Rickon

Jon and Sansa had visited Rickon as often as they could in the days after he had woken up. Ghost was his most frequent and favorite visitor though. The white direwolf would lay at the foot of his bed every night and keep him company in the afternoons. Although, he wasn't as playful as Shaggydog or Summer. He always looked sad and was so quiet.

It felt nice to have a bed again. Although, the mattress felt too soft after years of sleeping in the grass outside or months in a dungeon cell. And the blankets he had were nice and warm. Far better than what he was forced to use in his cell.

Through his window, Rickon could even sometimes see the dragons flying by and he could hear their screeches. He couldn't believe it when Jon told him that they were his and how they saved his army from the Boltons. He wanted to see them badly, but until he could breathe without feeling pain, he wouldn't be going anywhere for a while. Luckily, he was used to being confined.

"Can't you bring the dragons in the castle? They can't be that big." Rickon pleaded. His voice had to be soft or else he would feel pain.

"They're nearly a year old," Jon informed. "And they're as big as horses. They wouldn't fit through the door."

"Ghost's as big as a horse and he fits just fine."

"Ghost doesn't have wings. And I don't want the castle burning down again."

Rickon tried not to laugh at that. Laughing hurt greatly. "Maybe I could go outside to see them."

"Rickon, you need to stay in bed-"

"I don't want to! Ow!" Raising his voice made the pain shoot through his body as if the arrow hit him all over again. He wanted to grab at the source so much. He even tried to but Jon held his arm back. He knew that any kind of pressure might make the wound worse.

Maester Wolkan rushed into the room. His was asked to stay close by in case such pains occurred.

"Give him Milk of the Poppy," Jon ordered.

"At once, my lord." Maester Wolkan started going through his things left on a desk in the room. He mixed the medicine with water and poured it slowly into Rickon's mouth.

The pain started to die down, but it still pulsed.

"Maester, could you give us a moment?" Jon asked.

"Yes, my lord." Maester Wolkan excused himself after he tidied up his things.

Jon helped reposition Rickon and adjusted his pillows and furs to provide better comfort. "It's not being in bed that bothers you, is it?"

"I don't want to stay in a cell anymore." Rickon felt cold when the memories of the dungeons flooded him. "When it got cold, Ramsay gave me a blanket. It was made from Osha's skin after he flayed her. I prayed to the gods to let me out. I bargained my life for one day and I got it. But now I'm back here. I'm not home, Jon. I'm trapped again. I want to be home…" He suddenly felt tired. Sleep weighed down on his eyelids but he refused to let it take him.

"It's still too early for you to get out of bed. I'm sorry. But I promise that the minute you are ready, the first thing we'll do is see the dragons. I promise." Jon's words faded into the back of Rickon's mind as sleep took over finally. It was dreamless, luckily for Rickon. For the past few months, all he dreamt about was death. The death of Robb, his mother, Shaggydog, his father, Osha, everyone that had a place in his heart. Ever since father left home, the world Rickon knew was falling apart.

He ended up sleeping through the entire night until the afternoon of the next day. Today though, neither Sansa, Jon, nor Ghost came to see him. The only one who kept to his regular visits was Maester Wolkan. He was assisted by a maid as they were changing Rickon's sweaty bandages. They were both nice people but unfamiliar to Rickon.

He had to wait for them to finish cleaning him before the wrapped him back up and put a clean shirt on him before he could speak. "Where's Sansa and Jon?" he spoke slowly, not wanting to feel any pain in his efforts.

Maester Wolkan disposed of the old bandages into a large sack before answering. "The rest of the Northern Lords and Ladies arrived in the morning and are now meeting with your sister and half brother. But if I'm being honest, I don't think it will end very pleasantly, my lord." The maid assisting him departed with the sack and left Rickon alone with the maester.

"How come?"

"I did not grow up in the North, but I know very well the stubbornness Northerners have towards the Wildlings. The hatred towards them bleeds down to the southern kingdoms as well."

"But they fought for us. Without them, Jon wouldn't have won back Winterfell." And from what Rickon was told, not all the Lord's who were present had any part in the battle at all, they hid away in their castles.

"I don't think they'll take that to heart when he defends them. The only one they'll really listen to is your sister since she's the acting Lady of Winterfell until you recover. And I mean no disrespect of course, but your half brother is a Snow, not a Stark."

Rickon didn't know much of politics, or diplomacy. When Bran was Lord of Winterfell, he only attended a few of his meetings out of boredom, but he never understood very well what was going on. They were all about demands and sacrifices made to meet those demands. But in every meeting, the people always listened to Bran because he was their lord and they were sworn to obey him.

He sighed out, disappointed that he was still stuck in his room. "Do you know any way to speed up the healing? I want to get out of here."

"I'm afraid no maester in all the seven kingdoms is that skilled. If e had a wizard then perhaps. All you can do is rest and wait. That's the hard truth."

Rickon wanted to punch his fist on his pillow but that kind of movement would put him in great pain.

"However, after meeting with your half brother after you fell asleep, we came up with a solution together and it was finished not an hour ago." He went out to the hallway momentarily and came back with a chair that had wheels so it could move.

Rickon's eyes widened and he couldn't resist a smile. "Jon had this made for me?"

"It was built through the night. The people here are doing what they can to give their gratitude for liberation from the Boltons. If we use some furs to pad it, you should be able to sit on it with much pain."

"Get me dressed. I want to try it now."

The maid had returned to assisted Maester Wolkan once more. While he outfitted the chair to be comfortable, the made undressed Rickon out of his sweaty night clothes and into some clean breeches and a shirt.

Together, Maester Wolkan and the maid carefully lifted Rickon from the bed to the chair and gently sat him down. The pain was present and the seat was warm. The maid put on his boots and wrapped a smaller fur blanket over his body.

"How do you feel?" Wolkan asked?

"Excellent. Really Excellent." Rickon happily replied.

"I imagine you want some fresh air."

Rickon did want to go outside but not while the Northern Lords were in a meeting. Thinking on it, it felt like Jon was cornered by them. He was doing all the work while they just are mean about how he does it. They wouldn't listen to them because he's a bastard. But they would have to listen to the rightful Lord of Winterfell.

"I want to go to the Great Hall."

"My lord, the men are still meeting."

"I know. And as a rightful Lord of Winterfell, I have a place among them. I'm a year older than Lyanna Mormont and Jon said that she's the type of girl no one would be in the way of. I think I should be there too."

Maester Wolkan opened his mouth to object, but he obliged. He grabbed the handles of the chair and wheeled Rickon out of the room. The ride was a little bumpy, but it wasn't so bad that it hurt. It felt so good just to get out of the room.

As Rickon and Maester Wolkan got nearer to the Great Hall, he could hear voices he did not recognize echoing from the chamber. "You can't expect the Knights of the Vale to side with Wildling invaders!" The accent of the man who spoke wasn't Northern, he was probably one of the men from the Vale.

"We didn't invade, we were invited." Whoever said that had to be a Wildling. The accent was Northern and the response was clear as to who he represented.

"Not by me."

Rickon could hear Jon speaking over the other lords before someone else spoke, this time it was a Northerner. "The Boltons are defeated. The war is over. Winter has come. If the maesters are right, it'll be the coldest one in a thousand years. We should ride home and wait out the coming storms."

Jon's voice became loud again. "The war is not over. And I promise you, friend, the true enemy will not wait out the storm, he brings the storm."

Rickon had entered the room after Jon finished that sentence and all eyes fell upon him. Jon and Sansa sat at the High Table and Ghost laid down in front of it.

"Glad to see you could get out of bed," Jon announced. "We'll be done soon, and then I'll join you."

Rickon shook his head. "I wanted to know what's happening and I wanted to hear what the Lords of the North were talking about."

Jon's brow perked up. "You do?"

Rickon nodded.

Jon had half a smirk when he pulled the chair next to him away from the High Table to clear space. "I would not refuse you."

Rickon was wheeled to his spot provided and all eyes fell upon him.

"It's good to see you are recovering, my Lord Stark." one of the older men said. Many banged on their tables to agree with that statement.

Rickon was going to thank him for his words, but he came to a realization just then that almost overwhelmed him. "I am, the Lord of Winterfell, aren't I? And Warden of the North?"

"Aye, you are by right," Jon told him.

Rickon remembered the last time he saw Bran, the time they spoke. 'If anything happens to me, you're the heir to Winterfell.'As far as anyone knew, Bran could be dead north of the Wall, maybe he wasn't. But he was gone and Rickon was here and he was no longer an heir.

"Then as my first act as lord, tomorrow I'm giving up my titles to someone who knows what to do them." There was half an uproar in the Great Hall. This was surprising to say the least. "My lords!" Rickon half called. "I have no idea how to be a lord, not even a Warden. You deserve someone who knows how to lead." He looked up to Jon.

"I'm a bastard, Rickon." He told him. "I can't inherit those titles. I can understand your position, so if you're stepping down then you should give them to your heir." He turned his head to Sansa and all eyes fell upon her.

"Will you do it, Sansa?" Rickon asked.

"Until you're ready to be."

"Then starting tomorrow, you are the Lady of Winterfell and Wardeness of the North." Many of the lords cheered and banged their tables for such a move, but Rickon wasn't done. "But until tomorrow, there are some things I'd like to do."

"What do you mean?" Jon asked.

"You're a bastard, but that doesn't mean you can't still be a lord. From this day on, I name my brother Jon Snow as Lord of the Dreadfort and the lands it holds." Half the northmen cheered aain while the other half whispered among themselves.

One of the whispering lords stood up from his seat. "Are you sure that to be a wise decision, my lord?"

"I don't know your name, lord…"

"Robett Glover."

"Lord Glover, your sigil is a silver gauntlet on a red field, am I wrong?"

"You have it right."

Rickon gave half a smile. "I remember half the sigils of the North. The merman of House Manderly, the axe of House Cerwyn. But when I was running from being shot full of arrows, I only saw less than half of what I remembered." His smiled died and so did any noise in the room. "Why didn't you come to fight? I spent months in a cell and overheard all the horrible things the Boltons had done. They flayed innocent people, they raped women and young girls. Why wouldn't you fight against the House that allowed such things? The very House that slaughtered our families and friends at the Red Wedding?" A wave of shame fell over the lords that did not fight. "I saw my bastard brother at the head of his army. Leading loyal men and wildlings. If he can unite people who have warred against each other for thousands of years and lead them into battle, then I can think of no better man to lead us. He's the type of Stark I want to be."

Many of the lords cheered and banged their tables again, loudly, but there were still some who were unsure.

A small girl, barely younger than Rickon, stood up and spoke with a fierce voice. "Your son was butchered at the Red Wedding Lord Manderly," she was looking directly at a very large lord with white hair and a gorget with a merman on it, "but you refused the call." She turned to face Robett Glover. "You swore allegiance to House Stark, Lord Glover. But in their hour of greatest need, you refused the call. And you Lord Cerwyn," her gaze fell upon one of the younger men among the lords, "your father was skinned alive by Ramsay Bolton. Still, you refused the call." Lord Cerwyn's eyes fell to the floor, ashamed to look at the young lady. "But House Mormont Remembers, the North remembers. We know no King, but the King in the North, whose name is Stark." She looked directly at Jon after she said that. "Lord Rickon is right, and I don't care if Lord Snow's a bastard. Ned Stark's blood runs through his veins. He's my king from this day until his last day!"

Rickon could tell that Jon was speechless. Anyone in his position would be. As the Lady of House Mormont sat down, Lord Manderly stood up. "Lord Stark and Lady Mormont speak harshly, and truly. My son died for Robb Stark, the Young Wolf. I didn't think we'd find another King in my lifetime." He turned to face the Starks. "I didn't commit my men to your cause because I didn't want more Manderlys dying for nothing, but I was wrong! Jon Snow avenged the Red Wedding! He united the Wildlings, the Northmen, and even dragons as no man who lived could. He is the White Wolf." The Lord drew his sword and raised it high above him, "the King in the North!" he fell to one knee as many cheered in unison.

Lord Mazin stood up from his seat. "I speak for all when I say I never thought to see dragons live again. To see them follow you as their leader is a sign of the gods! Any man who can do such things is more than that, he is a dragon himself! The Winter Dragon! The King in the North! He drew his sword and knelt down as well."

Lord Glover stood up next to the kneeling Lord Manderly. "I did not fight beside you on the field. And I will regret that to my dying day. A man can only admit when he was wrong, and ask for forgiveness."

Rickon looked over at Jon who barely managed to bring his words above a whisper. "There's nothing to forgive, my lord."

Lord Glover turned his head to make sure all could hear his words. "There will be more fights to come, and House Glover will stand behind house Stark as it has for a thousand years! And I will stand behind Jon Snow," he too drew his sword and raised it high, "the King in the North!"

Someone called out to them amongst the rest of the lords. "The King in the North!"

Every lord stood up and drew their swords cheering. "The King in the North! The King in the North! The King in the North!"

Rickon couldn't hold back his smile as he looked at Jon when he stood up. He couldn't shout with the other lords, but he could still say the words. "The King in the North!"