Robb

The knock came as a surprise, interrupting the slow rhythm of the ship and pulling him out of his semi-conscious state. He rose to his feet and made his way to the door, his mouth opening in surprise at the sight of Daenerys and Griff, him smiling awkwardly with a cask under his arm, her face annoying neutral. In the week they'd been at sea, they'd been on other ships, so their appearance aboard his was confusing to say the least.

'This is… a surprise,' he managed, an uncertain smile appearing on his own. Whether it was genuine or not, even he wasn't sure, but there could still be no harm in it.

'Lord Stark.' He and Daenerys had hardly spoken beyond minor pleasantries since he'd fallen on top of her a few weeks past, and by all appearances she still wasn't his biggest fan. Still, she swallowed and pulled her face into a smile with similar authenticity to her nephew's. 'Might we come in?'

Robb stood uselessly for a moment before remembering his manners, the image of his mother's face scolding him coming unbidden into his mind. 'Of course.'

The two dragons entered and sat on the bed that Robb was now gesturing to. It wasn't a large cabin by any stretch of the imagination, but it had room for his sword and a small trunk of clothes, and so it sufficed. With his back now to the door, he exhaled. 'So, how can I help you?'

Griff looked at Robb nervously, with none of the arrogance he'd appeared to have when they'd first met evident on his face. Robb got it, of course—ideas of kingship changed how you would carry yourself, especially amongst other nobles, and now that the throne would not be his, he was having to find out who he was, beyond solely a king. 'Jaehaerys,' he said, correcting himself at Robb's grimace. 'My apologies, Jon. Since we found out that he existed, we've found out well, next to nothing about him. You were his brother, and from what we could work out, his best friend. I suppose that we were wondering if you'd care to share a drink with us and tell us about him?' He smiled again, although this time it was a genuine thing. Daenerys still didn't seem to be his biggest fan, but Robb found that he did not mind so much.

One step at a time.

'Of course,' Robb replied, gesturing to the barrel that Griff had now placed on the floor. 'Might I ask what it is?'

'Pentoshi pale ale,' Daenerys said. 'A gift from Magister Illyrio Mopatis. I imagine he thought I'd need to get used to the taste of beer for my return, given how my brother would rave on about the Northern barbarians who drank nothing but ale.' She looked at him and quirked an eyebrow. 'No offence intended, my lord.'

'None taken, your grace. And please, call me Robb.'

'In that case, I insist you call me Griff,' the prince said, uncorking the barrel and pouring its contents into three simple goblets that had apparently appeared out of thin air. 'I still can't get used to being called Aegon, no matter how much Jon calls me it now that the secret's out. Not to mention, it'd be rather confusing, given the recent…appearance of other Aegon Targaryens.'

'And I Daenerys,' she said. 'After all, I suppose we're all kin now.'

'That we are. Thank you,' Robb said, taking a goblet from Griff and raising it. 'To surviving the wars to come.'

The other two echoed his toast, and they all fell into comfortable silence for a moment or so until it was broken by Griff. 'So, Jon?'

'Of course. What would you like to know?'

'Everything, I suppose. What is he like?'

Robb thought for a moment, a small smile beginning to play at his lips. 'He's…good. There are half a dozen other words that come to mind, but none that describe him so well as that. Don't get me wrong, he's the broodiest man I've ever met, but he has an utter heart of gold. When I think of the best times of my life, Jon was always there.'

'Just like that? Was he not looked down on as a bastard?' Griff asked.

'Of course he was. The North might be slightly better as far as their attitudes toward illegitimacy are concerned, but we're not the Dornish, and I know that there was always a feeling of him not belonging inside him, no matter what any of us said. And…' he grimaced slightly before continuing. 'Gods know that I loved her, but I could never abide my mother's treatment of him. I understand why she might initially feel such a way, but to such an extent that he was a pariah his entire life? I could never stand it, but I surely should've done more about it.'

'What about your siblings? Did they treat him any differently?' Daenerys asked.

'Sansa did, that much cannot be denied. She was raised to be the perfect southern lady, you see, and bastards had no place in that kind of life. She's better now, though. Treated him with the respect, and, dare I say, love that he deserved. Rickon was too young to really understand what made Jon different, and Bran loved him as he would a trueborn brother, much to my mother's chagrin. Arya, however…' Robb stopped for a moment and smiled. It was a sad thing, the rush of a million memories coming back all at once, since that is exactly what they were—memories. The children they showed were not there anymore, and never would be again. 'It would not be an exaggeration to say that Arya loved him more than any of us, and vice versa. Thick as thieves, they were. If anyone—be it Sansa, mother, or even Theon fucking Greyjoy—said anything against Jon, Arya would have her revenge. That much could be assured.'

'She sounds formidable,' Daenerys said, smiling. 'I should certainly like to meet her.'

'She was,' Robb said. 'But she hasn't been seen since the execution of my father.'

'Gods, I'm so sorry,' said Griff, putting a hand on Robb's shoulder, who shook his head.

'Maybe it's just wishful thinking or childish naiveté, or maybe both, but I can't help thinking that she's still alive somewhere. If something out there tried to kill her,' he continued, taking a small sip from , 'it would certainly have it's work cut out for them.'

'—So there I was, two and a half cups into the feast, with the princess making doe eyes—'

'Ha!' Griff interrupted, slamming down what must've been his sixth? Seventh goblet? 'Doe, get it? Like a stag?'

'Shush, Griff,' Daenerys scolded. Her cheeks were flushed and her stare was unsteady, but her smile had, in Robb's eyes, never looked prettier. 'Please Robb, carry on.'

'So, where was I? Oh. So the princess was making the big eyes at me on one side, and on the other side, Sansa was fawning—don't you dare, Griff—over Joffrey, little prick that he was, when a lump of meat flew through the air, hitting Sansa in the cheek and getting gravy everywhere—all over her face, all down her dress, and I'm fairly sure some got in the prince's eye. And so we all turned around, and what did we see?' He paused for a moment, both for suspense, and because his mind had, for a moment, gotten too hazy to actually remember what had happened.

'Well?' Griff asked.

'Arya!' he remembered at the last moment. 'Fork outstretched, making absolutely no effort to hide the fact that she'd just attacked the future queen—or so we thought then—of the Seven Kingdoms with a piece of lamb.'

Both his guests were in gales of laughter by now, but Daenerys was able to stop her laughter long enough to ask 'what happened next?'

'My mother was furious. Furious,' he emphasised. 'Jon had left the feast by now, tripping over his feet out of sheer drunkenness, and so it fell to me to take Arya to bed, with her making the excuse that Sansa was acting like a pillock Robb, you can't really blame me! And to be fair, I couldn't—after all, Sansa had been acting like a pillock.'

Griff wobbled for a moment before lurching to his feet, looking distinctly green. 'I, uh…I'm going to see if they've got any more ale anywhere on this tub.' With that, he left, staggering to the door, groaning all the while.

'Gods, I really do not think he needs any more ale. He was in an absolute state!' Daenerys said.

'Between me and you, your grace, I don't think we was truly going to fetch more ale. In fact, I think he'd going to get rid of rather a lot of ale.'

Daenerys said nothing for a moment, before the meaning of what Robb had said sunk in. 'Oh,' she said, her eyes widening. 'I see. Anyway, I thought I'd told you not to call me Your Grace.'

'My apologies, your grace,' he said, standing and mock bowing with a lopsided grin in his face.

'Gods, you're unbearable!' She walked over to him and swatted him lightly on the arm, but as she did so another wave hit the ship, sending her flying forward and putting her, for the second time in a few weeks, in direct horizontal contact with Robb Stark , who'd been knocked to the floor.

This time, however, neither made the effort to move—their cheeks flushed, their eyes slightly glassy, and their smiles slowly growing across their faces, both were exactly where they wanted to be at this very moment.

'We should probably get up,' Robb finally admitted, his breath caught in his throat.

'We probably should,' Daenerys replied.

'Do you want to get up, then?'

'Do you want me to, my lord?

'No, your grace.'

Her face slowly moved down to his, their lips touching briefly before she brought her face back. 'We shouldn't.'

'O-of course,' Robb stammered, still flustered by the queen on top of him. 'We shouldn't, you're right.'

They were both silent for a moment longer, still staring, before their lips clashed together hungrily as though both were trying to devour the other. He could've been there for a minute or for an hour—Robb found that simply didn't care.

'Well.' The voice of Griff struck like a bolt of lightning and Daenerys practically jumped to her feet, leaving Robb alone on the floor. 'That certainly wasn't what I expected to see. I was just coming to tell Daenerys that I was planning to head back to our ship. Of course, if you'd rather stay here—'

'No, no, I'll come with you,' she quickly replied. 'She looked at him quickly but avoided his eyes. 'Good night, my lord.'

'Your grace,' came the miserable reply as she walked out of the room.

'Sorry, Robb,' Griff said, offering him a hand up. 'If I'd known, I'd have given you another ten mi—'

'It's fine,' Robb interrupted. 'Good night, Griff.'

Griff smiled awkwardly—just as he had when he'd arrived for the first time—before he promptly left, giving the door frame a light tap as he did so and leaving Robb alone with his thoughts. The slight smell of sick that Griff had brought in continued to linger, and he found that it perfectly matched how he felt.

Stark, you fucking lackwit. How did a casual conversation about your brother end up with you necking a queen whilst her nephew was vomiting outside? How could you be so foolish?

Daenerys

How could you be so foolish?

The first dozen or so times she'd repeated that mantra before she'd fallen asleep, it'd been an explicit reference to kissing Robb Stark, and making a fool out of herself in front of her nephew. Now, however, it was about the amount of ale she'd drank, and that alone.

She'd drank before, of course; honeyed wine with meals at the magister's manse, that foul fermented mare's milk with the Dothraki, and more exotic beverages than she could even remember when ruling Meereen. Those instances, however, had always been in public, and therefore had always been ruled by one rule: moderation.

As such, she'd never experienced a true hangover, and was now fairly certain that she might soon die.

'Your grace.'

At the sound of Griff's voice she jumped, with the sudden movement sending up a sudden surge of bile, splattering the bed on which she was lying and the floor in equal measure, narrowly missing her nephew's boots as he hastily stepped back. Since reuniting with Drogon in the great grass sea, she'd been cursing the loss of her hair, but was now—for once—grateful for it, as it surely would've been soaked in the vomit.

'Gods,' she groaned. 'What do you want. And how the hell are you so, so…chirpy?'

'I grew up with sellswords and sailors, aunt. I've been drinking since I could hold a sword, and I've been holding swords since I could walk. Call it practice. No doubt our Northern companion is feeling similarly, given what Jon would say of Northerners and their drinking habits.' He shot her a smile which vanished immediately at her dark glare.

'Mention him again, Griff, and I'll…I don't know, burn you or something. I swear to the Seven.'

Griff sat down at the foot of her bed, making sure to avoid the pool of sick that was surrounding her, pushing over a bucket to the floor near her head. 'Fine,' he laughed. 'Anyhow, I'd only come to check up on you. I'll have your handmaiden sent to you and some discreet servants. Don't worry, aunt. We'll get you cleaned up and no one will be any the wiser.'

Daenerys resisted the urge to vomit again and gave him a weak smile. 'Thank you, Griff. Before you go…do you know how much longer we'll be at sea? This wretched rocking is turning my stomach, and I fear—' Her resistance gave out, and by the time her eyes were open again, the bucket was half full.

'We've been at sea for a week, aunt. It should be another three to five weeks at the least before we land in Sunspear, and then a month or so marching to the capital. '

'Seven hells. I trust our allies in the West are beginning to muster their forces?'

Griff nodded. 'From what Aegon told me, the forces led by Ned Stark and Robert Baratheon are at Riverrun, and they will march south upon our landing. The Tyrells are rushing home as we speak and will join us once we've crossed the Red Mountains, and of course the Dornish will meet us upon arrival. Jaehaerys and his wildlings, however, will remain in the North, keeping tabs on the situation at the wall. In short, we have the combined forces of five kingdoms, three fully grown and three infant dragons, a fair sized Dothraki horde, and 11,000 unsullied, most of which are fully trained. All in all, I'd say we're fairly well prepared for the war to come.'

Daenerys weakly smiled at Griff, afraid to do anything more. 'I'd agree with you, nephew. Not to mention, we still have our secret weapon.'

'Secret weapon, your grace?' he asked with a furrowed brow.

'Yes. Lord Tyrion once told me that Cersei Lannister had two redeeming features—her cheekbones, and her love for her children.'

'I don't see what we can do with either of them?'

'Why, we're going to see how much she truly loves her children. Tell me Griff, have you ever heard of Myrcella Baratheon?'

Jon

The past few days had been full of surprises—Selyse Baratheon's flayed body, Val and her wildling companions, finding and rescuing and the daughter of Stannis Baratheon from one of Ramsay's men, finding out that Stannis was dead, and realising that the Baratheon loyalists in the North were, well, not so loyal anymore. What had surprised him most, however, had been the speed with which his fist met Theon's face, and the sheer volume of the subsequent crack. The Ironborn had dropped to the ground almost immediately, groaning all the while, and Jon was able to turn his attention to a very familiar face.

Unfortunately, it had not been quite as familiar as he'd dared hope, and he found himself looking, not at Arya Stark, but rather at Jeyne Poole.

It didn't make any bloody sense.

'What—who…' He took a moment to compose himself. 'Can someone tell me what the fuck is going on?'

'Well,' began Theon from the ground, 'we—'

'Quiet, Turncloak,' he interrupted, his voice full of the promise of pain. He looked to his sister's old friend and gave her a smile. It was a grim thing, insincere and obviously meant to give some comfort, but her shoulders loosened ever so slightly. 'Jeyne. It's good to see you. Why don't you come with me, and tell me what happened?'

She remained silent but nodded, and he gestured for her to follow him. 'Ser Justin,' he said as he made his way to the door. 'See that Theon is kept under careful guard. He'd stab us in the back as soon as he'd breathe.'

The Crownland knight nodded, and with that Jon left the room, walking through the winding passages of the Dreadfort with Jeyne tailing him. She kept her distance, seemingly afraid of getting too close, flinching whenever he turned to look at her. She'd only met his eyes once, and Jon had a feeling that it wouldn't be happening much more anytime soon. They reached the chambers that Ser Justin had allocated Jon, and he gestured to the bed.

'Please, have a seat. Wine? Ale?'

Jeyne shook her head, and Jon elected to do the same. He kept his distance, pulling up a chair so that he'd be on the same level as her. It was a cold room, he noticed, with none of the warmth of Winterfell nor any of the cosiness that could be found once you'd adjusted to the cramped quarters. Still, he was sure that it was a far cry better than where she'd been.

Gods, she looked awful. Her face was little more than skin and bone, with dark circles under her eyes and thin white scars visible on her neck, cheeks, and forehead. She was still shaking and had not met his eyes. Worst of all, however, was her nose. Black ringed with purple ringed with pink as though a hole had been carved into her face, the signs of frostbite were clear. He'd seen it at the Wall of course, and even beyond—no matter how strong you were, once the cold got to you, it had already won. He could only pray that it wasn't too late.

'It's a relief to see you alive. After King's Landing, I'd assumed you were dead, so it brings me joy to see you alive. But how did you end up with that…that rat?' he asked, thinking back to the form of Theon Greyjoy, clutching at his nose whilst writhing on the floor.

'I-I was awful to you, Jon. I, I'm sorry,' she managed to say, before breaking into sobs.

'What?'

'I-In Winterfell. I was horrid to you, and Arya, and I'm so so sorry, I swear I never meant any of it, and please don't send me back—'

'Jeyne' he said, playing for time as he realised just out of his depth he was. Gods, why can't Sansa be here? She was always better at this kind of thing. 'It's all in the past. You're safe now, and I swear I won't send you back…there.'

Wherever "there" is.

She swallowed, but nodded and looked up at him, meeting his eyes for the second time since they'd met. They weren't the smug, self-assured eyes of a girl mocking the local bastard, hiding behind her best friend whenever it seemed like they might get in trouble. No, they'd seen things, and Jon dreaded to think just what.

'Jeyne, I know it's horrid to think of, but would you be able to tell me how you and Theon came to be here. It makes no sense, no matter which way I look at it.'

She nodded, before swallowing and uttering a single word.

'Baelish.'

'Baelish?'

'After our fathers…he was given control of me. I was taken to one of his bordellos. I was forced to do things, horrible things. Then once Sansa went North, he sent me after her, saying I was your sister. I was a contingency, I think—you know, in case things went wrong with Sansa. We'd barely got within a league of Winterfell, when bandits, or wildlings, or—I don't know. Either way, they found the men escorting me. I was told to run, and that they'd find me after, and then…Theon. He found me, and we've been making our way east since. We heard whispers that the Boltons were dead and that the Baratheons were in the Dreadfort, and so we figured that it was our safest bet. I suppose it was, in the end.' She smiled briefly, but her eyes saddened and her gaze returned to her feet. 'But it all started with Baelish.'

Arya had always been the angry one, with Rickon able to fall into black rages when he didn't get his way, and Robb always willing to righteously fight on behalf of others. At that moment, however, none of their anger could've come near to what Jon was now feeling—he wanted to dig up Baelish and kill him again, and again, and again, and—

'Baelish is dead, Jeyne,' Jon said mechanically, pulling himself out of his fantasy. Despite his willingness to kill the man himself, the fact that it had been his uncle Brandon to do it was oddly fitting, and Jon was frankly just glad that the weasel was dead. 'He'll never hurt you again.'

She smiled once more, but this time there was none of the prior fear or sadness in her eyes.

This time it was sheer joy, with an inkling of malice.

All Jon could do was smile back.

.

The second the girl touched solid ground, the smallest hint of a smile cracked her otherwise stoic face. There were none of the foreign curses or pungent aromas permeating the air as there'd been in the East; no, this was naught but salt and wind and—well, still curses, but at least they were in the common tongue now. She took one final look at the merman—rather than the titan, as she'd become accustomed to—flapping in the breeze, before taking the first step of what would likely be her final journey.

Arya Stark was home, and she had plenty of work to do.

A/N: Another chapter done! I already know that I'm gonna get a lot of complaints about this pairing, but just remember this: I don't give a shit. It's my story, and I'll do what I want. By all means, get in contact if you've got any particular issues with it, but bear in mind that it's very unlikely change anything. As always, feel free to favourite, follow, and review, and a massive thank you to those of you who have-you guys are why I'm motivated to write.

I'll try and update as soon as I can, but uni deadlines are starting to get more hectic, so I can't promise anything.

See you next time,

-Kinginthenorth1

Miguelgiuliano: I'm not even particularly a Daenerys fan, but I'm afraid that's not gonna happen-for the first time in her life, she has family, friends, and viable support in her plan of conquest. I know it makes you sad not to see an abused child die alone, but I guess you'll have to deal with it :(

Supremus85: I've also been treating The World of Ice and Fire book as semi-canon (since it's written by GRRM), and that refers to Aerys hearing about Rhaegar's death, and naming Viserys his heir. Not to mention, there's a fair amount of precedent in real life history in which a second born will be named heir, even if the late first-born has heirs of their own.

Mister LaGuardia: I probably did to be honest, I kind of assumed that they were synonyms so that's on me. I've been researching ancient Chinese, Mesopotamian, and Mycenaean battle strategy, so I just wanted to be able to use that when the Long Night come around.

Kingmanaena: Cheers!

Moshi: I've only shown the tip of the iceberg so far in terms of the first Long Night-nothing is necessarily as it seems, and there'll still be a lot to come. Not to mention, this Long Night isn't gonna go down in the same way as the first one.