2-I
Arya is the first to wake, the first to stumble into the Great Hall for breakfast. Jon has been giving her private lessons with the sword, but it has to be early in the morning before anyone else can monopolize the yard. She rubs the sleep out of her eyes, thinking to see him waiting on her at the tables, but instead she finds only a rough looking man in furs doting on a blonde woman. She thinks to ask them who they are, but her belly rumbles, so she shrugs and decides to get her breakfast first. She'll ask them if they are still there when she returns. The kitchens are bustling as she fixes herself a plate of eggs and bacon and a thick slice of bread, smiles at Gage, who gives her a wink, and then makes her way back to the long tables in the Hall. And then goes still in midstride.
A gigantic wolf is standing next to the couple, taller than they are as they sit, and it is staring at her. The man turns to look at her, stands, and Arya swears that there are tears in his eyes. "Ar-Arya?" he asks.
She blinks, and rests her plate on the end of the long table, eyes darting from the man to the wolf and back again. "Who are you?"
He is crying for real now, sniffling and wiping his eyes, and she thinks that he is a bit of a baby for such a fierce looking fellow. His hand goes to the scar on his face as the woman stands up and wraps her arms around him and whispers something into his ear. He nods back at her before disengaging and taking a step forward.
Arya thinks to step back, but forces herself to stand firm. No one will make her retreat in her home. "Who are you?"
He ignores the question, and instead whistles, bringing the wolf forward. "Would you like to pet her?" he asks, eyes red from the tears, but his face is friendly enough...and familiar in some way she can't place behind the heavy beard and the scar running down his temple and cheek.
She looks at the giant wolf, whose tongue is lolling out of its mouth now, and Arya gives a grin. "She's a she?" she asks, reaching her hand out and scratching the great beast behind the ear. The wolf tilts into her touch and gives her arm a lick, which causes her to laugh.
"She is," the man replies with a chuckle. "She's due to whelp any day now."
Arya snaps her eyes to the man and almost squeals in delight before remembering that warriors don't squeal, so she ends up hiccuping instead before blurting out, "Can I have one of the pups?"
"If it is alright by your father and mother then it is alright by me," he responds, his grin broad and his blue eyes bright with mirth. He's got eyes like Bran and Rickon, she notices, and something about him is tickling her memory when Jon walks into the Great Hall.
"Jon!" she calls out. "Have you seen the direwolf? Did you know that she's pregnant? He said I can have one when she whelps!"
Grinning from ear to ear, Jon replies, "I have, I did, and he did, did he?" He looks at the man, who gives him a sad shake of his head. Jon's smile falters a bit, and Arya is about to ask them what they are on about, but Jon forestalls her. "Time for training, little sister." He looks to her full plate, and frowns, "but not until you finish your breakfast."
"I'll eat on the way," she says, piling her eggs and bacon on the bread and folding it over. "Do you want to come train with us?" she asks the man. "You can come, too," she says to the pretty woman behind him. "Jon's teaching me how to fight properly."
"Is he?" the woman responds. "Well maybe we could come watch and see what proper fighting looks like in the South."
"The South?" Arya replies, scrunching her face up. "We're not in the South."
"I'm from North of the Wall, she-wolf," the woman says. "Everything is the South to me."
"You're wildlings?" Arya asks.
"No," the woman replies with a glance at the man. "Not anymore."
Arya shrugs, takes a huge bite from her sandwich and washes it down quickly with some of her milk. "I'm Arya, what're your names?"
"I'm Val," the woman answers when the man hesitates.
"I'm...Redbeard," he says finally.
"Redbeard?" She thinks that is a stupid name, but he seems nice and is going to give her a direwolf pup, so she keeps her mouth shut. "Come on, I'll show you where the training yard is," she says, before taking another huge bite and walking out of the Great Hall.
Val, despite being pregnant, proved to be fearsome with a spear. Arya gave her a go, and the woman had her disarmed and flat on her back in less than a minute. She put Fat Tom on his back even quicker than that, and even offered to go a round with Alyn, Ser Alyn now since he got knighted for fighting with Jon on the Sisters, but her man Redbeard asked her to stand down. "For the little one," he said, giving her a kiss and tenderly touching her belly.
Arya rolled her eyes when she acquiesced, but now she believes it was kind of nice. He didn't order her to do it like most lords would of their ladies. He asked her, and the decision he left up to her. If that is how wildlings get on with their wives, then maybe being a wildling isn't such a bad thing, she thinks. She wants to ask Val more about being a wildling, and maybe to teach her the spear if she is going to be at Winterfell for much longer, but right now her attention is on the center of the training yard. Jon is up, and he's just about the best sword in the castle now. Walder Giantsblood is the greatest warrior in the North, of course, but he's a quarter giant or something and uses the Valyrian Sword he got from those reapers during the Greyjoy Rebellion, so he doesn't count. And Jory has gotten older and Jon has gotten better, so now Jon bests him three of five more often than not.
But now he is up against the wildling Redbeard, who put Cayn and Heward on their backs while hardly breaking a sweat, and even bested Alyn twice, even though Alyn is a knight and a doughty fighter. Val tells her that Redbeard has killed a bunch of famous wildling fighters like Alfyn Crowslayer or somesuch, and Varamyr Fourskins, and some ass named The Weeper. "Is he the best fighter beyond the Wall?" she asks.
"Maybe," Val says. "Or perhaps the crow Mance Rayder is still the best, though age and old wounds have taken their toll, or Tormund Giantsbane, or his son Toregg the Tall, when they are not being ridiculous. It could be Jarl, who was my best friend in the North, but he left with Balaban the Shipwright and may not be back among the Free Folk."
"Tormund Giantsbane? What a great name." Much better than Redbeard, Arya thinks.
"Aye, it is. He claims he slew a giant, but I have my doubts. Redbeard has slain a giant. I saw that with my own eyes."
"He did? How? Why isn't his name Giantkiller?" Jon and Redbeard had crossed, a flurry of quick blows before each backed off. It seemed...not rehearsed to Arya, but familiar, like they already knew the other's patterns.
"He already had a name."
"Redbeard? That's terrible."
"No, not that," she says, eyes locked on to Redbeard. Another flurry of blows, but this time longer, this time it didn't look so familiar, as if they were learning something new about the other.
When she sees that Val isn't going to elaborate, she shrugs. "How did he kill a giant?"
"A snow bear helped him. And a direwolf."
"How'd he get a snow bear to help?" She asks, eyes on the fight.
"Magic."
"Magic? Nuh-uh," Arya says, wanting to roll her eyes at the wildling, but the fight is too good, so she can't stop watching. Redbeard scored a hit on Jon's shoulder and drove him across the yard before Jon caught him on the leg and nearly tripped the big wildling and is now driving him back.
"For true," Val replies, though she is smiling and her eyes are bright. "There is magic beyond the Wall, magic of the Children and of the Giants and of the First Men, and that magic remains in Robb's blood, in his family's blood."
She scrunches her face up. "So he has to be the best then. He slew a giant and has magic."
"Who's to say who is the best, little wolf?" Val asks, giving her a glance and a quick smile before turning back to the match. "A green spearwife can best a mighty raider on any given day. The wrong step here, the wrong thing eaten the night before, a wrong word said, all these things affect the body and the mind, and so affect the fighter and the fight." They are in the middle of the yard now, both hammering at each other. More men have trickled in, including Ser Rodrik, and they are all hooting and hollering and cheering them on. "Robb can hold his own against the greatest fighters in the North, even best them on occasion, and naught but a handful can make the same claim."
She nods, watching as Jon and Redbeard continue to trade blows. They are fully engaged now, neither giving quarter but both smiling through the sweat and exhaustion as if they'd known each other their whole lives. Then it hits her. She spins to the wildling woman. "Robb? You said Robb?"
Val smiles at her. "Aye, dear. That's Redbeard's real name. Though the Free Folk took to calling him Lord Stark."
She looks back and sees it, sees him. He's grown half a foot it seems though he isn't quite as tall as Jon, but his thick arms and muscled shoulders make him half again as broad as their half brother. The shaggy auburn beard hides it well, but she recognizes her brother's easy smile, and the scar that runs down the right side of his face cannot keep her from remembering his laughing blue eyes, and she can feel her lip trembling and the tears welling in her eyes, and she is shamed for not knowing him right away. Despite that, it is still joy that fills her heart and sends her flying towards him. "Robb!" she cries, and it doesn't matter that he and Jon are locked in a spar, their faces lit with joy and their swords a blur as they test each other. Her voice cuts through the clangor, however, and both drop their swords and shields, and Robb turns just in time to get bowled over by his little sister.
Arya doesn't know what to do, so she rips off his helm and wraps her arms around his neck as tight as she can and kisses all over his face while she weeps and weeps like a little baby, but she can't help it, she's so happy.
Robb, for his part, is weeping, too. And laughing. "It's me, little sister. It's me."
Jon, his own helm off, is kneeling next to them, a hand on both, and Robb goes to bring him into their hug, but a thought hits Arya, and she slugs Jon in the eye. "You ass!" she screams. "Why didn't you tell me it was him! You let me hurt his feelings!"
But Jon is laughing and so is Robb, and they only get to their feet and pick her up with them, and the rest of the men are laughing with them and hugging him and clapping him on the back when a voice cuts through the din.
"Jon! Arya! What goes on here?"
They turn and see father walking towards them, with mother and Sansa and Bran and Rickon trailing behind them. She stands straight and smiles when she notices Jon and Robb fall in line for father like they did when they were children.
"Jon," father says, eyeing Robb and Val and the giant wolf at her feet. "Why did you ask the family here? Who are these people?"
2-II
"Father," Arya begins, "Don't you see? It's…"
"Robb!" Catelyn screams, rushing forward. "Robb!"
"My lady?" Ned says, confused as he watches his wife throw her arms around the large wildling in the middle of Winterfell's training yard. The wildling is hugging her back and both are crying and then Arya is there with them, wrapping her arms around the man, as well. And then Sansa and Bran rush by him, calling his dead son's name as they take turns hugging and kissing this stranger.
Only Rickon refrains, grabbing onto his leg, an uncertain look on his face as he asks, "Papa, is that Robb?"
"R-Robb?" Ned asks his youngest, blinking as his own eyes begin to well. He looks up and sees the wildling on his knees, his family on their knees with him, unable to let go of him or to stop weeping and kissing him. Ned's legs go weak, and he collapses, but strong hands catch him under the arms and hold him up.
"I've got you, father," he hears Jon say. "I've got you."
"Is it true?" Ned asks.
"Aye, father. It is him"
"How?"
"He has yet to say."
Ned looks to his son, his sister's son in truth, a secret kept between them, Jon and Catelyn and himself (and two others now), but his son in all other ways that matter, and he nods his head, and blinks away the tears, and lets the man who, in another life, would be the rightful king of the Seven Kingdoms escort him to his lost son, the heir of Winterfell. And when Rickon asks him again if the great wildling in their midst is his brother, Ned tells him yes.
2-III
The impromptu feast his father called is done, and the ravens have been sent to King's Landing and Riverrun and all the banner houses of the North declaring that Robb Stark, the heir to Winterfell, has returned from beyond the Wall.
The stories begin then, and Robb begs off, instead preferring to hear of Winterfell and his siblings these past three years. Jon, having already told Robb his own story, also defers.
Sansa and Arya both were still unbetrothed, something that Eddard put on himself. "I was not eager to be rid of more of my children these past three years," he says, a shadow crossing his face as Lady Catelyn linked her arm into his and rested her head on his shoulder.
He is, however, delighted to find that while Arya's martial training had advanced to a significant degree, Sansa had also learned how to defend herself, albeit with daggers she could hide in her dress. "Your death changed things, Robb," his beautiful sister says. "Father and Mother wanted both of us to learn how to fight back if wildlings ever thought to steal us as they did the Umber or Wull girl."
"We also have a good working knowledge of the Northern landscape," Arya pipes in. "And we learned how to find our direction using the sun and stars though Sansa is better at that than I."
"Though you are better at everything else to do with the outdoors," Sansa adds with a pat on Arya's hand. He beams at that, seeing them get along so well, when they were always at one another's throat when he left.
Bran and Rickon fill him in on all of the training and riding and playing that two boys could possibly fit into the last three years. Both are becoming fearsome swords and lances for their respective ages, Ser Rodrik says. Both of their smiles are wide and toothy when the old master-at-arms suggests that they might even be better than Robb and Jon at the same age.
Bran's smile falters, however, when he admits that he is glad to be rid of the burden of heir. "I only ever wanted to be a Knight of the Kingsguard. I never wanted to be Lord of Winterfell."
"But I imagine you took up those duties without complaint?" Robb asked.
"He did," Lady Catelyn says with pride in her voice.
Bran blushes and shrugs, "I had to. For...for my family."
Robb walks to him and gives him a hug. "Little brother, you will be one of the greatest knights to ever don the white cloak. Not because of the strength of your arm, I think, but because of the strength in your heart."
"Hear, hear," Ned replies, and lifts his flagon. "To Brandon Stark, future Knight of the Kingsguard!" The Hall lifts their cups and toasts the second Stark son.
When Robb returns to Val's side, he asks, "And Theon?"
"Balon Greyjoy declared his daughter heir. Theon wished to leave and press his claim, but Robert had not released him, so neither could I."
"His father passed him over?"
"Theon's mother died, but he was not told. He sent a letter to his father. His father responded by forfeiting his inheritance. It did not matter. Nearly a year ago, the Crow's Eye returned, supposedly killed his brother, and has been Lord of the Iron Isles ever since."
"Theon's sister?"
"Her ship was sunk off the coast of Dorne."
"The Crow's Eye," Robb says to himself, as if he is tallying a list of the North's enemies. "They have not been raiding our shores?"
"No, but we'll speak of that later. As for Theon, I sent him to White Harbor to ward with Ser Wyman and also commissioned the building of a northern fleet. Theon helped oversee that and now captains the flagship of the North."
"The Sea Wolf," Jon chimes in. "It's a big damned galley, but also a fast mover for all of that. He is a natural captain, natural on the sea, and was instrumental in our war against the pirates, shuttling us to and fro and sinking or taking over a dozen of the bastards' longships."
"The Sisters belong to the North again," his father says. "Jon Arryn and I met in Sisterton and worked it out. Young Ser Robar Royce, the leader of the Vale forces during the war, is the new lord of Sisterton.
"And Theon? What was his reward?"
"He was knighted," Bran says cheerfully.
Jon nods. "Aye. I thought he might decline for fear of what his people would think, but he embraced it. Among other things."
Robb's confusion must have shown because his mother says, "Theon is wed to Wynafryd Manderly and lives in White Harbor for the moment with his wife's family."
For the moment. Robb understands. "Theon would make a fine vassal lord, but one of the Sisters is less than he deserves."
"It is. Ser Wendel took the Borrell's forfeited claim while Torrhen Karstark claimed the Torrents' island. The Longthorpe girl married a distant cousin, so the Longsister remains with their family. For Theon, we are rebuilding the Wolf's Den with the revenue that has been coming in from the...influx of longships since the war."
"The Wolf's Den? I have missed much. It seems that all of you have changed for the better in my absence."
"The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives," Arya says then. "We had to come together after what happened to you. It made us stronger. Now that you're back, we'll be unstoppable."
"Aye," Lord Eddard says, "We will. Now, my son, we will hear your story if you would tell it."
His father is thinner than he remembers, smaller, as well. His hair and beard have gone completely silver and there are dark circles under his eyes that were never there before, but there is still a vibrancy, a strength to the Lord of Winterfell, and Robb understands that it was losing him that caused his father to age so quickly, but that it was his brothers and sisters who kept him going. How will my reappearance affect him now? He wonders as he begins his tale.
"It was Rattleshirt and his raiders who took the Wull girl, and it was Rattleshirt and his raiders who doubled back and ambushed us. Did we rescue the girl?" Robb asks almost absentmindedly, admitting to himself that he has not given a thought to her in three years.
"We did," Walder says in his rumbling bass. "It was Jon who rescued her."
"After Walder killed all of the ones guarding her," Jon puts in, and everyone laughs, Robb included.
"I'm glad," Robb says before starting again. They all remember the fight, but Robb tells them of being swept away as he fought along with Hullen and the rangers Bannon and Thoren Smallwood.
"All three found frozen in the drifts," Harwin adds at that point
Robb rests a hand on the man's shoulder and tells him his father died fighting the wildlings and not from the cold. He tells of the snowstorm that blew in while they were fighting, of the snows that fell so thick that he couldn't see his hand in front of his face, of trying to bring those men's bodies back to the Wall, but only pushing further away in his disorientation. He tells of the horse dying, and the shadowcat, and nearly dying if not for the direwolf that chased the cat away.
"I don't remember how I got to the cave, I just remember walking, trying to hold whatever was trying to spill out of me with one hand while clutching Winter with the other. And then there was warmth, and blackness soon after."
"The wolf led him to me," Val says. "I'd seen her before, and was curious as to why she didn't have a pack or why she never attacked any of us. I'd tried to lure her into our village, but she never got close enough. Imagine my surprise when she walked right into our shelter dragging a dying boy."
Lady Catelyn stands up then and walks to Val, and, taking her by the hands, bows and kisses both of them. Val blushes deeply, and Robb can do nothing but beam at her with a fierce pride.
"It was more my sister than me, my lady," she says, still obviously embarrassed. "She fixed him up and stitched his wounds. I mostly just hunted and fetched and boiled water for her."
"Either way," Catelyn says, taking a seat next to her good daughter, "You were there for him, and we all thank you for it."
"It was nothing, my lady," she says in a soft voice before clearing her throat and starting the story again. "Robb seemed to be getting no better in the cave despite our efforts, so after the storm let up, we built a sled and used Winter to haul him to our village."
"The wolf let you harness her?" Lord Eddard asks.
"Aye," Val replies. "That wolf would do anything for him."
"For us," Robb corrects her.
She smiles at him. "Only because I have a Stark inside me. Before that, Winter never paid me much attention."
"What?" Father and Mother ask at once. Lady Catelyn places her hand protectively on Val's belly.
"Why didn't you tell us?" Father asks Robb.
"We were getting there," Robb responds sheepishly. "It is part of the story."
"Me and Jon already knew," Arya blurts out.
"Yes, it seems you two were the first to know everything," Father answers back causing his little sister to look away, embarrassed.
"Jon was the first one I saw last night and Arya the second this morning. Now, we are telling everyone," Robb explains.
"Alright, son," Eddard says, but he sits next to Catelyn who is still holding Val's hands.
"It was a week before he was really fully conscious, and another moon before he could move about," Val continues. "By that time, Mance, that would be Mance Rayder, our village chief I guess you'd call him, had already declared that Robb could never leave."
"He was a deserter, you see," Robb says, taking up the story. "He feared I would give their location to the Night's Watch, so he could not trust me to leave. So I swore to him that I'd earn his trust."
"And you did?" Jon asks.
"It was hard, at first. Mance tied me up the first night I was strong enough to walk. Val snuck into my tent and untied me. Told me to go if I wished, but...I'd given Rayder my word. And I had other reasons to stay."
"I'm sure you did," Sansa adds, looking at her new goodsister, which sends the Hall into laughter.
After it dies down, Robb says, "Val was the biggest reason. She was the first face I saw when I woke...she's everything to me. But there was another reason, as well, I think. Winter saved me when she could have just...left me for the shadowcat or left me to freeze or just eaten me herself. There is something more to what happened to me, something grander, maybe? I think I was meant to be lost, meant to be found by Winter and Val, meant to spend years with the greatest fighters beyond the Wall."
"The old gods," Bran says in a hushed voice.
Robb looks to his younger brother. "Aye. So I stayed. Mance wouldn't have me be useless, Stark or not, so that first year he had me chopping down trees and splitting logs all day and hauling them back to the village. After work, he would pick up a sword, and we'd fight. Not spar, but fight. And not just him. Chieftains from friendly clans would come just to have a round against the Stark boy. I was a walking bruise the first few months. It got to the point where I wasn't sure I could get up in the mornings. Then Val started taking me swimming in the Antler every evening. The freezing water helped ease the pain, but I think it made my heart stronger because things began to get easier after that. I'd still chop down trees or bust kindling, but I was not weary by the end of the day and could hold up against Mance or Jarl or Toregg when they challenged me. I grew taller and the work made me strong, stronger than I thought possible, and fighting the best made me better. With a sword or knife, spear or fist, I could stand tall against anyone."
"Rattleshirt came against us after he'd been there a year or so," Val puts in. "Another ambush, this time at night, but Winter sniffed them out, and we were able to raise the village before the attack." She looks to her husband. "Robb killed half a dozen and saved Mance's life."
"We said our words in front of the heart tree the next morning," Robb adds. "I had Mance's trust, and I was wed to the woman I love, but I couldn't leave. Not then. It was to be war. Rattleshirt was allied with some of the worst chieftains in the north, murderers and cannibals, men who should not be called men. So I stayed, and we fought, and we won."
"You're not going to tell us about the battles?" Arya asks, nonplussed.
"No, little sister," Robb says. "It's all blood and death and grief."
"Aye, it is," Father says, and Robb can see the other men nodding their assent, from Walder to Jory to Jon.
"That is when you decided to return? After the war?" Mother asks.
"No," Robb says. "Tyroshi slavers came after that, raiding along the coast and up the Antler. Must have thought to find easy pickings to fill up their holds. They captured many, but I helped Mance fortify our village, and we stoned them there and sent them scurrying back down the river."
"So when did you decide to come back?"
"I admit that it was not until Val told me she carried our child that I knew we had to come to Winterfell."
His father stands up then and places a hand on his shoulder and raises his tankard high in the air. "To my son and his wife, and to their unborn child," he says, and everyone follows suit.
2-IV
A moon's turn later, Winter whelps six pups, but dies during the birthing. Robb places a hand on her head as she breathes her last, his tears falling freely as Val holds him while his siblings see to the pups. "She was old," Farlen tells him. "By my reckoning, it's a miracle she was still able to quicken at all." Robb understands, but he is still heartbroken, as is Val.
There is joy to be had, however, as the six pups breathe new life into the castle and into his heart. He claims the eldest and names him Grey Wind. His siblings each claim one, as well, one for each Stark, and even Jon (Ser Jon, now) claims one, the runt of the litter, white as his bastard namesake with red eyes. That afternoon they bury Winter in Winterfell's lichyard, and shortly after that, a raven comes from the king.