Just after breaking his fast, his sister, Sansa had insisted that Bran should sit with them to hold court for their people and perform their duties as Lord of Winterfell and as King in the North.
Jon sat at the center, with Bran on his right, and Sansa on his left. For days holding court with him, Sansa had easily gotten use to it. But he didn't know how Bran handled it with ease. Even on his wheeled chair, sitting next to him, Bran projected more self-confidence and poise than he ever did. Jon figured that it was because Robb left Bran as the Stark in Winterfell when he declared war on Joffrey for executing their father. Bran had to grow up fast. He had to become Lord of Winterfell at age of ten, and control the entire North in their eldest brother's absence, and also, taking care of their youngest brother, Rickon.
He could also see their father in Bran, too. Like their father, a second-born son, Bran had to take the responsibilities of a title that wasn't supposed to be his. Jon felt like they were repeating history: Their father and eldest brother rode south on a king's demand, with their brother trying to save their father and bargain for their captive sister.
"That's everyone," Bran noted. "For today, at least." He said.
Jon was so lost in thought that he hadn't notice Bran and Sansa calling his attention.
"Jon," Sansa called. "Everything alright?" She asked.
"I'm alright." He said. "I was just…lost in my thoughts."
"Well, if you are in thought," Sansa started to say. "Try to think about what we're going to do with the Dreadfort with the Boltons gone."
Bran cleared his throat. "I thought you were giving the Dreadfort to the Free Folk." He said.
But before Jon could answer, Maester Wolkan rushed into the great hall. "Your grace," He bowed. "My lords and ladies." He handed a folded parchment to Sansa. "For you, princess."
Sansa took the parchment then her eyes widened and turned back to the Maester.
"What is it?" Jon asked.
"It was sent from Riverrun, my lady." Maester Wolkan informed.
Sansa read the contents and her eyebrows furrowed.
"But I thought Riverrun was under the control of the Freys." Bran said. "And Uncle Edmure's a prisoner at the Twins, right?" He asked.
When Sansa was done reading, she smiled at them. "Not anymore." She showed them the parchment and the blue sealed wax with a leaping trout. The sigil of House Tully. "Uncle Edmure's back in Riverrun. And we have Arya to thank for it."
"What?" Jon said in disbelief as he took the parchment from his sister and read silently.
"My dear niece Sansa,
At your sister's request, I have sent this letter to inform you that the Freys of the Crossing who murdered my sister—your mother, brother, sister by law, and our entire forces have been taken care of with the help of loyal Tully bannermen of which your sister, Arya had rallied together. Now, I have called upon the bonds of our words, Family, Duty, Honor, and declare the Riverlands in support for your brother, Jon Stark, as the King in the North, the Vale and the Trident, as Robb was before him.
Edmure Tully, Lord of Riverrun."
When he was done, Jon set the letter down, and Bran took it from him.
"The Riverlands is back in our fold." Sansa said with delight. "You're not just the King in the North and the Vale, but the Trident as well." Her smile disappeared, when she saw his expression. "What is it?" She asked.
There's something about that letter that's disturbing, Jon thought. "What did your uncle mean by the Freys of the Crossing have been taken care of?" He asked. "How? Lady Brienne had mentioned Arya had rallied Tully bannermen to free Edmure Tully, yes. But to get to him, you'd have to pass enemy lines. But I think taken care of" Jon quoted his fingers in the air. "Has a deeper meaning to it than just killing off soldiers in warfare."
Bran absent-mindedly placed the letter on the table. Jon noticed that his brother had a darker expression than he had. Perhaps, Bran understood what he meant. But what Jon didn't understand was how Bran looked across the dais at someone. Jon followed his gaze and saw that he was looking at Meera Reed, and there was some sort of understanding that passed between them. Jon raised an eyebrow, right then he immediately implied that Bran and Meera knew more than they were telling them.
Jon was about to ask his brother, when Davos Seaworth burst into the room.
"Your grace," Davos addressed. "The sentries have spotted men approaching."
Jon paled. "Is it the Lannister army?" He asked doubtfully. He hoped it wasn't. They had just gone through one battle to take back the North and Winterfell from the Boltons. They were not ready to fight another one against the Lannisters.
"No, your grace," Davos said. "They're carrying banners of the Crannogmen."
Jon sighed in relief for a moment. Thank the gods, he thought. But if it isn't the Lannister army then who are these people? He exchanged uncertain looks with his siblings, who looked confused and curious as he was. Everyone else started talking at the same time.
"Which banners exactly, Ser Davos?" Sansa asked.
"The Lizard-lion, princess." Davos replied.
"But the Lizard-lion banner is—" Sansa started to say.
"Of House Reed." Bran finished, then turned to Meera and smiled.
Meera Reed, however, looked really confused and uncomfortable with everyone's attention on her.
"They're entering Wintertown as we speak." Davos continued. "And…they seemed to have a pack of wolves travelling with them."
"Wolves?" Sansa repeated, like the idea bothered her. "In the swamps of the Neck?" She asked, turning to Meera for confirmation.
"There aren't wolves in the swamps, princess." Meera confirmed. "Just lizard-lions and snakes."
Suddenly, the direwolves, Ghost and Winter who were sprawled by their masters' feet, abruptly stood tall to their feet, which shook the table and startled all three of them.
The direwolves had their heads tilted high and their ears straight up.
"Ghost," Jon called. "What is it, boy?"
Winter started howling, then Ghost followed.
"What's wrong with them now?" Sansa whispered.
Jon shook his head. "I don't know."
The direwolves raced out of the great hall. Davos had to step aside and move out of the way to avoid being overrun.
Bran was the first to move. "We need to get out there and meet them." He insisted as he maneuvered his wheeled chair down the dais.
"Bran—" Sansa started to say.
"Sansa," Bran interrupted. "Ser Davos mentioned a pack of wolves, and I think I know why that is."
Sansa shrugged. "What?" She asked.
"Arya's with them." Bran blurted out.
Jon considered it. He trusted his direwolf Ghost with his life. One time, Ghost had sensed the presence of a Wight and had almost killed Lord Commander Mormont, until he threw a lamp at it which caused the Wight to burn.
"Bran's right." He agreed. "The wolves always sense everything before we do." He stood from his chair and followed his little brother towards the doors. "And they're never wrong."
Sansa sighed and followed. Everyone else trailed after them.
. . .
For two days, they have been travelling further north. It would probably just been a shorter trip, but the heavy snowfall and cold winds were not helping.
After a lot of discussion, Arya had finally convinced Lord Howland Reed to come with them to Winterfell. Mostly, it's to compensate for everything he'd done for her family and also, so that he'd be able to see his daughter, Meera again.
Howland Reed had remained loyal to the Starks. He went with her father south to rescue her aunt Lyanna; he had kept her father's remains safe when the forces Robb sent to retake the North fell to the Ironborn; and he even sent his own children to protect her younger brothers, Bran and Rickon, from the Ironborn. For that, Arya is forever grateful to him and his family.
To get to Winterfell from the Kingsroad, you have to pass through Wintertown.
Arya noticed people staring at them as they passed by. She didn't know what made them stare. It's probably because they were carrying crannogmen banners and they were known to rarely leave the swamps in the Neck. It's either that, or Nymeria and her Wolfpack. Or both.
On the lead were two Crannogmen carrying the Lizard-lion banners of House Reed. Arya rode just behind them, with her direwolf Nymeria at her side. To her right, was the Lord of Greywater Watch himself, Howland Reed, in his mud-green cloak
Behind them were Beric Dondarrion and Gendry. They were followed by the Hound, and Thoros of Myr. The cart that carried her father's and her brother's remains had two crannogmen pulling it, and two others guarding its rear. Behind them were about thirteen more members of the Brotherhood and the rest of the wolves from Nymeria's Wolfpack.
Since crannogmen rarely used horses, some of the men from the Brotherhood had given up theirs for the crannogmen pulling the cart. About four men sat behind the cart.
Howland Reed had offered her to ride the horse cart, but she had refused. She couldn't ride on it without turning sad, since the cart was carrying both her father and her brother's remains.
Glancing back at her father's and brother's remains, Arya wondered if their family is either cursed or what had happened to their house patriarch and eldest son purely coincidental.
History will always repeat itself, the red woman had said. If not in the way we expect.
Her grandfather, Rickard Stark and her uncle, Brandon Stark, who had died before she and her siblings were even born, both went south at a king's demand. Both of them were killed unjustly, and Brandon died trying to save his father.
Something similar happened to her father, and her brother, Robb.
Her mother, Catelyn Tully was supposed to marry her uncle Brandon. But since he had died in the capital, she ended up marrying his younger brother, her father, Eddard. So now, what? Arya thought. Is Bran going to marry Robb's intended now? Or is it going to be Jon since he'd been legitimized. That's as if her father had actually had arranged a match for Robb before he went south and lost his head on Joffrey's orders. Or maybe he already had, but died before he could tell Robb. Their lady mother had arranged one for him and her, much to her dismay, to have the support of the Freys. But Robb breached the pact and married a foreigner, whose name she didn't even know.
Politics is complicated, she thought. And she had never understood much of it anyway, much less to care. She didn't care who was ruling the North. If it's a Stark of Winterfell or if there are Starks in Winterfell left. She just wanted to go home.
Arya remembered her father's words to her. You're a Stark of Winterfell, he had said. You know our words. Then she had answered. Winter is coming. But winter is already here. And in the winter, we must protect ourselves and look after one another. Her father, mother and brothers, Robb and Rickon are gone. Now, she's only got Jon, Sansa and Bran, and they're probably waiting for her to return home, assuming Brienne had told them where she was or what she had been doing. Or how they will react to what she had done in the Riverlands, storming four castles, with the Twins counted as two, three nights in a row and destroying two and the bridge connecting it by burning it to the ground; and also unintentionally wiping out a supposed great house to extinction.
"Been a while since the last time I was here." Lord Howland spoke up, bringing her back to reality.
"When was that, Lord Reed?" She asked.
Lord Howland huffed. "It was about nearly two decades ago." He replied. "When your father called his banners during the days of the rebellion. I left this castle then with your father, and now I'm back with his daughter."
Arya managed to smile. Not just because she's home, but because she's also going back to Winterfell with a man who was a friend to her father, the legendary crannogman who survived a duel with Arthur Dayne, at least that's what the stories said.
As they got closer to the gates, a sentry guard yelled. "Open the gates!"
"Welcome home, princess." He said.