A Knight's Watch

by DolorousEdditor

Jon Snow is forbidden to take the black by his father. Instead he sent to squire for a famous knight, beginning a long arduous journey that causes him to cross paths which characters he never would have. Along the way he learns truths long hidden and discovers love in the most unlikely of places. All of this in the shadow of the War of Five Kings and the coming of the Others.

36. Chapter 36

ARYA

The archer smirked as he leaned forward on the crenel beside her.

"Look at our beautiful boys." Anguy chuckled. "I guess I can't lay claim on them like you can though."

"Shutup." Arya snapped. "They're not my boys."

The pair were standing on the bridge between the Armory and the Great Keep, watching the young men sparring in the training yard below. There were actually a great many using the yard today, for Rodwell had brought some of his guard boys into the castle to practice with spears and swords.

Might as well give them shovels, she thought, or brooms maybe.

At least they'd be of some use then. The yard could use a good cleaning.

She wasn't trying to be mean. It was just so tempting to be down there, to show the clumsy, untrained boys what she could do with a sword. Some of those being put through drills had been her friends, well Yoren's friends, and they looked utterly hopeless without her.

The brothers Rolf and Wat had the same horrible habit of swinging their weapons too hard and throwing themselves off balance. Hago couldn't get a blunted spear by a shield if an old woman wielded it. An old, blind, gouty woman at that. Fenris, the bright one, he showed the most skill out of any of them. Sneakier, cagier, he'd beat every one of his friends yet he still couldn't compare to her. Watching the town boys train had quickly become boring compared to the true warriors she came to watch.

The warriors included two lordlings, a knight, and a squire. Three of those men she named her dear friends.

Even if two of them name me something else.

Anguy's laughter interrupted those thoughts, which annoyed her more than anything, for the stupid archer knew too much about all this. He actually bragged to have known before her.

"Well, not a one of them boys ever travelled half the realm to see me safely home." Anguy pointed up to the dark grey sky. "The lot of them thought they had good reason to come to the North and it wasn't this shit weather."

"Shutup." She mumbled again, lowering her chin to rest on her arms as she watched the four practicing. The wind flapped at the hood of her cloak. While it would be warmer to watch from ground, she liked this view better.

Broken Locke was overseeing this more experienced group of young swordsmen that included Ned, Pod, and Gendry, as well as a new addition. Ned was sparring with Beren Tallhart, who'd just arrived from Torrhen's Square with Morgan Liddle a fortnight past. Beren was Brandon Tallhart's younger brother, the same age as her, but appeared out of practice with his sword. She didn't hold that against him though. The reavers probably hadn't let him practice when his family was held prisoner.

Ned wasn't making Beren suffer for it either. He was acting calm and patient, allowing the younger lordling the chance to actually use his sword for some attacks. Their bouts only lasted so long because Ned wanted them to, spurning chances to easily defeat Beren, even offering his opponent chances to beat him.

He's always been kind, she thought, caring for people whether they're highborn or lowborn.

He hardly ever argues with me, and when that happens, he figures out how wrong he is soon enough.

Gendry betrayed his own stubborn nature a moment later, cursing when he fumbled a backswing he'd been practicing for most of the morning. He'd been using a practice sword today, not his preferred warhammer, yet Arya was impressed at how well he wielded it. Especially since he was acting like Ned, holding back to spare his opponent. Pod was still far too pale and had only been out of his sick bed for over a week before heading back to the yard. Even though he was up and moving it didn't stop Brienne and Arya from worrying about him. The fever had almost killed Pod and the weeks of bed rest had left him slower and weaker.

Gendry won't let him get hurt. He'll take care of him. That's what he does. He takes care of people the way he wishes someone had cared for him.

He's as noble as he is stubborn when it comes to stuff like that.

"It's much warmer in Dorne you know." Anguy continued to tease. "That's where I wanted to go but nooo… the Lovelorn Star down there just had to see the North, he said, and all of its beauty."

Anguy winked at her, finally pushing her to her limit. Arya lashed out with her arm, catching all the snow along the crenel and sending it flying into the archer's face.

"Hey!" He sputtered as a muffled laugh came from just behind them.

Brienne was doing her best to hide a smile as she watched Anguy wipe the snow from his face, dancing around to get it out of the neck of his clothes. When she spotted Arya watching she gave a little nod.

"You remembered our last lesson." The lady smiled.

"Use what weapons your surroundings give you." Arya pushed back her cloak to tap Needle's pommel. "To add to the weapons you already carry."

"Good girl." Brienne brushed aside the grey cloak of the Sworn Guard to place a hand on Oathkeeper. "Though I would've tossed him off the bridge."

"Oh that's a good idea…"

"Bloody hell it is!" Anguy protested. "I'm only here as a favor! Marlen can't make the girl's archery lesson so I step in and this is what I get for my service? Abuse? I'm half tempted to…"

He paused as a pair of serving girls were walking by, both curtsying as they took notice of the diadem on Arya's brow. On instinct she reached up to straighten it, for she always felt foolish when people saw it askew. Anguy straightened up as well, suddenly forgetting his outrage. He used some of the melted snow on his face to slick back his curly red hair but it started springing up again as he walked over to the serving girls, all smiles.

He managed to stop them at the far end of the bridge and Arya marveled at how easily he began talking with them, setting the girls to giggling a moment later.

The idiot barely knows them but he came make them smile and laugh so easily.

I can't even talk to Ned or Gendry these days without making them upset and I've known them for years…

"What troubles you Arya?" Brienne asked, taking Anguy's place at her side to watch the boys spar below. "Is it Podrick's thick-headedness in regards to his health? For that annoys me as well. I lectured him too sternly perhaps. Now he's so eager to make up for his failings that he risks a fever again…"

He didn't fail… he protected me just like you wanted…

You should be proud of him.

"It's not Pod… even if he is being thick, he's the only one down there who's still my friend."

Down below, Rodwell had given a shout for his guard boys to stop what they were doing and the practice ended for them. Yoren's friends were soon traipsing beneath the bridge towards the gate while Broken Locke's group carried on, save for a change of partners. Now it was Gendry and Ned squaring off and she felt her chest tighten at the thought of them clashing. They hadn't been on the best of terms lately and Arya worried what they might do. After a moment though she began to breathe more easily, watching as the two practiced honorably, not pushing too hard to test the other's sword hand.

Arya couldn't help biting her lip when the blades rang out though, nor could Brienne miss her doing so.

"Ah, I see." The lady spoke quietly, leaning forward to join her on the crenel. "Things have been tense of late ever since you rejected Lord Edric's proposal."

"I didn't reject it!" She said quickly, her cheeks aflame. "He never asked anything of me! Only Sansa and the others… how can I say no to something he's never asked me? Ned didn't even talk to me about… how can I speak about all of that when I didn't even know he… how he…"

She couldn't finish the thought for Arya and Brienne both winced as Beren landed a blow to Pod's side. The squire jerked some in pain before dropping back and raising his sword once more.

"I saw that strike coming from a league away." Brienne scowled. "He should be able to defend better than that."

"Pod let Beren get the hit in." Arya shrugged. "He does much better with Gendry and the other guardsmen. With Ned and Beren he holds back. He doesn't feel proper beating on lords."

"He told you this?"

"No. I just noticed. I've been watching him for awhile now."

"Well that's a fool thing to do!" The lady said before she regarded Arya closely. "Impressive of you to notice though. It baffles me that you can be so observant, so quick to notice things that I never would, yet you had no idea of Lord Edric's true affections for you… nor Gendry's."

That annoyed Arya for it was almost exactly what Sansa had said during the meeting when they'd told her of Ned proposing a betrothal. To her of all people.

"Truly? You had no idea of Lord Edric's feelings?" Sansa had asked while picking at Arya's hair under her new crown. "He has gone to great lengths to see you Arya."

"Because we're friends!"

Lord Wyman had guffawed at that and shot the maester a look that set Medrick's stupid square face to smiling.

"Lords and ladies can never truly be friends, princess. Not when castles, lands, and marriage prospects are all in play. It goes against the natural order of things, sometimes even leading to scandal-"

"You call yourself our friend." Arya shot back, the lord acting startled to be interrupted. "The most loyal friend to the Starks, you like to say that a lot. We are ladies of Winterfell, you're a lord, so you're either lying about being our friend or you want to marry us!"

"I-how-I am not- Your grace, I am your bannerman and most fervent supporter!" Wyman's chin had wagged about as he tried to explain himself but Sansa saved him from anymore blustering.

"Your worth is well known to our brother and ourselves Lord Wyman." Sansa had spoken softly. "We're not here to discuss the natural order of things or friendships. Lord Edric Dayne of Starfall has asked for Arya's hand in marriage, that is the matter before us and the one which demands our attention."

"Were you going to decide for me?" Arya asked, her heart falling to think that Sansa would do such a thing. "Sansa you can't just-"

"I was going to send for you Arya." Her sister placed a hand over top of hers. "I would not make this decision without hearing you out… I know the pain, the frustration of others deciding who you would marry, and I won't bring that upon you as well. It wouldn't be fair."

Damned right it wouldn't be, she thought, Sansa's got horrible taste in men.

Except for Jon of course…

At the time her mind was still reeling from hearing that Ned wanted to marry her. She began to think back on all their shared words and the time they spent together in a new light. When they'd parted at the Twins, he'd tried to hug her with such sad, desperate eyes. A look that reminded her of Gendry, for it was the same sadness that passed over his face in the hall just before. The wolf memory she had of Gendry and Pod talking in the godswood came back and mixed with the memories of Ned making her laugh while walking the walls. She thought of how hard Gendry had worked on her armor and the obvious care he'd put into her new crown.

It was a wave of understanding that left her mind struggling to stay afloat, her mouth opened but no words came out, leaving her gaping like a stupid fish. The maester had cleared his throat to speak in her stead.

"The lord is of impeccable bloodlines." Medrick had tapped his fingers against the table. "His bravery and service in returning King Robb's crown cannot be understated. Yet in these dread times, I fear House Stark needs more of suitors than just noble acts. The Kingdom in the North requires swords, food, strong allies and influential houses that we can bind to our cause."

"None of which the Dornishman offers sadly." Wyman had continued. "His castle is far away and his army marches for the feigned Aegon Targaryen. I believe any match made to Princess Arya, indeed to either of our princesses, must serve the same cause as young King Rickon's betrothal to Shireen Baratheon does or Patrek Mallister's to my own Wynafryd. A marriage that will build our strength-"

"You want to sell me to the highest bidder." Arya had said bitterly. "Like I'm a piece of meat… like I'm not a direwolf."

"You are a princess Arya." Sansa had soothed her anger. "And I want you to be happy. I was forced to decide Rickon's future wife… I could not bear forcing you as well. I won't lie to you though, more help would be welcome, but that burden need not be yours to carry. So if you can see yourself loving Edric Dayne, speak to it now and I shall listen."

Arya refused to speak to anything as long as Wyman and Medrick were listening though. Her face had already felt like it was aflame on them hearing about who she loved or didn't. So Sansa had done her a kindness and asked them to leave the room. The two sisters had sat in silence, crowns upon their heads, worry borne across their faces.

"Why didn't he ask me first?" Arya finally said, biting her lip again. "Why would he ask at all…"

"He acted honorably, not with guile. I am your older sister and Rickon's regent. Proper decorum dictates seeking my approval before ever asking it of you." Sansa smiled, her eyes far away as if in memory. "That's all he asked for I would add, my approval, not permission to take you. He swore to protect and care for you for all his days… it was actually quite gallant…"

"I would've belted him if he said that to me." Arya had crossed her arms. "Especially if he dropped to a knee or something silly like that…"

"So you would reject his offer?" Her sister had wrung her hands some then. "Is it because of someone else… perhaps Ser Gendry?"

"What!?" Arya felt like every part of her was panicking, though it was a different panic from the one she felt whenever she was in danger.

"So you do not care for him?"

"I-I didn't say that!"

"So the knight does hold your heart?"

"Him? That stubborn, stupid, stubborn, pigheaded, stubborn-"

Sansa had sighed tiredly then.

"Arya…"

"Oh bloody hell! I don't know!" Arya had thrown herself against the table, resting her forehead against the oak and blocking the world out with her arms. "How do you know about that? I only figured out what was happening a few moments ago."

"Well I have eyes sister." Sansa's muffled words had broken through. "To give credit where it's due, I must say it wasn't me who built the case for you having two suitors… Myranda actually made a list of all the times that Lord Edric or Ser Gendry would gaze after you…"

She'd peaked out from her arms to see Sansa looking quite forlorn at the mention of Myranda. Arya felt guilty for all the times she'd called Myranda names in her head for saying bawdy things about Gendry and Ned's looks, often using the word "comely" in a way that set Arya to blushing. The lady would talk about other men all the time, but the moment she'd titter on about those two Arya would see red. For Gendry and Ned were hers, part of the pack she'd made and her friends besides.

Or at least they were supposed to be.

She'd felt foolish quickly, for while she sat there worrying on her two friends, Sansa mourned the loss of hers.

"Myranda was smart." Arya offered. "Smarter than me I guess. I didn't even know… well, I guess I kind of did… I just didn't want to think about it…"

"Sometimes people hide their feelings well, other times we're too scared to hope they feel the same as we do."

"But I don't know how I feel!" Her hand slapped down on the table, shocking Sansa. "They're both my friends! Now I'm supposed to say I love one over the other? Why? I messed up earlier with Gendry and he looked so, so upset… what if Ned looks that upset if I… if I…"

"Arya-"

"What if Pod dies?" She'd asked tearfully. "He got sick because of me and Myranda died and I'm scared all the time. I need them both. I can't have them hate me Sansa, I can't… I just can't…"

She'd started crying then. Remembering how Pod had saved her brought the fear of the raper touching her back and it mixed with all the grief and worry she had.

"Hush." Sansa had pulled her into her arms, the two sisters holding each other tightly. "Hush now, no one will hate you. This was a bad time to do this… I should've waited to tell you but I thought you returned his feelings. I had hoped this was good news. I thought some good news would help…"

"I don't know what to do." Arya cried into Sansa's shoulder. "I don't know how to be a princess or deal with boys except with swords…"

"Then let me help you with both." Her sister grasped Arya's chin to look into her eyes, which she dabbed at with her sleeve. "Not the swords part though, I'm quite awful with them."

"I know that at least." She'd laughed through her whimpers and Sansa had too.

Sansa had been true to her words though, helping her with the problems that had followed Ned's proposal. She'd feared learning to become a princess meant Sansa dressing her up in frilly dresses and insisting that she stop practicing swords and archery. The fears were for naught. Save for a lost lesson here and there for council meetings, and two new gown fittings, becoming a princess had meant becoming stronger rather than weaker.

To sit through council meetings and petitioners took a patience that Arya had to practice at as rigorously as swordplay. She'd almost fallen asleep the first few meetings, perking up only when there were tales of battle from the south.

"You are bored?" Sansa had asked one day and Arya hadn't lied.

"Well it's not very exciting. Hearing about this lord whining about this plot of land and that man saying we need more wool and the one next to him saying we need less…"

"It's not always what they discuss or say that matters Arya. I learn more about Rickon's bannermen by thinking on why they say certain things and how they react to others. You see lords droning on about wool but I see men trying to push their own agendas… most don't watch for such…"

"Most men don't look with their eyes right." She'd said, thinking of Syrio Forel's lessons. Sansa had smiled and nodded to hear it.

"If I can spot selfishness and personal motives among our allies it becomes all the easier for me to find it in our enemies."

"Like how I train against my friends to get ready for a fight with some foe?"

"Precisely." Sansa had adjusted Arya's crown for her. "Pretend this is practice. Look beyond the numbers and words. Find the truth."

Council and petitions had become much more interesting after that. Arya had even begun to think of it as a game. She asked if Sansa noticed that Lord Wyman was always trying to have the last word over the rest of the council. Or that Roger Ryswell would often try chipping away at Ronnel Stout's ability at holding the Rills and Barrowlands. Or how nervous Ser Morton felt that Bronze Yohn was coming and that no one knew why.

Unfortunately, Sansa's solution to dealing with Gendry and Ned hadn't gone nearly as well. Whenever Ned asked her sister of his proposal, Sansa would say she was still considering it, and that she had sent word to Jon for his views. It was all to buy Arya time to sort out how to deal with her feelings.

It would've worked if it wasn't for Morgan Liddle showing up with Beren Tallhart and another proposal. Apparently Beren's mother wanted Arya to wed him, and the nitwit had offered to do so in front of everyone in the Great Hall where both Ned and Gendry had heard it. They had been talking amicably until then but at Beren's announcement, both men froze with wide eyes.

The Dornish lordling acted first, leaping to his feet and proclaiming that he'd already offered the same, like she was some claim that he had rights to. Surprised voices had risen in excited chatter while Arya tried to sink into her chair and disappear, Rickon laughing and pointing at her the whole while. She'd avoided Ned's gaze, only to see Gendry upturning his cup of wine and storming from the hall, shoving Quent aside as he tried to say something.

After that spectacle, who she would marry became a topic of talk for all in the castle, from every lord to the kitchen maids.

Which was why she merely watched her friends sparring below rather than joining them. It was easier to avoid all of the boys than to disappoint the ones who claimed to love her. Lya and her trained together most times now. Sometimes Osha joined them and taught them savage moves that Brienne frowned to watch.

Just as she frowned when Pod allowed another blow that cut his shoulder.

"He can't allow himself to come to harm over some man's pride!" Brienne clenched her fists. "Lord or not."

"You should go and tell him then." Arya said, thankfully noting that Ned and Gendry were continuing to spar like friends and not enemies. Few words passed between them yet neither struck a foul blow either.

"If we pry Anguy away from those girls we could all go. It is time for your lesson anyways, and Lady Lyanna should be joining us from her ride…"

"I don't want to go yet." Arya sighed. "You can if you want. I'll just wait here with Anguy until they're done down there."

Brienne rose up from her position on the crenel to tower over Arya. Not in a threatening way though. While her protector was not pleased, she acted more concerned than anything.

"Things have been difficult lately… with the proposals and all the gossiping…"

"They act different when I'm around now." She flicked some snow off the crenel. "Pod's fine, he's always fine, but I can't even walk around with him like I used to without some fool watching us and whispering. I even heard one of the cooks saying that I have four suitors now instead of three. It's better if I just stay away."

"This is your castle Arya. That crown you wear means you need not hide within it. I'm surprised. I've never known you to hide from anything."

"Everyone didn't want to marry me before."

It wasn't fair. When Arya was younger, romance and boys and marriage were things that Sansa liked, things she was good at and Arya had been fine with things that way. She'd forged her own path and those young men down there had helped her do so. To join them, to spar against her friends, to have everything be normal again, she wanted that. Like it had been before Myranda was murdered. Before the raper had torn her clothes off. Before Arya realized how confused she was about what she felt for two young men that meant so much to her.

That's a horrible thing to think of, she thought, to compare Myranda's death and that monster in the town to my feelings for Ned and Gendry.

Wanting them to smile and be kind to me shouldn't make me feel so bad… not wanting to choose between them shouldn't make everything so hard…

Brienne lightly brushed some snow from Arya's shoulder then, somehow knowing that her tender touch helped push all the harsh thoughts away.

"I cannot pretend to know how you feel." The lady closed her eyes to speak. "When I was young, I was prettier than I am now but far uglier than most girls-"

"You're not ugly!" She hated it when people would act like that, even Brienne herself. All of Brienne's hurts had come from caring for others, and to Arya that could never be ugly. "You're strong and brave and-"

"Arya, a princess would not interrupt." Brienne said sternly. "I was not blessed with the beauty that Lady Catelyn bestowed upon her children. Yet I was a girl still, filled with hope that a fine young man would come to Evenfall Hall and decide that I was his lady. That I would be his to love. To care for…"

Brienne ran her fingers down across her scar in a way that made Arya sad.

"Such was not mean to be. When my younger self realized that, I daresay it hurt as badly as when I earned this scar." She shook her head. "I forsook that dream for swords, becoming the warrior in tales rather than the fair lady. But you Arya, you are skilled in swords, more so than I was at your age, and a beauty besides. I think of that girl I was, and I believe that if she'd had such fine men who cared for her as those two care for you, she wouldn't have let fear get in the way of what could be some real happiness."

"I want everyone to be happy… I don't want to hurt anyone…"

"That is impossible Arya, I'm sorry, but more will be hurt if you continue to pretend that their feelings do not matter, rather than braving them and finding a way forward." Brienne put her hand on Arya's shoulder then, as gentle as ever. "Do not lose out on something because you fear what might happen. You're better than that. Trust me when I say that I know more about what it is like to-to long after someone, to love them more than you've ever been loved. I do not wish such a fate for-"

"I love you." She gazed up into Brienne's soft blue eyes. "Don't say no one loves you because I do. I love you."

"And I you my princess." The lady's eyes glistened some as she squeezed Arya's shoulder. "Yet you know that the love between us is far different than the one Gendry and Ned feel towards you. Different than how you feel for them…"

Their conversation was cut off by the sound of swords below, which had always been there in the background, yet now became louder. The fierce clashing came from the two foes Arya feared would be the source, for Ned and Gendry were no longer fighting in a calm, measured way. From Ned's quick strikes and Gendry's powerful swings, it looked like they were actually battling.

"Bugger me." Anguy hurried up to their side, also watching the fight below. "Now it's going to get interesting…"

"What happened?" Brienne asked. "Was offense given?"

"No, a reason to show off was." Anguy gestured at Arya. "The Tallhart took notice of her royal unbetrothedness watching and shared it with the others. Between those two fools it suddenly became Rhaegar and Robert all over again…"

"Beren is acting just the same." Brienne sighed.

She saw that was true as well. The youngest of the four swordsmen was doing his best to get the better of Pod and getting frustrated at the squire's sudden ability. Pod was clearly unwilling to let blows of such force get by him so he'd transformed back into the sparring partner Arya knew him to be. He held the Tallhart lordling at bay so easily that he was able to spare worried glances to the true battle beside him.

A battle of fools.

A battle of bloody, thick, stupid, pigheaded…

Ned was faster and more practiced with a sword, scoring blows here and there about Gendry's mail. The lord needed his quickness though to stay barely a step ahead of Gendry's powerful swings. If any one of them landed, she knew Ned wouldn't be able to shrug it away like Gendry did with his.

Rather than putting a stop to this, Broken Locke was actually laughing, cheering them on even. Ned scored another strike to Gendry's shoulder but he chose the wrong one, for a moment later the larger youth slammed his other shoulder into the lord. Stumbling backwards Ned barely kept his stance and was forced to duck quickly to avoid Gendry's two-handed swing of the practice sword.

Instead of backing away further, to give them both a chance to breath and see reason, Ned angered her. For he launched himself beneath Gendry's attack and began one of his own. Pod and her shouts of warning were drowned out in the yell of pain that followed. Ned had brought his sword down in a vicious cut to the back of Gendry's leg, causing him to buckle forward in agony. Had it not been a blunted blade Arya had no doubt her friend would have lost a leg and likely wished for such with the pain such a blow would have caused.

Agony that fueled rather than weakened, for the knight was apparently ready to seek vengeance.

Basking in his victory, Ned was almost caught by his foe's backswing, blocking the strike with great strain. So tall and strong was Gendry that even on one knee he was able to free one hand from his own blade to deliver a powerful fist straight across Ned's chin. As Ned fell back to the ground, Pod lowered his sword to try and break them up.

Beren's blade was already moving through the air and the lordling realized too late that Pod was not prepared. To his credit, he jerked the blade upwards at the last second, clipping the top of Pod's head rather than cracking his skull open.

"Podrick!"

"Enough!"

"Stop it!"

Their voices and Pod clutching at his bleeding head were not enough to stop Ned and Gendry, for they'd foregone fighting with swords in favor of fists.

The three witnesses to this idiocy ran from the bridge down to the yard, Anguy giving voice to all the curses Arya had spilling forth in her head. By the time they left the armory and reached the others, Broken Locke had finally stepped in, holding the dirt-covered, bleeding young men at arm's length. Beren was holding a reddened cloth to Pod's head which caused Arya's world to become blurred with rage.

"Idiots! Fucking idiots!" She raged as she drew Needle and drove the Sworn Guard back, moving between Ned and Gendry. "How could you?"

"It was a fight princess." Broken Locke shrugged. "Spilling blood calms the beast inside. Good for young men to do once in a while-"

"Yeah, on a battlefield!" Anguy scowled as he inspected Ned's bleeding nose and mouth. The lord's whole face was flushed and filled with rage as he glared by her at Gendry.

"I could stand for another go." Gendry spat blood from his own mouth while putting his fists up. "Blades or not."

"Fine by me!" Ned shouted, pushing Anguy aside.

"Shut it!" Arya snapped, raising Needle up and cutting through the air fiercely. "The next one of you who makes to fight will face me-"

"And I!" Brienne left Podrick's side to join Arya in glaring at the two fools. "How could you ever let things become so barbaric? You could have killed each other!"

"It was just a fight." Gendry grumbled.

"In Dorne men fight duels all the time." Ned wiped at his mouth. "For honor, for pride, for love…"

"If it's a duel for love you want, I'm ready whenever-"

"That's it!" Arya raised her fists to the sky screaming. "Godsdammit that's enough!"

Three of her friends were bleeding and it hadn't even mattered that she'd kept her distance. All it took was mentioning her name for this to start. Pod said she needed to be a princess, but that didn't mean she couldn't be Arya sometimes too.

Sansa said I'm a She-Wolf and she was right.

Brienne's right too, I'm not hiding in my own bloody castle anymore.

I'm a Stark of Winterfell! They're my guests! My idiots! They will listen to me!

"I don't care who wants to marry me! I don't care who says they love me! I don't fucking care!" She yelled. "This is my home and you're all welcome here because I said so! So the first one of you stupid sots who start a fight, who hit one another or argue over me or do anything else arse-like, so help me I'll… um… I'll banish you!"

"Banish us?" Ned repeated, confused all of a sudden. "You'd make me leave?"

"Yes! I'd make you leave! I'd have Nymeria chase you out!" She lied, spinning around to point at Gendry. "You too! I'll toss you off the walls onto that thick head of yours!"

Arya didn't spare Beren her wrath either, just to be safe. The lordling jumped as her eyes found him.

"And you… well, I don't know you very well yet, but I'll think of something to scare you with!" When Anguy started laughing Arya's gaze fell on the archer and his laughs choked off. "Now, all of you will get Pod to the maester! Ned, you will see to Pod and Brienne's horses until he's better! Gendry will scour Brienne's armor until then too… no wait, do the opposite, Gendry you take care of the horses and Ned you scour Brienne's armor!"

Arya knew Gendry wasn't as comfortable around horses and Ned had shared with her that he hated scouring armor.

"Arya, I'm sorry." Gendry whispered as he wiped blood from his lip.

"It was a mistake Arya." Ned pleaded. "Please don't be mad…"

"Shutup! Get out! Get out of my yard!" Arya pointed the way out of the practice yard and challenged any to argue further. "Everyone but Brienne, get out!"

"What'd I do?" Anguy asked but raised his hands up when she took a step forward with Needle. "Gods, what a charmer… fine. Hey you fools wait up! I've got some questions about your taste in women…"

As the men all left them, both Gendry and Ned shot her desperate glances on their way out. Her fear for their hurt feelings was gone though. Watching them actually hurt one another had driven it away and replaced it with a firm resolve. She glared at them both until their sad eyes turned from her.

Which bothered her somewhat for they both had nice eyes.

Gentle eyes… they wouldn't hurt me… maybe each other but not me…

"You handled that well."

Arya was shocked to hear Sansa's voice coming from towards the armory. Her sister was walking towards her with Marlen close behind.

"How long were you-"

"You were not the only one watching." Sansa looked up at a window in the Great Keep. "Had you not scolded them all, I would have. How badly was Podrick hurt?"

"Not very." Brienne answered, glancing at the drops of blood on the snow-covered ground. "Perhaps some stitches, but I think not."

"I am glad." Sansa nodded. "My lady, if Marlen and you could give us a moment, I'd have a private discussion with my sister."

Brienne bowed and made to join the crannogman in standing watch from the side of the yard. Arya was still shaking with anger and feared that Sansa had only been kind for appearances. That a lecture for cursing and yelling was coming her way.

It never came. All her sister did instead was step forward and begin to straighten Arya's small crown with her soft fingers.

"I yelled." Arya said to break the silence.

"I heard."

"I cursed."

"Yes, I heard the cursing while you were yelling."

"You're not mad?" She asked, backing away and raising an eyebrow. "Princesses can yell and curse?"

"They shouldn't." Sansa gestured to the sword in Arya's hand and she sheepishly sheathed it once more. "I'll be honest with you though, I've done much the same to Jon several times. If men behave in such a way that yelling and cursing is warranted, well then feeling bad about it would be silly."

"Jon has acted that stupid before?" Arya shook her head. "I don't believe it."

"Oh several times." Sansa smiled sadly. "He's a fool. My brave fool."

"Yeah, well, I have two fools to worry about."

"I assume you mean Ser Gendry. You've admitted it then? That he's a suitor as well?"

"I don't know… about Ned or Gendry." Arya shifted her stance and looked up to sky, as if hoping for an answer in the grey clouds. "This is stupid and complicated… I mean, why can't it be simple? You love Jon, right? How'd you know it?"

Sansa changed then. For months she'd been a patient and wise-looking queen, then a princess, but suddenly she was the daydreaming girl again that Arya remembered from childhood. Her cheeks blushed and she looked away to the ground, smiling brightly.

"It didn't happen right away. He was gentle with me in a way that made me feel safe. He started believing in me even when I couldn't. The feeling only grew when I learned about Jon's truth, though I still didn't recognize it as love." Her smiles turned into a different look then, one that Arya usually saw in men and it made her want to retch. "I think my heart knew it first. It would beat faster when he was near, when we would talk or touch, even just lightly. You'll know after the first time you're separated. If being apart pains you, if not seeing him every day opens a hole in your soul itself, then that's love Arya. It's a blessing and a curse…"

That didn't help like she'd hoped. Keeping a distance from Ned and Gendry had been hard, really hard. She'd break her fast in the Great Hall because that's where Ned would eat and she could watch him from afar. She'd watch the comings and goings of the East Gate because that was where Gendry would ride out from each day.

I could've gone for a ride with Lyanna today but I wanted to watch the boys spar.

I wanted to see them…maybe even fight over me a little but not like that.

"What if I still don't know?" She asked and Sansa did not act surprised at all.

"Then take your time. Give your heart a chance to choose. Trust me, every time I've rushed into what I thought was love I only found pain. There is no need to hurry Arya, you are not even flowered yet." Sansa took her hands in hers. "Do not feel guilty about your indecision either. Young ladies often have several suitors. Princesses especially. Why, when Rhaenrya Targaryen was young she had half the realm chasing after her. You only have half a practice yard."

"Sansa! It's not half…" She urged but Sansa laughed anyways.

"Your threatening them was a good touch." Her sister added with respect. "Should they act poorly, I will help you follow up with the banishment. Lord Edric could be sent to Castle Cerwyn or Ser Gendry ordered to find lodgings in the Winter Town."

"I didn't mean it." Arya grinned. "I wouldn't really send them away. I care for them both too much to let them leave…"

As soon as she said the words Arya wished to slap herself for being so stupid. They'd only been speaking of Jon moments before and throwing his departure in Sansa's face was a cruel thing to do. Her sister did not bear it well either. Her face became somber and her hands fell away from hers. Now they wrung with worry and Arya felt guilty for hurting Sansa then.

"Jon's fine. I know he is." She tried to ease her sister's worries, trying to meet her gaze that was looking away from her towards the bridge. "Truly Sansa, there's been storms to the north, that's why there's been no letters, but that doesn't mean-"

"It's Medrick." Sansa interrupted, still wringing her hands. "If it is good word he'll have sent someone to fetch me… if its dark word though…"

"What?"

Arya turned to follow Sansa's gaze and indeed saw the maester approaching, hunched over and clutching what looked to be a letter in his old hands. The man's eyes were on the ground, avoiding their gaze, and his expression was not happy. When he came close enough, he began hacking in an effort to clear his throat of some sort of foulness.

"A raven has come from Castle Black your grace." Medrick unfolded the letter to glance at it.

"From Jon?" She asked. Her hopes were crushed when the maester shook his head.

"From a Samwell Tarly, in service to the Night's Watch." Medrick glanced over to where Brienne and Marlen now approached. "He writes that there has been a great battle against the Others, a battle that the combined forces won. Thousands upon thousands of wights destroyed and even some white walkers killed..."

"Huzzah!" Marlen called out happily but no one else joined him.

If this is good news then why is Medrick so unhappy?

Why isn't Jon writing? If there was a battle then Jon would've fought in it…

So why isn't Jon the one writing?

"The losses were grievous." Medrick continued, his hand shaking some as Sansa's found her own, clutching it in desperate grip.

"Jon?" Sansa asked, her voice quaking some. "What of Jon?"

"He lives." The maester sounded relieved to speak to it but nowhere near how relieved Sansa and Arya felt.

They both laughed and hugged away the terrible fear that had just clutched them. Jon was alive, they had a victory. Jon was alive. Jon was alive. Jon was alive. She pictured him standing on a mountain of dead foes, with Howland Reed and Willem Royce standing to either side of him, his sword raised high up in the air as men cheered him for the hero that he was.

The maester continued.

"Hundreds of the northmen who marched from Winterfell were killed however." Medrick glanced to Brienne and Marlen then. "Some of their allies as well. Men of note… sworn to protect-"

"No." Sansa clasped a hand over her mouth, choking off the rest, understanding something that was lost on Arya. Brienne and Marlen lowered their eyes, the crannogman cursing softly.

Who? Who are they worried about?

An ally who was sworn to protect…

Arya's soft plea to the gods was ignored as Medrick handed the parchment to Sansa.

"A new First of the Guard will need to be named."

SANSA

She stared at the stick in her hand, watching the tiny flame flicker at the end of it.

You would not last a moment outside in the cold, she thought. You're too fragile, too weak for the harsh winds without.

Even the strongest of us are being lost to this winter.

The best of us… the most noble… those I care for…

Mya's eyes glinted in the weak light, her friend watching the flame with a sadness that likely reflected Sansa's own.

Their breathing caused the flame to struggle then, as if the dread within them both sought to douse its brightness. Raising the tip up, Sansa set about her work, listening to the wind whip about Winterfell's small sept all the while. The repairs to it had been finished moons ago, many Vale men having lent their own strength to the work so they would have a place to pray while fighting here in the North.

Most of those men had left Winterfell some time ago but they'd left scores of melted candles along the sept ledges, a lingering sign of their devotion and prayers to the Seven. Few followers of the Faith remained at Winterfell now, and no candles burned in the dark sept this morning, hence why Mya and Sansa had come so early. Wyman and Wylla often prayed after they broke their fast each morning while Ser Evan would come only once a week.

Myranda's own prayers had been far more erratic.

"Randa came here so irregularly." Sansa said as she began lighting one of the many candles. "Always at different times, morning, midday, night, it did not matter."

"She did the same at the Gates." Mya whispered, mimicking Sansa's movements with a small stick of her own, lighting candles at the far end of the ledge. "She always talked about keeping the Seven guessing. She aimed to come before them with a different sin to atone for each time… always making a game of how wicked she could be…"

"There was mischief in Myranda but she was wrong to call herself wicked." She backed away as the last of the candles were finally alight. "She was a fine lady, a brave woman…"

"A true friend." Mya took a place beside her. "The liar that she was… I miss her lies. Her jests… she could make me furious and laugh all at once… she said it was a Royce trait. When I'd say her father and brother were not like that, she'd always point to her cousin as proof… the poor man."

Oh Willem.

Sansa's silent grief for the dear knight brought her gaze to the candle she'd lit for him below the image of the Warrior. She prayed that it would guide the infuriating, loyal, and beloved man who'd done so much for them.

I will miss you Willem… far more than you can know. I pray that you find the peace and happiness you were denied in this life.

May you see your wife and little boy again… your Tess… your Jon…

To her side, Mya was offering silent prayers of her own, hands clutched to her chest and lips moving without giving voice. Sansa had many more prayers herself to offer this morning. Willem and Myranda's candles were only the newest she tended to beneath the likenesses of the Seven.

Those two came at the end of a long row of other candles she'd been lighting for some time. Two were for Lady Roslin and her little babe Edgar at Riverrun, where Sansa prayed to the Mother and the Crone that they be protected and warm. The next pair was for her missing uncles, Edmure and Brynden, whom she prayed to the Father and the Warrior that they still drew breath despite all the odds against such. Two more had a great amount of wax collected, for Sansa had been lighting them every day since the sept had been first rebuilt.

One was for Robb's wife, poor Jeyne Westerling, the Queen in the North who died to deliver Sansa her crown. History might forget such a quiet young woman but Sansa wouldn't, for Robb had loved her and she'd been so brave in the end, far braver than Sansa would've been in her place. The last was the one she always lit first. To honor the person this sept had been built for. The woman who had brought Sansa into this world and was the reason she could pray so comfortably before the Seven.

Mother. I wish you were here with me now. We need you. I need you.

There's so much evil in the world and I'm doing my best to keep it from Arya and Rickon but I'm failing.

I've lost so many mother… I can't lose any more…

They prayed in silence like that for sometime. There were others prayers that Sansa would save for when she went with Jeyne before the heart tree. Quiet urgings for the safety and care of Jon, Arya, Rickon and many others. Pleas for Bran to be alive and returned safely to them. She would pray for her father and her brother's peaceful rest and for guidance to see her through these dark days.

It grows darker each passing day, the night stretches on longer and longer while the light dies away earlier and earlier.

Soon there will be no light at all… only these candles will be left to light our way.

"They aren't bright enough."

"What?" Mya shot her a confused look.

"It's nothing… just giving voice to thoughts I shouldn't." Sansa shook her head, for many of her worries were not for Mya's ears. Her friend was far too wary to take her word for it though and spoke her mind then.

"Things are bad… everybody's acting like they are at least." Mya frowned as she gathered up the lighting sticks and placed them in a cup to the corner. "Maybe not so bad here in the North, but I hear people talking Sansa. All know that a bunch of ravens have come from the south and none of your lords have been happy since."

Unhappiness doesn't begin to describe it.

Nor will Stannis be merely unhappy to hear of what has happened. He was wroth already, distrustful and full of venom when I offered him armies, the support of great houses.

When he hears of what we have lost… of whom we have lost it all to…

"You can't tell me can you?" Mya asked, turning to face her, pulling on a strand of dark hair. "About what's happening to my home? Well… where I grew up… it was never truly my home. Only when Myranda was there and welcomed me into the Gates of the Moon. After my mother died she cared for me…"

"Winterfell is your home now Mya." She took her friend's arms in hand, rubbing them with care. "With Myranda gone, I shall love you in her stead. Do not doubt that I will do so. Even if I may not be able to share all we speak of in council with you and I'm sorry for that. It's the burden a ruler must carry sometimes…"

"I think my mules had an easier load to bear than you." Mya said. "Don't let it pull you down Sansa. If you ever need someone to share in it, I'm here for you too."

The two friends embraced after that, surrounded by the burning memories of those lost and those in danger still. Over Mya's shoulder, Sansa found herself staring at the two candles burning for the Royces and felt her insides roll. For today would be the day Bronze Yohn arrived at Winterfell at long last.

He will have heard of Myranda when he stopped at Castle Cerwyn.

Telling him of Willem, that duty shall fall to me.

After finishing their prayers, they found two warriors waiting without the sept for her, two of the newest members of the Stark's Sworn Guard. Both were Northmen through and through, their rugged features betraying their harsh lives.

Duncan Snow was the younger of them, the natural born half-brother to Lord Forrester, recommended to her by Robett Glover. His close-cropped beard was the color of pine yet flecked with auburn here and there. An able swordsman and an amiable enough man, he took special delight in tormenting Ser Evan in the practice yard and beyond. The grudge between House Forrester and House Whitehill went back many generations, and Ser Evan had not taken kindly to sharing the grey cloak with a rival, nor a bastard rival at that. Sansa enjoyed the discomfort Duncan caused the knight, for he still eyed her far too eagerly at times.

Ser Calem Weirgrave was the larger of the two, taller and wider of shoulder, with sharp-features and a balding head of dark hair. He was also the warrior who kept the most distance from the sept. The bone white weirwood shield he held that was surrounded by iron, displayed his fierce devotion to the Old Gods for all to see. A hedge knight in service to the Hornwoods, Ser Calem had found himself part of Rodrik Cassel's force when Ramsay Snow massacred it. Afterwards the knight had led some survivors to the Wolfswood and joined Stannis's march against the Freys. She was sure Larence had need of Ser Calem back at Hornwood, yet the young lord had beseeched Sansa to take the knight's sword as his own and she was thankful.

After what happened to Myranda, she was in no position to turn down able, strong men. Especially after losing a knight as important to her as Willem.

With her most important knight being so far away still.

Thinking on the men knighted by Bronze Yohn acted as a sort of spell, for the lord proved himself a man of impeccable timing soon after. Horns sounded from the gates as watchers sighted the Royce party approaching in the distance. Sansa enlisted Mya in seeking out Arya before she too would head to the Great Hall for the lord's reception.

Rickon would attend that welcome along with all the highborn of the castle, right after a more private affair was conducted elsewhere. Lord Yohn, Arya, and a trusted few would join Sansa in the dimly lit gallery attached to the hall itself. She refused to break the news of Willem's death at some grand affair, nor hear the lord's explanation for his visit in such a way either.

Arya appeared in the gallery first, her sister looking little different from when she'd come that morning to brush Sansa's hair. While she missed Myranda terribly and could never replace her, having Arya act so kindly had been a blessing. Arya would always come before Jeyne and Wylla saw to Sansa's dressing, and the sisters would often take that time to talk about anything and everything.

Why does it feel like we've never truly talked until now? Arya's been my little sister since she came into this world screaming.

I should be ashamed that it's taken us twelve years to finally act as sisters.

That it took such suffering and loss to bring us together.

As they came together, Sansa went to adjust the only new thing about Arya's appearance from this morning. There was nothing wrong with how Arya wore her slim crown but she liked having the excuse to be able to touch her sister. To run her fingers through Arya's hair and take in the pretty young woman she was becoming. Rickon would allow Sansa to hug him until his face turned red, but Arya was much like Nymeria. Sansa had to trick her with a treat to be allowed to pet her.

"What if Lord Royce tells us something bad?" Arya asked in a hushed tone. "Is he even still our friend after everything that happened in the south?"

She cupped Arya's face in her hands and prayed she would sound as calming as she wanted to.

"Lord Royce was our first true friend after the Red Wedding. Without him, Jon would never have found me and we might both be prisoners still in the Vale. I put as much faith in him as I do Howland Reed."

"Lord Reed left us though." Arya said with certainty. "He joined the Night's Watch and can't fight for the Starks anymore. If this lord listens to what the ravens said than neither can-"

They were interrupted by the arrival of Rodwell, Brienne, and a good number of Stark men-at-arms. Following them came more warriors bearing the bronze tunics of House Royce. All stood aside for the coming of the tall, weathered lord, armored in the gleaming bronze plate of his ancestors. The runes emblazoned across the ancient armor shone brightly in the torchlight yet it was the lord's warm eyes that Sansa felt a mix of joy and sorrow to see.

I can still smile for occasions like this. No matter what else has happened, this man has acted as a dear friend to us.

Bronze Yohn grinned widely to see the two princesses standing before him, the lines of his face deepening as he did so. He opened up his large hands and bowed before them, the lord acting as gallant as a knight half his age.

"Lord Royce." She stepped forward, offering her hands for the lord to take in hers. "I have missed you dearly."

"You are even more beautiful than I remember your grace." Bronze Yohn's words and lips were warm as he kissed her upturned hand. "Were I a younger man, my arrival would have been timelier for sure."

"That you arrived at all is a gift to me my lord. I have lost too many friends of late…"

The worry in her voice was heard by Bronze Yohn, the lord looking upon her with a caring expression.

"My cousin's daughter… she was a force of nature herself! Nary a hall she graced was not better for it." Yohn's expression hardened. "Myranda will be avenged. If it is as Lady Cerwyn said, that that bitch Cersei Lannister is responsible..."

Bronze Yohn paused then, taking note of Arya standing behind her and suddenly acting abashed.

"My apologies, it appears I have been in rough company for too long to speak so crudely in front of noble maidens-"

"Don't worry." Arya shrugged. "Cersei is a bitch."

Brienne and her own hiss at Arya's language was drowned out by a surprised burst of laughter from Duncan and some of Bronze Yohn's men. The lord himself chuckled after his shock wore off. He bowed again to Arya and she did her best to curtsy with a sword strapped to her side.

"Princess Arya I take it?" Yohn gave her sister an appraising look. "Willem wrote to me of you. With such a bold tongue, I can see why that no good cousin my mine took a liking to you. Willem probably encouraged it the lout!"

Yohn and his men took to laughing again but the lord's laughter died away quickly, for he took notice that none of his hosts joined him in his mirth. Sansa was wringing her hands, trying to think of how to put poor Willem's death to words, when Yohn turned his slate-grey gaze to her. A knowing expression crossed his face and a pained breath escaped him.

"I've lost more kin I take it?" He asked, lowering his head. "Don't spare me any hurt your grace, I've supped on it several times before and I know better than most the distasteful offerings the gods can put on a man's table."

"He fell nobly." Sansa fought back tears. "There was a battle Beyond-the-Wall… all told that Willem fell fighting the Others themselves, that he killed a few before his end. He fell fighting for the Starks… he fell protecting Ser Jon… doing as I bid him. Forgive me my lord."

"Nothing to forgive." Yohn coughed into his hand, blinking several times. "He died well you say? I can take comfort in that. Insolent little snot was the best squire I ever had. When I made Willem an insolent little knight, I had high hopes for him… then that tragedy with his wife and boy happened and, well, for a time I worried that I'd find him dead in a Gulltown gutter one day. It's a poor thing to say, but I'm glad he died serving a good cause. Acting as a knight… when Willem found sense to shut his bloody mouth he was a fine one indeed."

"A true knight." Sansa added and Arya repeated the same soon after.

"A true knight."

"A true knight." Brienne and most of the men in the room also took up the declaration. After the moment passed, Bronze Yohn grunted and rubbed his chin.

"Protecting Jon eh? The bastard Stark I raised to knighthood, only to hear that he was a dragon all along?" The lord smirked. "Barely believed it when I got the raven at the Dreadfort. If Willem himself hadn't put his word to it, I probably would've been hard-pressed to accept it. He knew Ser Jon as well, if not better than me, and he'd even seen Rhaegar up close so…"

"Did he truly?" She asked, thinking back and remembering that Willem had indeed spoken of the prince in some manner. "Willem said he saw him fight…"

"That he did. Once at a tourney at Storm's End and then again as my squire during the Battle of the Trident. Little fool was so eager to die that he got away from me and ended up one of those to watch Robert and Rhaegar duel. Bragged about seeing Rhaegar fall bloodily for years, even got himself a fine ruby out of it, or so he claimed." Yohn shook his head before raising a bushy eyebrow. "Rhaegar never seemed all that bad to me. I even harbored hopes that he would take the throne from Aerys sooner rather than later. When word came that he stole Lyanna Stark and that my brother Kyle died at Aerys's command… well I had a good deal of hate for the dragons after that-"

"You can't hate Jon for what Rhaegar did!" Arya protested before Yohn waved her off.

"How could I hate the lad who brought me my boy's sword? I have knighted many in my life but few as brave and honest as that somber lad. No matter his birth, I take pride that it was I who knighted him. If there was ever a dragon I could put my faith in, it be Ser Jon the Wolf, now lord of the Dreadfort it seems."

Arya seized on Lord Royce's words as well, the sisters sharing a worried glance. The lord had not missed it yet was interrupted from speaking to it as more arrived to the smaller audience. Ser Kyle, freshly arrived from Castle Cerwyn, entered first, followed by Maester Medrick and then the girth of Lord Wyman. The Manderly lord gave a loud laugh to see Bronze Yohn standing there, waddling forth with his hand outstretched.

"Dear Lord Royce! Always good to see you! I trust our northern winter has not turned you off from our fine lands."

"Your lands are harsh, I'll admit it." Yohn shook hands with Wyman. "I've lost more men to this cold than I did in all my years in the Vale and I have seen many winters. As trying as our journey was, getting away from the Dreadfort was a respite I must admit. I looked forward to seeing some brighter sights…"

"How does the Dreadfort fare?" Lord Wyman asked, betraying a hint of annoyance that Lord Royce did not seem eager to return to his far away command.

With the Greatjon and Howland away from us, Bronze Yohn is the only man in Winterfell that can rival Wyman in power and standing.

I shall have to make use of that, Lord Manderly has been a tad too pushy lately.

"The Dreadfort was well in hand when I left. My goodson Mychel holds it now. It is amply supplied and strongly manned but…" He paused and looked about to her. "Blasted castle just doesn't feel right. What we found in those dungeons and in some side rooms of the castle… I can't say I envy Jon taking up lordship of it."

Surely it is not so foul as that,she hoped, for it shall be my home as well as Jon's.

Together we can make it a proper home, just as we restored Winterfell.

Arya proved her boldness again, her sister clearly becoming impatient with all the niceties while questions burned within.

"Is that why you came here?" Arya asked sharply, interrupting Wyman and Yohn's talk. "To Winterfell? You came because you didn't like the Dreadfort?"

Too eager, she's far too eager, she thought, Arya is doing well enough by my side in council but we must work on her diplomacy.

Bronze Yohn is not a man to be challenged by a young girl.

Indeed the lord's pleasant expression darkened some, chin held high.

"I have never abandoned a duty because I did not like it." Yohn answered, moving his eyes around the room before falling on Sansa. "I came because it was necessary to. As the man who helped forge the alliance between Houses Arryn and Stark, I could not stand idly by while the links binding it set to breaking."

If the lord expected the castle dwellers to be shocked by his words he was sorely disappointed. Wyman did not even bat an eye and Arya still kept her challenging pose. As far as Sansa could tell, she was the only one to react by exhaling in a relieved way, for the lord had betrayed his goal here as securing their friendship.

Not abandoning it.

Bronze Yohn continued on despite his confusion at the odd reception his declaration had earned.

"For months now I've been demanding more men from the Vale after I heard the reports from the Wall and heard from those who have sailed south from Eastwatch. Men who claim to have seen the Others themselves. I do not have to be a maester to know the North alone cannot hold back such a menace. A few thousand more men would do the effort well…"

"Especially with the losses of late." Wyman added, earning a sharp look from both Yohn and herself for interrupting. "Pray forgive me, do go on."

"Nothing." Yohn spoke through gritted teeth. "They've offered nothing but excuses. All their eyes are on the march for King's Landing and dealing with the clan raiders in the hills. I asked for their dungeons to be emptied, the poorhouses and gutters of Gulltown to be rallied, for any man they can put to holding a spear and I got nothing! No word at all! Some even had the gall to question whether the reports of Others were real! Fools!"

With that the lord took notice of a pitcher and goblets on the table near to them. A quick nod from Sansa and Yohn's squire rushed forward to begin filling a cup for his lord who was grateful for it.

"Nestor is a good man." The lord continued, cup in hand. "A finer High Steward we could not ask for, yet I fear he's let himself be led astray by the others. Corbray and Hunter perhaps, likely that sunken arse Grafton too. They smell glory and power in resting control of the south and the Iron Throne for themselves. As hated as the Lannisters are in the Vale, I have to say Stannis is not well-loved either. Nestor wrote that many feel the Starks have used our strength to gain a kingdom only to turn around and sell our fealty to the highest bidder…"

"My lord." Sansa was shocked to hear so. "I would never! Lord Nestor himself admitted that Stannis was the only claimant they could support…"

"At the time that was true." Yohn growled. "I take it you've heard of the other dragon returned to the realm? Besides Jon? This resurrected Aegon Targaryen… little pretender shit that he is."

"He has won many victories in the Stormlands." She spared a glance to Wyman who also took notice of which dragon Yohn had not mentioned. "Bronzegate and Blackhaven have fallen, the last holdouts to his power in those lands. Not all the stormlords have gone over to his banners but all the ones who saw fit to fight his invasion have, though it is worse than that. He extends his power even farther it would seem. We've heard he's taken Grassfield Keep in the Reach and has sent envoys into the Riverlands asking for fealty…"

"And ravens to the Vale as well." Yohn said, draining his cup and holding it out to be refilled by his squire. "Declaring the usual garbage; he's the one true king and has need for loyal lords, bah! A farce I call it but enough for some cowards in the Vale to begin whispering. Those who care little for Stannis and remember the good times under the Targaryens. Hell, the dragon kings even took a bride from House Arryn a time or two if I remember. When Nestor warned me of it, I knew I had to act. Whatever our issues with Stannis, we have allies in the Kingdom of the North and I would not have the Vale abandon such a thing because of a bunch of tittering-"

"You are a good man." She spoke suddenly, her resolve breaking and going forward to embrace the surprised lord. Her arms could not get around Yohn's armored form fully but she tried her best, holding him as tightly as she could. "I had feared you came to abandon us… to issue us ultimatums or threats…"

"What?" Yohn jerked some in surprise. Gently taking hold of her, the lord urged her back so he could gaze at her in worry. "Threaten this queen I helped make? You might be a princess now but in my eyes I still see a queen. How could you think such a thing of me?"

As touched as she was by Yohn's words, it fell to Wyman to give voice to all the Vale lord had missed during his travels.

"My lord, I fear your journey has been for naught." Wyman gestured to the maester who held several parchments in hand. As the old man came forward to hand Yohn those letters, Wyman continued. "For the Vale has already foresworn fealty to Stannis Baratheon. Lord Robert Arryn declares that House Arryn and its bannermen will now fight under the Targaryen banner…

"Tell me you're jesting!" Yohn gaped at Wyman and the parchments with a rare expression of weakness. "Nestor said he would buy me time! He didn't want to follow that mummer's Aegon any more than I did. How could he allow such-"

"Not Aegon." Sansa shook her head just as she had when the word had first come days past. "My cousin has bent the knee to Queen Daenerys Targaryen. The Vale lords have abandoned Stannis Baratheon to support the claim of a different dragon, one whose parentage does not come into question."

The shock she now saw on Yohn's face had been the same borne across Rickon's bannermen at the news. With the good tidings from the Riverlands and Torrhen's Square, they'd all been lulled into some false sense of security. Word had come from the Mallisters that the lions had scorned renewing their attack upon the Riverlands. Apparently they'd divided their large army, with some heading towards the capital and the rest staying put along the western shores.

Snows had closed the passes at the Golden Tooth and the Gold Road, which freed Jason Mallister's men to move south and garrison the towns and castles their foes would have to pass through to get to Riverrun. It seemed Daven Lannister had no stomach for fighting a series of bloody battles to ravage an already ravaged land in winter.

The man had other threats to address anyway, for the ironmen had attacked the heart of Lannister power itself. Ronnel Stout had finally discovered the truth of why Lord Rodrik Harlaw and his allies were so desperate for ships and had written to her of it.

To hear a reaver force had attacked Casterly Rock had been like a dream at first. Theon's uncle, Aeron Greyjoy, a man Ronnel referred to as the Damphair, had cobbled together a small armada and struck at the place none thought to. The longships had sailed into the cavernous ports beneath the great fortress by night, surprising the defenders and gaining access to the docks. It was a bloody massacre as far as they'd heard, with most of the longships sunk and the reavers killed. Yet rumor was a token force had escaped, including this Damphair man. The blow to Lannister confidence must have been great indeed for many of the lords with seats along the coast, fearing future raids, now returned to them. What warships the Westerlands had command of were gathering at Fair Isle and such was why Lord Rodrik sought to strengthen his own position by making alliance with the North.

Hearing that their enemies were divided and falling upon one another had been such joyous news. To hear of what happened next made all their hopes flood away.

The fall of Maidenpool to the Dragon Queen had ruined Lord Nestor's plans for storming it himself. With the mountain passes cut off, sending men and supplies from Gulltown was the only way to strength the Vale army in the south. To reach them they needed a safe port and Maidenpool had seemed a likely option. Lord Grafton had even been preparing an invasion fleet when the dragon had struck.

Or dragons she should say.

Many tales of the siege mentioned beasts of legend having returned, doing the bidding of the Targaryen woman and bringing flame to the town. Sansa might not have believed it if not for all that happened afterward. First came word of Gulltown closing itself to ships from White Harbor, sailors there speaking of seeing strange ships in the port flying dragon banners. Others claimed to have seen an actual dragon flying above the walled city. A black beast whose leathery wings carried it to the Grafton castle while White Harbor's ships were forced to sail away from the port. That had worried her, for Myranda's body was being sent back to her family and would have to travel through Gulltown to do so.

It had proven to be the least of her worries compared to what came next. Lord Nestor's letter had not been written in anger or fear as far as she could tell, but compared to their normal correspondence, his words sounded oddly detached. In hindsight that made sense, for the lord had set forth how and why House Arryn was abandoning the Baratheon cause for that of Daenerys Targaryen.

"It was the dragon." Sansa said simply, concerned at how much color was draining away from Yohn's face in hearing all this. "Lord Nestor wrote that the Targaryen woman flew with her black monster all the way to the Gates of the Moon. Circling about them and loosing a terrifying flame. She could have burned the castle and all within but instead she landed and bid them to grant her an audience..."

"He bent the knee out of fear?" Yohn asked incredulously. "The craven! I thought he had more courage than that! I'll march down there myself and-"

"Lord Nestor is not at fault." Wyman waddled forward. "We believe he counseled against changing loyalties but young Lord Robert was so taken with this dragon queen and her mount that he would not hear otherwise. Nor would many of his bannermen… look at the top letter there my lord."

As Yohn did so, Sansa felt anger all over again, for she knew exactly whose words he was reading and could not help but hear the selfish little boy's voice in her head as she did so.

'I don't like Stannis Baratheon. He was mean and rude and scary. I don't want him to be my king. Daenerys is beautiful and kind and reads to me every night. She has a dragon and I wanted to fly so she took me! She calls me the Winged Lord and says that I'll be as strong as the Winged Knight when I am older. Queens are supposed to be beautiful, like in the stories you read me Alayne. So she is my queen now.

Lord Robert Arryn.'

"A boy?" Yohn almost crumpled the letter in his hands. "He let a mewling boy decide such a thing?"

"He had little choice I believe." Wyman said. "From what we've heard, she visited the seats of House Corbray, Hunter, and Waynwood first. When Daenerys secured the favor of young Lord Arryn, she may have already had half the Vale supporting her."

Sansa went to Lord Yohn and gently lowered the letters away from his eyes, which looked upon her with great shame.

"I should have come sooner." Yohn said. "There were things that could've been done, we could've arranged more matches between our lords and yours… I even thought a match between Stark and Arryn…"

That took Sansa aback, for there was only one Arryn available to be married off and matching Sweetrobin and her had been the plan of her mad aunt Lysa. Wyman and Medrick both scoffed at the thought as well.

"Princess Sansa must marry a Northman." Wyman declared with Medrick nodding.

"Whatever husband her royal regent would take must be a man with the North's best interests at heart, one who would not divide loyalties between the Vale and-"

"Not Sansa." Yohn shoved the parchments back at the maester, turning his gaze to Arya. "To cement our bonds I thought to unite cousins together. I came here to arrange a betrothal between Lord Robert and Princess Arya, to make her the Lady of the Vale."

"Oh come on!" Arya cried out, her shoulders slumping and arms falling to her side. "Not another one… find another bloody princess to sell…"

Yohn appeared at a loss and if the mood was not so tense she imagined it would be hard to hold back a laugh at her sister's expense. Picturing Arya and Sweetrobin together was ridiculous, no matter the potential benefits it could offer them.

They wouldn't last a week together. Not even that long unless Sweetrobin was gagged and Arya robbed of Needle.

Some matches could never work… some alliances too strained to survive…

She waved Arya to her and placed a comforting arm around her sister.

"Even if we accepted that union I doubt Queen Daenerys would allow such a thing now." Sansa looked to Yohn then. "Lord Nestor writes that she wants your men here in the North to prepare for pressing her rights to these lands."

"We feared you came to do so." Wyman added. "That you'd tell us the Dreadfort was being fortified as a staging ground for a Targaryen invasion…"

"Not bloody likely!" Yohn shouted. "That woman has not earned my fealty! Tricking a child and threatening good people does not a queen make! I was given command of our northern army and I'll be damned if I accept anything less than Nestor standing before me telling to do otherwise. Until that happens, and I know these letters were not written under threat, my men and I will continue to fight alongside House Stark! I will stand with our allies. Our friends! The friends my kin have died serving!"

Yohn dropped to a knee before them, the storied lord lowering his head in obeisance, a grand gesture considering all he'd just learned. With everything else she'd lost recently the loss of the lord would have been a brutal blow to endure.

"Rise my lord." Sansa took hold of Yohn and bid him to stand once more. "To hear House Stark can still name House Royce a friend, that Bronze Yohn himself remains beside us… it is a gift in such dark times…"

She released both Yohn and Arya to walk towards the center of the room, so that all could hear the true threat the Vale's actions posed to them.

"Lord Yohn stands with us still but I doubt Stannis Baratheon will take much consolation in that." Sansa touched her crown and eyed Wyman and Medrick making noises of agreement.

"The regent is right." Wyman said. "Since we refused to recognize Stannis as king over the North, the fealty of the Vale was key to our alliance with the man."

"An alliance that was strained already." The maester added. "The refusal of hostages was taken badly enough, the misfortune of revealing Ser Jon as the legitimate son of Rhaegar Targaryen only added-"

"Hey!" Arya sprang forward and snapped at the maester. "Don't call Jon a misfortune! He's a hero! It doesn't matter who his father is!"

"I'm afraid it does matter. To Stannis it will at least. Targaryens, real or not, are returning to the realm. The fates were against us in the timing of Ser Jon's announcement as a relation of House Targaryen."

I made him do that… don't blame Jon for it… he did it for us… for me…

"But Jon's at the Wall." Arya argued. "None of what's going on in the south is his fault. He doesn't even know these people, he's too far away to be-"

"Far away from us Arya." She wrung her hands. "Jon's far away from us but close to Stannis… much too close…"

They'd kept the Vale's submission to Daenerys Targaryen as quiet as they could but soon word would surely reach the Wall of it. While the Nightfort responded to few if any of their ravens she knew Stannis likely received them and there would be little she could offer in a letter that would forego his rage. Cersei's mad quest for vengeance had reached within the walls of Winterfell itself, and she feared what could happen if Stannis felt so betrayed. For he was a man of action, a leader of men and thought little of Sansa, save that she was a silly girl playing at the game of thrones.

A game Wyman was eager to play himself.

"Ser Jon's nearness to Stannis might offer us an opportunity." Wyman tapped his fingers together. "If he wants assurances of our keeping the faith, of our loyalty… then I say we offer him what he originally wanted, a hostage. One with both Targaryen and Stark blood and in good standing with the royal family."

"No!" Brienne shouted, clearly aghast at what the lord had just proposed. Arya and Sansa both stood speechless at the gall of the man while Brienne knelt before them both.

"Sansa, Arya… your graces please, heed me in this. I serve you, I will do what you will of me and I have stomached your friendship with Stannis Baratheon because of my loyalty to you, but do not trust that man! Not with Ser Jon! I believe he murdered his own brother and to hand over the good ser to such a man would be a death warrant."

"Please my lady." Wyman raised an eyebrow at her. "You may be overstating your case. He has more sense-"

"You should have more sense!" Arya yelled at the fat lord. "Stannis cannot have Jon!"

"Never." Sansa almost yelled herself. "I would never permit such a thing-"

"It was only an idea!" Wyman held up his hands. "A way to show Stannis we still keep the faith. For unless we are willing to switch which claimant to the Iron Throne we support, we must act to reassure the man…"

"I am sick of reassuring him!" She snapped. "Gods, if my father had not meant to proclaim the man king I'd be tempted to drive him from the North myself! No wonder the Vale lords were so easily won over by the Dragon Queen! The stormlords by the Aegon pretender! What does Stannis offer other than headaches?"

Her fury unleashed, Sansa could see Stannis in her mind's eye, sitting across from her at a table grinding his teeth. Unhappy with all she offered him, showing no gratitude for the offer of Rickon as a goodson, threatening her more than inspiring her. Brooding up at the Nightfort while Jon and her men fought and held Castle Black against the night.

His army stood by while my people bled, he remained idle while Willem died.

And he is the king I wanted the Vale to name their own.

I've lost powerful allies for a man I may even hate.

I've lost too much. I can lose no more… no more…

"I'm ordering Ser Jon back to Winterfell." Sansa proclaimed giving in to the desire she'd had since the Samwell Tarly's letter had arrived. "With all this uncertainty in the realm, and issues with Stannis Baratheon, I want Ser Jon here. By our side. As soon as it can be done."

Only Arya acted happy with her announcement, her sister positively giddy while the esteemed men among them were taken aback. She knew Wyman had grown quite content becoming Sansa's closest counselor since Jon's departure while the maester muttered something about abandoning a task half finished. Yohn showed himself to be the bravest by being the first to protest openly.

"I heard the ser was doing well there, Ser Kyle told me the victory at Castle Black was a magnificent one but that the Others were not completely defeated. One battle does not make a war and if the ser is rallying a proper defense…"

"Let Lord-Commander Reed and my lords do so in his stead." She replied. "We need him here."

"Your grace." Wyman patted at his sweaty forehead. "Ser Jon has marked himself a man of ability and leadership at the Wall! To rob those armies of such a skilled leader in these dark times-"

"Will rob Stannis of a Targaryen knight within his grasp!" She saw the reasoning before her now and ran with it. "That is how we reassure Stannis, yes! We force him to take the lead in defending the Wall! He will see it as an honor, that we are stopping Jon from stealing more glory from him. Let Stannis lead men to battle again, yes, he never had more esteem than when he was on the march! He was winning glory for his brother against Mace Tyrell and the Greyjoys. Jon takes such glory from Stannis so-so he must return…"

"Forgive me." The maester pulled on his chain some. "Forgive me princess, but I believe Ser Jon is best off where he is… and to remove him from his position would appear as an admonishment for one who has performed so admirably. It may also be seen as convenient timing considering all that has happened to the south… to risk such for one knight's well being…"

"He's not just one knight! He's my knight!"

Her heart was pounding and her mind was racing. Everyone was staring at her like she was mad but she had to make them see. She'd made Jon a lord to raise his stature, she'd let him go to the Wall to earn great esteem, and they'd waited to announce their love so he could do all that. Now that her bannermen testified to Jon's worth, they used it all as a reason he couldn't return.

He went to set Castle Black to rights and it's been done!

Willem and Howland went with him and now Jon's the only one who can return to me!

No longer… I can wait no longer… Myranda waited to get married and look what happened to her…

Wyman coughed into his hand to hide his waving Ser Kyle forward, apparently thinking his words on the matter would be of more worth.

"Um… well, Ser Jon is a fine knight princess." Ser Kyle scratched his head and gestured to Ser Calem. "In truth though you have many knights…"

"But only one that I intend to marry!"

The words came out of her mouth as if someone else had said it, the wave of relief washing over her to speak to it crashed against those around her. For each man's face fell in its own way, some gaping, other's shaking their heads. Brienne herself paled and stared at her wide-eyed while Arya put a hand to the pommel of her sword and swore.

"Shit Sansa… there had to be better timing…"

"The time is now and I'm not willing to wait a moment longer." She clenched her fists and forced herself to meet the gaze of each man, some far more disapproving than the next. "I have just declared my intent to marry Ser Jon and it is a royal decree now. As is his return from the Wall! For when he does, we shall be wed and I will become Lady of the Dreadfort-"

"A mistake, you must see it." Wyman's chins quivered.

"How so?" Sansa asked. "You yourself sang Jon's praises only a moment ago, did you not? The maester and you wished me to marry a northman? Well I choose my cousin. Blood of the dragon and a Stark besides! Show me a better match for a princess!"

"Incest." Ser Kyle declared mournfully. "No matter what we believe, many in the North will name it so…"

"Words are wind!" Sansa answered back. "The most powerful lords in the North now testify to Jon's heritage and his ability. Samwell Tarly wrote that they're chanting "Dragon" at Jon wherever he goes! I challenge any of you to think a match for me in this kingdom that would not show too much favor to one lord or another…"

"He has no backing." Medrick spoke up. "None to support his match to you."

Before Sansa could answer Bronze Yohn stepped forward, his arms crossed and smiling as widely as he did before he walked into the room.

"Oh I wouldn't say no backing." The lord winked back at her. "Any here who doubt the knight's worth question the blade which knighted him. My blade. If you're all so worried of how people will react then hire a damned bard. Get him to sing the true tale of Ser Jon and the princess here. How a knight rescued a beautiful maiden from a horrible fiend then helped her avenge the wrongs done to her family and even returned her to her home. Make it catchy enough and they'll be singing it in every hall and tavern from the Wall to White Harbor. The smallfolk love tales like that, and I bet you Gulltown will start asking questions why such a just knight and his princess have been abandoned by their lords."

"Like Aemon the Dragonknight." Arya piped up, not flinching before the gaze of the others. "All say he loved his sister but people still love him…"

"Exactly."

Sansa was heartened by Arya and Yohn's support in this, she liked to think she would have persevered without it but it was welcome all the same. For news of her betrothal was still not being welcomed by the others.

"Songs won't soothe all the worries." Wyman said. "There are questions upon questions on what this shall mean."

"Then let them be answered." She declared, gesturing to the maester. "After word is sent for Jon to return to me. To Winterfell. I want it put to parchment and sent by raven before night falls."

It's happening, she realized, I'm finally making this happen.

Jon's coming home to me… we're going to be married…

Oh Myranda you're going to miss planning my wedding… you wanted that so…

Yohn took a step to tower above her then, holding out a hand which she laid her own upon gently.

"Thank you my lord…"

"Don't thank me yet." A rumbling laugh burst forth. "For I have one question I'd have answered before any other."

"Anything Lord Yohn. For all you've done. For all I hope you will do."

"Why do all you beautiful Tully women go to such somber men?"

DAVOS

"The Turncloak must die!" Godry's voice echoed down the dark corridor. From the darkness, it sounded like many voices were calling out for the same.

No doubt they will be when word of this gets out.

Davos shook his head at the thought of dealing with such a rabble. The idea was almost as frightening as state of the corpse before them. Ser Brus Buckler had been the one to find the dead man in these chambers, half bent over a desk with his head split open like a melon. Davos had been saddened to see him murdered in such a violent way, for he'd been a fine healer and a decent man.

Godry had been enraged yet for less noble reasons.

"This is the last one! The last one he kills!" Godry shouted as he barreled into the room. "I swear I'll see Greyjoy burned myself-"

"Has someone raised you up to king and not told me?" Davos snapped, his exhaustion and anger finally getting to him. "Do you now act as Hand of the King?"

Godry stopped mid-step and turned an even deeper shade of red, puffing up to glare at him. Davos denied the knight the chance to try and intimidate him, turning back to the murdered body of the healer and waving at one of the many guardsmen in the room.

"Please cover the poor man up. He always did so for our dead."

"That's what you care about? Niceties?" Godry fumed. "If you hadn't defended his murderer in the first place this man would still be alive!"

Pyrik's murder was only the most recent of several at the Nightfort in the past few weeks. Not only were they still losing men to the gray plague but now there was an assassin picking them off one by one. The victims had all been good men in Stannis's service, not like Godry or his ilk, sadly. Davos had depended on Pyrik and the other two murder victims to help keep order with the situation at the Nightfort deteriorating rapidly.

The first man had been a steward in service to House Florent and a surprisingly able one. They'd found him stabbed to death by the well, an expression of shock frozen upon his dead face. The second victim had been a Grandison guardsman, one of Greyjoy's guards, found with a slit throat near the lad's chambers.

That had been enough for Godry and many others to point the finger at "the Turncloak" as culprit. An accusation that Davos refuted and not without cause.

Just as he did so again.

"I am not the only person to point out the foolishness of blaming Theon Greyjoy for these murders." He pointed to the corpse of the healer. "Pyrik himself spoke to his innocence. So you believe Greyjoy repaid that kindness with murder? "

As Godry sputtered in anger, Davos went to collect the bloodied weapon sitting by Ser Brus's feet. He hefted the axe up awkwardly with his maimed fingers. It was large and cumbersome, a heavy weapon meant to be wielded with two hands. One of the many the northern clansmen had left it in their possession. The blade was crusted in gore when he held it towards Godry, urging the knight to take hold of it.

Which he did with murder in his eyes.

"Theon Greyjoy was brutalized by the Boltons-"

"He deserves to be burned." Godry interrupted, eyeing Davos like he intended to use the axe on him.

"Whoever did this deserves to die, on that we agree. Someone who could wield an axe as heavy and unwieldy as that." Davos raised his maimed hand then to his eyebrow. "I certainly could not. Neither could Theon Greyjoy. The man can barely use a meat knife and spoon with the few fingers he has left."

Ser Brus, nodding, took that statement in stride but Godry refused to back down. He'd been trying to get the Greyjoy captive burned for moons now.

"He is a turncloak. They live in shadows and are clever in their trickery…"

"Not so clever. Else he never would have become our prisoner, our hostage."

And he'd be far away from this forsaken place.

To Davos there was no worse place in the world than the Nightfort. And for someone who had been to Skagos that was saying something.

Almost a third of their army had fallen to the grey plague, which had spread to all areas of the Nightfort despite their best efforts to keep the sickness contained. The disease had even travelled to the sentry posts, carried there by sick men attempting to desert Stannis's cause. None had been successful in their escape though. Even when they slipped past the guards, winter had seen to them. Their frozen corpses were often being found the next morning.

The sentries were quite motivated in their duties. For the king had threatened that any incursion or escape from their cordon would be dealt with the same severity that desertion was. Stannis had devised a new form of punishment for his men, one that even Godry had sided with Davos in arguing against. As Stannis had watched the deserters being bound to poles in the courtyard, Davos and Godry stayed united in trying to lead their king away from such folly, for very different reasons.

"They are meant for the flames!" Godry had hissed, with others nodding in agreement. "We need to burn them!"

"Your grace, I beg you, these men have proven themselves craven but use a headsman if they must be-"

"Silence." Their gaunt king had replied, his eyes only for the shivering and naked condemned men. "They sought escape to the cold, so let the cold deliver them from the great burden that it is to stay loyal and true to their king. Fair is fair… let them get what they deserve… someone should."

Davos soon found this manner of execution as distasteful as Stannis's previous one. The screams of men burning were ghastly and haunting to hear but he had no love for the pathetic pleadings and rambling of men slowly freezing to death. All in all, five and twenty men had suffered such fates, stripped naked and left to the harsh Northern elements, their dying words echoing off the stone walls of the Nightfort and even the frozen Wall itself.

None had been pleased with that particular punishment, especially those who claimed fervent faith in the red god like Godry. Yet even the blustering knight was fearful to protest too loudly, less the king's anger be turned upon him. Only two men appeared to enjoy the new execution methods. Patchface, the mad simpleton, would dance about the strung up men, singing about doom until someone would push him away. The other fan was Ser Clayton Suggs. The cruel knight could be counted on to start a fire just out reach of the freezing men, warming himself loudly as he enjoyed some wine and listened to condemned men's pleading.

Witnessing the suffering of others had become routine here at the Nightfort. Princess Shireen's death haunted Davos still, the loss of that sweet child leaving a void that could not be filled. Beyond being the king's only heir Shireen had represented hope, hope that one day all these trials could lead to seeing that sad little girl happy and sitting atop the Iron Throne. The thought of her laying dead and cold instead had caused Davos to weep as he prayed to the Seven to guide her way.

Stannis had been included in those prayers, for his king's pain was one all too familiar.

A deep and horrible grief known only to a select few. That of a father mourning his child.

Dale. Allard. Matthos. Maric.

My boys... my dear boys…

Before the Nightfort, I could remember you as the young miracles you were to me.

Now you all haunt my dreams as pale shadows, bidding me to join you with your icy calls in the dark.

It was strange to dream of his boys here, for they had met their end long ago and far away on the Blackwater, washed away to the seas most like. While having their bodies to bury might have been little comfort in truth, Davos would've been thankful for the chance.

Seeing Stannis's treatment of his daughter's body felt worrisome.

For the king had not seen to the princess's body as he had with Queen Selyse's or many of the others who'd died soon after their arrival. All those had been burned while Shireen's went unburied in an ice cellar built within the Wall. Stannis had stopped burning the bodies of the plague victims after that, citing how much wood it stole from the work underway at the Nightfort, building a curtain wall that protected their approaches from the south.

Now all the new bodies were placed in great uncovered pits rather than in individual graves below the Wall. Though the graves were uncovered, the cold of the Wall seemed to preserve the corpses from rotting, so it was a burial of sorts, even if an unseemly one. Davos wished his king could offer Shireen a proper burial yet he refused steadfastly.

"I will not put my girl- my daughter in the ground." Stannis had said while scorning another meal, staring out his solar window at the Wall once more. "She deserves better than that. Shireen was a princess, my heir. I owe her a throne, not some dark hole in the ground. She doesn't want…"

The king had paused then, his jaw clenching beneath his taut skin. Grief had not been kind to him. He'd lost so much weight that his skull was visible beneath this pale skin and his hands had become like gnarled claws. Yet his voice still rung with authority and strength and he was no less active in his movements about the castle.

His journeys to the top to the Wall had become routine. As far as Davos could tell, not a single night had passed without Stannis seeking the Wall first.

That was where he would have to go to inform his king of this new murder. As soon as he finished with Godry's vendetta against Theon Greyjoy.

"I will take this to the king!" Godry raged, pointing out into the corridor. "I see the Turncloak walking about this castle as free as can be! Free at your say so Onion Knight!"

"Onion Lord." He corrected, shaking his head. "Seek the king if you wish, as I will set Ser Brus and Ser Lyn to seeking the true killer. Remember ser, it is King Stannis who permits Theon Greyjoy and Ser Alliser freedom of movement within the Nightfort. I might also remind you that it was the king who decided that your claims against Greyjoy for these murders were false."

"Not on this one!"

"Then put it before the king." Davos had tired of the knight by then, turning to the other men in the room. "See that Pyrik's body is shown every respect. You three, see that Greyjoy is taken to his room and put under guard. The king's captive must be protected."

He looked to Godry then.

"There is a killer about."

As he left the room Godry hissed one final bit of bile at him.

"A kraken backer as well as a dragon lover. What a fine Hand we have."

Davos pretended he hadn't heard it. If he responded to every insult Godry and Lyn Corbray sent his way, he'd have no time left to freeze his breeches off. No matter what they did to improve its building, the Nightfort always felt damnably cold, though not as cold as the steps that led up to the top of the Wall. Night had fallen and the torch in his hand offered less warmth than light on this night.

The gleam of the firelight along the ice of the Wall made it appear all the brighter, which was an unfortunate reminder of a subject he'd been plagued by of late.

Dragons, he thought, we're dealing with the grey plague here while bloody dragons plague the realm.

That wasn't entirely true and he knew it, for there were only three dragons they knew of for sure. Two of them were far away while another was so near they could ride to him in but a day with good weather.

Many had wanted to do just that when word came of the fall of Dragonstone to yet another Targaryen claimant to the Iron Throne. Not to be outdone by the mummer's Aegon Targaryen who stole Storm's End and many of Stannis's Stormlands bannermen, this Daenerys Targaryen had taken the castle Stannis had ruled for close to twenty years. When word of that had come from Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, his king had clenched his teeth and his knights had raged.

"Another one!? More dragonspawn!?" Godry had declared. "I name it a plot! A conspiracy!"

Ser Brus and Ser Clayton had agreed with the large knight's accusation but it had been Ser Lyn to lead the charge on how they should respond.

"My family fought for the Targaryens during Robert's Rebellion but we bent the knee and swore fealty to the Baratheon throne. I've no love for these mummer's dragons and I trust that few others in the Vale do as well. My brother will do his best to set the Vale to war against this dragon bitch but House Arryn is ruled by old men and women and a feeble boy, words alone will not lead them to keeping the faith. You must act decisively against this threat your grace, to show the Vale and the Starks who their true king really is."

"You are a younger brother so you do not have authority to speak for your own house's actions, let alone the Vale." Davos had countered and the knight did not deign to look upon him when he responded.

"I am a knight who has killed better men than you. One who has ridden beside the Starks and can say truthfully that they do not love King Stannis, nor do they truly respect him." Ser Lyn padded the pommel of Lady Forlorn, his Valyrian steel sword. "I am not some smuggler who accomplished one bit of treachery that should have earned him a noose rather than a knighthood. I earned this sword in battle against the Mad King, slaying one of his Kingsguard no less, and just as I helped lead King Robert's army against the dragons, so too again should I be the one to lead King Stannis's army. I should be Hand of the King."

Davos was still disquieted by how many men cheered at Ser Lyn's proclamation, even men who were not of House Corbray's retinue. Godry however had a scowl on his face that Davos was sure matched his own.

Yet perhaps he should be Hand. I'm so tired, and I was not meant to rise so high.

But no, King Stannis gave me this role and I must do as I see right for him.

"You question me?" Stannis asked. His face had been turned away from them but his voice was edged with steel. "You would question my decision to raise Ser Davos to knighthood all those years ago Ser Lyn? Of my choice in making him Hand now?"

"I say simply that our benevolent king was too kind for his own good." Ser Lyn answered, unheeding Stannis's tone and the ridiculousness of his claim that their king ever acted in anything out of kindness.

Stannis only ever cares about justice.

"I say that perhaps Ser Davos would be an adequate Hand in peaceful times. After all, when the king is strong and firm, all he needs in a Hand is a servant to carry out his orders." Lyn had finally looked at Davos to sneer in insult. "Yet we are at war, have no doubt about that, and war needs a Hand of strength. Let me lead us to victory once more over this dragonspawn. Make me your Hand and I will bring glory to your cause my king, glory that will eclipse any that that bastard and his bog devil pet may have claimed to have taken part in."

Word of the great victory at Castle Black had not been received warmly by the king nor his bannermen. To hear that the Others had not only been defeated but actually driven back into the wilderness was surely something to celebrate, Davos had thought. Yet the ravens had also spoken high praise for Ser Jon's role in that victory, of how the army had rallied to him in its aftermath and how the knight was credited with slaying several white walkers himself. Soon Ser Jon became the only focus of the news.

"Bastards are born of lies and lust and this one is plotting your grace." Ser Lyn had continued. "The pretender builds support for the Targaryen cause here in the North while his kin steal lands and lords rightly claimed by you in the south."

"It should not be suffered!" Ser Godry had added.

"Ours horses are wasted here." Ser Brus took up the cause, starved for a battle himself. "The men are eager for a fight. Let us give them one. Take this dragon prisoner and if there is any plot we would have a hostage against it."

"What are you proposing sers? To add to our list of enemies?" Davos had chided them, not liking the faraway look in Stannis's eyes. "The enemy is beyond the Wall, not holding it! We have an alliance-"

"One that weakens us more than anything." Ser Lyn snapped back. "Every day Jon Snow's army grows stronger while we grow weaker. Unless we strike first we could be overwhelmed-"

"By the Others!" Davos had been astonished that all these men could forget the true threat. "That's who Ser Jon and Ser Richard fought at Castle Black, who they weakened for the sake of us all. Right now Ser Justin seeks to rebuild our strength! He is doing the king's work and rallying an army from across the Narrow Sea-"

"They'll get here too late!"

"There's no guarantee!"

"My army will come." Stannis spoke with a quiet certainty, far quieter than it usually was, as if he was struggling to remember what he spoke to. "A great army, loyal, fierce, willing to endure the long march to see me returned to my throne. An army that serves rather than squabbles, obedient and without fault … or soft hearts…"

The king's words, full of confidence, had filled Davos with a ray of hope. For in that small moment in the solar, Davos saw the Stannis Baratheon he had known back at Dragonstone, the king he would gladly give his life for.

"We have suffered setbacks recently… great losses, yet losses that can be replaced. Our enemies will weaken and we shall grow stronger." Stannis thrust out his fist as he gazed down at a map of the realm. "No Ser Lyn, Lord Seaworth will remain my Hand for now. Don't think I don't see you, grasping at power for your own selfish gain, just as I see this Ser Jon for what he truly is. A dragon…"

Ser Lyn had scowled and once more Davos readied his sword, in case this was the day the knight decided to lash out in anger. Yet Godry put a hand on the knight's shoulder and Lyn finally sat, knowing he was defeated in the face of Stannis's will.

"Dragons cannot stand against the army we shall raise here… all the pretenders will fall…"

Davos had supported his king's newfound hopes, as much to argue against Ser Lyn's ambition as to encourage Stannis to escape the darkness he'd shrouded himself in here at the Nightfort.

When he reached the top of the Wall that's exactly what he found Stannis submerged in.

Dark clouds blocked the half moon above them and while there were torches along this part of the Wall, Stannis had found a spot near several that the wind had put out. His king stood as he always did, tall and stiff as an old oak, staring out into the dark wilderness Beyond-the-Wall. How the man did not freeze in such conditions both puzzled and impressed Davos, for his own cloak fell far short of warming him properly.

"Your grace." Davos hailed quietly, shivering to come alongside his king. "You should not come here unguarded…"

Stannis's head snapped about quickly towards the end of his words, as if he hadn't truly heard them at first. He could not see the king's eyes in the dark, but his brow was furrowed, like he hadn't quite understood the words Davos had just spoken.

"Ser Davos?" Stannis asked in a soft tone, one he had only heard the king speak a few times before.

When he would deign to hold Shireen as a babe.

When she became sick with the grey scale and almost lost her.

Only then has Stannis ever been so tender.

"My Onion Knight." Stannis beckoned him forward, still oddly serene as the wind blew about them. "Come and listen… she sings so well. I never told her so, I never had time to listen. A lord has duties I would tell her, a king responsibilities. At Dragonstone, sometimes her voice would carry and I would hear it and find myself listening more intently than I should… it reminds me of my mother's singing…"

"Princess Shireen?"

He pieced together all Stannis was speaking of at once, feeling foolish for not doing so earlier. For half a moment, he thought the king was speaking of someone singing now, even though all he heard was the wind and the cracking of ice, sounds of the Wall settling.

"My daughter, yes." Stannis turned back to face the darkness. "I felt foolish to listen so closely at Dragonstone, to strain to hear her from afar. Strange how well it carries at the Wall…"

"I've heard many say her voice carried from the tower." Davos remembered the sad tales men told of Shireen's captivity in the tower. "That it would climb the Wall itself, lifting the men's spirits with it. Princess Shireen sang well your grace. I miss her. I pray for her."

"My girl." Stannis closed his eyes. "Eager yet patient… far too patient for what should be hers."

What should have been hers.

He almost corrected his king but thought better of it, for he was here to deliver foul tidings. It was best not to begin such by focusing on such frivolity like grammar, or to draw out his king's grief once more.

Stannis was as calm as he could be as Davos delivered the news. Speaking to Pyrik's murder had gone easily enough for the details were few in truth. The man was murdered at some point after midday, Ser Brus only discovering the body because he'd gone to fetch herbs for the king. Pyrik had been aiding Stannis in sleeping since Shireen's death. Many spoke of seeing the king wander the castle at the latest hours, spurning rest to gaze up at the Wall.

Some even swore he spoke to ice but Davos was hard pressed to believe that, for he knew his king was not one to waste words. Nonetheless, Pyrik's herbs had led to several nights of peaceful slumber for his king and Davos lamented that the man had not left directions on making more of his potions.

Stannis had listened in stoic silence, nodding here and there at Davos's words. Showing no grief at the loss of Pyrik, the king appeared keener to hear if there was a culprit they could punish for the act.

"I believe whoever this is to be some deserter, too fearful to attempt escape yet disgruntled enough to strike at loyal men." Davos answered before performing his duty as Hand and speaking to other suspicions. "Ser Godry has another suspect in mind, a familiar one…"

He spoke to Godry's accusations against Theon Greyjoy first, for his own arguments against that theory came soon after. He believed Stannis's hostage was innocent for more reasons than just his maimed state. In truth it would be quite inconvenient if the Turncloak was the perpetrator, for he was their tool in getting sway over the Iron Islands one day.

To his shame, Davos had grown fond of Greyjoy. Besides Stannis, the ruined lordling was the closest thing he had to a friend here at the Nightfort. The fact that Theon was likely innocent in the murders, that Godry only wished for a chance to burn a highborn man to appease his red god, only helped matters for him.

Stannis appeared to agree with Davos's arguments, waving away Godry's accusations with disinterest, which was quite unusual for him.

"Theon Greyjoy has uses beyond being that dullard's kindling." The king looked down into the frozen lands before the Wall. "My knights, if only they all took after you… the man always at my side. Shireen saw the truth of that more than her mother. You are a man of ability… loyal… firm in resolve… yet she spoke to me on fears that you wouldn't have the heart for what is to come. That you may weaken my own resolve."

"I will always be at your side my king. I will never do anything to hurt you." Davos argued, hurt at the idea of Shireen sharing foul feelings for him with her father. Confused as to when she would've done so. "Whatever must be done, I will serve the one true king…"

His voice fell away as the clouds moved then, allowing the light of the moon to shine down on the snow-covered grounds beneath them. The woods were as dark and thick as they'd ever been, yet it was what stood at their edge that drew his eye. The figures illuminated in the moonlight, causing Davos's blood to turn to ice water.

There were three of them.

Three pale, lithe figures standing below the Wall, so still that they looked like statues. From the tales told to him as a child in pot shops in King's Landing, he'd expected them to be huge, glowing monstrosities, with sharp icy teeth meant to drain the blood from babes. These creatures, while terrifying to behold, had graceful physiques and looked beautiful in a terrible way.

He had no doubt that these were the fearsome white walkers that had been waging war against the wildlings and the Night's Watch. The Others who commanded great undead hordes to attack the Wall. Their dark enemy, standing within arrow range, as if they had no care in the world at being seen here.

A darker thought crept into his mind then.

They don't care that we're watching because they are watching us…

These demons are staring at Stannis... their eyes are for my king…

"Your grace." He warned as a cold wind blew up and clawed at his flesh and soul. "Stannis… please, I would have you away from here…"

"There is power here." Stannis answered in a queer tone. "When I first saw this castle, I thought it a pile of rubble, an exile worthy of a man with as many failures as me. Yet this was the first castle of the Night's Watch. An order which established a reign lasting thousands of years here at the Wall… to have my dynasty last for so long, to have the realm so ordered…"

Another blast of wind came, which to Davos felt like it blew straight up from the Others themselves and it doused his torch completely. Bathed in darkness, he dared to grab at his king's arm, fearful for his liege and himself all the same.

"We must go. Please. King Stannis, please. Those things… I would have you away from them! They are evil!"

His touch on Stannis's arm caused the man to start, as if shaking him free from some dream. The king acted confused for a moment, cocking his head to listen for something that wasn't there, for Davos heard nothing but the wind and his own pleading. Stannis responded to them by making a quick glance down to the Others and then back to Davos's terrified face. With a curt nod the king jerked free of his hold but made to leave the Wall nonetheless, with Davos following behind.

Their entire time travelling down the ice stair, Stannis did not speak of what they'd seen. He wondered if the king was as unnerved by the sight of the white walkers as he was. Davos had known monsters in his life but those were of a kind with men and those creatures below the Wall were something far different. Surely he could understand Stannis being rattled by the appearance of the Others so near to them.

When they reached the bottom he made to speak to his king on whether they should bring some archers up to the Wall but Stannis waved him off. His king clasped his hands behind his back and offered only a nod before striding off towards the ice-cells. The place his daughter was laid at rest.

Let him find his peace with all this.

The man deserves that much at least. We all deserve some peace.

With that in mind Davos decided to seek his chambers but only after he dropped by Theon Greyjoy's. The men he'd ordered to stand guard outside of it were all fast asleep, with an empty skin of wine between them. The hour as late as it was, and with a man sprawled out in front of the chamber door, Davos figured no one would be entering our leaving unnoticed. So he continued on his way, disdaining how the cold corridors of the Nightfort made him almost eager for his chambers.

I wonder how cold my keep is back in the Stormlands…

The wind off Cape Wrath could send some bitter gusts across the water. Marya's feet would be blocks of ice on those nights.

He chuckled to himself, eager for any pleasant memory to drive away the thought of the Others standing out there watching Stannis. His laughter came out as a white mist before him and he rubbed his hands together for warmth. He imagined if the night was this bitter cold back home then his wife would have both their young sons sharing a bed with her. His wife had never been a proper lady but she'd given him seven good boys over their years together. To think of Marya with their two youngest in bed with her made Davos feel warm somehow.

As Davos pushed at the door of his darkened chambers, he wished he was there with them. He couldn't allow himself to wish Marya and their boys here at the Nightfort. It was too foul a place.

I hope Castle Black is warmer than here. I know Devan is safer there at least.

Ser Richard was kind to write of my boy, to tell me he is well and asks after his father.

Such a beautiful boy… Marya, we made such good sons…

Finding his chambers so dark was not new to him. The better stewards had all fallen to the grey plague and most in this part of the castle had succumbed as well. Those who would tend the hearths often forgot him all the way down here by himself so his fire usually went unlit. Davos could have complained and gotten someone else to see to it but he had not been born a lord and could see to his own fire.

I'm not such a fool to forget that… I forgot to grab a new torch though.

I'll have to strike up some sparks with my flint.

He shrugged off his cloak and was almost to the hearth when he heard a sound off in the corner.

The slight scrape of a foot on the stone floor. The jingle of a bell.

"Who-"

Davos had only just turned towards the sound when something slammed into his stomach. The impact was so hard, so jarringly painful, that his legs were lost to him. He pitched backwards, falling down and collapsing within his unlit hearth. He landed hard on the ash and coals, the blackness of the room clashing with how bright the pain flashed in his mind's eye.

For how long he lay there moaning before his senses returned he could not say. A scratching sound filled the empty room, barely audible over his gasps and moans. Sparks appeared nearby and soon after, a candle lit, driving away the darkness.

In the weak glow he saw his sword laying on the ground just beyond his reach. He looked to his gut and saw the end of a crossbow bolt sticking through it. It was deep, the agony so great that Davos knew he would not be able to survive pulling it out.

The candle was raised some and his killer's face was lit up in a ghastly way, the grin stretching across his mottled face like a demon's.

Patchface giggled with terrifying glee as he tossed the crossbow he carried onto Davos's bed.

"In the dark I can spy, in the dark you may die."The fat fool pranced as he sang but paid Davos little heed except to reach for his sword. "I know, I know, oh, oh, oh!"

"What have you done?" He coughed, trying to find the strength to yell but his breath couldn't push through the blood that was filling his lungs. "Why did you-"

"So many things! So many reasons! Oh ho ho!" Patchface giggled, jingling his bells and patting his large belly. "Her blood is royal, her blood is tainted, the dour ser didn't laugh, now grey he is painted!"

"Dour ser?"

Does he mean Ser Dorden,Davos thought, the first man to become sick with the plague?

A spasm of pain racked his body then, sending Davos tumbling from the hearth and out onto the floor. He hacked again, his blood spraying out across the cold floor. Davos tried to crawl to his sword, his maimed fingers scrambling.

"They sing in the night, no need for the light, I know, I know, oh, oh, oh!"

"You're mad…" He grasped the sword hilt but couldn't find the strength to lift it. "Patchface… you mad bastard… get a healer…"

"Dead dead dead, whack whack whack." The fool sang as he mimicked striking something with two hands. "The king must dream, old man must scream! Thwack, thwack, thwack, I then went, crack, crack, crack, his skull went!"

Even through the pain, Davos began to piece the madman's words together. The whole time Godry and he had been arguing over who to blame for the murders, the culprit had been wearing bells and dancing about the castle.

By the Seven, he's been wearing fucking bells!

How did you not see it?

His anger at himself somehow fueled Davos to lift the sword and point the blade at the fat fool's obese gut.

"Oh ho!" Patchface giggled before kicking the blade away and doing an ugly little jig. "They all sing in the night, the knights with eyes so bright! Some grey blood in the well, dark castle becomes hell!"

"Stannis will kill you for this… they should have left you drowned…"

Patchface stopped dancing then, becoming so still he could have been made of stone. Slowly, menacingly, the fool turned his dark gaze down upon Davos's dying body. His eyes were aglow from the candle that he raised up to his face.

"There is no jester here, he died long ago… no hope for him… no hope for you… the king will come this night but he will find no onion knight… like they found no singer on the beach… just a dead man…"

With that Patchface pulled something from behind him, brandishing a vicious looking dagger that shone in the candlelight. He waved it left to right as his foul grin returned.

"The king will find a fool alone… fools will reap what they have sewn…"

The wind blasted the darkened window of his room then, rattling the window so hard that he thought it was cracking. As Patchface took a step towards him, Davos reached for his fingerbones that weren't there.

Marya…I'm sorry…our sons…

Our beautiful sons…

The wind came again but the candle was blown out by Patchface himself.

Darkness swallowed him, as black as the sail he'd sailed into Storm's End with during the siege. He'd been rewarded for that service with the edge of a knife as well.

Yet this blade was far worse.

Its bite so cold and unforgiving, he thought of his king.