turn and walk back, however, Jon feared that the famed knight had thought better of everything he'd just said.
"Jon, these came for you last night. It was before Ser Edmure had awoken, and I am embarrassed to confess that I read them."
Brynden, for the first time in Jon's presence, looked sheepish.
He handed Jon two, folded squares of parchment and said, "It seems your half-siblings are quite fond of you and . . . best of luck with that Northern girl of yours."
Jon,
For days we thought you were dead. Killed by outlaws. Do not ever do that to us again. Everyone cried til they thought their eyeballs would fall out. Even Father and Robb.
I am so happy that you are not dead. Arya.
Jon,
I hope this letter finds you well. I experienced one remarkably dark day followed by the brightest of nights.
One morning, I received Lady Arya's letter telling me of your death. Shortly after evenfall of the next day, another raven arrived from her stating that you had returned to Riverrun, alive. The sadness of the first was almost worth enduring for the joy of the second. Almost. Please send a raven to your sister soon. I will be glad to hold proof that you still live, in mine own hands.
Quite relieved,
Lydrea Hornwood
Maester Vyman had been uncommonly kind to Jon. For two years, he sent Jon's letters to Winterfell every month. He also kept private every message returned, before he had shown these two to Ser Brynden.
Robb wrote every month, on his training, gossip from the castle, and questions about Riverrun and the Tullys. Every few letters of his were accompanied by one from Bran. Though they both denied it, Jon was certain that his younger brother only wrote to him when ordered to by their older brother.
Arya was less reliable in sending ravens, but most of hers were rolled together with ones Lydrea had written to Jon. To keep up propriety and because Maester Vyman had no ravens trained for Castle Hornwood, Arya served as a way-stop of sorts.
At first, he'd thought Lydrea's letters icy, based on their formal tone. Slowly, he realized that that was simply how she was. Once he understood as much, Jon began to grasp the dry japes and warmth within her words. It felt entirely natural to divulge thoughts that he would never have said aloud. As someone who rarely sought a bond with anyone outside his family, Jon felt that, except for them, mayhaps no one knew him better than Lydrea.
When the day arrived, Jon Snow was surprised that Robb hadn't traveled to Riverrun alone, as his father's letter stated. Ned Stark wrote that he'd received a raven from King's Landing and could not leave Winterfell, but had offered kind words regarding his pride in Jon, who rolled the letter in cloth and tucked it away. Eddard said that Robb would arrive in his stead. Jon expected an escort, but watching from atop one of the Riverrun's three gates, he saw Arya and Lady Stark as well.
He ran down to greet them. Ser Rodrik and Hullen were the first to dismount. Winterfell's master-of-horse gave Jon a playful shove before helping Lady Catelyn from her chestnut rouncey. Rodrik Cassel clasped Jon on the shoulder and said, "Well done, boy. We've all heard the tale and mayhaps later you'll give me the bloody details over some Southron wine."
Jon smiled and thanked the man who had first trained him to use a sword. Still, he couldn't help himself from looking up at the guard post on the castle wall. Lew Piper will never live to have a day such as this. Jon's eyes found Robb assisting Arya. His brother Marq didn't return either. Jon pushed aside his feelings, grief tinged with guilt, and smiled at his brother and sister.
Jon embraced Robb and said, "Glad to see you, Stark. Though. . . I had not expected that you would bring along some vagrant you found on the road. Girl, Riverrun quarters no beggars. Off with you!"
Arya gave him a punch in his stomach.
"You should've heard her, Jon," Robb said. "From dawn to dusk, she pestered Father about coming. His resolve melted sooner than you'd guess."
"And, can I tell him?" she asked. "I've already waited so, so long! And I didn't even put it in my letter."
Robb told Arya that she could, and Jon doubted that she would've held back even if Robb hadn't. She waved over a maid with a woven basket, the type that farmers used in the fields, slung over her back. She knelt next to Arya, who opened it and gently pushed aside furs. Jon thought that she might be looking for a cloak for him, until she stepped forward with a furry, white bundle.
The pup looked up at Jon with sleepy, red eyes. It yawned silently. Jon took the white pup and lifted him from under his fore legs.
"He's a direwolf," whispered Arya. She reached back into the basket and pulled two more pups out by the scruff of their necks. "Robb and Bran found them."
"They were newly born," began Robb. "Their mother dead by a stag's antler. I found five. Bran was already deciding which pup would go to which of us when Father said we could not keep them. A tear from Bran and a promise from me changed his mind. We were leaving with them when Bran heard a noise. Lucky that he did, because no one else heard it. He picked up that one and without a flicker of hesitation declared it yours."
Jon held up the direwolf pup, and the creature stared right back, as if sizing him up.
"His name is Ghost!"
"Shh, Arya," Robb said, cutting her off. "Jon will choose the name. He's white and never makes a sound, so that's why I thought of the name."
"Well, I like it and Bran likes it too," said Arya. She set the other two wolves down. They walked to Jon and sniffed his boots. "Bran hasn't thought of a name for his yet."
"I call mine, Grey Wind. Even now I know he'll be fast. Sansa chose Lady, which suits her I suppose. Arya named that one, Nymeria, after the Rhoynish queen who conquered Dorne. Mother was thrilled. Rickon won't stop calling his, 'Shaggydog,' no matter how stupid it sounds."
Lady Catelyn stepped beside Robb.
Jon had not expected her either. Seeing this woman, he didn't know what greeting to expect. "Lady Stark," he said with a polite bow.
Her expression looked guarded, but tender. As a child he'd seen the look on occasion, though never directed at him. She shortened the space between them and gave his hand a brief squeeze.
"Thank you for Edmure."
"He seems himself again, my lady," Jon said. "Though, he isn't moving about on his own yet. If you wish to see him, he will be in his room, or, if not, he may have been helped to your lord father's solar."
As Catelyn walked away, it occurred to Jon that he might be far more familiar with Edmure than she was. Fourteen years had passed since she left for Winterfell, and Jon did not remember how long ago her last visit was. Edmure certainly had never visited Winterfell. Four-and-ten years ago, Catelyn Stark's brother had been only a boy of eleven.
Arya pulled Jon from his thoughts by his sleeve.
"Show me the castle."
With his wolf pup at his heels, Jon Snow left the barracks and started toward the godswood. Edmure had offered him better quarters after the rescue, though Jon politely refused, insisting that he was still a squire and that his cell in the barracks was fine enough.
It's nearly sunset.
As he walked passed, Jon saw Robb waiting by the entrance to the main keep. "In need of some diversion, Stark?"
"That leads precisely to my question, Jon. I'm standing here, incapable of thinking up a proper name for you. Here you are, going to such lengths to earn a name and your brother cannot even think of one to give you." Robb held his chin and pretended to be lost in thought.
As Jon stepped closer, his brother looked like a living shadow; the light from the doorway of the keep silhouetted him against the darkness of the courtyard.
"Oh, but you have," Jon said with a grin. "You shall see on the morrow."
Just then, Arya came striding up to them. In her arms, she held a pile of furs so large that she could barely see where she walked. The two grey pups tried to nip at a corner hanging free.
"And what, my lady, is all this?" asked Jon.
"I'm going to make camp in the godswood tonight. With you, of course."
"Firstly, I have to be alone, so you cannot come. Second, I'll be remaining awake all night in my small clothes, which would be odd with my little sister. So, again, you cannot come. Third, a lady doesn't sleep on the ground when she has well-arranged quarters in her grandfather's castle. Arya Stark, you're a lady, not a hedge knight. Besides, your mother would be furious and blame me."
"What are you afraid of?" interrupted Robb. "Surely, carrying her brother to safety, while fending off a pride of lions, slaying a dragon, and throwing back the Others is worth some leniency. I have heard that you did each of those feats in at least one wine-soaked tale."
"And you just stay in your breeches," added Arya. "What does how you cover your butt tonight have to do with being a knight anyhow?"
Jon allowed her follow him into the middle of the godswood. He led Arya to a quietly trickling stream, and she laid out the furs on the grass beside it. Jon removed all but his breeches and sat himself against a mossy rock. He worried that their wolves might run off into the darkness, but Nymeria curled herself into Arya's embrace and Jon's pup sat on his hind legs beside him.
"Tell me what it was like, the battle. Did you really kill anyone?"
He thought for a moment, then replied, "It was over so quickly. That's what I remember most, the pace of it. In Old Nan's stories, battles rage and ebb for hours, even days. At the campsite? It felt no longer than it takes to trip over your feet. One moment I am ducking a sword, a breath later I found your uncle, and a breath after that we were fleeing into the hills."
Arya yawned before releasing a deep breath. "Sounds exciting."
"No, not exciting, little sister," he whispered. "Quick as it was, I hope you never have to see anything like it."
Arya said nothing more. Jon could hear her breathing slow. He looked down to see that Ghost was resting his head on Jon's hip. In the moonlight, Jon could see the pup's eyelids slowly closing, and placed a hand on the direwolf's back.
"I ran when I could have fought, Ghost. Might be I could've helped those five by the fire pit. They might have lived. I never wanted them to die, I had no time, and the outlaws were too many. Am I a craven?"
The drowsy wolf offered no opinion on the matter.
"Craven or not, they're calling me a hero for saving one and leaving five, perhaps more, to be killed."
Jon pet his wolf's fur until those red eyes stayed closed.
He tilted his head back, resting it against the boulder. Jon Snow watched the stars through the canopy and thought of home until dawn.
Arya:
Arya Stark awoke to Nymeria licking her face.
"Enough, I'm up."
She looked over and saw that Jon hadn't moved from his boulder. The rising sun cast its glow on the Southern forest and half the sky glowed orange, like the burning embers at the bottom of a dying fire.
Arya wasn't sure if her brother looked happy or sad. Either way, he looked . . . wise. As if the mossy rock was the back of a throne, and he was resting his hands on its carved arms, rather than his knees.
"You look wise like that," she told him.
He chuckled. "Well, little sister, I don't feel very wise this morning. Look at me and ask yourself what's missing."
She guessed, "A knight needs a sword."
Jon shook his head.
"A knight needs a horse?"
He shook his head again and told her to really look.
"You're not yet dressed, but-"
Jon grinned and nodded. "I have a favor to ask. The walk from the vigil to the knighting is all part of the ceremony, and how would I look today if went about the castle in a dirty tunic and the breeches I wore all night?
"After you arrived yesterday," he said, "I realized that I needed a change to my cloak. An important change, little sister. I asked two maids, both good seamstresses, for their help. They assured me that they'd have my new cloak ready. Can you ask around for either Mylessa or Tansy? Oh, and could you bring me clean breeches and a doublet? Black or grey'll be fine."
Arya rolled her eyes at him.
Jon added, "Please, my ever so brave and clever sister."
She found her mother in the feasting hall and asked after the maids.
"I fear I do not know either of them," Catelyn answered. "But you, little lady, are in dire need of a bath."
Arya's grand-uncle scratched his close-cropped, grey-streaked beard and answered her question in his hoarse, but gentle voice, "You'll find the sewing room on the third floor of the keep. The maids' quarters are at the bottom of the corner tower, that direction." He pointed the way, then put both hands on his hips. He furrowed his wrinkled brow, playing at seriousness. "And why, might I ask, do you have need of them?"
"It's a secret," she replied with a grin.
Arya turned to leave, then remembered to ask, "And which way is the barracks?"
"The knights, guards, and the squires stay in the corner tower off that way, but-" He looked truly curious, but Arya didn't wait for him to ask her again what she was up to.
Heading for the doorway, she hollared back to him, "A secret, Ser Uncle Blackfish."
Neither of the maids she needed were in their quarters. Next, she tried the barracks tower.
Once she reached the entrance, two men stopped her.
"I need to get in there," she declared, impatient at being deterred.
"And who might you be?" asked the first guard. "A little maid, mayhaps?"
"Too small to be a maid," his fellow jested. "It would take her a moon's turn to finish cleaning anything with those skinny arms. Anyhow, the cells and clothes were cleaned two days-"
"I'm not a maid!"
They nearly fell over each other laughing. Arya didn't know if they were knights or men-at-arms or who they were, but she didn't like them.
"Not like that! You . . . arse-river-scums! I'm Arya-"
"Arya, then," one interrupted. "If you're looking for a tumble, seek cock elsewhere. Us two prefer maidens."
She looked around to see that a dozen or more guards were watching the commotion. She froze for a moment, her anger slipping into embarrassment.
Two long, lean arms emerged from behind her and grabbed one of the two men mocking her by the collar, shoving him against the tower.
"That is Arya Stark, you toads! My niece's little girl and Lord Tully's grand-daughter!"
Embarrassment abated in her, and she could see it flooding over the guards.
They mumbled frantic apologies, but she only looked at the Blackfish. His face changed from furious to fatherly in an instant.
"My little lady, I thought to catch up with you here. What's this all about? What do you require?"
She told him she needed to find her brother's room. Ser Brynden led her up the stairs, which bent like a triangle at every landing. Jon's room was smaller than she expected. His narrow bed was folded down from the wall on a chain and spanned the width of his cell. Her grand-uncle reached for the chain, but Arya ducked under his arms and climbed onto the knee-high bunk.
Arya hopped off the other end of the bed and rummaged through some folded clothes. Doesn't Jon have any good clothes? Frustrated, she turned to see that the Tully knight had folded up the bed.
"My lady," he said, tapping his foot.
There on the ground, she saw a leather-on-wood trunk with iron studded edges.
She opened it and picked up a pair of breeches. "Do these look grey?" In the dim room, she wasn't sure. "Or this?"
He chuckled at her and took the breeches and leather jerkin. Ser Brynden held them up to the small, round window. "Dark greys, little lady. Nearly black."
"Thanks then. What else? Boys wear tunics under jerkins, right?"
He handed her the first two articles, and she rolled them into a ball.
"Shirt?" he asked.
"Shirt," Arya confirmed, and the old knight handed one to her.
"Boot stockings?"
"Boot stockings."
"Smallclothes?" he asked with an arched brow.
"Smallclothes," she groaned.
Four women were at work in the sewing room. Jon's cloak was ready and folded. Mylessa took Arya's bundle. She picked up a cloth badge from on top of the black cloak and stitched it onto Jon's jerkin. She quickly arranged everything into a pile and tied a string around it. When Arya tried to open the folds and peek at the badge, Mylessa gave her a soft push out the door and said, "Off you go, m'lady."
She ran across a courtyard and cut through the main hall. Arya wondered if she was going to get Jon in trouble on his special knighting-day by taking so long. Just then, someone caught her by the arm.
"Robb, let me go! I've had enough of stupid boys in my way this morning."
He released her and looked like he was going to ask a myriad of questions, but Arya stopped him. "I need your pin!"
"What?"
"Robb, your pin! The pin. . . the silver wolf clasp keeping your cloak from pooling on the ground - I need it!" Arya demanded.
"Then how will I continue to keep my cloak from pooling on the ground?"
"String?" she offered, holding up her bundle.
Robb frowned at her.
"But, I need it," she repeated, then reached a hand up to yank it off herself.
Her brother relented. "Fine, my lady. I'll find something else."
Arya reached Jon breathless. She surprised herself by running straight to the right spot. That she could have gotten lost in the small, but unfamiliar godswood didn't occur to her until she'd already found Jon.
He was drying off his face and hair. Meanwhile, Nymeria and Ghost stood side-by-side in the brook, trying to bite the running water.
She handed him the bundle.
He looked at the clasp on top and questioned, "A silver wolf?"
"From Robb."
"You mean a gift?"
"Ha! Yes. You keep it." Arya grinned.
Jon reached out and mussed her hair. "I'll meet you at the entrance to the godswood after I've dressed."
The small party followed the septon to a plot of grass in the godswood. A nursemaid saw them and took a boy no older than Rickon in hand. The sun brightened the airy forest. A flock of a dozen crows took flight off the grass and landed in a tree overlooking the clearing.
The septon spoke, but Arya paid him no mind. The witnesses stood in a small crescent, facing deeper into the godswood. Jon and Ser Brynden faced the crowd, one pace behind the septon. Sansa would love this. With the flowering trees in the distance, the sun shining, and the birds watching from above, she thought the setting was better suited for a wedding than a warrior's rite of passage.
Arya looked at the faces around her. Everyone stood, except for Uncle Edmure, who had a chair brought for him. She was surprised, and a bit angry on Jon's behalf, that more people were not with them. She'd assumed that the entire castle would be in attendance. The next Lord of the Riverlands was saved by Jon, but she counted only five-and-ten faces paying him this honor. Beyond the three Starks and Edmure Tully, Arya noticed some finely dressed men with swords. Probably knights, she thought. Four sewing women looked to be japing with their glances to each other. The others looked like they were each a fighting man, or boy, of some lesser status.
Arya Stark turned her glance back upon the septon, but still ignored what he was saying. The man was pot-bellied and mostly bald. What hair he had was brown and oily. It curved around the back of his head, except for a thin tuft on top, which he patted down toward his brow. All the while, he spoke in an irritating accent. Father's gods don't need annoying septons and stupid septas or statues. They don't even need names. You can just feel something. . . hidden and powerful, when you look at a weirwood's spooky eyes. Arya remembered how Bran was too scared to follow her to the heart tree for years. She doubted that anyone thought this fat septon powerful or scary.
Jon stepped to the septon's side and knelt. The fat man reached down and dabbed something on Jon's forehead, said something in a low voice, and then retreated to join the crowd.
Arya heard several whispers behind her. "What's he doing in those clothes? Where is the boy's humble roughspun? Who does he think he is?"
She let out an exasperated sigh.
The Blackfish walked forward and held the blade of his sword just above Jon's head.
"In the Mother's name do to swear to protect the weak?" he asked.
"I swear," promised Jon.
Then, Uncle Brynden tapped Jon on both shoulders and made him swear by each of the Seven. When he was finished, he solemnly announced, "Arise Ser Jon of House Whitewolf."
Jon threw back his black cloak, revealing a shield-shaped badge of a white direwolf racing across a black field. It made Arya imagine Ghost full grown and running through the dark of night.
"Whitewolf," she whispered, feeling out the sound of it. Better than "Snow".
Hoots and cheers sounded out. Small audience or not, Jon's smile stretched across his face. Arya Stark shouted at her brother. Robb whistled and when he began to clap, all three leads slipped from his fingers. Grey Wind, Nymeria, and Ghost ran to Jon. The grey pups barked and jumped excitedly; Ghost pushed his head against Jon's leg until he bent and reached his fingers into the pale white fur.
Arya smiled, thinking of Jon's new name. "I like it!" Giddy, she rubbed her hands together and said to Robb, "Sounds like he's a sellsword."
"No, Arya, like he's a knight."