A/N: Story initially posted on AO3 in 2018. Slow updates.
Main pairing: Arya Stark/Daenerys Targaryen (slow burn).
This is a Canon Divergence story mostly based on the books. Very few show elements will be present in this story, I'm not particularly fond of it.
JON I
Jon Snow had never seen Winterfell until today, the lands and home of his father. He was a bastard, born to some camp follower during Lord Eddard's campaign south of the Neck. At least, those were the rumors. His father never told him anything about his mother in all the letters they had exchanged over the years. For all Jon knew, his mother was long dead. As any married lord with a bastard, the Lord of Winterfell sent his own to foster elsewhere.
During Jon's first five years, he stayed at Greywater Watch, living with Lord Howland Reed and the crannogmen. He was then sent to White Harbor, until he was five-and-ten. Finally, he spent the following eight years being juggled around between Karhold, Last Hearth, Deepwood Motte, and Torrhen's Square, before his father finally summoned him to Winterfell.
And Jon wouldn't be staying long there. He had been given a task: to retrieve his younger sister, Arya Stark, and accompany her wherever she may go. He wasn't entirely sure what that meant.
Jon had never met his trueborn siblings. He knew he had five. Robb was four-and-twenty, like Jon, and was the heir to Winterfell. There was Sansa, who was one-and-twenty. Arya was eight-and-ten. Brandon was seven-and-ten. And, finally, Rickon was the youngest at two-and-ten. That was all Jon Snow knew of his Stark half-siblings.
Well, he knew Arya was the only one Lord Eddard ever mentioned sending their "love" to Jon in his scarce letters. But that could mean anything, really. Mayhaps a childish curiosity about a bastard brother, or an attempt at seeming polite.
He wondered why some of them were still unwed and living at Winterfell. Then again, after his half-brother Robb broke his betrothal to Wylla Manderly to marry some lesser House from the Westerlands chance met during a tourney at Riverrun, Jon doubted many lords would be willing to offer their sons and daughters to Lord Eddard for fear that the Starks would back out of their oaths.
And now this strange summons.
Jon left his belongings at a small inn in Winter Town, outside Winterfell. His lord father had warned him that Lady Stark would not allow him to be guested at the castle, so he would have to find lodgings for himself. And for Arya. So he paid for two rooms, one next to the other.
He was beginning to feel apprehensive about the whole thing.
Jon wondered if his youngest sister had gotten tangled with some guard and had been dishonored. Maybe she was heavy with child, and he'd be expected to take her far away, to hide the shame. He doubted it would be something honorable. She had her own trueborn brothers for that. No, by having the bastard do it, it had to be some dark deed.
By the time he was allowed through the gates, and then past the inner gate, his mind was full of possible situations. Each more dire than the other.
He was led to the hall, where the Lord of Winterfell and his family were having their noon meal. He bowed to them as he was announced. "Jon Snow, milord," the steward said.
Lord Stark smiled at Jon. It had been years since he had seen his father last, and it seemed the man had aged a thousand. His hair was mostly grey, with some light brown speckled here and there. His beard was mostly dark grey. His eyes were a light shade of grey as well. And his face was wrinkled. It did not seem that his father was merely four-and-forty.
"My lord," Jon said. "It is good to see you."
Lady Stark was handsome but cold. She had auburn hair with grey streaks, and steely blue eyes. Like Lord Stark, she seemed to look older than she should. "Snow, you may have a seat over there," she gestured towards the tables where servants sat.
Lord Stark's smile faded, but then nodded. "Be welcome, Jon. We shall speak after you've had a taste of our bread and wine."
With a bow to hide his own feelings, he made his way towards the table where Lady Stark felt he should be. He could not blame her. Over the years of being fostered, he'd learned his place in this world. Jon did not expect to be seated with his lord father's family, but he had wanted it. And the reminder of his position hurt.
From time to time, he glanced up at the dais where the Starks sat. He tried to take in everyone's appearances.
There were only four of his half-siblings that he could see. But there was another who caught his attention, a young woman with chestnut hair and pretty face, sitting next to a severe looking young man, who could only be Robb. He had fiery auburn hair and steely blue eyes, like his mother. The one time he caught Jon's gaze, he seemed to darken before looking away. The young woman had to be his wife, Jeyne Stark, formerly Westerling.
He saw a beautiful young woman, with the same coloring as her brother. And like their mother, she had an aloof air about her that made Jon feel utterly unwanted. He could not tell whether that was Sansa or Arya. He hoped it was the former, if only because he could not see himself traveling with her anywhere.
The other two were a lot less chilly when they caught him staring. A young man, shy out of boyhood, his auburn hair somewhat darker, could only be Brandon. He smiled politely at Jon, and at last he felt some warmth as he smiled back.
Rickon was still a boy. His hair was the brightest shade of red in the family, and his eyes were bright blue. He smiled just as brightly at Jon, but ducked his head when he realized his mother had caught him.
Jon turned back to his plate and didn't look up again.
It was a terrible mistake to have come here, he thought. Save for his youngest half-brothers, and mayhaps, his father, none of them wanted him here.
And with a chill that ran down his spine, he realized that all of them took after Lady Catelyn Tully Stark. None of them had the Stark looks of his father, save Jon himself. He didn't know whether to feel pride in that, or dread.
By the time their meal was done, the servants began cleaning up the hall.
Lord Eddard called for Jon, and he was led to his father's solar along with his four half-siblings and their mother. Lady Jeyne had only exchanged a few quiet words with her husband, and had gone through another door.
"We'll meet Arya in the godswood," his father murmured to Jon in a quiet voice, as if he did not wish to be heard by the others. Judging by the way Lady Stark stiffened, she had heard him, but she said nothing.
Jon only nodded, feeling more confused and uneasy.
Once they entered the solar, Lord Stark bid them all sit down. They did, and a tense silence descended upon them as they waited for him to speak. "Very well," he said, shoulders sagging. "I wanted to introduce you all, and give you some time to know each other." He gestured towards Jon. "Children, this is your half-brother, Jon Snow."
Jon did his best to remain aloof as his half-siblings and their mother gazed at him. Lady Catelyn, Robb, and Sansa were looking at him with unmasked scrutiny. He felt quite like a mouse caught in the cellar.
Brandon and Rickon, on the other hand, seemed less intense in their staring but no less curious.
No one said a word for a time.
Until Brandon spoke. "I'm Bran, and this is Rickon," he said, confirming Jon's assumptions. "My lady mother, Catelyn Stark," he continued, his calm voice washing over the room, and easing some of the tension. "Robb, heir to Winterfell. The woman you saw before was Lady Jeyne, Robb's wife." He went on, gesturing, "and this is my elder sister, Lady Sansa."
Jon felt an immense relief at this basic cordiality. "Well met, my lords, my ladies." He hoped he sounded humble enough, for it seemed that Lady Stark and her elder two children were tense around him. He'd been in enough castles to know that trueborn children sometimes feared their bastard half-siblings. And everyone knew of the Targaryens and Blackfyres. While Jon did not want to appear a weakling, he also did not want to give anyone reason to mislike him.
Jon supposed that Brandon and Rickon's age, as well as their positions in the line of succession, allowed them more freedom and less concerns. Why would they feel threatened by a bastard half-brother, if Robb was to inherit Winterfell?
Lord Stark had relaxed somewhat after his second son took over the introductions, though he still looked sad. "I'm sure you'll all want a chance to speak to your brother later," he said. "For now, I'll take him to the godswood to meet Arya."
The tension returned to the room then. And it was only at that moment that Jon thought that he might have been wrong about these people. It's not me, he realized. Something must have happened between them and the younger daughter of Eddard Stark. It also explained why his lord father had him pay for a room for her in Winter Town.
It gave Jon hope that he may have an opportunity to befriend his half-siblings.
"Half-brother." Jon heard the low murmur, but didn't deign anyone with a reaction. He didn't want to know who said it, though he had a good guess. Robb Stark was glaring at him. So much for hoping.
Lord Stark frowned, but said nothing, and merely led Jon out of the solar.
"I'm sorry, Jon," he said as they made their way out of the castle. "Things have been quite strained here. I was hoping your presence would alleviate the tensions between my children, but..." With a sigh and a shake of his head, he pressed on. "Arya would have gladly greeted you, but she's not eating with us anymore. And my wife knows about my plans for her."
Lord Stark was confirming some of Jon's suspicions. At least, some of them. "May I ask, what is the trouble with my sis- I mean, half-sister?"
Lord Stark stopped, and turned to Jon with a curious expression. "Sister. Arya would take offense if she heard you calling her half-sister." He gave his son a wry smile. "You'll find that your younger sister is quite… let's say, unique." Then his face turned somber. "Have you ever heard about my own sister, Lyanna?"
Jon had heard the rumors and tales about his aunt. How she had been kidnapped and raped by Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, which had started the war more than twenty years ago. "Some. I'm sure nothing from people who knew my aunt well."
His father smiled sadly at him. "Aye. Well, she had some of what my father called the 'wolf blood'. That is, she had a temper and a strong will. For a woman, that can be deadly. And it was." He sighed. "My brother Brandon had far more 'wolf blood'." Jon knew who Brandon Stark had been, as people spoke more of him. His eldest uncle, a man who had been murdered by the Mad King, along with Rickard Stark, Jon's grandfather.
Lord Stark continued, with a chuckle. "When Arya was little, I used to think she was like my sister Lyanna. She even looked like Lyanna when she was a child. But the more she grew up and the more she rebelled, the more I realized I was wrong." He looked at Jon with a pained expression. "Arya is more like my brother Brandon. She has a temper that would put his to shame. And she has been trying to be as unladylike as possible since she could speak and move on her own."
Jon didn't know what to say to his father. He could see that it was something he didn't share with anyone. "Is it really such a problem? That she's not like other ladies, I mean," he asked quietly.
He remembered Wylla Manderly, who was spirited and stubborn. She had ideas of womanhood that could be considered unusual. Her grandfather, Lord Manderly of White Harbor, was very lenient with her, and she had managed to convince him on many issues of her interest.
"It's not only that she's willful. She fights with swords," Lord Eddard said with some despair. "To be sure, I encouraged it. I thought, if I went against her it would be worse. But if I encouraged her, then she'd tire of it." He grimaced as Jon frowned. "I know, it sounds terrible."
"The ladies of Bear Island fight," Jon offered. "I've heard of a woman in the south who joined Lord Renly's household a few years ago."
Lord Stark sighed. "And you've heard of them because of how peculiar this is for women."
Jon was becoming frustrated, he realized. He wasn't sure why that was. He hadn't even met Arya yet. For all he knew, she could look exactly like Lady Stark and be horrible to him. But the way everyone had been acting, and what his father was saying… He felt he had to defend her. "What is the problem, truly?" he heard himself ask sharply. Too sharply, perhaps. Lord Stark's eyebrows rose. "So, she's a woman who likes to fight. And maybe people will talk. Is that more important than your daughter's happiness?"
As soon as his mouth closed, Jon felt completely abashed. He felt himself flush as his lord father stared at him, eyes wide in surprise. Then, before Jon could apologize, Lord Stark let out a bark of laughter. He sobered quickly, as if ashamed of his reaction. "I'm sorry, I'm not laughing at you, son."
Jon's heart skipped a beat at the last word, but he bowed in respect. "I'm sorry, my lord. I did not mean to tell you how to raise your children."
"No," his father acknowledged. "But you spoke truly." There was a moment of silence as he gathered his thoughts. "I do confess that part of it has to do with what others will say," he said, but he looked so sad that Jon felt he should not interrupt. "Another part of me wants to protect her. I know she doesn't want that, I know she can fight as well as any of my sons. But while she might not look so much like my sister anymore, I still see her when I look at Arya."
He could understand what his father was saying. Jon hesitated, then decided he might as well say what he thought. "You said both your brother and your sister had the 'wolf blood'," he began, and Lord Stark looked at him expectantly. "Uncle Brandon is said to have been a great warrior, and yet he died. Aunt Lyanna, while all I've heard of her is that she was fierce, no one has ever described her to me as a warrior." Jon sighed. "What I mean is… If your sons fell in battle, or your daughters in childbed, what difference would it make?"
His father looked at him quietly for what seemed like an eternity. Jon had to look down at his feet when he thought he saw tears in the older man's eyes. "You are right, of course," Eddard Stark said, his voice thick with emotion. "Gods, you remind me of my sister," he murmured, shaking his head. Jon was not sure how to answer to that, but Lord Stark went on as he took control of his emotions. "Arya will never marry or bear children," he said. "She has no interest in men, as she has told me quite plainly. And as the last scandal showed." At Jon's raised eyebrow, he snorted. "She was found with my former steward's daughter. Abed."
After the emotional talk moments before, this little piece of information made Jon snort. "I'm starting to understand why everyone was acting so sour," he muttered sardonically.
Lord Stark smiled. "To be honest, that I did not find so terrible. Arya isn't promised to anyone, and the steward's girl was unwed and not promised to anyone either. However, she was Sansa's best friend, and Sansa and Arya have always been at odds with each other." Jon grimaced. His father nodded, before chuckling again. "In fact, I'm not even sure how that happened, Jeyne would always mock Arya, and Arya would always torment her back." He shrugged. "In any case, my lady wife was furious. My son, Robb, felt it his right to punish his sister by taking away all her weapons and her armor. And Sansa… She's always been a lady, mindful of her curtsies and words. But that day was as if she had been possessed by a demon, she said hurtful things to her sister. The fact that Arya will not speak of it is enough to convince me it was horrible."
Jon looked around as he took all that in. They were out in the open, on their way to the godswood. It seemed to be a part of the castle where servants didn't go much, for he had only seen one or two women scurrying about during his conversation with his father.
"I'm telling you this because Arya will likely brush it off. She likes to pretend none of it affects her," Lord Stark continued. "But she has been looking forward to meeting you for many years, and I want you to understand that before you meet her."
Jon turned to look at his father in surprise. He could feel the warmth spreading in his chest. "Truly?" he asked. So far, none of his half-siblings had shown any indication that they cared for him. Brandon and Rickon had been polite and welcoming, but nothing like what Lord Stark was claiming of their sister.
"Truly," his father answered. Then he hesitated. "As if that was not enough, I did something that made Robb furious. To me, and to her. And she fears…" He paused, looking at him thoughtfully. "I hope, if what I did displeases you as well, that you will not hold it against her. I never meant for it to be taken as a slight to anyone."
He had no way of knowing what Lord Stark had done, but Jon nodded all the same. "I promise, I won't hold it against her."
"I'm not sure if you're aware, but our ancestors acquired a Valyrian steel greatsword many centuries ago." Jon did know, for the sword was famed across the North, but he let his father continue. "It was called Ice, named after the sword from the Age of Heroes," Lord Stark said. "There are some blacksmiths who know the art of reworking Valyrian steel, so I hired one of them to make two blades out of Ice."
Jon was beginning to understand the crux of the problem. "One for your heir, and one for Arya."
His father nodded. "I had the blacksmith add color to the steel. Blue for Robb's. It is called Ice, as the one before, and the ancient sword of House Stark. It will still be the one to be passed down to the main branch." With a sigh, he continued. "The other I had dyed red, and named it Fire. As you guessed, it was given to Arya and her line." He looked at Jon expectantly.
It took a moment for Jon to realize what that meant. His father had said that Arya would not bear children of her own. When he had been a boy, he had wished he could do some great deed, and his lord father would come from Winterfell, having heard of Jon's bravery, with a royal decree that declared him a Stark, and with the greatsword Ice, to pass it down to Jon. That was a child's fantasy, and he was a man grown now. But that hope had never left him. He wanted to rush to the godswood to see this sister of his, who would make him her heir without ever having met him, who wanted him as part of her family. "I don't want the sword," he said, almost breathless. "I'm not a petulant fool to dismiss my own sister for a sword. She doesn't have to do this..."
"I'm glad to hear it," his father said softly. "I know your worth, you know. All of the lords who have fostered you over the years had only words of praise to tell me."
Jon looked at his feet, somewhat abashed. "Will you tell me of my mother, after I've spoken to my sister?" he asked suddenly.
Lord Stark closed his eyes and shook his head. When he opened them again, Jon could see an infinite sadness in them. "Come, let's not keep Arya waiting." With that, he turned and walked towards the gate that separated the castle grounds from the godswood.
Frustrated, Jon followed.
Lord Stark slowed his pace as they walked through the woods. "I forgot to say," his father began. "Don't be alarmed if we meet any direwolves."
Jon turned to look at him, to see if he was being made mock of, but his father was serious. "Direwolves."
"The biggest two can be ridden," Lord Stark said, and smiled at Jon's incredulous face. "One is Ghost, an albino and the biggest of all six. The second biggest is Nymeria. She's Arya's."
Of course, Jon wanted to say. Nymeria, the first Queen of Dorne. A warrior woman.
They made it to a small clearing with a dark pond, and a large weirwood tree with a face, a heart tree. Its face was incredible to behold.
It took him moments to realize there was someone kneeling in front of the tree. A person clad in a fur cloak, as fine as his father's. Jon could only see a mop of short brown hair. He looked at his father, and the man nodded with a small smile. As if they had been heard, the person stood and turned. And Jon nearly gasped.
It was almost as if he was looking in a mirror. To be sure, his sister's face was devoid of a dark beard like his own, and her eyes were a lighter shade of grey, like their father's; but her face was long and sharp, only feminine compared to his own or Lord Stark's. Her body, Jon could tell despite the bulk of her clothes, had nearly no curves.
And, as if to prove his conclusion, Arya Stark's face lit up with a huge, toothy grin and she went to them. "Brother!" she said, her voice cheerful and loud, bouncing off the trees.
Before Jon could open his mouth, he was engulfed in a tight hug.
His sister was only a few inches shorter than him, and he was far from being a tall man. She seemed to be slender, like himself. One would think she had no strength, but she almost crushed his ribs. He managed to pat her on the back awkwardly. It was such a huge contrast with the earlier reception that he was somewhat overwhelmed.
"Well met, little sister," he murmured.
She pulled back at that, beaming up at him, and he couldn't help but smile. "You look just like our father," she said, looking at his face and then at their father's, who was observing them with a fond smile.
"So do you," Jon blurted out. For a moment, he wondered if it could be considered an offense. But Arya turned to him, her grin growing impossibly larger. She let out a bark of laughter, and Jon realized it sounded a lot like his own, in the rare occasions he laughed out loud.
"Robb would shit himself with envy, if he heard you say that," she said with a wolfish grin.
"Arya," their father said in a quiet warning tone, though he smiled.
The young woman just snorted. "I was almost tempted to burst into the hall to meet you," she said, her eyes shining with mirth. "If only to see them choke on their food." Jon smiled weakly, not sure what to say to that. The others had made no mention of her. He could tell their father was becoming uncomfortable.
Lord Stark shook his head. "I'll leave you two alone. Show him the direwolves, and tell him of our heart tree."
"Yes, father," Arya said with a rueful grin. She turned to Jon. "Did you book me a room at your inn, brother?"
"Yes," he answered.
She let out another bark of laughter. He was oddly reminded of the Greatjon, if the Greatjon were a tiny woman. "Perfect! I shall show you around Winter Town, then. We can go meet some of the local folk."
Jon heard an exasperated sigh from their retreating father, and another bark of laughter from his little sister.
To be sure, Arya Stark proved to be something else entirely. Jon found himself laughing with her, at the stories she told of her childhood rebelliousness, at her imitation of her lady mother and their siblings. She did confess that she had placed dung under their sister's bed, more than once. In turn, Sansa and her friends would call Arya names, mocking her appearance or interest in swordfight.
Likewise, he told her about growing up in the various castles he had been fostered at, and about the friends he had made during his years around the north. He told her about his first love—Arya laughed when he pointed out he and his 'love' had been seven years old—and about his first kill—he had been seven-and-ten, and had been hunting raiders with the Umbers.
Jon realized he had never opened himself up to anyone before. For all the friends he had made, it had always been polite camaraderie, with shared jests and never delving too deep in matters of the heart.
A few hours later, they made their way across the castle yards. Arya told him all about the godswood, the heart tree, and the direwolves. He was able to bond with one Arya had kept exclusively for Jon.
"I swear to you, brother," she told him, her light grey eyes serious. "I heard him."
Jon stared at her, then at Ghost, his own direwolf. The animal made no sound. When Nymeria bit him lightly, or mock fought with him, the albino made no sound. Not a sound of pain or anger or joy. Nothing.
"Maester Luwin looked at his throat when he was a pup," Arya told him. "He found nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing different from his litter mates. He simply makes no sound."
It was an odd tale. She had insisted to their father to take her to see an execution. It was something only the sons of the Lord of Winterfell were allowed to witness, not the daughters. But Arya had always been rebellious of those rules, and Lord Eddard had always relented when it came to his youngest daughter.
So he had taken her, Robb, and Brandon to witness the execution of a brother of the Night's Watch. She heard the man's words, the Others were coming. No one believed him, but Arya had felt a chill run down her spine at those words, at the look in the man's eyes.
Later, as they made their way back to Winterfell, she and Robb and Theon Greyjoy had found a dead direwolf, and five pups. She looked apologetically at Jon as she told the tale.
"Bran really wanted to keep his pup, and when I looked at them all, I realized… there were three males and two females," she said.
Jon understood. "One for each trueborn Stark," he muttered.
"Aye," she had smiled sadly. "None of us noticed Ghost then." Then her eyes were uneasy. "As we continued on our way home, with the five pups, I heard him."
Jon shuddered, despite himself. Even if he had known Arya for a few hours, she didn't seem the kind of person who believed in tales with no evidence. "What do you think it means?" he asked her sincerely.
Arya looked at him for a moment, gauging him. "I believe in the Old Gods, brother. I think these direwolves were sent to us for a purpose. They obey us, they know our minds in ways no dog can. Already Ghost has taken to you and you to him." She spoke before he could say anything. "You cannot deny it."
She was right, of course.
When he met Ghost, the large albino direwolf, he had felt… complete. As if a part of him had been missing all his life, and now was with him. The animal stayed at his side, followed him, and understood his mood.
"I raised him myself, but it never felt the same as with Nymeria. She felt right with me. But Ghost has always been a tag-along. He obeyed me, most of the time, but he kept to himself. And when I thought of you, I knew he had to be yours."
It unnerved Jon to think of these things. "This connection," he began. "I've heard rumors, tales from old women."
"Skinchanging. Wargs, to be exact," Arya said plainly. "That's what Old Nan told me and Bran." She swallowed. "No one else will believe us. Not even father. He puts little weight in magic, he only thinks about all the wrongs he wants to right." She rubbed at her face, a gesture of frustration.
"But you don't," Jon said.
"No, not anymore. I used to think of these things as fascinating tales Old Nan told us. But I've had dreams of being Nymeria. And Bran and Rickon have had dreams of being in their own wolves' bodies." She sighed. "A year ago we were visited by the Reeds. Father told me you fostered with them for a few years."
"I left when I was five, I barely remember my time there," Jon admitted. "I think I remember the eldest child, a daughter?"
"Aye, Meera," Arya said. "She, and her brother Jojen, spoke with Bran and myself about these matters. Jojen claims to be a greenseer or some such." She looked up at the darkening skies. "He said there would be a time when a lone wolf would join with his five packmates, and then two wolves would go their own way to meet with two dragons."
Jon blinked. "Dragons?"
"His dreams can be… queer," Arya said with a smirk. "Sometimes I wonder if he's merely insane and says things that can be interpreted in his favor after some time." But she shook her head. "I learned a few things from our father, and I'm no longer convinced Jojen is mad."
"So this thing about dragons," Jon started.
"Might be true," Arya finished. "We shall speak more of this when we leave Winterfell. Father has forbidden me from speaking of this until we are out in the open and we can verify we are not overheard."
He frowned at his little sister, but nodded. It was dangerous to speak out loud of some topics, he knew. You never knew who could be spying, or for who. And with Robert Baratheon on the throne and two exiled Targaryens, speaking of dragons could be deadly.