For Blood and Wine are Red
Chapter Two: Winterfell
I've taken a good deal of artistic license with timing in this one – #sorrynotsorry canon ¯\_ (ツ)_/¯
This is more of a filler chapter than anything - this one lays the groundwork, folks. Who can guess the foreshadowing that's in this one?
Some kill their love when they are young,
And some when they are old;
Some strangle with the hands of Lust,
Some with the hands of Gold;
The kindest use a knife because
The dead so soon grow cold
The Wolf known as Wild Sister to the pack and Nymeria to the men was home. She had followed her girl, careful so that none would see-scent-hear her, so that she could rejoin the pack even if her girl didn't want her anymore. The angry older female that was always with her girl and Little Sister's girl didn't notice her, and neither did the man that had travelled south from the man-rock-den with them. But the new man, the one who was burnt and leaky, he knew she was there. She knew that he knew because he kept sneaking away from the night-den the men made each evening to leave out a little bit of food for her. She never ate it when he was there, but he always checked in the morning before their little band left. She maybe should have waited until the band left before eating the food, but she was hungry.
It didn't matter now, though. She had followed her girl home, and the Black Brother had helped her sneak into the man-rock-den, and then down into the cave that was beneath the den, where the bones of her girl's grandsires rested. There was her girl, and the Little Sister's, and Black Brother's boy and Older Brother's and Brindled Brother's. There was the littermate-who-wasn't, whose blood smelt like the white grains the men used on their feeds that tingled on a wolf's tongue when licked up, like the strange water that leaked from human eyes when they were sad.
The human pups were all cuddled together, just as the Wild Sister and her littermates had slept before they each drew to their own human. After sniffing at each of her littermates, the Wild Sister shuffled over to her girl and Little Sister's, and cuddled up between them herself. It had been a long time since they were home, and here she was going to stay.
Robb was the first to awaken the next morning. He was the acting Lord of Winterfell with both of his parents away, and even though he was so, so glad to have his sisters home again, he had duties her would need to attend. Each sibling was given a kiss to the forehead, Theon given a jab to the ribs, and each pup a scratch behind the ears before Robb realised that there was something off.
One-two-three-four-five humans. Two sisters, two brothers, one Theon.
One-two-three-four direwolves. Grey Wind, Summer, Shaggy. One-two-three-four. Grey Wind, Summer, Shaggy, and Nymeria.
"Theon," he hisses.
"What?"
"How many wolves do you count?"
"What? Three, fuck ya. Grey, Shaggy, Summer – shit."
"Yeah."
"How?!"
"She's Arya's, I think that's all the explanation we need, really."
"Fuck." Theon swipes a hand down his face, draws in a breath, and lets it out on a shaky exhale. "Do we try to hide her? Sansa won't be happy, and Arya won't be happy that she'll have to leave her behind again."
"She's followed them all the way back from the Riverlands, Theon, we can't separate them again!"
"Well she can't bloody well go back to Kings Landing, can she?" He snapped back. "The Queen was bloodthirsty enough that she took Lady despite her innocence. If Nymeria goes with the girls she'll die too!"
"Arya won't want to hide her. Neither will Rickon."
Theon swallowed, nodded, and gave Robb a nudge with his elbow. "I'll stay with the kids and talk them through it, then. You go be Lord of the Castle."
Robb smiled at him, clapped his shoulder, and left. Theon turned to survey the children and wolves behind him, and saw four little bodies stiffen in feigned sleep, Rickon giving a very convincing snore. The direwolves looked up at him with the biggest puppy eyes he had ever seen. Theon snorted at the lot of them.
"Well? How much of that did you hear?"
Another moment of silence, and then the Starks all slowly opened their eyes and eased themselves up onto their elbows or into sitting positions.
"Since you started counting the pups," Arya says lowly. Her grey eyes are shadowed, her head bowed, and her bottom lip trembled. "You're right, Theon. She can't come with me. She'll die."
"It's better if she stays with her pack," Sansa soothes, scratching the lone she-wolf behind her ears.
"We'll look after her, won't we, Theon?" Rickon asks him quickly.
"Aye, we will. If Septa or Clegane ask, though, she's a regular wolfpup I found in the woods for myself. Whilst they're here, and any letters we send to the capital, we'll call her, uh, Salty. Alright?"
"That's a stupid name," Arya grumbles, but her lips are twitching with humour instead of tears, so Theon will call it a win.
"It's a great name – you're just jealous you didn't think of it first." He says as snootily as he can, and is rewarded with laughter from all four of the little Starks.
"Can we break our fast now?" Rickon wines. "Shaggy and me are hungry!"
"Shaggy and I," Sansa corrects automatically.
"I'll carry you this time, Bran!" says Arya overtop of her sister, crouching and putting her back to Bran. Sansa and Rickon help to get him up on her back, and then again to help Arya to her feet.
Theon will almost certainly have to swap out with her once they reach the top of the stairs, if not half-way up, but they're all so cute when they're this earnest that he's loath to interrupt. Absently, he wonders if his brothers had ever done this for him back in the Iron Islands (definitely not), or perhaps even his sister (maybe once?).
In a fit of stubbornness and a created game to cheer Bran up even more, Arya manages to carry Bran up all the Crypt stairs, across the courtyard, and into the main keep. She is bent over and staggering by the time they reach the dinning hall, but refuses to hand Bran over to Theon. This is the most Theon has seen Bran smile since he woke up, and the first that he has seen the now-dour boy laugh, so he hasn't tried very hard to be convincing. They're all of them a giggly mess by the time they reach the top table where Robb is talking with the new steward, Larra Poole.
Robb's Lord Face cracks when he takes in their giggly group, and he gives them the biggest smile Theon has seen from him in – well, ever, he supposes. Grey Wind yips from Robb's side, and the three pups dancing about their feet yip back, tumbling over each other to get to the table first.
"Arya, maybe you should let Theon take Bran?" Robb says.
"Nope! He's my lord, and I'm his sworn shield, the Knight of the Heart Tree!" Arya gasps out, grinning brightly. Staggering as though she is well into her cups, Arya begins the now-long process of climbing the stairs to Bran's seat on Robb's right.
Larra hides a laugh behind her hand, and bobs her head to the little Starks. "My lords, my ladies, good morning! My ladies, if you please, how was my husband when last you saw him?"
"Vayon was well," Sansa answers, pulling out Bran's seat and helping him off of Arya's back. Rickon tugs out Arya's seat for her, where she collapses with a final giggle. "The company should be nearly level with Harrenhal by now, depending on how long the King spent at Castle Darry. Would you like me to have him write you a letter when we see him next?"
Larra smiled at them warmly. "I would love it if you could, my lady, but there is no great need so long as I know he is well. Lord Robb, the tax collection from this area …"
Urgh, numbers. Theon tuned back out again, and started helping the children with their meals. They had a long day of training ahead of them, after all.
"Ser Clegane!" Robb called across the training yard, Grey Wind and Ny– Salty at his heels. "A moment, if you please."
"I'm no ser," the Westerman growled, sheathing his tourney sword and stepping away from Jory. "Your sisters either use my name or call me Hound; I care not which you use."
Robb nods, dropping a hand between Grey Wind's ears for a scratch. "Very well. I wanted to thank you for your escorting of my sisters. Even up here, we have heard tales of your prowess in battle, Clegane."
A nod, before something like a nightmare's smirk crosses the big man's face. "The little one's wolf was following us, then?"
"Oh, you are mistaken," Robb says easily enough, dropping his other hand to the shewolf's head. "This is Salty, she's Theon's. Nymeria is lost in the Riverlands."
Clegane's eyes might be the same grey as Father's and Jon's and Arya's, but it full of so much anger and hatred that it may as well be another colour, they are so different.
"Don't lie to me, boy," he growled. "That wolf followed us back. The others mightn't have noticed, but I did." He spat on the ground, leading both Grey and Salty to growl warningly. "Keeping them up here is the smartest thing you could do, of course. The Little Bird and the She-wolf should have listened, when they were told to leave them behind the first time."
Robb's hands remove themselves from the wolves' ruffs, letting the two crouch down and their growls grow louder. "Have care how you speak of my sisters, ser," Robb growled, too. "and remember your station."
"Oh, aye. The grandson of a kennelmaster has no business with daughters of a Warden, except to keep them alive. Listen well, boy – Kings Landing is a cesspit of liars and vipers. They'll be glad of me and my ugly truths when they reach the capitol."
"It's your masters who are dragging my family South!" Robb snapped at him. "It was the Lannisters who pushed Bran from that tower, and the Lannisters who ordered that boy's death, and the death of my sister's Direwolf!"
A baring of teeth from a blackened face; "And it was the Lannisters who rose my family to nobility. No doubt, it will be the Lannisters who will lower us again, if my damned brother doesn't do it first."
"My Lords," Both start apart at the sound of Sansa's voice. Her blue eyes are hard as Ice. "If I might interrupt – Robb, you are wanted in Father's solar, there's a raven for you from the Rills. Sandor Clegane, since you have finished here, might you walk with me a turn in the Godswood? It seems that I am misinformed regarding my betrothed's holdings. Would you be so kind as to educate me?"
Sheepishly, the two men back away from each other. Robb gave her a kiss on the cheek, called to Grey Wind and made for the Keep. Salty stayed at Sansa's heels, and she stared at Sandor until he cleared his throat and offered his arm. Dipping an elegant curtsy, Sansa placed her hand in the crook of his elbow and steered him around.
"This way, if you please, my lord."
"I'm not a –!"
"I don't care," Sansa snapped overtop of him. "My wolf is dead by my hand, my brother is crippled at the hands of my future godsfamily, and has already suffered assassinations attempts. Now, pray tell me about Kings Landing, if you please."
Dear Jon,
Arya and I have briefly returned to Winterfell, and await Lord Tyrion's return before we shall sail from White Harbour to Kings Landing. There was an incident on the Trident which lead to Lady's death; I've buried her in the lichyard. Nymeria will remain in Winterfell with Theon, though for her own safety she has been renamed 'Salty', for the time being.
Do you perhaps have any tips or tricks with the sword that you might recommend to Arya? She is trying to learn in secret, and I am doing what I can to prevent others from finding out. Septa doesn't know, but I think that Joffrey's Shield, Sandor Clegane, is aware of what we are doing, and is pretending not to. He was gracious enough to escort us home, along with Jory, and the both will travel by ship with us, as well.
If either yourself or Uncle Benjen have any tips on how best to handle or hide a knife, I would appreciate it.
All of my love to you both,
Your sister,
Sansa Stark
Post Script,
Rickon wants you to know that he has lost the first of his milkteeth and shall soon be a man grown. He and Shaggy will come to visit you once they're big enough.
Dear Jon,
I've kept Needle hidden, and have been trying to practice swords with my friends. Mycah and me were practicing on the Trident when Joffrey and Sansa came up, and Joffrey started hurting Mycah, so I smacked him, and when he went to cut me down Nymeria bit him really badly. We hid in the forest for days, and Jory helped me scare her away – we threw rocks at her, and I felt so terrible, I hit her twice! – but she followed Sansa and me back to Winterfell. The queen ordered Lady to die in Nymeria's place, but Father wouldn't let Ser Ilyn do it, so Sansa said she'd do it, because Lady was her direwolf. Us and Septa and Jory and the stupid Hound (he killed Mycah!) brought Lady back to Winterfell, and Sansa buried her herself. Nymeria followed us, so Theon is going to look after her for me. If Septa asks, she's a regular wolf that he found in the woods and took a liking to, and her new name is Salty. Urgh!
Robb and Jory have been training me in secret. It's easy now, because Mother has gone south to tell Father that it was the Lannisters that pushed Bran out of the tower – the queen again – and no one else except for Septa will stop me if they find out. The training was even Sansa's idea! Theon and Robb think that Joffrey was going to rape her on the Trident, so now she's trying to learn knife fighting, since she still has Father's dagger from when she had to kill Lady. She's sewn it into her cloak, but I think she wants to hide it somewhere else, for when she can't wear the cloak, like in the South. Do you have any ideas?
Have you climbed the Wall yet? Have you gone Beyond yet? Do you like the Wall? Have you made any friends? Do you miss me – I miss you lots and lots! Sansa's alright now that she's helping me with swords, but she's still not you.
Love, Arya
Dear Robb,
Tyrion Lannister left the Wall for Winterfell yesterday, and I only received the girls' letters this morning.
Brother, what the fuck. Why do you think that Joffrey was going to rape Sansa? Is she alright? She and Arya both mentioned that she's encouraging Arya's sword training, and that she has taken up knives herself. My advice to both of them remains the same – stick them with the pointy end – but for genuine stances and grips, I will leave to yours and Jory's capable hands. Maybe one day I can travel to collect more Brothers, as Yoren is now, and I can train with them in person. I am so sorry to hear about Lady – if I ever go ranging, I will be sure to look for another pup, just for her, should she wish it.
Uncle Benjen has just gone Beyond the Wall, and I am not permitted to do so myself until I have sworn my vows to the Nights Watch, and until I am placed amongst the Rangers. As it stands, I am trying to assist in the training yard here, as Ser Alliser Thorn's methods consist entirely of screaming at the recruits to hit each other harder. To answer Arya's questions, I'd like to think that I've made friends here, but I know I've made just as many enemies for who and what I am (don't tell the girls this, though, I don't want them to worry). I have looked over the top of the Wall with Uncle Benjen, and I have never seen so far before. I would love to have been able to share it with Bran and Arya – maybe when they're older?
I'm glad to hear that Bran is awake, and am sorry about his legs. Is he alright? I know how much it must hurt him, to no longer be able to climb. I hope that you and Rickon have been able to cheer him up, though I know you must be busy. Please give them both hugs for me, and tell Rickon that he can have whatever of my things remain, as he will soon be a man grown; I'm sure he'd like that! Please tell Arya that I do miss everyone as well, and look forward to when we can all visit each other.
All of my love,
Jon Snow
They have cobbled together a cart for Bran to sit on, using Summer, Shaggydog and Nymeria Salty to draw it from place to place. Arya or Sansa carry him up and down the stairs whilst the other helps Rickon carry the cart. Sansa works harder at distracting Septa Mordane, so that Arya can practice the bow with the two little boys – Bran can still use his arms. Sansa spins stories for her little brothers, of how Bran can still be a knight, how he will be able to ride Summer into battle when the wolves are fully grown and will one day sweep a fair maiden off her feet with his daring and chivalry.
Their training sessions are always very early in the morning, down in the Crypts where none but the Starks go. Robb trains Rickon and Arya together, as they both of them favour their left hand, and it is easier for him to watch them fight each other and correct their grips than to try and fight either of them himself. Theon trains Sansa and Bran to both hold and fight with knives, and on how to throw them. Sansa is considerably better at the latter than the former, which drives both boys mad: if she is throwing her weapon aside, then what will she do if she misses, or there are more enemies? Arya's 'sage' advice had been to collect more weapons, but there are only so many places one can hide weapons upon one's person if one wishes to keep them hidden.
They are together for nearly a week before Lord Tyrion finally arrives, with two men-at-arms and a Black Brother. Bran and Rickon had been begging stories from Old Nan, whilst Arya and Sansa had been helping Robb order the finances with Septa and Larra. When the guards announce who is at the gates, Robb quickly gathers his siblings into the Great Hall, himself in the Lord's seat with the boys seated to the left, and the girls seated to the right; Grey Wind, Summer and Shaggydog lay in front of the topmost table, and Salty watches from behind the raised platform, nose just visible behind Arya's skirts. Maester Luwin sits to the left of Rickon, Septa Mordane to the right of Arya, and Theon stands at Robb's right shoulder. A dozen guardsmen line the room, Sandor Clegane amongst them.
"I must say, I received a slightly warmer welcome on my last visit." Lord Tyrion says archly once he and his company are allowed into the Hall.
"Any man of the Night's Watch is welcome here at Winterfell for as long as he wishes to stay," Robb greets them in his own Lord's Voice.
"Any man of the Night's Watch," the dwarf repeated, "but not me, do I take your meaning, boy?"
"I'm not your boy, Lannister. I'm Lord of Winterfell whilst my Mother and Father are away."
"If I may, Lord Tyrion," Sansa interjects, voice soft but still clear to all within the room. "As it pleases my lord, my sister and I wish to travel South with you. There is a ship awaiting us at White Harbour; if the tides are kind, we may even beat the royal party to Kings Landing."
He hums, looking at her with his strange, mismatched eyes. "You would do well to learn your sister's courtesies, Robb Stark. It seems that she and your bastard brother have all of your father's graces."
"Jon," Bran and Arya gasp together, before both visibly gather themselves again.
Those mismatched eyes latched onto Bran's face, then. "So it is true, that you live. I could scarce believe it – you Starks are hard to kill!"
Growls kicked up from Grey Wind and Shaggy, at that. Overtop of them, Robb says, "You Lannisters had best remember that."
Another hum, and then, "Forgive me, my ladies – I thought that you travelled with the royal company."
Sansa dips her head, courteous behind her Lady's Armour, whilst Arya tries to school herself in her own Lord's Face. "We had a personal matter to attend to before we could truly leave the North, my lord. When would it suit you for our company to depart?"
The courtesies seem to surprise the lord of Lannister, and Sansa cannot help but wonder when was the last time that someone had seriously offered him the respect of his station. "I imagine that you would wish to rejoin with your father and betrothed as soon as possible, Lady Sansa. How about we leave upon the morrow?"
Sansa subtly elbows her sister beneath the table, and together they say, as it pleases my lord.
"Oh. Ah, thank you, my ladies. Uh hum, do you like to ride, Bran?"
"Yes. Well I mean, I did like to."
Gently, Maester Luwin says, "The boy has lost the use of his legs, my lord, he cannot ride."
"With the right horse and saddle, even a cripple can ride," Tyrion snaps, only for Bran to snap back himself,
"I'm not a cripple!"
"Then I am not a dwarf, my father will rejoice to hear it! I have a gift for you." He moves to step forward, only for the three wolves at the front of the dias to rise with snarls, Shaggy slinking forward with his jaws slavering.
"Boys!" Sansa calls, voice like a whipcrack in the sudden silence that the wolves' reaction has caused. The three wolves in front of her look guiltily over their shoulders. "Behave, please."
Grey Wind sinks back down to his belly, Summer huffs and steps forward to delicately take the scroll from Tyrion's outstretched hand, and Shaggy whines piteously. Sansa eyes the black wolf until he grumbles and sits on his haunches once again, licking his chops. Summer hands the scroll to Bran, who unrolls it and shows the images to Robb.
"Give that scroll to your saddler. He'll provide the rest." Tyrion says to Bran, before turning to Robb again. "You must shape the horse to the rider. Start with a yearling, teach it to respond to the reigns and to the boy's voice."
"Will I really be able to ride?" Bran asks, voice soft. "Can I alter this, to fit Summer when he's big enough?"
"You will. You can. On horseback or wolfback, you'll be as tall as any of them."
Excited now, Bran turns to look at Sansa with shining eyes. "It's like you said, I could be a knight yet!"
"You will have to work very hard, dear brother," Sansa answers him, giving him the softest smile she can, and holding her tears back. Robb takes the scroll and looks it over, nods to himself and hands the scroll to Theon, who passes it over the boys' heads to Maester Luwin.
"What is Bran to you?" Robb asked slowly. "Why should you want to help him?"
"Your brother Jon asked it of me. And I have a tender spot in my heart for cripples and bastards and broken things." Tyrion placed a hand over his heart and grinned cheekily.
"Thank you for your kindness, Lord Tyrion," Arya says stiffly before beginning the speech that Sansa had made her learn upon the news that the dwarf would soon reach their home. "The hospitality of Winterfell is yours. There is bread and salt for you and yours, and rooms have been prepared for all, if it pleases you."
Rickon took the spiel back up again, the final piece that he had spent all week rehearsing with Robb and Sansa both. "You'll find no lack of hot water to wash off the dust of the road. I hope that you will all honour us at table tonight." He kept his own Lord's Face about him until the spiel was finished, and unfortunately ruined the image with a bright, gap-toothed smile levelled at his eldest siblings, Did I say it right? a piping stage whisper that all could hear as clear as day. Everyone hid their chuckles so as to not insult the six-year-old, and Robb responded very solemnly that Rickon had, indeed, said his piece correctly.
Beaming, Rickon adds, "I'm nearly a man grown now, Robb, I'll show them where to go! Septa, Shaggy, c'mon!"
Chuckling, the men of the Watch and Lord Tyrion's party take their leave, and the guardsmen slowly trickle out themselves, until it is only those on the high table left. With a moan, Sansa hides her face in her hands, taking deep breaths that match up to Robb's.
"Seven hells," Arya gasps out, slouching in her seat. Theon takes Rickon's with a groan of his own.
"She's right," Robb says. "That could have gone both far better and far worse."
"You came on too strong," Sansa whispered. "You made it obvious that you had no love for him or his House."
"They pushed Bran out of a window! They tried to kill him twice!" Arya snaps in Robb's defence.
"And we're about to travel with him! Live with his House, his family! What will they do to us, Arya, think!" Shaking, she whispers again, "If Joffrey was going to do that, if the Queen ordered that, if the Lannisters are responsible for this? I don't want to give them any reason to do anything else, to us or to Father or anyone."
"Maybe I should go with the girls," Theon offers. "Keep training them, keep them safe."
"Father lost his big brother in Kings Landing, I will not be the same!" Sansa snapped.
Everyone is quiet, and Theon is flushed a brilliant scarlet. Arya is the first to recover.
"She's right, you need to stay and look after Robb and the babies."
"I'm not a baby, I'm two years younger than you!" Bran snapped back.
Arya stuck her tongue out, before saying, "Anyway, it would be even less safe for you, Theon. Your uncles set Lannisport afire, I heard the red-cloaks talking about it at the feast."
"I must agree with Arya and Sansa," Maester Luwin chipped in. "Your father's rebellion made no friends and many enemies for the Iron Islands, and especially House Greyjoy."
"A lady's armour is her courtesies," Sansa says. "Arya, you'll really have to work with Septa on the sail down. If we can present a united front, maybe we'll be alright – or at least, we won't make as much trouble for Father."
There is a mulish twist to Arya's mouth that they all recognise.
"Joffrey's already seen me playing at swords, he won't believe it."
"Then I just won't let him near you," Sansa snaps, grabbing Arya's hand tightly. "You are my little sister. You're strange and annoying and we are as different as night and day, but you are my sister, and I won't let any harm come to you. I swear it, by the Old Gods and the New!"
The look Arya gives her is just as fierce. "And I swear the same. Jory can keep training me in secret, and when we get to Kings Landing, we can find someone else as well. We're wolves too, we're a pack, which means that we protect each other."
"Thank you for your courtesy, Lord Rickon," Tyrion says, amused. The boy is near the spitting image of his eldest brother, with the same red curls and bright Tully eyes. His great black pup slinks at his heels, eyeing Tyrion hungrily. Any time the wolf moves as though to take a snap at Tyrion – and it is only ever him, he's been paying attention! – the youngest Stark puts out a hand before the motion has even fully begun. Curious.
Tyrion had made sure that he was the last one shown to his rooms, so that he might try and speak with the little lord and find out what, exactly, is going on in Winterfell.
The boy bows at Tyrion with a big, gap-toothed smile and smug satisfaction. The Septa behind him looks to be tossing between amusement and despair. Having seen the other Stark children, Tyrion isn't surprised. One out of six successfully courteous children was a terrible figure for a septa.
"You're welcome," The little lord pipes. "Sorry about Shaggy; he's trying to protect Bran."
Raising his eyebrows, Tyrion asks, "Apologies, my lord, I don't understand. I have brought designs to help your brother ride again."
Rickon sinks his hand into his direwolf's ruff, blue eyes sharpening into something cold. "Summer told Shaggy, and Shaggy told me, when I was sleeping. Your littermates threw my brother from the tower. They sent an assassin who tried to kill Bran, but hurt Mother instead. They tried to hurt Sansa, ordered Nymeria's death, and killed Lady in her place. That's why the wolves don't like you. Good night, Lord Tyrion." With that the boy departs again, leaving the shocked Septa behind with Tyrion.
"He – he doesn't mean it, my lord," The old woman finally tries. "The boy is young yet, with such an imagination!"
"Yes, I remember being that young myself," He answers slowly. "Goodnight, Septa."
Even with as great an imagination as a child of six might possess, Tyrion doubted that the boy had made that up himself. Which meant that the accusations had to come from somewhere. Lady Stark wasn't here, of that, Tyrion was sure. So where she could have gone, and why? What lead Robb Stark – who had previously at least been courteous to Tyrion – been an ill-made remark away from running Tyrion through? What had happened on the road, that had led his sweet sister (for who else could have given such an order?) to demand the head of a Stark Direwolf?
Curious, indeed!