She lapped at the freezing pool of water almost lazily. Every one of her senses were on alert. She smelled them before she even heard them, not that they made any strenuous effort to stay silent. Crunching snow and snapping twigs would have sent any other member of her pack charging at the potential threats with fangs bared.
But she knew better.
She straightened up, her grey fur glistening with melting frost as her dark golden eyes focused on the group of men who approached her apprehensively. Arya faltered at first, staring into the face of her intended husband and momentarily failing to recognize him until Nymeria's instincts prompted her forward.
Bran, strapped to Hodor's back, watched the massive direwolf bonded to his comatose sister approach Gendry Baratheon step by step. Summer lingered close beside him until the young Lord of Winterfell silently sent his own direwolf forward to reunite with his litter mate, and allow Bran to communicate with Arya directly.
Brandon Stark slumped against Hodor's back as his eyes rolled upward whilst Summer simultaneously froze in place for a moment, his eyes flashing white. Bran moved forward, stopping just in front of his sister to stare into her dark golden eyes with his own vivid yellow.
To the group of hunters and knights that had accompanied Bran to the Riverlands the two direwolves merely stared at each other for several long minutes before Nymeria turned around to walk back into the woods with Summer trailing behind her.
Bran awoke with a start, pushing himself away from Hodor's back to take a gasping breath. He regained his senses quickly to look up to Ser Loras Tyrell.
"It's Arya's wolf. Prepare the party to return to the capital, Ser Loras. We can leave within the hour."
Relief broke over the features of the young Kingsguard entrusted with protecting Bran and leading the party through the harsh conditions. Even with the dragon Viserion having cleared most of the snows ahead of them, Loras had never seen anything close to the harrowing snows and impossible terrain they had trekked through, but he had made a promise to Robb, and to Margaery. It was that dedication that ensured the party's success after weeks of exhausting travel through a now semi-arctic Riverlands.
Bran himself was exhausted, it had been trying on his growing powers to keep both Viserion and Summer bonded to him, even harder still when he had to let Viserion fly leagues ahead of him to clear the Kingsroad. As he sat strapped to Hodor's back near the Stoney Sept, Viserion had already flown through to the Vale, allowing scores of Robb's men to deliver his call-to-arms for all of Westeros.
Even as Bran had left King's Landing, lords and knights were arriving by the hundreds, the Royal Army had begun to muster and form ranks on the outskirts of the city, and Robb and his council were forming battle plans every minute of every day. Bran had little idea of what had happened in his absence. The men themselves were confused and cranky, muttering amongst themselves as they turned to begin what seemed like a pointless journey back to the capital.
Bran turned his head back to where Nymeria and Summer had wandered off to. Bran could sense through Summer that Nymeria was sending her large and surprisingly intelligent pack of wolves north to await her, all but one female direwolf from Nymeria's own litter; she was a lean, graceful wolf still in her adolescence, with grey fur tinged with golden brown and yellow eyes that were warm with trust. It seemed symbolic to Bran that Sansa's wolf came from Nymeria. It signified to the young Lord of Winterfell his eldest sister's return to the Stark clan and her embracement of her Northern heritage that she had once rejected. He could sense a sweetness in this new wolf that reminded him of Sansa, and wondered if it was Lady's spirit in this wolf that trotted behind Summer and Nymeria as they returned to Bran a short time before the hunting party set back out for the capital.
Loras mounted his garron, horses that King Robb had ordered bred and supplied to the King's Landing stables long before the blizzards had come. They were small horses admittedly, but they were sturdy and no other breed could handle the harsh terrains of snow and ice like these steeds. Hodor, too large for even the biggest garron, loyally strapped Bran into his custom saddle before climbing into one of the empty supply wagons to sit on a bale of hay.
Ser Loras glanced behind him to the young Lord Stark before nodding to the two men entrusted to carry the party's banners. Garret from the Royal Army carried the crowned direwolf standard of King Robb, denoting them as a royal party. Hal, one of Winterfell's own men-at-arms raised the banner of House Stark.
"Steady on men. You know as well as I that the King rewards loyal service. The sooner we get home, the sooner you will be rewarded." Loras addressed the men who clenched their jaws and nodded their heads. Gendy trotted over beside Bran as they moved forward.
"What happened back there?" the dark haired Storm Lord asked seriously.
"Its difficult to explain, Lord Gendry. You will understand when we return to Arya, I promise all will be made clear. Get us home safely and quickly and Arya will be all the better for it."
As Bran had left King's Landing on his mission to rescue Arya from her ever worsening state of catatonia, so too had Jon Stark and Daenerys Targaryen taken flight on behalf of the Iron Throne. Jon flew to the Reach, using his control over Rhaegal to clear the roads blocked by snow and free the castles that had been cut off by ice and sleet. Behind the dragons flew the crowned direwolf banners of House Stark, unsure of his ravens reaching their destination Robb had dispatched hundreds of men on horseback to reach every castle possible. Daenerys Targaryen had flown through to the Stormlands in a matter of days before she set out to Dorne. Already below she could see armies flying their banners as they marched to King's Landing en masse.
The dragons were a spectacle across the Seven Kingdoms, with soldiers, knights, lords and ladies alike staring at the fabled creatures as they crossed the skies and freed them from being trapped in their own castles and keeps. It was the direwolf banners that brought reassurance and hope. It was King Robb's own hand that called for every able warrior to join the alliance of Stark and Targaryen against the Long Night. Many had fought behind Robb Stark in the War of the Five Kings, many more had prospered in his reign. It was the belief in the Young Wolf and awe of Mother of Dragons that sent Westeros forward at a time when it otherwise would have collapsed.
"With House Errol's arrival this morning we now have every able army in the Crownlands encamped along the Blackwater. If these numbers from the lords are accurate, we have almost sixteen thousand men from the Crownlands alone." The Blackfish reported, tossing a hastily scribbled parchment onto the pile of papers atop the war table. The Small Council had been suspended, with Robb having invited his Wardens and the most powerful lords in his army to join a larger War Council that seemed to spend every hour of every day planning their march.
"And more and more are arriving from the Reach, the Stormlands, and the Dornish Marches. We've received word from Lord Arryn that he will sail a bulk of his force to meet us at Eastwatch-by-the-Sea." Lord Varys reported to the gathered men and women in the Small Council chambers, all of whom flicked their gaze to the head of the table where their King was standing with his hands upon the wood and his head bowed in deep thought.
Though the fires were roaring, Robb was imposingly large in his heavy wolf's fur cloak and black plate armor. Every soldier was armed and armored at his command, ready for anything that might happen. He refused to be caught unawares again.
"If Lord Arryn thinks he can sail through ice, I welcome him to it. But until he can accomplish what even the Iron Islands cannot, he will march his men north at once. As will the Crownlands. Already the capital is full to bursting and supplies are dwindling. Lady Mormont, who have we put in command of the Crownland forces?" Robb asked, looking up to Dacey who was gripping the hilt of her sword as she stood between Smalljon Umber and the Blackfish.
"Lord Monford of House Velaryon, my King." Dacey said, gesturing to a handsome older man who had long, fair hair down past his shoulders. Over fine leather and velvet he wore a sea-green woolen cloak clasped together with a white gold seahorse brooch in honor of his House sigil. Lord Monford bowed his head respectfully to Robb as he stepped forward.
"It is my honor to be given this command, Your Grace." Monford said. Robb nodded at the man, remembering that he had been one of the many to flock to his side after he had taken Stannis prisoner. It had been Velaryon ships that heavily supplemented the Royal Fleet while Robb had been in Essos, and Dacey had told him that Monford was an aggressive soldier but a tactful commander.
"Serve us well, my lord. There is far more at stake today than petty land squabbles and a hunger for power. Lord Monford, I charge you with leading the bulk force of the Crownlands north to the Wall where you will join the Night's Watch and Lord Umber of Last Hearth. I will be assigning ten of my Northern officers from the Royal Army to serve as your lieutenants and to guide you through the snows and ice. Ready your troops to march at dawn." Monford bowed his head at Robb's order before turning on his heel to march out of the chambers with the other officers of the Crownlands.
"Ser Garlan, the army of the Reach is already beginning to consume their allocated lands near the Kingswood. Upon Lord Monford's departure, I want you to relocate your men along the Blackwater. I would send the Reach next under your banners."
"As you command, Your Grace." Garlan Tyrell. Dark haired and handsome in shining silver armor that was trimmed with the forest green of his House. His chest plate was embossed with his own personal sigil of two golden roses while a shadowcat's fur was draped around his broad shoulders. When asked where he had gotten such a handsome fur from, Ser Garlan had told Lord Tyrion that he had killed the shadowcat in the Riverlands before the cat itself could have killed his lady wife Leonette. Even Tyrion had struggled to reply with a quip following that.
"Your Grace, I know this is not the time, but I must ask again if there is any word on my uncle? He was two days away from the capital when this madness took the country and he has not been heard from since." Princess Arianne, herself clad in a heavy cloak borrowed from Queen Margaery, interjected with heavy concern in normally exotic tones.
Robb sighed, looking from Arianne to Varys who could only shrug helplessly.
"Believe me when I say that Prince Oberyn's life is one of my chief concerns, all my men sent south were instructed to look for him on their way. He will be found. The storms could have buried him in some inn somewhere and he is at this moment hacking his way out of the buried Stormlands with the passion we know him for. But until then, I need you and your brother to keep your focus on the Dornish Army. How many men can you raise?"
"In this? We can hope to raise half our strength at best, twenty thousand maybe less." Quentyn lied to Robb easily, causing his sister to rub her temple and sigh.
"Dorne is said to be able to raise fifty thousand soldiers…" Robb replied to Quentyn with a hollowness in his voice that his friends knew was dangerous. Every eye flicked between the Northern King and the Dornish Prince.
"A lie." Arianne finally said, looking up to fold her arms.
"Arianne." Quentyn said sharply only for her to ignore him.
"For the sake of proving that Dorne is now loyal to the Iron Throne, committed to the cause of a united Westeros, and will continue to be so under my rule…I can confirm that eighteen thousand men will march from Dorne. The reason as to why; I will reveal only to His Grace." Arianne said firmly as she looked briefly to Queen Margaery, who smiled at her, before she held Robb's gaze.
"Very well. As soon as your men are assembled, I give you leave to task a faction of them to search for Prince Oberyn." Robb said after several tense moments of silence. "These men will have ten of my best scouts with them to assist." Robb promised, standing upright to survey his council.
"This is a burden that none of our ancestors could have faced. It is a burden because we grew arrogant in believing that magic had died from the world and the Others were a story. But united, Westeros can defeat this threat. I thank you all for your service, and your belief." Robb's solemn words held the attention of every soul at that table, who bowed their heads and steeled their nerves.
Biting, burning cold. That was all he knew as he opened his heavy eyes and drew a ragged breath. The shack they had found shelter in a fortnight ago had killed three more of his men. The rest were hovering near the end themselves, groaning in their sleep as their fingers turned slowly black and their bodies consumed themselves from hunger. Oberyn raised a loathsome glare to the former Lion Lord, chained furthest away from the fire but looking utterly relaxed with the chaos around him.
Every so often Oberyn swore he heard the old bastard humming the Rains of Castamere, it incensed him.
"What do you have to be so pleased about?" Oberyn finally barked across the small, rotting shack in the southern Crowlands at Tywin. The old, weathered man turned his surprisingly bright green eyes up to Oberyn and smiled a full row of white teeth as though he were a lion baring his fangs at his prey.
"Because this chaos is no longer my problem. Long live Robb Stark. Long live the Young Pup and all the Great Houses until the Others take you to the Seven Hells and beyond. Without me, none of you have a hope." Tywin hissed confidently, almost knowingly before he chuckled. His chuckle turned into a laugh that chilled the already frozen spine of Oberyn Martell. The Red Viper launched himself across the room, his frozen fist connecting with high cheekbones of Tywin Lannister over and over and over again until the Lion Lord was quiet on the ground and the Prince stood above him panting, knuckles bruised and pushed to his very edge.
"We need to move. We need to go to King's Landing or we will die here." Oberyn panted, turning to look at his men. Four of the men struggled to their feet, picking their pikes up as they did so and looked at their Prince with weary loyalty. Five others glanced at them before painfully doing the same. The remaining four could not find the strength to even raise their arms of speak coherently, their groans close to death. Oberyn slowly made his way over to stand over them.
"My friends. If you cannot stand…you cannot march, and we cannot wait. You will not survive the night." Oberyn's voice was hollow as he looked at them all, wondering if they even heard him or knew him. "Your loyalty to Dorne and to House Martell will never be forgotten. Do you wish for mercy, or do you wish for dignity?"
Their groans were almost in unison, one of them even managed to move his arm. Oberyn sighed, looking over his shoulder to the standing men.
"Let us make it quick for our brothers." Three men came forward to join Oberyn, their swords came down as one.
She wrung her hands before her as she slowly made her way through the halls. It was long past noon, the castle was quiet as it often became between the arrivals of new lords and the conclusion of war councils. She had taken to wearing a wolf's fur cloak much like the one her mother often wore in the North. Her hair alone often denoted her as the King's sister, but with her cloak around her, she had brought many lords and knights to a stop. She was quickly becoming a great beauty, a position that after so long under Joffrey's torture she had little idea on how to utilize.
She had watched for months now how Margaery's confidence and skill had elevated her from a traitor's Queen to the most powerful woman in Westeros. It was not a position Sansa coveted, not anymore. Of late, her heart had begun to grown fond of Willas, of Highgarden and the notion of being Lady Tyrell. But increasingly she realized that she could not rely on anyone but herself to get through the world. But even with that knowledge, she had no idea how to do that.
So there she was, while a war for life and death ravaged around her, while her brother rallied the country for war, Sansa waited for the one person she knew would guide her through what was to come. The one person who she knew would want her to succeed in the position that she currently held in practice if not in name.
"Gods, boy! Did I not tell you to light the fires before we arrived? I'm old you know. This wretched cold affects me far more than you." Her biting tone almost stopped Sansa in her tracks. She merely paused for a moment, taking a breath before walking in to the common rooms that had been given to House Tyrell.
"Lady Olenna." Sansa greeted, curtsying to her respectfully. Olenna merely gave her a rare smile.
"My dear Princess, I would rise, but it would take an hour. It is so good to see you, my dear. What can I do for you?" Olenna asked, cutting straight to the point as she always did, quirking a silver eyebrow at the redheaded beauty as she did so.
"I need to tell you something." Robb said to Margaery as they lay together in bed in one of the smaller rooms of Maegor's Holdfast to keep in the warmth of the many fires in the room for themselves and their children who slept soundly beside their bed in their own cot.
"You're marching soon." Margaery said without looking at him, focusing her attention on playing with his calloused hand before bringing it to her lips and returning it to her breast where she placed her own hand atop it and held it tightly.
"How do you always do that?" Robb said with a half chuckle before he kissed her shoulder. "Once Garlan leaves, I expect Jon and Daenerys to be back. They can hopefully free our ships and clear us a path to the Wall to meet the armies as they arrive." Robb explained, leaning up on his elbow to look down at her. She slowly turned to look up at him with those brown doe eyes he had fallen in love with.
"I need to tell you something as well." She said, clearly not having any desire to do so before she sighed and leaned forward to kiss him once.
"What is it?" he asked with concern, as she cupped his face and caressed his cheek.
"I'm pregnant."