King of Winter, King of Rivers; King of Ice and Snow
Chapter Nine: Black Bird, Black Moon, Black Sky, Black Light
The literal best sentence I've ever had a roommate say to me when I'm talking GoT fic: Daenaerys is basically a Karen, and the only reason she isn't looking for management is because she IS management, and HE AIN'T WRONG! This is glorious.
Have I butchered my own timeline? Yes. Do I care? Not really. Did I play DnD the night before I wrote Rickon's section? Yes, why do you ask?
Sansa Stark
One is for Sorrow,
who was with her physical body in Riverrun, as was her second,
Two is for Mirth.
Three for a Wedding
was beyond the Wall with Jon, and
Four for a Birth
was with the little boys in the wilds of the North.
Five is for Laughing
is in the Riverlands too, careful to hear everything while not being seen, and
Six is for Crying
is doing much the same in the Vale.
The difference is what they are seeing. Phing is in the Riverlands. Phing is at the Twins, has helped her to scribe the letters that were ferried by horse instead of by raven. Phing has been so very, very careful in the herbs that she has dropped into Lord Walder's cups, not too much and not too obvious, not where anyone can see. In between wargings yesterday when they travelled from the Hall to Riverrun, Sansa had been asking Talisa about her knowledge of poisons and their antidotes. If there was one good thing Sansa had learnt in Kings Landing, it was how to gently coax out the answers she wanted, without letting the other conversationalist be aware of what they had given away.
By the time that Arya and her companies reach The Twins, old Walder Frey will be bedbound if not outright deceased.
This is not the actions of someone her father would be proud of. This is not the sort of actions Mother will be proud of. This is not the actions that will win Robb's favour. However coldblooded these actions are, they are not without purpose. Sansa's little sister is at stake, and this is not something or someone she is willing to risk.
Lord Walder was going to murder the Northern forces under Guest Rite. He was going to have them all murdered at a wedding, and he would have done so cheerfully. He is old and envious and prideful and ill-tempered, and he is cruel. His maybe-son-maybe-great-great-grandson Elmar, to whom Arya has been betrothed, is not too much better, and had squired for Roose (somewhat briefly) besides.
There isn't much Sansa won't do to protect her family.
From what Phing has reported, and from the rumours Sansa has collected, it appears as though the previous heir-apparent to The Twins, Stevron Frey, had been their best bet. Should Lord Walder pass before Sansa and Robb's carefully worded scroll and rider reaches The Twins and the Lordship fall to Lord Stevron, then all the better as far as Sansa is concerned. The only problem was that Lord Stevron had passed due to injuries gained in the Battle of Oxcross; his son and heir, Ryman, and his sons, Edwyn and Black Walder, were somehow as terrible as old Walder. Stevron's third son, Walton, wasn't terrible, and considering the rest of the House was fairly decent, but even still… Sansa can make herself take one life. She is not quite ready to try and take more in such an underhanded way, just yet.
The scroll in question is offering a reignition of the marriage contracts, with proposals of Lord Paramount Edmure Tully's hand to one of Lord Walder's daughters, and Princess Arya Stark's hand (and her new seat of Harrenhall) to one of his sons in exchange for the Frey armies. Lord Walder has yet four unmarried daughters who's hand he might offer, though his only real options are either Lady Tyta (roughly of an age with Uncle Edmure) or Lady Roslin (a year younger than Robb) as the other two are both younger than Sansa. Arya is a bit more, ah, spoilt for choice: seven sons of Lord Walder remain unwed with the oldest (Ser Perwyn) of an age with Uncle Edmure, and the youngest (Elmar) a year younger than Arya herself. Sansa doesn't know which Lord the Frey's might put forward, but she hopes that it works. Oh, she hopes – she has prayed for nearly an hour in the Godswood this morning, in the grey of predawn.
Cry has not been as fortunate in the information that he has provided. Sansa's sixth warg familiar has been watching the Eyrie, taking in every little piece of gossip that he possibly could, whilst they await Baelish's fast-approaching return to the East. Sansa still isn't sure what she's going to do about him and his lies and his treason, either.
"Isn't this a little early for prayer, sister?" Robb's voice says softly from behind her. When she turns from the Heart tree to face him, he looks no more rested than he had yesterday.
"I needed advice," she whispers back with a shrug.
"Want to share?"
"… There's so much, Robb."
"I know. But, that's why there's so many of us, now, isn't it? We can share our problems amongst the pack."
Sansa drew in a deep breath, held it and then released it as a massive sigh. "I have three main problems: Jon, the Freys, and Lord Baelish."
"What's wrong with Jon?!"
"He took his vows to the Night's Watch," Sansa whispered. "He's a deserter, Robb, and you already spared Mother when the law required you to take her head, you can't spare Jon without making it look like you adhere to double standards! And then I don't know if the Freys will take our contracts or if they will try and double cross us, at which point can we even afford to split our forces enough to take The Twins? And never mind that I don't know the full extent of what Petyr Baelish has done, and I may not even be able to appeal to cousin Robin and Aunt Lysa for justice for Father!"
Robb gathers her into his arms and hugs her tightly, one hand firm on the back of her neck and the other around her back and shoulders like a brace. This is what she had wanted so desperately, the arms of her big brother and the sense that finally someone else can be in charge. Sansa gasps in a shuddering breath and clings to him, tries her best not to cry and attempts to stop her shakes, but Robb only hugs her to him tighter.
When she finally calms, he says, "Let's go and have some tea with Talisa and work on it together, alright?"
Sansa nods back with a sniff, waits a moment while he offers his own prayers to the Old Gods, takes his hand when he offers it, and follows her eldest brother back into the castle.
Robb Stark
Talisa is bent over a thousand and one notes left to her by the other healers, writing up inventories and suppliers that they can inquire with in order to help keep their army marching. When Robb enters with Sansa tucked under his arm, he directs his sister to sit next to his wife, who only pays them a brief moment of attention. Grey Wind flops down in front of the door with a whoomph of displaced air, Sorrow and Mirth fluttering a bit before hopping onto his back to start grooming through his heavy pelt.
"That was a fast prayer – tea?"
"Please, your grace," Sansa says in a soft voice, which catches Talisa's attention faster than their arrival had. Robb isn't sure what he missed – was it the formal address? – but suddenly Talisa is out of her seat and taking Sansa's hands, looking deep into her eyes.
"Adelphḗ, what has happened?"
Robb takes up the teapot, checks the waterlevel and the leaves in the strainer, and pours a cup for himself and one for his sister. They don't have honey for Sansa's tea, and they can't excuse the amount of milk he normally prefers in his own cup, so he gives them both an extra sugar cube to compensate.
Sansa draws in a deep breath, takes ahold of the cup that Robb hands her, and looks into its watery depths before she finally whispers, "I don't know what to do. Jon is technically a deserter, and thus must eventually be treated as such. The Freys need to pay for their planned treason, but we also need to soothe ruffle feathers of the broken contract, and really there are so few of them in that cursed family that can be trusted to hold to any future dealings that it would be so much easier if pox just took all of the terrible ones! And! I still don't have the information I need to deal with Petyr Baelish and his lies, and I –!"
"Breathe, adelphḗ." Talisa says firmly, hands tightening around Sansa's. Robb takes a seat next to Sansa, leaning their shoulders together. "Let's leave Jon until later, alright? We'll concentrate on what we can fix immediately, and the rest should fall together afterwards. Now tell me about the Freys again – Robb, where's the map?"
"Under your notes," he tells her dryly, standing again and shifting Talisa's paperwork into a single, steady pile off to the side so that his map is visible again. He also takes a blank sheet of paper and an inkwell and quill back to Sansa so that she can sketch out her ideas, if she needs it. She's like him in that regard, finding it easier to order her thoughts with a physical representation.
"Go on, adelphḗ – the Freys?"
"Lord Walder was just as much a part of the planned treason as Lord Roose," Sansa hiccupped. "Lord Elmar, to whom Arya was originally betrothed to, briefly squired for the Leech Lord, even. We need to distribute justice, but we also can't deny that, to a very extreme extent, House Frey was an injured party searching for retribution. We need justice but we can't be seen distributing justice."
"If only there was a plague to come down upon The Twins," Talisa joked softly, "That would clear up all of our problems!"
Robb gives his wife a look, but Sansa stops moving for a moment, stops breathing, and then looks at Talisa. "Would that be a viable tactic in Essos?"
"It has been in the past, certainly."
Sansa licks her lips, and whispers, "Would you be able to engineer something my ravens could drop in the water, that could replicate a minor sickness?"
Talisa hummed. "Probably – yes, I think so. And then as a gesture of good will, I could go to The Twins and help "treat" the afflicted."
Robb holds his tongue, counts to three, and then says, very softly, "Hypothetically, of course. This doesn't leave this room."
His wife and eldest sister both nod back immediately.
"I have something that can cause fevers, chills, and minor dysentery." Talisa offers. "On it's own it's not enough to kill someone, but if you were to slip extra doses to those we need to remove?"
Robb nods at her. "Good, that will just look like a bug someone has brought in on accident and spread quickly – they're not wholly uncommon."
"Can your ravens drop it in wells without being caught?" Talisa asked of Sansa, who nodded hesitatingly. "Good. I can have a light dose ready within the half-hour, so with a fast raven you should be able to beat the horseman with the scroll."
Sansa gasps in a desperate breath, a half-breath away from tears, and whispers, "It isn't too underhanded?"
"It is fair," Talisa says firmly, voice like a whip. "Guest Rite is important to your people, and yet they were going to break it – they were going to commit mass murder and treason at a wedding. In my country, this is simply what we call reciprocation."
"If Father's ghost is to haunt anyone for this, Sansa, it will be me for endorsing the play," Robb says softly, hand on her shoulder. She shakes her head back at him, eyes glistening.
"I've already started trying to poison old Walder," she choked out, barely more than a breath. "I've been slipping herbs and berries from The Twins' Maester's collection into his wine, so that they will blame each other for his death."
"Very good!" Talisa praises immediately. "This is more than just a war of the battlefield, adelphḗ, this is a war of politics too! And," she begins, voice turning sly, "in Volantis, did you know that we call ravens "wolf birds"? Ravens let wolves know where a fresh kill or possible prey are, and they share the meal together. That's you, adelphḗ – finding our enemies and leading the wolves to them."
Sansa licks her lips, nods, but remains shrunk into herself.
"It isn't pleasant," Robb agrees with her. "And I'm sorry that you're the one who has to do this, Sansa – but thank you. Without you, I don't know how this war would be going."
Sansa shakes her head, looks up with terror clear on her face, and whispers, "The Red Wedding would have been carried out, and you would be dead."
"And it is thanks to you that it is not." Robb says firmly. "Talisa, can you start on your poison while we work on the other problems, please?"
His wife smiles beautifically, rises and moves about her personal stores of herbs, gathers dried ingredients and a leaf and sap-glue, and something from the special box of Essosi material she normally keeps in their quarters or on her person, and always under lock and key.
"Alright, Sansa – that's one of your problems. What're the other two?"
Another hiccup, and Sansa choked out, "Jon. He's a deserter."
"Could an argument be made that he was acting as a diplomat between the King of the North, the Night's Watch, and the King-Beyond-the-Wall?"
"I don't think so – he was with the Free Folk for a while before I was able to contact him, and it was a while longer before I could pass the information on to you. We could lie, but there were too many Free Folk who saw him, and I'd rather no more deceit if we could."
"Did he join them willingly, or as a spy? I can't imagine Jon would break his vows without a good reason, even for something as terrifying as what you have reported Beyond the Wall."
"I don't have the ability to ask those questions, and Jon doesn't have the freedom to –" Sansa stopped, frowned, then said, "Ygritte said something about that yesterday, she kept saying how Jon was loyal."
"Well, he is," Robb said back, scruffing a hand through his hair. "Could we spin it that he joined the Free Folk on orders of a higher-ranked brother to spy, but after seeing the Others he started working towards their protection?"
"I think that is what happened," Sansa mused softly. "But, again, I don't have the ability to communicate that to him, or find a way to give him a speech that might keep him alive. Bran is the only one who can share the ravens with me, and Jon is the only one who has yet to join the wolfcall."
"Bran and Rickon think that the Wall is interfering with Jon's ability to join the call, Summer and Shaggy say that they can just feel Ghost on the edges of their minds now that they're so close to the Wall." Robb adds, reaching for his tea cup again, only to pause. "Sansa. The Wall interferes with us and Jon's connection, but you have Ding over the Wall. Why is that?"
"Why can I share a space with Bran, but no one else?" Sansa asked back, shrugging. "Why can we warg at all? I don't know, brother."
"Could Bran duck over the Wall, just a bit, and see if he can't reach Jon?" Talisa asked from where she was carefully measuring ingredients. "If he can connect to Jon through the wolfcall, then maybe you can share your knowledge that way?"
"I can ask," Sansa shrugged.
"Actually Sansa, as a sidenote," Robb said. "Have you ever tried to connect to Bran when he's in the wolfcall? Could you join via Bran's connection?"
"… I don't think so… I only mean, Bran can hear what I say in my head and we can push thoughts or memories at each other, but it isn't as though I'm truly connected to him, as you are in the wolfcall…"
Robb grunted and turned back to the map. "Even still, Talisa has a point. After we are done here, call to Bran and see if you can't convince him to try."
"I will. That's – that's all that we can do for Jon now, isn't it? Anything more and it would appear as though you are too soft on your family."
Robb grimaces – why does Sansa keep being right – but nods. "Your final problem – what is this about Petyr Baelish?"
Sansa sneered. "He spread rumours about Kings Landing of how he had taken Mother's maidenhead," Rage licked up Robb's spine. "And Sandor believes that it was he who put the idea of executing Father in Joffery's head." Wolfsblood roars in his ears.
"He did what?!"
His shout causes Talisa to jolt and fumble the glass vial she had just taken from her box of Essosi materials.
Sansa looks up at him with cold blue eyes. "All of Kings Landing knows that the maidenhead of both Tully sisters was taken by Petyr Baelish. He is responsible for Father's death. Father was bound for the Wall, and then Littlefinger spoke with Joffery, and then he was dead."
"And what is Baelish doing now, sweet sister?"
"Once Joffery is wed to Margaery Tyrell he will sail to the Vale with the intentions of marrying Aunt Lysa. They expect his ship to dock in the next few weeks. If I leave tomorrow and travel fast, I should reach the Eyrie before he does, and before he has the chance to follow through with the marriage."
"Do you know what you will say to sway Aunt Lysa to allow for Northern justice?"
"I'm still thinking on it – Cry can only retrieve so much information for me, and I can only watch periodically. Mother and Uncle Brynden have already tried to convince them to join the War effort, so if familiar connection didn't work, I can only hope that logic and politics will. I'm to meet with Mother and go over exactly what she remembers of her last visit to the Eyrie."
"I'll draw up a formal letter requesting assistance from Lord Robert Arryn, calling upon our familiar bond and the bonds that our fathers shared."
"As I understand it, Aunt Lysa is very much the main deciding factor at the Eyrie. Lord Robert is young and manic and spoilt."
"Well, fuck. Are you sure that you only want to go with only Clegane and your birds? At least take Alysane or Lyra Mormont with you, please."
"The more in our company, the slower we will be."
"True, but that's why I'm only asking you to take one other human with you. Arya would like you to take two or three of her wolves, just in case. They won't slow you at all."
Sansa hums, then finally says, "The wolves can come – two of the sharpest, so that they can help act as guards in the nights. I would still rather it just be Sandor and myself, but if Sandor and I could meet with the Ladies Mormont this morning and speak with Lady Alysane and Lyra, I'll see if either would be able to keep up with us or willing to ride with us."
"I'll send a runner to invite them to break fast with us later," Robb says, finishing off his cup of tea. "Talisa? How are you doing?"
His wife smiles brilliantly and holds up a folded-over leaf, of all things. "Whenever your ravens are ready, Sansa, this is the first dose. If this can be dropped in one of the wells at The Twins, I'll have the second ready to go in another three hours to allow a bit of time for the first to take effect. The third and fourth will be ready to go another three hours after that, to go to Seagard and the Green Fork to further replicate the progress of a minor sickness."
Sansa nods back. "I'll have some of the Hall's birds ready to go for you then. Until then, shall we try and find the others to break fast with?"
Robb rises, one hand moving to Sansa's nape and the other held out to take Talisa's free hand. "Very well. My Queen, my princess, let us adjourn – I believe we are in need of food and more tea, if we are to have a successful rest of the day."
Bran Stark
"Osha isn't going to like this." Bran tells Sansa firmly, once she has said her piece.
"What won't I like?" Osha growled from the cookfire, hands paused half-way through skinning a rabbit.
"Sansa and Robb think that if Summer and I duck over the Wall, I might be able to catch Jon in a wolfcall."
"No," Osha snarled immediately.
"It would only be quick!" Bran said immediately. "And once I'm done we'd duck back again!"
"Little Lord, I swore I would never go back," Osha snapped. "I'm not happy about you going at all, but now you want to go twice? No!"
"You can stay here with Rickon, I won't be long! Just long enough for Summer and I to reach out to Jon and Ghost!"
Osha made an inarticulate noise of rage. "It isn't safe!"
"Jon's life is in danger!" Bran bit back. "He's not safe! Osha, once I start moving towards the Three-Eyed Raven, I won't be able to do anything for my siblings! Let me have this!"
"The Nightfort is right there," Rickon snapped. "There's a passage through it, we can sneak through and sneak back, we can have walls around us when we go to bed tonight! Osha, please, please let us go, just to try!"
Osha turned red under her ruddy skin, launched herself to her feet and stormed off.
"She'll be back, won't she?" Rickon whispered to Bran.
"Let her calm down," Meera advises. "When she comes back, we'll see what she has to say, and go from there – until then, Rickon, come learn how to skin the rabbits properly."
It is a very awkward hour that they wait for Osha to return, with Bran and Jojen speaking quietly on their most recent visions and Meera going through a staff pattern dance with Rickon, and then bullying Bran into practicing his bow.
When Osha returns, she is still visibly angry. "I don't like this," she snarls at them. "I want that clear, Little Lord, I swore I would not go back Beyond! When we do this, you go through the door and no further, alright?! And once you're done, you come straight back through the door, and we start to head for Castle Black, do you understand?"
"Yes, Osha!" They all exclaim together, and then Meera and Rickon are fluttering around breaking down the camp, with Jojen and Hodor quickly joining them. Within the next half-hour, everything is packed and all evidence of their camp is gone.
Bran is bundled into the cart, Hodor takes the handles, and then they are off. Within three hours, they have reached the Nightfort.
Bran had been expecting something grandiose from the oldest fortress on The Wall, but what they find is an ancient castle of gross disrepair. The yards are small forests, and weeds and tiny, twisted Weirwoods grow throughout the stables and even, they find, in the kitchen. The gate out of the keep and to the other side of the Wall has been sealed with frozen rubble.
Rickon, Shaggy, Summer and Bir spread out to explore the keep, Rickon calling out as they discover each room or building. It's Summer who is exploring the back of the kitchen and finds the giant white weirwood doors, Rickon who calls their attention to it, and Jojen who suggests that they go and study it further.
When they are all in front of the doors, the eyes in the gnarled face open to ask them, "Who are you?"
Everyone freezes, and then Bran draws in a deep breath. "I am Brandon Stark of Winterfell, Prince in the North and Prince of the Riverlands. Who are you?"
"…I am the Black Gate. It has been some time since a Stark Prince has come to me. Why should I let you past, little Prince?"
"I only need to go through for an hour," Bran says, firm. "The Night's King moves Beyond the Wall, and our brother the King has ordered safe passage to those who still live Beyond. Our half-brother is working with the King-Beyond-the-Wall, and we need to contact him. Once we have passed on new orders from His Grace King Robb, we'll come straight back."
"We? No, little prince. I will let one cross through."
"I am crippled," Bran said. "I need someone to come with me so that I can get through the doors and back."
"Let me go with him," Rickon piped. "I am Rickon Stark, Prince in the North and Prince of the Riverlands. Let Bran and I through to contact our brother, and we'll be straight back."
Osha hissed at him, but her voice was drowned out by the booming of the gate. "Little Prince, you are so small! What help can you be to anyone? You move to prevent the Others Beyond – such a little princeling cannot be of any use Beyond."
"We are Starks." Rickon growls. "We are Starks, and we are Wargs, and we have a purpose. You will let us through now, and again in an hour to come back." He stopped, thought a moment, and then added, "Please."
Nothing bar a bright white light comes from the door for long, quiet moments, before finally it intones, "One hour, Prince Brandon, Prince Rickon. Don't be late. You may pass." The door creaks open, and Rickon takes the handles of the cart.
"Shaggy, Summer, Bir!" Rickon calls. Bir flits to his shoulder, the direwolves to his sides, and ignoring Osha's hisses and Meera's pleas and Jojen's scared face and Hodor's confusion, pushes Bran forward through the glowing gate.
While Rickon pushes, Bran reaches a hand up to grab Bir's attention, and then calls, "Sansa, we need you."
They step onto the snowy ground of Beyond the Wall, just as the air about Bir changes, and Sansa joins them. She trills, confused, and Bran draws in a deep breath while Rickon readies his spear.
"We've crossed over," he says lowly, an arrow on the string. "Have you got your spiels ready?"
Immediately, three different speeches are running through his head, the memories flowing thick and fast. Bran takes a moment to commit them all to memory, then turns to Bir. "Sansa, help protect Rickon. Rickon, if I'm still away when the door reopens, start dragging the cart back inside, and Sansa, wake me back up again, please. Summer? Can you feel Ghost and Jon?"
Bran slips sideways into the warm embrace of his wolf, and feels Summer stretch out his consciousness. Stretch, stretch, stretching – there!
Jon, Ghost! Bran calls immediately, stretching alongside Summer.
There is stunned silence from Jon, but Ghost's impression wriggles with excitement at finally having packmembers "close" again. … Bran?
Jon, really quickly! Bran shoves Sansa's speech memories at him, pressing them to Jon's mind firmly enough that they should surely stick. Jon reels backwards, but Bran stays firm, push push pushing so that there is absolutely no chance of Jon forgetting Sansa's speeches. When Jon "staggers" back again, Bran gasps out, What are the circumstances that lead to you being with the King? Have you broken any vows, what can we do to get you through safely?
How are you here? Jon demands back.
Rickon and I have snuck through the Black Gate at the Nightfort, we only have an hour before we need to go back through. Jon, quickly – what happened to you? Just share the memories with me!
Jon's memories flood through his head, for the watch! echoing in the voice of the Halfhand, who Bran has never met but now knows. Bran see everything – likely more than what Jon wanted to share, to Bran's immense embarrassment – takes it all in and presses all but the intimate memories of Ygritte into his own mind so that he can pass it all on to Sansa.
Hang on, I'll be back! Bran steps back into his own body, looks to Rickon and demands, "How long was I gone for?!"
"Not long." Rickon shrugs, twisting his spear around and around nervously.
Five minutes, perhaps, Sansa says. Bran pushes Jon's memories to her, gives her time to think on it, then begs,
Now what?
Sansa hesitates, then says, Can Jon lead the Free Folk to the Nightfort instead? Can they slip through the Black Gate, as you have?
Maybe? But even if they can't, it might be easier to aim for here and then send riders to Castle Black.
Speak with Jon, Sansa says. It's now been nearly ten minutes.
Bran slips his skin and pulls on Summer's, immediately pushing Sansa's queries to Jon.
… I don't know if I could lead the Free Folk through that gate, Jon says hesitatingly. If the gate asks me who I am, what do I say? Surely it won't open for a bastard!
I don't know, your vows?! Bran squarks. Then try it with your name, if that doesn't work! Is anyone close enough for you to ask if they will follow you back?
Jon slips sideways, somehow still partially joined to Ghost enough that Bran can feel echoes.
"Ygritte, where's Tormund, quickly!"
"What were you warging then for?! We were busy!"
"I know, I'm sorry, Bran summoned me, I think? Quickly, where would Tormund be?!"
"What – fuck, alright!"
A few moments where Bran receives only flashes of movement, until Jon shouts, "Tormund!"
"Not now, Snow –"
"We don't have the time! Can we get to the Nightfort? My brothers found a gate in and out, it might yet work for us too!"
A different voice, a bitter voice, "A spy after all, crow, contacting those other feathery fucks –"
"Brandon and Rickon Stark have snuck over the Wall to try and help your people!" Jon snarls overtop of the unnamed person. "And they have a time limit before they need to sneak back again, so hurry up! Tormund, could we do it?!"
"It's closer to us than Castle Black, I'll give it that. Can you guarantee us passage?"
"I can guarantee more at the Nightfort than Castle Black, at the moment," Jon replies. "It's also closer to Crastor's, so we would be travelling a lesser distance and exposed to possible attack for a lesser time as well."
Silence, and then the first male voice, whoever Tormund is, calls out in a voice that booms, "There's a change of plans, folks! After Crastor's Keep, we move on the Nightfort!"
Jon slips back into Ghost's skin, and Bran quickly says, I heard, that's great! Ah! Here, this is what Robb was using for Sansa before she joined him so she could pass on messages easier. Bran presses the images of the pocket alphabets to Jon, makes sure they are unforgettable, so that Jon can definitely recreate them when he's back in his own head.
What happened to you boys, what happened to Winterfell? Jon demanded. Bran pushed his memories forward, Theon's betrayal and Ser Roderick's execution and Maester Luwin's death and the Crypts and their flight, the Reeds and Osha's fears and fury. At Jon's query, he also shares the memories of yesterday's council meeting, of Sansa and Arya's successes.
From a distance, Rickon's voice cries out his name, and Bir squarks in warning.
Bran slips away, tugs Jon a half-step with him so that Jon can hear too, and opens Tully blues to see a fat man in Night's Watch black, and a Free Folk woman holding a baby. Perhaps twenty minutes left, Sansa whispers to him. There is the sense of Jon jolting through the link.
"Name yourselves!" Rickon calls, spear spinning over and over in a basic, if showy, pattern dance. Shaggy and Summer snarl in front of them.
"O-oh, uh, I'm Sam?" The fatman calls back. "Samwell Tarly of the Night's Watch, and this is Gilly and her baby – who are you?"
"Rickon and Brandon Stark of Winterfell," Rickon calls back, "And Summer and Shaggy and Bir."
"You're Jon's little brothers!"
"Are you not?" Bran calls, lifting his bow in warning. "He swore his vows, as we understand it."
Sam is my brother, Jon whispers down the mental line – Bir jolts on Bran's shoulder. I would trust him with my life. At the same time, Sam is professing his own faith in Jon.
"What's happened?" Bran calls again, lowering his bow. "Why are you here?"
"We've escaped Crastor's Keep," Sam calls back. "The Lord Commander retreated there after our loss at the Fist of the First Men, but there was a mutiny. The Lord Commander and Crastor are both dead."
Jon's grief flashes down the line, but Bran doesn't allow it to affect his own face.
Sansa prompts Bran, so he calls, "How long was the Lord Commander on this side of the Wall?"
"Oh, ah, we've been here a while?"
Too long to have received our communications, Sansa says mournfully. Dammit – who was left in charge?
Ser Alliser and Maester Aemon, Jon answers. Ser Alliser … uh, doesn't like us.
Well, shift, Sansa spits. Bir's feathers ruffle aggressively.
"What sort of standing do you have with whoever was left in charge?" Bran calls. "Our brother, His Grace King Robb, has sent correspondence regarding the threat of the Night's King. He has requested that the Free Folk be allowed past the Wall to escape the Army of the Dead. No response has been provided yet – would you know why?"
Sam grimaces. "Uuh, well – Ser Alliser might have disregarded it out of hand?"
Do you have any seals handy? Sansa demands.
Why would we have seals, Sansa, we're on the run! Bran snapped.
Any imagery on your clothing, or armour, or anything?!
Sansa, we escaped a sacked castle and ran for the Wall, why would we have stopped to grab seals?!
Can you two stop your fighting and decide what you're going to do with Sam? Jon snaps at them both.
"Are we safe in your company?" Rickon calls during the lull, in their place.
"Of course!" Sam calls back immediately.
"And our companions?"
"Oh, are there more of you? Yes, we're no threat, promise!"
Bran sends a query to Sansa, and at her answer whispers to Rickon, "We have fifteen minutes left, Rickon – do you want to stay and talk to Jon for a little bit longer, or go in with them?
"It's working?" Rickon's eyes roll as he wargs into Shaggy, and echoing down the line comes his piping voice, Jon!
You're so big! Jon cries, and Bran can feel Sansa's joy at their reunion.
Bran clears his throat, and says, "See if you can open the Black Gate. We'll be along ourselves shortly."
"Thank you! Oh, ah, my princes? Gilly, come on!" The Black Gate cracks wrinkled eyes open, and when it demands Who are you? Sam answers immediately, "I am the watcher on the walls. I am the fire that burns against the cold, the light that brings the dawn, the horn that wakes the sleepers. I am the shield that guards the realms of men."
Then pass.
Shall we? Bran asks down the line. Osha might just kill them, without us.
Rickon grumbles and groans, but half-steps back into his body, swinging the cart around and pushing. Shaggy and Summer move ahead, Summer staying at the door whilst Shaggy ducks in ahead of Sam to ease Osha's nerves.
The Wall's magic cancels out everyone's but Sansa's, Bran tells Jon. When we're on the same side of the Wall we can talk together. On this side, we talk via the wolfcall most nights. Once you and Ghost are over the Wall, call for us, and those of us who can will call back.
If you can draw up an alphabet for me like Robb has, we can talk more easily, Sansa tells him. Until then, I'm glad you're alright, and Robb and I are trying to figure out how to keep you alive. Give our best to Ygritte, and be safe! We love you!
I love you too! All of you, be safe, and we'll see you soon!
With that, Bran steps fully back from both Sansa and Jon's mental voices, and he and Rickon duck back through the Black Gate after Sam.
Jon Snow
His full consciousness returns to his body, Ygritte's hand in a vicegrip in his own.
"Back with me, Jon Snow?" She asks in a low voice. He grunts, tugs on her hand, and wraps her in a hug. "Y'alright?"
"I spoke with my baby brothers and Sansa," he whispers, voice wet. "I could see them!"
"Oh? How'd that go?"
He tightens his hug. "For now, they're safe. Sansa and Arya are with Robb, the little boys are together – and they send their well-wishes, and they can't wait to meet you, and Sansa is working on ways to keep us all alive!"
"They want to meet me?" Ygritte asks, just as softly.
"Aye – Sansa especially, I think. And, I don't know how they do it, but Bran was able to share memories with me. They're all so grown up!" Jon tucks his head into Ygritte's neck to hide how his eyes water and spill, and she just holds him even tighter. They remain silent for another few moments, and when Jon has collected himself, he pulls back and wipes at his eyes, and says, "I've more information for Tormund, wherever he went."
"He's got a pissy Orrel with him," Ygritte warns, but tugs him in whatever direction she had seen Tormund go in last.
"Fuck Orrel," Jon growls. They say nothing else until Tormund's booming laugh reaches them, and they can speak with the wild ginger.
"Ah, Jon Snow!" Tormund crows. "And what have your wargings brought us now?" Orrel sneers at his shoulder.
"Crastor is dead, as is the Lord Commander," Jon says plainly. "Mutineers of the Nights Watch have taken over Crastor's Keep. We won't receive a warm welcome when we get there."
"We're not even a day from Crastor's, what do you suggest we do now?" Tormund snarls at him.
Jon licks his lips, and gives the most wolfish smile he ever has in his life.
"How many wargs travel with us, and what animals do they have as their companions?"
"Gonna sell us out?" Orrel snarls, but Jon settles more into the wolfblood that flows through himself as much as it does his siblings but which he has long denied.
"There's a castle in the Riverlands called Raventree Hall – my sisters have just taken it back with an army that mostly consisted of wolves and ravens. If my little sisters can do it at ten-and-two and ten-and-four and only a few weeks practice at warging, why can't we pull it off?"
"What do you suggest?" Tormund asks, head cocked.
"If we attack on dusk from the northern side of the Keep, they won't see us coming and we'll have the advantage. We kill or imprison the mutineers, release any captives, spend the night to await Mance's group, and then we head for the Nightfort."
"Wargs can't do that!" Orrel spat, but Jon snapped back with sharp teeth.
"Maybe you're just not as strong as my sisters, Orrel? After all, they're only Southerners," Jon smiled, vicious and hungry and wild, before calling up into the trees. "Sansa?"
There was a stirring in the trees, and then Ding landed on his shoulder with a chirp.
"Could you scout ahead to Crastor's Keep for us, please?" He asked, never taking his eyes from Orrel's. "It shouldn't take you long. By the time you return, I'll have an alphabet set up for you." Ding takes wing, and raven laughter echoes over the camp.
Rickon Stark
Osha has Samwell Tarly at the end of her spear, snarling where are the Stark boys? when they walk back through the Black Gate.
"We're alright," Rickon calls ahead, puffing from the effort of pushing Bran's chair. "Osha, this is Samwell Tarly, Gilly, and her baby. You three, this is Osha, Hodor, and Meera and Jojen Reed." The door closes behind them, and Rickon turns and bows and gasps out, "Thank you."
Rickon gets the sense that the tree nods back at them, acknowledges his thanks, and then fades back into a sleeping state. Once he's pushed Bran close enough for Hodor to pick him up, Rickon flops down on Shaggy's back.
"What were you doing on the other side of the Wall?" Samwell asks them.
"We were talking to Jon!" Rickon said happily.
"… Talking? How?"
"We're wargs," Bran says, shrugging awkwardly. "Our Direwolves are connected, so we can talk together – but the Wall's magic interferes with our own, so we had to be on the same side as Jon to reach him."
"That's incredible!" Samwell exclaims, looking excited in the same way that Maester Luwin would look when he had a new book for the library. "How does it work?"
Rickon shrugs, taking the conversation back. "Magic, probably. We don't know."
Bran seems to send half of himself to Summer, because at the very back of his head, Rickon hears him say, go exploring, and see if you can't find any seals for Sansa, please. Rickon hums, stretches, and swings himself atop of Shaggy.
"We're going to keep exploring! We'll be back in a bit!" Before anyone can say anything, they're off.
Rickon and Shaggy huff laughs together as they escape the tension of the kitchen, and start the long trip up the stairs to the rest of the Keep.
Much of the Keep is carved into the Wall itself, with a mix of cobblestone and weirwood for the flooring and walls. Rickon and Shaggy don't find it all that interesting, so they meander – they stop in each room long enough to look and see if they can't find any seals, or anything else of interest, but it's mostly worn timber or struggling plants.
Rickon finds a rusted key, a shattered piece of glass in a funny shape, and a candle that can only be described as munted. When there's nothing else of interest, they leave the Keep for what was probably the old library, though they find nothing in there, not even books! In the old brewery they find a tightly-sealed and leather-wrapped bottle of strange liquid, which Rickon adds to his collection. In the stables he finds a heavily-rusted hoofpick, which he slips into his belt. Shaggy finds a very old saddle bag tucked away beneath a collapsed section of wall, and Rickon puts his new treasures into it and laughs with delight. They find nothing in the bell tower except more bird droppings, and it doesn't look like there's much in either the forge bar for a twisted hammer, or in the armoury. In the rookery they find plenty of feathers and bird droppings, and a desk that has cracked and collapsed in on itself. Shaggy gives a happy chuff when he finds a ring in one of the split drawers that's the perfect size for Rickon – and it has the Stark Direwolf embossed on it! It's not what Rickon had expected to find, and he bets that Bran only wanted him to go searching to spare him from any horror stories that Samwell and Gilly might have had from North of the Wall, but Rickon doesn't care. He has his own signet ring now! He can sign stuff, and be official! Sansa and Robb at least were bound to be impressed, and he couldn't wait to show them!
The dungeons and tunnels are the only areas they have left to explore, so they head back to the kitchens to report their current findings to Bran and the others. Arya has the best ears, Bran the best eyes, Robb the best voice and Sansa the best sense of the pack – Rickon had the best nose. It doesn't help as much at eavesdropping as good ears would, but Rickon found it easier to warg than anyone except Sansa could, and Shaggy's ears were better still, so together they are able to listen in to what the others are saying.
"… you take Osha and Rickon to Castle Black with you?" Bran is saying.
"I'd be more comfortable taking all of you," Samwell is saying. "It's dangerous Beyond the Wall! You could die!"
"We're at War," Meera growls like a lizard-lion. "We could die just as easily on this side of the Wall as that one."
"But there's White Walkers and Others and shadowcats and direwolves –!"
"I don't think we need to worry about the animals," Jojen says wryly. "And if we don't meet with the Three Eyed Raven, there'll be White Walkers and Others on this side of the Wall, too."
"Please," Bran asked again, tone a bit firmer. "If we go straight to Crastor's Keep, then we can meet up with Jon and the Free Folk he's travelling with – maybe one of them will be willing to come with us, but if there're not surely there's someone who can give us directions." Osha scoffs. "Please, Sam."
"… oh, alright! But, you must promise me that you'll take these with you!" The sound of shuffling, the almost-clinking noise of rock-on-glass, the rasp of leather.
"Dragonglass?" Jojen asks.
"We found them at the Fist," Sam says. "Someone buried them a long time ago. Someone wanted us to find them."
"Why?" Osha demands – there's the sound of snatching. "What are they for?"
Silence, before Sam finally says, "Killing White Walkers."
"Don't be daft, boy!" Osha snapped immediately. "The walking dead can't be killed!"
"A Walker came for my baby," Gilly says. "Sam –"
"But no one's killed a White Walker in thousands of years!" Bran exclaims.
"Well," Sam says in a funny tone of voice, joking but at his own expense. "Suppose someone had to be the first!"
Rickon doesn't think they're going to learn anything new now by hiding away, so he swings himself atop of Shaggy and they lope back into the kitchen. "What's that!" He had seen dragonglass before on Mother's jewellery, but he'd never seen a dagger made from it before! And Sam was handing Meera arrowheads too, awesome!
"Rickon were you listening to us?" Bran hisses.
"Not really," Rickon shrugs, swinging his new very old bag around and rummaging through to show Bran his treasures. "Look what I found!"
The only piece that Bran is actually impressed with is the ring, but that's alright, Rickon wasn't going to share his new treasures with him anyway.
"Rickon, call to Robb and ask him what he wants us to write," Bran instructs him. "Sansa would have been faster, but I think she's with Jon now. We can use the candle for wax and your ring as a seal, and you can deliver Robb's proposal to whoever is in charge of Castle Black."
"Are you sure –" Sam is saying, as Rickon slips into Shaggy's fur and they call for Robb and Grey Wind.
Are you alright? Robb demands immediately, but Rickon just hugs their impressions together and pushes his memories forward, showing off his treasures (Robb is appropriately impressed) and then sharing memories of the dragonglass and Jon's new brother Sam and Bran's request.
Robb is a swirl of emotions, before saying, Sansa came back for a moment before to share what she had learnt from Jon and Bran, about Crastor and the Lord Commander. I've told Lady Maege, his little sister –
Crastor's little sister?
The Lord Commander's little sister, you weren't paying attention at all were you?
I was so! No one's said the Commander's House before, how was I supposed to know?!
Alright, never mind. Here, this is the letter we were sending before, and Robb pressed the new words into Rickon's head. Be safe, do you hear me?
Yes Robb! Love you!
Love you too, Robb thought, ruffling his hair as their impressions stepped back from each other.
"Ready, Bran?" Rickon chirped. Sam started, and Gilly stared, but Bran had everything ready and was awaiting Robb's words.
Parchment they had thanks to Bir, who had stolen a roll from somewhere a few days ago. They had made ink around the campfire that same night in preparation, using a glass vial that had previously held herbs that Meera had been using to flavour their rabbits. Bir shed enough feathers that they had been able to turn one into a quill, though Bran said that it was awkward to use, and thanks to Rickon they now had wax from the candle and a seal to emboss it.
To whomsoever now leads the Nights Watch,
Our condolences for the loss of the Lord Commander, Jeor Mormont, as I am sure he will be greatly missed. Our communications with Mance Rayder indicate that the Free Folk will, where possible, capture the mutineers at Crastor's Keep to bring back to the Wall for your people to administer justice as required.
My previous correspondence may not yet have reached the Wall; as my brothers will tell you, we wish to assist in the war against the walking dead. As it is, the Northern host is landlocked in the Riverlands, though we wish to return home as soon as possible to rest before the arrival of Winter and the Night's King. To this end, we ask that you allow the Free Folk and Giants under King Mance Rayder to pass through the Wall and into the North. Free land in the wilds of the Umber's northern-most lands have been divvied up, and additional spacing has been provided by the Dreadfort, Harrenhal, and Moat Cailin, though if there is any land that is untended to in either Gift, all parties involved would appreciate it if allowance might be made until the Wars are finished and the Winter ended. Once Spring has come again and it is safe to do so, the Free Folk will return Beyond the Wall – this has been sworn before the Old Gods and the New. They have agreed to follow three rules whilst in "kneeler lands", of no rape, no theft, and no murder. Any breaches of these rules will be dealt with swiftly by the closest Stark or Stark representative.
Please provide your response to my brothers or my Master of Whispers at your earliest convenience.
Robb Stark, first of his name,
King of Winter and King of the Rivers
Arya Stark
Mother clings.
When they break their fast, she is seated between Sansa and Arya and is always reaching out to touch one or the other of them. If they are talking with someone, she wants to know what it is, she wants to be aware and, where possible, involved. And after everything that has happened, Arya can't really fault her for it – but Arya isn't a child anymore. Sansa isn't a child anymore. Robb isn't a child anymore. They are Starks, and they are at war. Their discussions are to do with the war effort – Sansa wants to speak with the Mormonts she had invited to dine with them, wants to talk politics and horsemanship and travelling times. Sansa is constantly stopping her meal or her conversations to read ravenscrolls or take notes, or even to warg to the boys – Arya can see her starting to wear thin from Mother's comments or segues.
Arya speaks lowly to Gendry or Hot Pie out of habit, and has Mother encouraging her to speak up, or asking after their travels and how Arya knows her boys, and even trying to steer conversation away from weaponry when Arya asks Brienne to take a turn around the training yard with her in-between meetings and councils.
When Arya has had enough, she turns her head to face Mother, her blankest face in place and her words soft but firm.
"Mother. We missed you too – but we cannot afford to not have these discussions. Ignore our age, ignore our gender – we are direwolves, and we need you to treat us as such, please."
Mother startles, opens her mouth, but pauses and gives a hesitant nod. Arya nods back, then turns and raises her voice.
"Uncle Blackfish! Will you take a turn with me, after Brienne is finished?"
Brynden Tully laughs good-naturedly, and agrees. "I should like to test your mettle before you return North, Princess!"
"Good," Arya says, imitating the Kingslayer's drawl, downing the last of her tea and rising with her wrists resting on the handles of Needle and Stitch. "Shall we? Mother, would you like to watch?" She doesn't wait for anyone to comment, piling her dishes underneath Gendry's and prowling for the door. "I'll see you there then."
She hears Sansa sigh behind her, but hides her smirk at Gendry and Hot Pie's stutterings as they race after her.
"Arry, that was rude!" Hot Pie hissed.
"What was that for?" Gendry added. "You want your poor manners to get us kicked out?"
"That won't happen," Arya assured them as she strode confidently down the halls towards the training grounds.
"Your mother just said that not talking loud enough was rude!" Gendry bit back, though his own voice was quiet. "M'lady!"
"Mother is worried about Sansa and me." Arya says, face forward and as blank as she can make it. "She needs to see that we can hold our own, same as Robb."
"She couldn't've seen our training at dawn?" Hot Pie wined.
"She didn't know it was happening, and there's only a few that saw us anyway." Arya scoffed. "But now she can see, and she can get off our backs for a bit. She can watch me do this and know that I can take Winterfell back, and then later she can watch Sansa and see just how hard she's working as the Whisperwoman. C'mon – grab those turney swords."
Brienne joins them first, as Arya is leading her boys through one of their drills, warming their muscles up until she is satisfied, and then having them both come for her. It's good melee practice for all of them, but for Arya especially.
"My Princess, you could not have waited until after I had escorted Her Grace to her station?" Brienne asked, a hair away from sharply toned.
"Talisa has Jorelle for a reason," Arya says dismissively, ducking between Gendry and Hot Pie's swords and disarming them both, the second time for Gendry and the third time for Hot Pie. "You do not need to keep going down there."
Brienne sniffs. "He lost his hand trying to spare me a rape, I at least owe him the courtesy of company," and then says nothing else on the matter, taking up a turney sword of her own and inviting Arya to come at her.
Now that it is daylight, there are more people who are watching her practice. Arya doesn't need her wolves to tell her thusly, she can feel everyone's eyes on her, so she spins the two turney blades she's holding flashily, and hears a few whistles and a handful of catcalls. She ignores them, stands side-on like Syrio taught her with her left hand and foot forward whilst her right hand holds the second sword upright behind her back, half hidden. When Brienne comes for her, Arya starts with Waterdancing, gliding from one guard position to another until she is close enough to try and disengage Brienne's blade – when that doesn't work and Brienne pushes her backwards, Arya brings her second blade up and around and spins like Jon does, uses both blades to tear Brienne's turney sword from her hands, following the spin all the way through into a second one that ends with the right sword under Brienne's chin and the left back and held with the handle level by Arya's jaw.
"Very good, Princess," Brienne cheers. They've been working on this move on and off since they ended up with all of the Bolton men's weaponry, but have been dedicating time specifically to the move since Arya retrieved Needle – every time their company stopped for Sansa to answer the ravenscrolls, Arya was practicing dual blades with Brienne and the Hound.
"It's been some time since I've seen a Waterdancer!" Uncle Blackfish calls from a ground-floor window, Mother at his elbow. "Who trained you?"
"The former First Swordsman to the Sealord of Braavos, Syrio Forrel," Arya answers immediately and proudly; she shrugs and adds, "And Brienne and the Hound, more recently."
"You're not bad," Uncle calls, and Arya slams down on the wolfsblood that snarls at that statement, the insinuated but you're not that good. "Come along then, Princess Arya – let us have a dance!"
Arya takes up a ready position again, watches closely as the old fish moves towards Brienne to take her turney blade from her, leaving Mother to watch from the window bay again. He stops a few paces away from her, his own blade at the ready, and gestures for her to start. Arya senses a trap.
She's not Sansa, with thousands of spies at her disposal – wolves think that human speech is harsh and silly, and don't pay much mind to it. But what Arya does have is stories, curses and praises from soldiers on either side of the war effort either exalting or lamenting Brynden Tully's skill with the blade. There's nothing so concrete as a he leads with x move, but she knows that he's left handed like she is, so the fact that he's holding Brienne's blade with his right means he's either going easy on her, setting her up for a surprise, or is ambidextrous as she now is. Well.
She draws a deep breath, crouches slightly and springs forward with the right sword leading. When Brynden taps her sword aside, she follows the line of her body and twists, left sword swinging up and around in a graceful spin that ends when he taps her left sword in the opposite direction and knees her backwards. Arya collapses with a yip back-first on the ground, but uses the momentum to roll backwards and come up with both swords in an X-guard in front of her. When Brynden's follow up movement – no doubt meant to stop at her throat – is blocked by her two blades, she disengages the under-blade and traps Brynden's sword between both of hers and twists, flinging it from his grasp, both of her hands landing on the ground and the rest of her body coming up in a cartwheel, her right heel missing his chin by a hair. Arya bounces back and settles into a Westerosi ready stance, watching closely to see if the bout will continue or if he will let her have this one.
He laughs.
He flashes a brilliant smile at her, blue eyes twinkling, and says, "Well done, girl! You'll be a fierce one when you're older, no doubt! Cat, did you see you girl go?"
Arya turns finally to look to Mother, and she is watching with teary eyes, hands cupped over her face and pride in her eyes, and Arya – Arya chokes on tears herself. Mother just watched her Waterdancing, watched her grow dirty and fight like a boy in her boyish clothes, and Mother is proud of her!
Mother is proud of her, and Arya could fly.