Chapter 39
The Heart Tree
Travelling by Dragon amazed Arya beyond her wildest expectations. 'Twas exhilarating, astonishing, yet also strangely peaceful, soaring like a bird over trees and rivers, farmland and villages. 'Twas a dream come true.
Being so high and free changed Arya's perspective on more than just the landscape. She had hoped never to set sight on the cursed and broken towers of Harrenhal again, however, from cloud height, she found them fascinating rather than grim. She amused herself by wondering how many Dragons it would take to destroy what was left of the bloody castle. If three had been sufficient to melt The Wall, surely they could do the same to Harrenhal? Mayhaps she should speak to Jon about it. Now that would be a wedding gift she would really appreciate. The thought of it even kept her warm for a while.
Travelling by Dragon at night was something else entirely.
When the sun disappeared and the moon rose, the palate of warms reds and golds slowly fading into moonlight shadows had been nothing short of magical. Arya had not noticed the cold when there were snow capped mountains glittering to the North in the Vale of Arryn and silver ribbon rivers below. But when the moon disappeared behind clouds, pitching the night into almost absolute darkness, there was nothing to see and she had shivered so much, she thought she might shake herself right off Rhaegal's back. After tumbling arse over end, she would die in a broken heap somewhere on the inky black ground below. Mayhaps someone would find Needle and, only then, would they know the pile of bones belonged to her. That thought chilled her even more, so she held on tighter to Daenerys and tried to stop shivering.
Despite the cold, Arya must have dozed off, as she was woken with a start by Daenerys' patting her thigh and pointing down. The land below was cloaked in mist, except a dozen or so camp fires that looked like little islands of light in a murky sea.
As Rhaegal circled lower, Arya could make out the shapes of tents, corralled horses and even a bulky, black rectangle that could only be a wheel house. As they circled, she allowed her mind to drift, for the wheel house had reminded her of Gendry. Her? In a wheelhouse?! Mayhaps if her belly got so big that she could not get on a horse, she might consider it, but certainly not until then.
Recalling the hurt expression on his face when she yelled he had married the wrong woman did make her feel a little guilty. 'Twas a stark reminder of how much they still to learn about each other. Unbidden, a long ago conversation from Braavos returned to her.
She had been hiding behind an ornate screen, eavesdropping on a gathering of rich merchant's wives for the Kindly Man. However, to Arya's frustration, the women had not discussed any of their husband's cargos or contracts during the course of that long, hot, cramped afternoon. They had been much more interested in advising one younger woman on her impending marriage.
The Kindly Man had not been pleased when she returned with no information of use to him, but Arya had learned much. She had crouched and listened with rapt attention to advice on how a young wife should please her husband. The women had taught not only the young girl, but unbeknownst to them, Arya that afternoon. She had learned she must nod and agree to whatever her husband said, but could later to do what she saw fit. If he found out and was angry, she heard how to take him into her mouth so he would forgive anything. Arya had used that advice on Gendry. The memory of how much he liked it brought heat flooding to her face and between her legs. But there had been one part of the women's conversation had struck Arya as absurd at the time and she had forgotten all about it until now.
The oldest women had likened the impending marriage to a pair of boots. Arya had thought it a stupid thing to say, dismissing the old woman as senile, so she had been surprised when the rest of the woman had agreed. The old woman had told the new bride that, just like new boots, her marriage would pinch and chafe at first and mayhaps she would be tempted to push her new husband aside, like a pair of boots that did not fit. However, if she persevered, her feet would toughen up and the boots would stretch and she would soon wonder how she ever did without them. They might smell after a while (the women laughed uproariously at that) but they would protect her feet and carry her far. The young woman had scoffed and dismissed the comparison, as had Arya at the time. But now she was a wife herself, Arya finally understood what that old Braavosi woman meant.
She was certainly chaffing against Gendry's attempts to spank her and make her ride in a bloody wheelhouse. Mayhaps she was chaffing him too. They certainly had much to learn about each other. While she was sure Gendry would not mention either spanking or wheelhouses again, there were bound to be more irritations and arguments, while they rubbed along together like that pair of boots. She hoped they would eventually be entirely comfortable together and he would not be smelly, but right now Arya had more important things to worry about, like how and where Rhaegal was going to land.
Outwith the circles of light cast by the camp fires, it was impossible to see anything, for everything was hidden by dense fog. They could end up on rocks or in the middle of a river or at the very edge of a cliff. As they flew nearer the ground, fear made Arya grip Daenerys' slim waist a little tighter. But Arya need not have worried, for The Queen had obviously done this afore.
Banking Rhaegal into a tight turn away from the camp, Daenerys bent low over the Dragon's head and gave some instruction Arya could not hear. Rhaegal's ribs expanded under their thighs as he took a deep breath. There was a terrible, foreboding pause before a roaring, searing column of fire poured out of Rhaegal's jaws, like some waterfall from hell. Flames hotter than the sun lit up the sky and the land for miles around, evaporating the mist below in an instant, to reveal fields and rolling hills, all lit by a harsh, orange light.
Daenerys had seen all she needed and brought Rhaegal swooping down to land in a terrifying, exhilarating rush. By the time they slid off the Dragon's back, white fingers of mist were already trickling back into the temporary clearing made by the Dragon's breath. 'Twas going to be a long and difficult task to find their way to the camp in this fog.
By the time Arya had repositioned her sword and they stretched their stiff limbs, the mist around them was as high as Arya's thigh, lying thick and heavy over the damp fields. Their voices sounded flat and unreal as they discussed which direction to take. Rhaegal did not seem to like the cold, wet earth and he was lumbering around in a tight circle as a dog might do, trying unsuccessfully to find a pleasing spot to rest.
"What if he decides to leave and we are stuck here?" Arya asked, unsure how likely that was. Before Daenerys could answer, the unmistakable thunder of horse's hooves shattered the silence. From out of the dark and the mist a lone horseman galloped towards them brandishing a flaming torch that seemed to burn a pathway through the fog.
The fire light cast eerie orange and black shadows across the sharp planes of the horseman's face and beard. With the furs around his shoulders and the grim set of his features, there could be no mistaking him for anyone other than a Northman. Arya felt Daenerys reach for, and squeeze, her hand. Blood pounded in her ears and a feeling so long forgotten that Arya could barely remember it, gripped her heart. 'Twas as if Winterfell, the North, the Starks and all her memories of them were compressed into one, indescribably wonderful feeling. She could smell the pines and the fresh, cold northern air. She could feel the strength and the love that used to surround her flood back to her like snow melt rushing into northern rivers. Arya closed her eyes and imagined she was standing under the Heart Tree in Winterfell, with the leaves all whispering 'Welcome'. Her head told her she was standing in a misty field by the king's road, but her heart told her she was back home.
Arya knew Bran was close by. She could somehow sense it; like a pack feeling, an innate awareness she could not describe or name. It just was. But the hard faced, bearded horseman bearing down on them could not be Bran, not after his accident and besides, Bran was two years younger than her and surely still a boy.
Yet butterflies flitted around her stomach, making her feel tense, nervous and excited all at the same time. She had not seen Bran since Winterfell; a life time ago. He would nearly be a man by now. Arya imagined him like Ty, but always sitting down. At least he was alive, unlike poor Rickon.
For so long she had believed them both dead. Even now, thinking about her youngest brother caused a spear of pain to pierce her heart. But she would think only allow herself to think on Bran. He was alive and out there somewhere. Somewhere close.
An icy gust of wind from the north suddenly cleared the mist from around the rider, revealing two pairs of golden eyes on moving black shadows, then a pair of vivid green eyes and finally, one familiar pair of red eyes on gleaming white. The rider was not alone and emerging from the mist was more than she had ever hoped to see. Her pack. A lump choked her throat so completely she could hardly breathe. Summer, Shaggydog, Ghost and Nymeria all together again. But that meant the rider pulling up his horse had to be . . .
"Bran Stark"
He leaned over the neck of his horse and offered his hand to Queen Daenerys. Arya found herself entirely dumbstruck, staring up at the man looming over them. The dark, shaggy hair and the thick beard made his age difficult to determine, but the shrewd, blue eyes belonged to a wise old man. How could this be the boy she had left behind in Winterfell all those years ago?
"Are you not going to greet your Brother?" Daenerys hissed, elbowing Arya in the ribs.
With a start, Arya realised she was standing as still as a statue, gawping.
"You doubt 'tis me?" the man asked, his voice a deep, teasing rumble, his eyes crinkling with amusement. While he spoke aloud, she heard the same voice inside her head, Trust your instincts Arya. 'Tis Bran, come to greet you with our pack. How could that be? Surely being pregnant did not make you hear voices in your head?
Our pack, the voice in her head said. Arya could hear the pride in those two words and this time she was sure someone unseen was talking to her and she had not imagined it.
Arya dropped her gaze from the stranger's piercing eyes, looking for the source of the voice. There was no one else around, save the rider who claimed to be Bran, Nymeria, with Ghost at her shoulder, a grey Direwolf with yellow eyes that must be Summer and finally the biggest and blackest of them all; Rickon's Shaggydog.
The sight of her youngest brother's Direwolf tore at her heart, but that voice inside her head made a comforting, shushing sound, as if 'twere comforting a babe. The pain eased, although even the voice could never make it vanish completely. She dragged her eyes up, over the man and his horse. There were no stirrups to be seen and no legs protruded from the bottom of the great coat he wore.
"'Tis still the same design Tyrion drew for me all those years ago, only bigger now of course."
It took Arya a moment to realise the rider had spoken the words aloud this time. Only Bran would know that. She could no longer doubt this wild Northman was her little brother and he seemed to be able to get inside her head.
Bran. She mouthed his name, but did not speak it aloud. Still he smiled and she knew he had heard her think it. But how could that be? She rolled it around her mouth again. Bran. His smile grew even wider.
"Jon is on his way and should arrive soon," Daenerys said, oblivious to the secret, silent conversation going on between Arya and her brother.
"Alas no," Bran said to Daenerys, giving her a sad smile.
Daenerys instantly grabbed for his horse's reigns, "He is!" she declared vehemently, "He said he was coming here and Jon always keeps his word. He followed us from the Quiet Isle!"
Bran shook his shaggy head, his eyes solemn and serious, "He is already in the Red Keep, with the Baratheon."
"My husband," Arya gasped.
"I know," Bran replied, with another smile.
"How? Why would Jon do that?" Daenerys demanded, fear and alarm making her voice sound shrill in the still, dark night.
The Direwolves had been still, watching and listening intently, but now they began to circle the group uneasy, as if sensing danger. Arya felt tension radiate from them; even Daenerys seemed to feel it. But when Bran spoke, his tone was calm and measured, "Many paths are converging tonight and many possible paths lie ahead. Even I cannot see the ones that will be travelled."
"I must go to Jon." Daenerys made to turn away, but Bran leaned down and caught her arm before she could. His relaxed demeanour vanished instantly. The air around them seemed to have been electrified by his harsh, commanding presence. The Direwolves stopped circling and pricked up their ears as he spoke,
"He will come to you, but not yet. None of us here can influence what happens in the Red Keep tonight, though 'twill affect us all."
Daenerys struggled against Bran's hold.
"Go to him now and you shall never have the babe you crave," Bran hissed.
Daenerys immediately stopped trying to escape and lifted her head to stare at Bran, her chin set and her wide, lilac eyes flashing defiantly in the torchlight.
"And how do you know this?" The Queen demanded with an icy, calm authority.
Bran let her arm drop. "Follow me if you wish to find out."
"What will we do with him?" Arya blurted out, pointing toward the Dragon who watched them all through arrogant, slit eyes.
Bran never answered; instead his eyes took on a milky hue. Without warning the Dragon's giant head dropped onto the ground with a dull, resounding thud. Shaggydog started growling and snapping at the sleeping Dragon, only for something, or someone to cause him to yelp sharply in pain and bound quickly back to the horse and his rider.
"The Dragon will sleep until I wake him."
Arya glanced warily back up at Bran, whose eyes had return to normal, or at least what was normal for him. What was he able to do beyond warging? She had no doubt 'twas him who had called Shaggydog back, but Jon could do that with Direwolves and Dragons too.
Bran was more than that, Arya knew it instinctively. She had felt his presence long afore she could see him and he had been inside her head, seven hells he even seemed to know what she was thinking. He had even hinted he knew what was going to happen in the Red Keep tonight and could tell Daenerys about a babe. Arya wanted to speak to Bran alone, to find out what he could do and to warn him how desperate Daenerys was for a babe and that she would clutch desperately onto any hope he gave her. But Bran was already wheeling his horse around.
As Bran swung his torch away from them, the Direwolves disappeared and the mist closed in once again.
"Does he expect me to walk through this?" Daenerys demanded loudly.
As if they had been summoned by The Queen's complaint, two more torches appeared through the mist. 'Twas two more Northmen on horseback trailing two saddled horses behind them.
"Mayhaps Bran read your mind," Arya chuckled. Daenerys did not find the jape amusing and, if Arya was being honest with herself, neither did she. Apprehension pricked at her scalp, making her shiver. She suspected there would be more to make her shiver afore this night was through.
-o-
The Dragon pits had been illuminated by scores of torches in readiness for their approach. 'Twas still dark and they had made excellent time to the Red Keep, for Jon had urged Drogon on and on.
Gendry suspected the big, black Dragon had been pushed much harder and they had flown much faster than on his one other Dragon journey with Aegon and Viserion. Aegon had let the cream Dragon glide often, presumably to preserve energy, but Jon had never let Drogon's wings stop beating out that terrible, heaving rhythm. Every time the Dragon had seemed to slow, Jon had somehow forced him on, despite many ear-slitting, bad tempered screeches of protest from Drogon.
They had spied Rhaegal and the women not long after they left the Quiet Isle. Daenerys had been heading west and inland, in order to follow the king's road home. Jon decided to take the shorter, riskier route by steering Drogon due south, straight across the Bay of Crabs and across featureless land. Without the snaking ribbon of the King's Road to guide them, Jon would need to rely on the sun and stars to navigate and if there were no stars tonight . . .? Gendry did not let himself dwell on that, instead he placed his trust in Drogon and Jon to get them to the Red Keep on time.
Pyp was waiting for them with a dozen freshly slaughtered Aurochs and three score Crows. Too many Crows by far and all of them wearing grim expressions. Something had obviously already happened. Gendry could only hope they were not too late.
They had barely dismounted when Jon was shouting across to Pyp for news. Pyp replied with the Night's Watch hand sign for "Not here. Not now." What had happened in the time they had been away to prevent free conversation between The King and his guards?
Only once they were walking, with the Crows in a close phalanx formation around Jon and Gendry, did Pyp dare speak,
"King Aegon had me summon the Duck and sixty of his best men to the Royal Sept. I had no choice. If I had not done it, someone else would have. And he ordered them armed."
Jon nodded grimly. He did not blame Pyp. He had known the man far too long to believe he would ever deliberately act in any way contrary to the interests of the Night's watch or its Commander.
"Why sixty and why armed?"
"I watched as he ordered them to kneel and swear fealty to Lady Sansa; to protect her at all costs, even if it meant their lives."
"What else?" Jon knew there had to be more.
"Aegon named them The Winter Guard, but that is all. As soon as you left, King Aegon went straight to the Royal Sept and he was in there with Lady Sansa the whole time. And Lord Tyrell left just after you on some urgent business. His squire told me he had been summoned to attend the canal sight by Lord Tyrion."
Jon and Gendry both swore. Gendry asked what they were both thinking, "Did Aegon wed her?"
"Not as far as I know. He ordered the Septon and everyone else out as soon as he went in and Rolly never let anyone in. Unless the sneaky fuck wed her without a Septon?"
"But then it would not be legally binding in the eyes of either church or law," Jon mused, "My brother is not stupid. If he was going to wed her, he would do it properly."
"Did they go to the Godswood?" Gendry asked. Under the old laws, no Septon was needed there in order to claim a legal marriage.
"Nae," Pyp shook his head. "I am sure of it. He was in there with her from first light until Rolly and the rest of them swore the oath a few hours ago."
"Mayhaps she refused him," Gendry wondered, daring to hope.
Jon snorted, "Or mayhaps he is up to something else."
They all knew it could have been worse. Much worse. Aegon could have put Willas to the sword and carried Sansa off. Had he done that, they would have been at war with Highgarden already.
However, to Jon's sharp mind, something about the story did not ring true. Why would Aegon go to all this trouble just to get some men to protect Sansa? "Did Lady Sansa accept Golden Company's oath of her own accord?"
"Looked that way to me," Pyp agreed, "She looked tired, but accepted it and thanked every one by laying her hands on their bowed heads, in the old way."
Jon cursed again. Aegon was nothing if not thorough. Duckworth would have hand picked those men himself and if Sansa had accepted them, that oath was unbreakable. Every one of them would die for her now. Aegon would only have done that if he thought Sansa in danger, but why go to all that trouble when he could have just stolen her away? And if Sansa had refused to wed him, why did she accept the oath? And what the fuck were they doing in a fucking Sept together for that length of time anyway? The obviously answer would be fucking, but that made no sense either. They all knew Jaime Lannister had fucked Cersi in there once, but Sansa was definitely no Cersi; she was far too damn holy for that. The whole thing made no Goddamn sense.
"And where are they now?" Jon asked tightly.
"Sansa is in her rooms, watched over by The Winter Guard and Aegon went to the library."
"No doubt to play his Goddamn harp."
Pyp shrugged, "Probably. I left half a dozen of the boys to keep an eye on him, but he doesn't seem to be planning on running off anywhere."
"You take Sansa and I'll take Aegon?" Gendry suggested, smashing one fist into the palm of his other hand. This time he would not miss Aegon and hit the wall.
Jon thought for a moment and said, "Nae. We both go to Sansa, for we will get the truth out of her. Aegon could lie to my face and I doubt I could even tell."
Gendry would have much preferred to have Aegon to himself, but as usual, deferred to Jon's better judgement. "Then to Lady Sansa's rooms we shall go."
-o-
Bran led the way and the four Direwolves trotted along beside him. Arya could not drag her eyes away from that glorious sight. She had her brother and the Direwolves back.
She had never thought of Nymeria and Ghost as a pack, but four was different, four was enough. Six would have been perfect. Grey Wind and Lady should have been here too, she thought with a sigh. Arya wondered how Sansa would feel when she saw the four Direwolves fully grown and together again. Old wounds would be reopened, but hopefully time and love would heal them.
A welcoming party awaiting them at the camp; a semi circle of expectant Northern faces; all furs, beards and dark hair. The only one Arya recognised was Hodor.
Jumping down from her horse, she flung herself upon him. He wrapped his huge arms carefully around her, repeating, "Hodor, Hodor," happily as she squeezed his unyielding barrel chest as hard as she could. 'Twas mayhaps because of his newly stooped back, or mayhaps simply that she had grown herself; but Hodor was not as tall as she remembered. He was really only a head taller than Gendry, but when she was a girl, she had thought him tall enough to touch the sky.
Arya was aware of introductions taking place behind her and she reluctantly let go of her gentle, childhood giant to see Bran introduce a short, slim woman with a long brown braid and emerald green eyes to Daenerys.
"My wife; Meera of House Reed." It made Arya's heart glad to see Bran beam with pride and love for his wife.
"May I call you my good-sister?" Daenerys asked, taking both of Meera's hands in hers and turning on all of her considerable, regal charm.
"I would be honoured," Meera replied, curtsying low to The Queen.
"Oh, me too!" Arya cried, striding over to welcome Bran's wife. Hodor followed in order to help Bran from his horse.
Trying not to watch Bran struggle with the complicated arrangement of straps that held him in his saddle; Arya focused her attention on Meera. She instantly felt Bran had found a good match, for Meera's green eyes seemed every bit as shrewd and knowing as her brother's. But Meera's eyes were still those of a young woman, whereas Bran's seemed old as time.
Although Meera greeted her warmly enough, Arya felt a distance between them, as if Meera was assessing her. Her new good-sister congratulated her on the babe. Arya thought with a sigh that it seemed everyone in Westeros knew she was pregnant afore she did herself. They were still exchanging pleasantries when she heard Bran's voice again, like a whisper inside her head. He was asking Meera,
What do you think my love?
She is indeed as like Lyanna as they say.
Arya turned sharply to look at Bran in shock and disbelief. He was having a conversation with his wife about her, without them speaking aloud. The whispering in her head stopped immediately she looked at Bran, although he smoothly continued his conversation with Daenerys. When Arya turned back to Meera, her brother's wife was still smiling blankly at her, as if nothing had happened.
Before she could decide what to make of all that, a young man's voice cried out, "I've got it!"and everyone turned to see a youth staggering from behind a tent carrying a barrel. His face was obscured by the foliage of the plant in the barrel. All conversation stopped and the boy dropped the barrel at his feet with a thud. He looked surprised to see two new faces.
"They're here already?" he asked rather belatedly.
Arya gasped in shock, for she was looking straight at her brother Robb as she had last seen him in Winterfell.
Bran let out an exasperated curse. "Well there go two surprises at once," he huffed before he introduced the boy. "Arya, you no doubt remember our younger brother as being rather more charming than he is today. That barrel he just dropped is your wedding present."
"The tree is fine," the youth grumbled, wiping his dirty hands on the front of his tunic.
"Rickon? Is that really you?" Arya gasped, unable to see past the image of Robb and desperately trying to recall whether Robb had so much red in his hair or such wide hands. Robb would be much older now, had he lived. But Rickon was a babe!
"Well, I was Rickon last time I checked," the boy drawled insolently, earning himself another curse from Bran.
Arya was unsure she was going to be able to reconcile this youth and his surly attitude with the memory she had of her chubby baby brother. "Do you remember me?" she asked hesitantly.
"I remember I used to think you were another brother and not a sister. You always dressed like a boy."
Arya looked down at her boiled leather britches and her sword and smiled. "I suppose I still do."
Rickon shrugged and said, "Not really. You've obviously got teats now."
This time 'twas Meera who scolded him roundly for his crudeness, while Rickon wailed "What? I was telling the truth. She has!"
Arya could only laugh. She had two brothers back. She could not remember being so relieved ever in her life. She laughed so hard she could not stop and had to take great gulping breaths of air.
Although Meera was a good deal shorter and looked as if she weighed half what Rickon did, she shoved Rickon towards his sister. He dragged his feet as he walked over to Arya and self consciously held his arms open, so his big sister could greet him properly. As Arya wrapped her arms around her little brother's stiffly held shoulders, tears spilled from her eyes and whether they were tears of laugher or relief she could not say.
When Arya had finally stopped laughing and crying and let Rickon go, he told her proudly, "We brought you a Heart Tree for the Stormlands."
"For Storm's End," Meera corrected.
"That's what I said," Rickon muttered sullenly.
Bran interceded in support of his wife. "You said 'the Stormlands'. 'Tis not meant for just anywhere in the Stormlands. 'Tis to replace the Heart Tree in Storm's End that Stannis Baratheon burned."
"I think she could have worked that out for herself," Rickon replied sarcastically.
Daenerys, ever the diplomat, stepped between the two brothers afore they came to blows. "Have you started squiring yet Rickon?"
The youngest Stark's face lit up instantly. "Nae, I was kept at Greywater Watch by Howland Reed, until the war was over. They don't even have enough dry ground there to build a tourney field," he added sourly, making it sound as if being a guest of House Reed was no different to being held in a dungeon.
"He is Lord Reed to you and he saved your life," Bran growled, obviously furious that his wife's father was being disrespected by an ungrateful Rickon.
Rickon pulled a face and shrugged.
Daenerys clapped her hands together afore another fight could break out. "Excellent!" she exclaimed, "You must come and squire for King Jon and King Aegon. They will make a great Knight of you!"
"When can I start?" Rickon whooped enthusiastically.
"I think you'll find that you need my permission as Lord of Winterfell," Bran drawled, afore Daenerys could answer.
"If you are Lord of Winterfell, then why does Jon Snow have Ice?" Rickon shot back smugly.
Although Arya thought 'twas a fair question herself, no one else seemed to. Daenerys obviously did not like hearing her husband referred to by his bastard name and Bran stiffened in the saddle, looking as though he would happily strangle Rickon if he could get his hands on him.
"Please Bran?" Arya interrupted, with her best wide eyed, pleading look, "'Twill do the boy good."
Bran continued to glare at Rickon, but still, he answered Arya's plea with a begrudged, "Seeing as you asked so nicely."
"Thank you. And thank you for the wedding gift also. I could not have asked for better," Arya said, hoping Bran could not read her mind as she guiltily imagined the melting towers of Harrenhal. Now that would have been a much better wedding gift than a tree.
Bran gave a dismissive nod to Rickon, who whooped and declared he was off to pack. Arya though The Queen's idea to keep Bran and Rickon apart was masterful. Her two brothers seemed to be as different as oil and water. Arya hoped Jon would be the one to oversee Rickon's training and not Aegon, as Rickon seemed well on his way to being as arrogant as Aegon already. Mayhaps Bran could be persuaded to send Rickon to Storm's End. Mayhaps 'twould be better for all. Davos and Old Lem would soon knock that cockiness out of him and she would be able to keep a very close eye on her baby brother. After all these years, Arya was loath to even let Rickon out of her sight. 'Twas wonderful to have her Winterfell pack around her again. She had even managed to forget about Bran's warnings about the Red Keep for a while.
-o-
Jon, Gendry and their murder of Crows marched through the corridors towards Lady Sansa's chambers. 'Twas not yet dawn. The Red Keep lay silent and, apart from them, deserted.
There could be no doubt the Winter Guard heard them coming, for the noise of their boots and sheathed steel echoed down the long, empty corridors. All the same, Rolly Duckworth affected an air of surprise, pushing off Sansa's door, where he had been leaning and greeting them with a wicked, wide grin. The other four guards stood smartly to attention, two on either side of Sansa's door.
"King Jon, Lord Baratheon," Rolly acknowledged, standing to attention, but far too slowly for Jon's liking. As usual, Jon bristled at the Duck's attitude. Aegon might let his pet away with such lax behaviour, but 'twould not be tolerated by Jon.
"What are you doing here?" Jon demanded, letting his gaze drop to Rolly's meaty fist. 'Twas wrapped around the hilt of his sword and Jon gave that a disapproving look. "You know the Red Keep is out of bounds to Golden Company."
"We are not part of Golden Company anymore Your Grace."
"So I hear," Jon replied, his voice low and threatening, "But a different name doesn't change my rules."
"We are following King Aegon's orders, Your Grace," Rolly replied smartly, standing to attention, but grinning with his trademark, jovial expression.
Jon suspected the Duck was enjoying this conflict between the two Kings, rather too much. Still, Jon found himself in a difficult position. Both he and Aegon were always at pains never to contradict the other's orders; 'twas the hardest part of joint rule. That was why they kept Golden Company and the men of the Night's Watch apart; in order to avoid situations such as this.
"We've sworn to protect Lady Sansa," Rolly said proudly, "Over our dead bodies and all that."
"I intend to discuss that with King Aegon," Jon fumed. "But we are wasting time. 'Tis Lady Sansa I want to speak to – not you."
Rolly peered out of the nearest window into the black night. "'Tis a rather unsociable hour for a visit."
"Don't push us Rolly," Gendry snarled, nodding towards at the Crows arranged behind him, reminding the Duck of the overwhelming odds against him. The silence was deafening. Lord Baratheon started for his sword a breath afore Rolly conceded,
"Of course, providing Milady agrees."
"She'll agree, or The Winter Guard will suffer its first casualty," Jon snapped.
Hurrying to attend to King Jon's wishes, Rolly rapped his knuckles on the door.
There was a long, excruciating silence.
Rolly knocked harder, while calling out, "You have visitors Milady."
A sleepy voice answered, "At this hour?"
Glowering at Rolly, Jon stepped forwards and shouted, "'Tis Jon. I need to speak with you."
After a few moments, they heard the bar of the door being raised. It opened to reveal Lady Sansa in a green silk robe and nothing else. Auburn hair tumbled loose around her shoulders, over the swell of full, generous breasts. The green robe clung to every dangerous curve, ending just above delicate, bare feet. Three score men stood transfixed.
"You did not say you had brought an army with you!" Sansa gasped, retreating quickly behind the door. She was a beauty already, but her flushed cheeks, dishevelled hair and near nakedness made her every man's dream come to life.
If they were treated to views such as this, 'twas no wonder The Winter Guard were prepared to die for her, Jon thought sourly as he pushed past Rolly and into Sansa's room.
"Leave us!" Jon shouted once he and Lord Baratheon were in the room. The door closed behind them with a reassuring 'Thunk'. No one would overhear this conversation.
Lady Sansa walked ahead of them, towards a table with an ornately carved box in the centre. Her hair hung down her back in rich, golden red waves, ending just above the flair of her hips. Green silk flowed over a well rounded bottom and down long, shapely legs as she seemed to glide in front of them. The robe and the enticing sway of her hips showed off her figure to devastating effect. Gendry had to avert his eyes.
Once she was seated, Sansa began tracing the outline of carving on the box with one delicate finger. She did not look up as Jon and Gendry crossed the room or even when they both stopped and bowed respectfully.
With a deceptively calm demeanour, Jon said, "Our apologies for disturbing you so early."
Sansa kept her attention on the box in front of her. She seemed to find it fascinating; certainly much more interesting than the King and Lord who stood before her. It seemed as if the battle of wills between Jon and Sansa had begun.
Jon gritted his teeth with ill disguised frustration at being kept standing. Lord Baratheon coughed uneasily, while Lady Sansa continued to ignore them both.
"What were you doing in the Sept with Aegon?" Jon asked eventually, his voice seeming far too loud for the stillness of the room.
Sansa finally looked up, arching one elegant eyebrow. A smile briefly flitted across her lips afore she said, "Praying."
Jon's nostrils flared slightly. To those who did not know him well, he still appeared calm. "All day and half the night?"
"Aye," Sansa replied, smiling sweetly up at them as she clasped her hands in her lap. Aegon had warned her that this would happen and she had planned accordingly.
"What were you praying about for so long?"
Sansa gave them a dazzling smile. "My prayers are between me and The Seven."
"And Aegon," Jon gritted out, his self control slipping.
Sansa pursed her lips and gave no answer.
"Do you mind if we sit?" Although Jon asked politely, 'twas clearly not a request. He sat down and gestured for Gendry to do the same.
Without taking his eyes from Sansa, Jon began drumming his fingers lightly on the table.
Sansa waited patiently for him to say something. While she waited, she rolled her shoulders slightly, in order to relieve the tension caused by their sudden appearance. If her silk robe happened to slide somewhat off her shoulder, then 'twas their fault for calling at such an inconvenient hour.
Lord Baratheon's eyes flicked to her bare shoulder, and then sharply away. Sansa had to bite back a smile of satisfaction.
"I see you have your own guards now," Jon said coldly, his eyes boring in to her.
"Yes," Sansa agreed, refusing to elaborate. She was determined to give Jon no cause to chastise her, for she had done nothing wrong.
He drummed his fingers again, the silence stretching awkwardly between them.
"Why?"
Sansa gave a little shrug as if 'twas a matter of no consequence. Her robe slipped a little more.
"You have your Crows, Daenerys has the Unsullied, Aegon has Golden Company, Lord Baratheon has Bad Company…" Sansa turned to Gendry, waiting for his acknowledgment, but apparently he still could not look at her. She smiled and continued, "…and Arya is obviously a Faceless…"
"Yes, yes, we all know what Arya is," Jon interrupted, not wanting to be reminded of exactly what Arya was. Gendry glared at him.
Sansa arched that elegant eyebrow again. Jon's icy self control was obviously not as unassailable as he liked everyone to think.
"King Aegon offered me my own guard and I thought, why not?" she giggled, shaking her hair out. That caused her silk robe to slip again. This time 'twas Jon who hurriedly looked away.
"Can you not cover yourself up?" he snapped.
"Oh!" Sansa gasped, jumping up. Her sudden movement drew both men's attention, as she knew it would. Too many years of having to please too many men made this too easy. She wanted Jon and Gendry gone and this would rid her of them far quicker than any arguing or pleading or stamping her foot.
"I had to dress in such a hurry," she murmured, pulling the robe up over her shoulder. 'Twas loosely tied. The tug on the shoulder, combined with just the right wiggle, caused the silken belt to come apart. With a slow inevitability her robe fell loose. Sansa had the sides of the robe clutched together in moments, but not afore she had given them a glimpse of everything.
"Seven hells Sansa," Jon growled, "Have you no shame?"
He dare speak to her of shame? Did he not realise she had to bury that emotion years afore in order to survive? Sansa bristled, no longer bothering to keep the sharpness from her tone.
"You were the ones who woke me in the middle of the night, questioning me about my prayers," she snapped, jabbing one forefinger at them, while holding her robe almost closed with her other hand, "And why shouldn't I have guards like the rest of you?"
Studiously avoiding looking anywhere except at her face, Jon took a deep breath and spoke more calmly, "Did Aegon propose to you?"
"Nae."
For some reason, the slow smile that spread across Sansa's face as she denied a proposal, made Gendry think of cat with an injured bird under his paw.
"If he did, would you accept?" Jon demanded, biting out each word.
Sansa narrowed her eyes and folded her arms while Jon leaned forwards, waiting for her answer. By The Gods, he was bringing out the worst in her. Did he not know she had been lying for years? The most awful part of it was, she had been lying to herself. She had been pretending to be someone and something she was not ever since she had been taken her to the Red Keep to be Joffrey's bride.
She looked Jon square in the eye and said it again, "Nae."
Jon could not keep the relief from his face.
Of course she had told him what he wanted to hear. Sansa always knew what men wanted to hear.
"And what about Willas?"
"You need not concern yourself with Willas."
Sansa saw the flicker of suspicion in Jon's eyes. He should be asking questions, demanding more information, but Sansa knew he would not. He did not want to think on the bargain she had made with Willas, for the sordid nature of it offended Jon's noble sensibilities. He wanted the carts from Highgarden, but he did not want to dwell on what brought them here and kept them coming. Jon wanted out of here and he wanted not to have to look back.
Sansa titled her chin and held his gaze, defying him to question her further. Finally he nodded and rose from his chair.
"Then we shall trouble you no longer."
Lord Baratheon stood too and both men bowed. They walked smartly to the door, anxious to be away. Sansa followed, just as anxious to see them go, although she was too good to ever let them know it. Jon paused at the open door and turned back. Sansa could see Ser Duckworth hovering behind Jon but, of course, that was why The King had stopped.
"Keep your Winter Guards out of trouble," Jon said loudly. "There are already too many guards in the Red Keep for my liking." The veiled threat was more for Ser Duckworth's benefit than hers, but Sansa also received the message loud and clear. Any excuse, any hint of fighting with the other guards, and Jon would destroy Aegon's gift to her.
"Of course," she replied sweetly, inclining her head in a respectful nod.
As soon as King Jon was out the door, she raced to it and, ignoring the glimpse of Ser Duckworth's concerned face, shut the door and slid the bar in place.
Have you no shame? How dare Jon ask her that, after everything she had done for the realm? He should ask himself the same question.
The rage she had fought to keep under control pulsed through her now, blurring her vision. She paced the room, clenching her fists so tightly her nails cut into her palms.
She had done as they agreed, told Jon what he wanted to hear, but had it been enough?
Jon would never resort to violence with her. But Jon, or rather Lord Baratheon, would exercise no such restraint with Aegon. Although she had seen no sign of Lord Baratheon's legendary hammer, she doubted he would have need of it, for his huge fists could do the job just as well.
Sansa prayed Aegon had taken heed of her pleadings to go to Varys or to the safety of Golden Company. But he claimed 'twould be cowardly to hide and, The God's knew, being craven was not one of his faults. How could he be so unconcerned? And would he be able to refrain from goading Jon further? Gods be good, she could not bear how worried she was about Aegon.
Sansa sank to the floor and covered her face in her hands. What had she done?
-o-
'Twas much later; after all the introductions, after everyone had congratulated Arya on her wedding and, more importantly, her pregnancy, that Daenerys finally got Bran to herself. Well, not all to herself, but alone enough to discuss the matter that had been eating at her since their first conversation. Arya and Meera remained, but Daenerys trusted them both not to speak of this beyond the walls of the tent. Dawn was beginning to break over the horizon and Daenerys' heart was in her mouth as she finally addressed Lord Stark,
"You spoke of my having a babe . . ." After all this time, dare she hope that she might one day hold a babe of her own?
The atmosphere in the tent changed immediately; the very air around them seemed to crackle with tension.
Bran leaned forwards, his knuckles white where he gripped the arms of his chair and fixed Daenerys with a piercing stare. "'Twas blood magic made you the Mother of Dragons was it not?"
Daenerys titled her chin defiantly and nodded.
Arya's spine prickled with apprehension at the mere mention of blood magic. She had tried to forget the thing in the bucket in Tobho's forge, but she knew she never would.
Bran eased himself back in his chair, his face twisted with the revulsion Arya felt. When he spoke to Daenerys his voice was low and hard. "The same magic that brought forth your Dragons killed the son in your womb and keeps you barren."
Arya was stunned and horrified by this revelation. Yet Daenerys remained icily calm.
"I have consulted with every Maester and purveyor of magic between here and Sothoryos and none can give me the answer I seek. Can you?"
Bran regarded her long and carefully afore he sighed wearily, "I do not know. The blood of Kings was used to weave the magic. Only the blood of Kings can break it."
"You do not know?" Daenerys repeated bitterly, "I thought you said you could see the future."
Bran leaned forward again, his eyes narrowed to cold, blue slits. "Aye, the future and the past. Both are part of the same tree; the roots of the past and branches of the future spreading in all directions. Some things are clear and some things are yet to be decided."
"You said what happened in the Red Keep tonight would decide the future," Arya blurted out.
Bran closed his eyes and nodded, pursing his lips as if contemplating something beyond their sight. "It takes root even as we sit here," he said quietly, "None of us can change that, for the seeds were sown long ago."
Arya could only think of Gendry and pray he was safe. She wanted to ask Bran, and at the same time dreaded his answer. She cast a sideways glance at a shockingly pale Daenerys, who was no doubt thinking the same about Jon.
As if reading their thoughts, Bran said, "King Jon and Lord Baratheon are safe, for now. But they will reap what they have sown in the Red Keep. One way or another."
Arya sagged with relief. Gendry and Jon were safe. But her relief was only fleeting. What about Sansa and Shireen? Ty, Bad Company, Brienne and all the rest? What of them? Arya had not realised there were so many people she care about in the Red Keep until now.
"So who is not safe?" Arya asked, shocked by the tremor of emotion she heard in her own voice. A few months ago she had no one, was no one, had no family, no pack and yet tonight she feared for dozens. How quickly everything had changed.
"No one is safe from themselves," Bran said enigmatically. Arya sensed he knew more than he was telling. Closing her eyes, she reached for the connection with him she had felt earlier, when he was inside her head. Who? She asked, without moving her lips or making a sound.
She felt, rather than saw his surprise. He had heard her, they way she had heard him – inside his head. But as soon as she had made the connection, Bran severed it, slamming that door to her, but not afore she had a glimpse of what he saw. Sansa. 'Twas Sansa who was not safe tonight.
"Come here."
Arya was so shocked, so worried for Sansa, so disorientated by that voice in her head, that it took her a moment to realise Bran had spoken, but not to her.
Daenerys was already rising and walking to him. As the Mother of Dragons stood in front of Bran's chair, Meera caught Arya's attention and shook her head. Arya's mouth had just opened, for she was intent on demanding that Bran explain about Sansa, but she shut it again without saying anything. Meera was right – this was Daenerys' time.
When Arya looked back, The Queen had her dress raised to expose her legs and her slim, pale belly. Bran's hand hovered above Daenerys' stomach, yet there was nothing sexual about the scene. Bran's focus was entirely upon the flat expanse of Daenerys' skin between her navel and the soft curls of silver-blonde hair below.
Arya and Meera watched as Bran, still without touching The Queen, pinched his long fingers together and drew his hand back, as if pulling on some unseen thread.
Without warning, something erupted from Daenerys' flesh. It did not pierce the skin. Nae, 'twas much worse than that. Her skin was punched out from within by something with a gaping mouth and teeth that stretched her skin almost to breaking. Something alive. Bran jerked his hand back in shock and the beast followed, dragging Daenerys forwards with it, as if both were still attached to that invisible thread.
For a moment, none of them moved, until Daenerys' stumbled. That seemed to break the spell that held them transfixed. She would have collapsed on top of Bran, had Arya's assassin's reflexes not sent her leaping between them. Arya gripped Daenerys by the shoulders as The Queen realised what she had just seen; there was something inside her, something alive and evil.
"Get it out! Get it out!" she screamed hysterically and, to Arya's horror, Daenerys started clawing at her own belly.
Arya tried to grab her good-sister's wrists, for already The Queen's nails had gouged red trails in her own flesh. But Daenerys fought like a mad woman as something with a backbone writhed and twisted under her skin. Arya could not hold her wrists still long enough to prevent Daenerys tearing her own skin off.
"Bran! Help me!" Arya shouted in panicked desperation.
The Queen suddenly stilled. Her eyes rolled back in her head until only the whites were visible. Then she dropped like a stone. Arya only just managed to catch her head afore it slammed against the ground. Cradling her good-sister's head, Arya looked up at Bran in anguish. Her brother's eyes must have been closed, for they jerked open again to bore into Arya's.
"I had not anticipated this. You must fetch Jon. Now."
"Aye," Arya mumbled, easing herself from under Daenerys' lolling head. Meera had crouched on the ground beside them and carefully accepted The Queen's weight from Arya.
"Take Rhaegal and send Jon here," Bran ordered, but even his voice held a trace of panic.
"I…I cannot," Arya said, as she rose to her feet half dazed. She could not banish the image of that thing leaping from Daenerys womb and she had no idea how to ride a Dragon.
"You can. I shall show you how, but you must go now."
Bran must have called for Hodor without Arya hearing, as the big man was already lumbering into the tent. Hodor lifted Bran effortlessly. Somehow Meera was pushing Arya out of the tent, insisting she follow Bran. Now.
Arya took a final look over her shoulder at Daenerys lying sprawled on the ground. She wanted to go back, but Meera's demands to leave became too urgent to ignore.
The ride back through the mist might never have happened, for all Arya could remember of it. Bran had led her to where Rhaegal lay sleeping, exactly as they had left him. Arya slid down from her horse, but Bran did not have that option. Without Hodor, he had no alternative but to stay in the saddle. Arya would have to do this for him.
"Sit astride the Dragon. Place one hand on Rhaegal and give me your other."
Arya did as she was told, resting one hand on the warm Dragon scales and lifting the other to take Bran's outstretched hand.
As soon as their fingertips touched, she felt a dizzy rush of sensations. She could see herself through Bran's eyes, sitting on the Dragon, holding his hand, looking pale and lost. She could also feel Rhaegal, relaxed, breathing deeply, the twitch of tired wings and his coiled, magnificent, Dragon strength.
"Take your time. Breathe. Relax. Just accept it."
She had no idea if Bran was speaking aloud or forming the words in her head, but it made no matter. She did what he said; breathing slowly in and out, letting her mind settle and expand to accept the consciousness of the Dragon and her brother.
"See? Do you feel it? Is it not wonderful? You are a skinchanger Arya, like me, like the children of the forest. I can teach you. 'Tis not just power over wolves, but Dragons and people too."
Yes, she felt it. What Bran was showing her was nothing like the flashes of Nymeria she had in her dreams. This was huge, all encompassing, thrilling and the power of it . . . to control a Dragon, to control a man!
Arya gathered her new found skill and reached out, not to the Dragon, but to Bran. 'Twas as if she peeked behind a curtain and saw the real Bran, not Lord Stark the cripple and all that entailed, but the man who was frightened for his brothers and sisters tonight, the man who was not born to be Lord of Winterfell and worried he was not equal to the task, the man who fucked his wife with his hands and his tongue and his mind, because his cock would not work, the man who was jealously of whole men who could give their wives sons, although he would never exchange his gift, for the use of a cock and legs.
"Enough!"
The word was shouted inside her head and out, making her ears ring and her head spin as he shoved her away. She swayed and could not tell if Bran had pushed her with his hands or his thoughts, or both, but the door she had opened was slammed in her face and barred against her.
"Do not do that again!" 'Twas a threat, not a warning. Bran was lashing out in anger and shame. She had an image of herself kneeling in the snow, or was it in the House of Black and White? The Kindly Man was wielding a great sword above her head. As she wondered if he really was going to give her The Gift as punishment for leaving him, his face changed and 'twas her father holding the Ice above her head and she was kneeling in the snow again and she was a deserter of the Night's Watch and she knew she was going to die. The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword.
Just as suddenly as the vision appeared, 'twas gone and she was left reeling from the vivid horror of it, with tears streaming down her face.
"Do not presume to reach inside my head again Sister, for you will not like what you see."
She shook her head to rid herself of the images and of Bran's voice.
"Do you want me to show you how to ride this Dragon or not?"
This time, she heard Bran's voice only with her ears, not inside her head. His warm hand griped her icy cold one.
All she could do was nod.
"Dragons are cunning, wicked and greedy, but they will do as their Master bids, especially when tired, as this one is."
Arya nodded, deliberately turning her face away from Bran's, for she did not want to see those visions of her and her father reflected in his eyes.
"You will find it easier to maintain contact by touching him. Talk to him constantly with your mind. Dragons are easily distracted. Do not allow him to be. Keep repeating the word 'home'. Visualise the Red Keep, Drogon and Viserion and he will take you there."
Arya nodded again, placing both palm's flat against the scales, feeling the warmth and Rhaegal's consciousness seep into her through her hands.
"I can teach you so much more Arya. You will not need to touch, or even see. There is much more Arya, so much more…"
Bran gave her another vision; this time of an old, old man tangled in the roots of a tree, staring at her with one red eye that bored into her very soul. This time 'twas Arya who slammed the door against him.
"You are learning already," Bran laughed. His voice echoed chillingly in the cold, empty air. "That shall have to do for now. Send Jon. Tell him his Queen's life is at stake and he must hurry. Now Arya. Go now."
She felt Bran draw back the veil of sleep he had laid over the Dragon. The mighty beast stirred under her.
"Remember . . . home."
Aye, home. Arya tried not to think on Storm's End or Winterfell or Gendry as the Dragon lumbered to its feet and stretched stiff wings. She would not, could not, think on Sansa or Daenerys or blood magic or babes or anything else.
Only home and the Red Keep.
What took place in the Sept between Sansa and Aegon is a tale for another story – The Trophy Bride. Wish I could say, "Coming to a book store near you soon." Hahaha. But I can't.
And, in case it confused anyone, the correct description for a group of crows is a "murder". I did not mean Jon and Gendry and the murder of Crows were actually off to kill someone. Not in this chapter anyway.
It will be 2 weeks before you get more. Thanks to Brazilian Guy for his expert martial advice. For everything.