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Chapter Thirty-One: Alliances

Only a rumour of dawn shimmered on the eastern horizon. Restless and sleepless, Robb watched the day's slow rise with his infant son sleeping against his chest. In the room behind them, Margaery turned in her sleep. He knew she would awaken soon. She would rise and dress in her finest silks, to bid him a formal farewell before he rode out of the castle gates to lead his men north. She would do the same as Catelyn Stark had done for his father, countless times before.

From his place perched on the windowsill, he looked down into the forecourt of the castle. Moonlight crested the forge and guest rooms, it made the icy cobbles glitter. The barbican was a hulking edifice, standing black against the pre-dawn sky. Only streaks of silver moonlight slanted through the bars of the portcullis he would soon be riding out of. He tried to think of how many times he had watched his father leading their men out of those gates, dreaming of the day he would be doing the same. Even now, all these years later, he could see it clearly. He could see Eddard Stark, mounted on a great destrier, surrounded by men at arms and banners snapping in the brisk Northern winds. It was a sight that had never failed to instil in him an ancient, tribal sort of pride.

Now his time had come and the childish pride had long deserted him. All he could feel was the pain of separation and the nebulous uncertainty of what lay ahead. It would take months to reach Castle Black alone and then only gods knew how long it would take to scout out whatever was lying in wait beyond the wall. And in all that time he was away, the babe in his arms would grow and change, and Robb knew he would miss it all.

Had his father felt the same, when he rode out of those gates? If he showed any sign of it, Robb hadn't noticed. But then, he hadn't noticed much beyond the live steel, the horses and the banners. What distracted him now was the rustling of bedsheets and sound of bare feet hitting the oakwood floor. He turned over his shoulder, to where Margaery had awoken at last. She rose slowly, still stiff from sleep. In the poor light, her hair was black but her sheer nightdress seemed to shine.

She looked at him and smiled. "Good morning."

"Is it?"

Margaery didn't answer but crossed the room to where he and Cregan still watched the creeping dawn. He could feel the warmth of her body as she squeezed onto the sill behind them and wrapped her arms around his middle. From over his shoulder, she watched the sleeping baby and kissed the scar on his shoulder.

"If Arya is to be the Stark in Winterfell, there's nothing to stop Cregan and I from visiting you," she said. "Or do they not allow women at the wall at all?"

That wasn't the case, but still Robb was cautious. "I would rather a more experienced hand remain here, if it please you. Until further notice, you are the Queen in the North."

"And my place is at Winterfell," she finished for him.

All the same, she looked dismayed. Like her predecessor, she would find her lord's absence a wrench. Robb didn't know whether to be pleased about that or not. In the meantime, they both had other concerns.

"Don't you think King's Landing has been suspiciously quiet?" he asked. "If they decide to take action against us, I don't want Arya here alone to face that sort of army."

"But you said no southern invading army has ever made it this far north," she said, brow creasing into a frown. "At least, not before us Tyrells but we had full cooperation of the Northern Lords."

Robb shrugged. "True, but after everything that's happened, I'm no longer willing to take anything for granted. Besides, Cersei might just be mad enough to actually try it."

The last they heard, the Queen Mother was being paraded naked through the streets of the city. While Robb was in little doubt that some form of cosmic justice had been at play, he sincerely doubted the shame and humiliation would have done anything to improve Cersei's mental stability. And, for all her debasement, while her son was a child, she still wielded power and commanded armies.

"And we have Ser Jaime," said Margaery. "She's bound to come after him, if no one else."

Robb couldn't help but smile. The Queen's twin brother was under the impression she had been fucking a myriad of men, up to and including a court jester by the name of Moon Boy. "Ser Jaime is not my prisoner. We must hope Cersei understands he is coming north of his own volition."

"But why?" she asked. "I mislike it, Robb. We cannot trust him."

"And I don't," he assured her. "Besides, I think he's doing this to impress Brienne."

"Brienne?"

"Of Tarth- "

"I know who she is, Robb," Margaery cut in. "But … her and Jaime. Really?"

"When my mother released him, she sent Brienne down south with him as an escort," he recalled. "It seems they … bonded, somewhat. Besides, he's Kingsguard and seems to have belatedly uncovered his own sense of honour. I cannot imagine anything coming of this fancy."

"I still think he might be reporting back to Cersei," said Margaery. "And I had rather hoped you had learned your lesson about trusting enemies. After Theon and the Boltons."

"That's not fair, I thought they were my allies," he replied, feeling stung. "I was never under any such illusion with the Lannisters."

"All the more reason to distrust Jaime Lannister," she insisted. "Just, keep an eye on him. That's all I ask."

"And I will, my love, I swear it. The man crippled my little brother, remember. I would imagine if Cersei was sending spies into my camp, she'd do better than him given she knows what I know."

Did she know? Robb hadn't bothered to ask Jaime, but even Cersei couldn't be that stupid. It was a good portion of the reason they fought the war to begin with. His father, Sansa, Arya and Bran. All the same, Margaery was right. While they became embroiled in another war, deep politics would continue to happen regardless. He had to find a way to juggle both.

"If all the realm, bar the Riverlands and Westerlands, is fighting in the North, what will Cersei do?" he wondered aloud.

"What can Cersei do?" asked Margaery. "She can't take all our castles by stealth, she simply hasn't the means to hold them. She would just be squatting there until the armies return and kick her back out again."

Robb wouldn't have put it past her, but he kept his counsel to himself. The sun was rising, the child in his arms stirred in his sleep, drawn out of his slumbers by the sound of his parents' voices. Cregan's first mewling cries of the day were a hankering for his mother's milk and Margaery took the hint. But it was only with regret that Robb handed him over to her. It was separation come early.

"I'll miss you," he said, looking from the baby to Margaery. "Both of you, more than I can say."

Margaery's smile was pained, her eyes cast down. "It won't be for long."

They both knew that was a lie.

The hot Meereenese sun had burned Sansa's pale skin. As Olenna once informed her of her blushing habit, it resulted in her resembling a radish and this time it was semi-permanent. However, if the Queen noticed, she didn't let on. Together they strolled water's edge of Slaver's Bay, now free from the wreckage of the Yunkish ships the Ironborn had demolished. Now, only the Krakens and Mermen could be seen fluttering from the many masts of the many ships sent to carry them home. And soon may that day come, Sansa thought to herself as her peeling nose began to itch.

"Westeros will not accept Hizdahr Zo Loraq as their Prince Consort," she said, her tone carefully measured as not to give offence. "I understand there is a certain affection between you- "

The rest of her sentence was cut off by the sound of Daenerys' laughter. The Queen's hand came to rest on Sansa's arm, squeezing it gently as she composed herself. "Forgive me, Lady Stark, what existed between Hizdahr and I was nothing more than a mutual political convenience. He kissed me once and it was akin to being mauled by a landed fish."

"Sounds thoroughly charming, your grace." For some reason, it made her think of Joffrey and his fat, wormy lips. Only, she had loved him once. Before he revealed himself to be the monster he truly was. At least Hizdahr had clearly not lied to Daenerys.

Once more composed, Daenerys looked at her for a moment. "Don't you have a sweetheart? Jon told me about Joffrey, but a girl like you must have had better luck elsewhere."

The sunburn hid Sansa's blushes as she thought of Sandor Clegane, left behind in Westeros. "I wish! Well, my aunt wanted me to marry my cousin but he's obnoxious and he's half my age. But there's someone else. Only, he has two illegitimate children with two different mothers and I don't think my brothers approve."

"I can't imagine why," Daenerys replied, her tone dry. "Whoever he is, you can do better."

"He's heir to the Vale," Sansa continued. "If I reject him, and you're looking for a Westerosi husband, he might come after you next."

The Queen rolled her lilac eyes. "In that case, Drogon will be pleased to make his acquaintance."

They reached the ramparts of the Great Pyramid, where they could look down over the courtyard. Ser Barristan and Strong Belwas were drilling the Unsullied. Great lines of them, perfectly straight, stretched out below them. Despite the fatal illnesses and privations of the Yunkish siege, their numbers seemed beyond counting to Sansa.

Daenerys, however, was looking to the side where Jon was speaking quietly with Theon. The pair of them walked the lines of Unsullied, evidently trying to stay out of the way while observing their methods. The two women lapsed into a comfortable silence as they followed the path the two men followed, until Jon seemed to feel their eyes boring into his back. He turned and looked up, spotting them both he bowed his head in deference to the watching Queen.

Only when Jon returned his attention to Theon did Daenerys resume the discussion. "So, how many other eligible lords of Westeros are there? I must marry one of them."

Sansa considered the question for a moment but came up with little and less. "There's Willas Tyrell, Margaery's brother. He would bring you the wealth of the Reach, however, he is lame and walks only with the aid of a calliper and stick. The Lord of the Riverlands is already wed to a Frey. As you know, the King in the North is wed already. Trust me, you really don't want to know my cousin, Robert Arryn, who is Lord of the Vale. The Baratheons rule the Stormlands and my guess is you have no desire to marry one of those- "

Daenerys choked. "I'd sooner see them hang, my lady! Surely, there's an eligible bachelor somewhere among the Lords Paramount of Westeros?"

"If you made Tyrion lord of the Westerlands, once Cersei is defeated and Tommen disinherited," she suggested.

"Tyrion?" the look on the young Queen's face said it all. "I like Tyrion, I really do. His counsel is invaluable, I know I can trust him and I know he has the skills needed to be a great Prince Consort. But I could never … I could never see him like that."

The wedding night dropped into Sansa's memory like a stone down a well. Images she had hoped to forget abruptly reformed. Nothing had happened between them, Tyrion had honoured her wish to remain a maid. But she had seen him naked. "I know he's small, but he's very well endowed – "

"Thank you, Sansa, for that picture in my head," Daenerys cut in, laughing again. She soon regained control of herself. "Pardon me, I forget that you two were once wed … "

Daenerys trailed off into silence, her expression unreadable as she gazed down into the practise yard below. Their pace had slowed to a near standstill and Ser Barristan's commands drifted up from below. Half a heartbeat later, the silence was shattered by the sound of thousands of marching feet as the Unsullied manoeuvred below. Jon was still down there, watching the whole exercise with keen interest.

All Sansa could think was that the Unsullied would need proper clothing if they were to go north of the wall.

"What is Willas Tyrell like?" asked the Queen, briefly meeting Sansa's gaze. "Do you know him?"

"We were briefly betrothed, but I never met him in person," she replied, honestly. "But if he's like the rest of his siblings you will find him pleasant, gallant and handsome."

Daenerys looked thoroughly unimpressed. Even disappointed as she leaned against the railing of the ramparts, gazing forlornly down at her armies. "Daario Naharis will be here today. Do you remember my telling you about him?"

"I do. Hizdahr would find Westeros cold and unwelcoming. A man like Daario, I think, would be run out of the realm the moment his feet hit the ground."

"Oh, I know that," Daenerys replied. "I am leaving him here to rule Meereen in my absence. Which means I will soon see these fine lords of Westeros for myself."

Sansa sighed with relief, sending up a silent prayer that he would arrive son. "Must you marry a Lord Paramount? As I said, there are not many. Only seven, even when all unwed and fully available."

The Queen frowned, hesitating before asking: "Would a lesser lord would be acceptable? I suppose it would, really."

"Of course," she answered. "And there's scores of those to choose from. I couldn't even name them all."

Daenerys fell into a contemplative silence as she returned her attention to the marching Unsullied. Had they not been gelded and rendered dynastically useless, Sansa might have guessed one among their number had captured the Queen's heart. However, she wasn't looking directly at them. Her gaze was directed to the side-lines.

"I saw Jon last night," she said, quietly. "He was returning home through my gardens and I saw him from the balcony. It was … I mean, he was … oh, never mind."

"Please, do go on," Sansa urged her.

Was that who she was gazing mournfully at in the grounds below? A small smile played at Sansa's lips, her mind raced ahead for a moment as she tried to reason with herself. Any possibility of the taint of bastardy clearly wasn't a problem for Dany, not when she was taking sellswords to her bed. And why not? Jon had been legitimised. He was the son of a Lord Paramount, the brother of a King. She took up a spot beside the Queen at the railing, following her gaze to where Jon and Ser Barristan had taken up sparring. Despite his age, the old knight easily matched her brother.

"It's funny that you should mention Jon," Sansa continued. "Both Stannis Baratheon and King Robb have freed him from his Night's Watch vows- "

"Really?" Daenerys cut in, turning sharply to face her. Then she paused and drew a deep breath. "What I mean is, that's very interesting. He's been released from his vows. He said nothing to me about it."

Sansa smiled, finding her brother among the crowds again. "Jon wouldn't, he's not like that. He isn't a braggart, showing off his position. And Robb values him above all others."

Sansa knew Daenerys would need to win over the still fractious Northerners. Marrying one of them would help her immeasurably but now was not the time to push the matter. Dany had noticed him and she, Sansa, had helped the seed take root. That would do, for now. Softly, softly.

This moment had come so soon. Much sooner than Margaery had expected. Dressed in a gown of ivory silk, she mingled with the crowds gathered in the courtyards of Winterfell. Masking her own fears and anxieties, she spoke soft words of encouragement and incited them to bravery. She promised to pray for them to the old gods and the new. All the while, she eyed the Northern Lords and wondered how many of them would truly accept her in the halls of Winterfell. Meanwhile, a large raven hopped from fencepost to fencepost, cawing loudly. It sounded like it was saying something, but Margaery couldn't make it out.

From the corner of her eye, she could see Robb talking to Wyman Manderly and Bronze Yohn Royce of the Vale. Their horses were harnessed and ready to go, their hooves stamping restively in the frozen earth. Wishing she was going too, Arya watched sullenly from the terrace above. Margaery tried to catch her eye, but her sister-by-law was in a world of her own. No doubt, it was a world in which it was perfectly acceptable for ten-year-old girls to ride into battle alongside their brothers.

The horn blast jolted Margaery out of her thoughts. All around her, the armoured men mounted their horses and the voices grew louder as generals issued commands. When the press of bodies parted, Robb appeared and he was heading straight for her. Meeting him halfway, she wrapped her arms tight around him, not caring about who was looking. Only the gods knew when they would be in each other's arms again.

"I don't know what I'll do without you," she said, her voice muffled by his tunic. "Write to me often, or else I'll worry myself sick."

"I will, you have my word," he assured her. "But you needn't worry. I'll have my men and Jon should be returning from Meereen, soon."

"Jon is not you."

He smiled, dropped his gaze. "There's no arguing with that."

Before, love had never been part of the bargain when she planned her future. All the same, love had come and her love was about to go riding out of that barbican and into the unknown. She could feel its passing, even before it happened. But not even the tears that swam in her eyes could stop her from committing every detail of him to memory. The blue of his eyes, the feel of his muscle beneath the cloth of his tunic. The scent of his skin and the feel of his arms around her waist. Something else to remember him by: the feel of his lips against her as they kissed deeply. A final kiss before the wars to come.

"Don't look back," she said, pressing her hand against his cheek. Even clean shaven, she could feel the bristles of his beard. "The sooner you go, the sooner you can come back."

He looked over her shoulder, to where Winterfell loomed large above them. For a long moment, he seemed lost for words. "I know it'll be safe in your hands. Even so, you'll be in my thoughts. Always."

Without another word needing to be said, they ended the drawn out goodbye before either could lose their resolve. They turned sharply, arranged their faces and went their separate ways.

At the sound of his sister's voice, he whirled around. He could see her already, edging her way through the people milling about the harbour, her red hair burnished to the colour of flame under the Meereenese sun. Meanwhile, before she could catch up with him, he issued the last few instructions to get the Queen's belongings safely packed on the ship. Not a moment too soon, they were finally heading for home.

"Sister," he greeted her with a kiss once she caught him up.

Not yet quite ready to board the ship, they found themselves walking back toward the Pyramid. Earlier that morning, they had left Daenerys in a council session. Varys, the spymaster from King's Landing, was with her. Jon couldn't help but notice the perfumed eunuch made his sister's flesh crawl.

"What do you truly make of Queen Daenerys?" she asked, smiling up at him.

Jon shrugged. He had seen for himself what she had done in Meereen. She had brought the whole rotten edifice down on the unworthy heads of the world's most unpleasant men. Whether it would remain that way remained to be seen. "I think she's very honourable, sister. Her intentions are pure and she has a good heart. It cannot have been easy for a foreigner to win the hearts and minds of these people."

"Yes," Sansa agreed. "And she's very beautiful, too. Don't you think?"

"I hadn't noticed," he lied. He recalled several nights before, when he had noticed her up on the balcony, the way her face rested in her hand as she looked up at the stars. "Well, I might have noticed. A little bit. But that's really not what matters, Sansa."

"But it does," she replied. "Because you're sailing all the way back to Westeros on the same ship as her."

Stopping in his tracks, Jon fixed his sister with a narrow-eyed stare. He couldn't shift the feeling she had tailored this situation. But why?

"What are you up to, sister?"

She looked innocent. "Nothing, dear brother. I just wanted you to have good company for the long voyage home. Enjoy!"

With that, she spun away from him in a swirl of pink silk skirts. He watched her return to Brienne's side, a smile on his face. It was almost a relief to see that Sansa could still be extremely silly, when the fancy took her.

I apologise unreservedly for taking two full months to update this story. For some reason, finishing Before the Dawn left me burned out with this fandom (with writing in general, to be perfectly honest). However, I never abandon stories and this one is no exception.

Thank you again for reading, reviews would be lovely if you have a minute.