Hello everyone, thank you for your reviews and favorites! This chapter took awhile to write since we weren't sure what avenue we were going to take, and after several discussions I pulled a new storyline to tag on out of leftfield so things after this chapter will be a little different. As always I own nothing, it all belongs to GRRRM and the GOT creators, though if I did own it, Oberyn would be alive and sassing everyone in Winterfell right now.
Chapter Six: Calling Bluffs and Moving Forward
Stuttering, Tyrion tried to find the words as Bronn let out a snort into his mug. Staring him down, Arya lifted a single eyebrow at the Lannister Lords sudden inability to talk.
"Well, you see my lady…"
"Eh, she's had worse, at least you're nothing like the Bolton Bastard, I would have loved to introduce him to Needle," turning back to her meal Arya stifled her giggles as Tyrion sputtered even more into his wine, his small frame shaking with what she assumed was fear and relief in equal measure.
Bronn laughed so hard the ale he had been drinking came out his nose. Quickly mopping it up, he reached over and clapped the younger Lady Stark on the back. "Well never have I seen the little man shut the hell up that fast without there being tits out."
Pod having forgotten how obtuse Bronn could be and was in physical pain as he tried his best not to laugh, until finally he succumbing to the laughter inside himself, doubling over and hyperventilating.
Having successfully perturbed the Lannister Lord, Arya finished her meal and stood to leave, she was planning on meeting Gendry in the forge before going and training with Brienne. Straightening her leather jerkin, Arya walked off, her hands jumping from fixing her hair to lay flat and fingering the handle of Needle as she walked.
Watching her walk out of the hall, Jon felt a smirk creep along his face, he knew she was off to spend time with Gendry and wondered if Bran still held to their arrangement of no cheating using his greenseer abilities. Setting down his mug of morning ale, he decided he better go and supervise Arya, just in case Gendry got any ideas about his little sister, he told himself as he followed her from a safe distance, nevermind the fact that he knew it would be Arya who made the first move out of the two of them, the Baratheon bastard was far too timid. So stuck in his thoughts, he didn't notice a stumbling Jorah Mormont, covered in mud and ale walk past him, headed towards Dany's chambers.
Dany was having a long needed girl time with Missandei and Sansa, the former gushing about Grey Worm, while the latter was still wrapping her head around the new developments in her family tree. Sipping on the Dornish red she'd commandeered from her Hand's quarters, Dany smiled indulgently as Missandei effused on and on about how thoughtful Grey Worm was. Sansa meanwhile, was diligently sewing together what looked like a Stark maiden cloak, the light greys and whites blending together beautifully. Little did Dany know however, it wasn't strictly a Stark maiden cloak, but rather a Starkaryen one.
Upon getting the first raven from her brother now cousin that he'd bent the knee to Daenerys Targaryen after her actions over the Wall, Sansa had pulled out her sewing kit and begun the cloak, knowing a wedding was imminent. After Bran's shocking announcement several days ago, she'd adjusted her plans for the cloak and started adding in subtle hints to Jon's Targaryen ancestry, mainly red and black threads along the direwolf so far. So caught up in her project, Sansa hadn't heard Dany's question the first time round, and so when the queen repeated it, she was so startled she ended up stabbing herself with the needle.
"So Sansa, when are you going to remarry my Hand and make an honest man out of him?" Dany smirked as the redheaded woman flushed crimson and yelped, her hands fluttering about as drops of blood fell on the cloak in her lap.
"I have no idea what you mean, Your Grace," Sansa replied as she tried to pull herself together, channeling all her lessons from Littlefinger and Cersei to perfect her emotionless mask, but the damage was done.
Missandei giggled as Dany nibbled at the corner of a lemon cake before grinning sharply at the Stark woman. Her Khaleesi was never very delicate when it came to such matters, always preferring the blunt and brash approach, citing her family words 'Fire and Blood'.
"I've seen the two of you, always walking together along the halls, whispering with your heads together. You turn to one another first whenever something is raised. And Tyrion hasn't even looked at another woman since he heard you were still alive, or at least that is what Varys has relayed to me."
Sansa's heart fluttered at the thought that Tyrion hadn't bedded anyone upon hearing of her, but she ruthlessly quashed that emotion. She couldn't afford to get caught up in matters of the heart, not with the Long Night looming over them and Cersei plotting against them in the south. She wasn't the naïve little girl with a head full of fantasies about knights and love anymore either. Summoning her inner Lady, she folded up the cloak and turned to the Targaryen woman across from her.
"While I can understand your misconception, Lord Tyrion and I are just friends, we often discuss strategies together that is all. Now if you will excuse me, I have to see Arya about some archery training," Sansa stood and walked off, her thick grey sleeves covering her trembling hands as she left.
Turning to Missandei as the door closed, Dany shook her head. Sansa's stubbornness in admitting feelings was a failing of hers, though she understood part of that stemmed from her time in King's Landing.
"With all the darkness surrounding us, one would think now would be the time to embrace love in all its forms," Dany mused.
"Yes Khaleesi, but I think the Lady Stark has been through much, she will not be the one to make the first move," Missandei shook her head, her black curls bouncing as she did.
"I doubt that, Sansa Stark has a core of steel within her, and I think under the right circumstances, she would make the first move. In fact," placing her cup down Dany leaned towards Missandei, a sharp grin on her face, "care to make a wager?"
"I would, but much of my gold has gone into the production of the pamphlets with Lord Tyrion," Missandei demurred, she knew she had gold leftover, but that's not what she wanted out of this.
"Fine, how about…" Dany pondered what she could put up for a wager, "My blue Mereense gown. If I win, you can make something similar for my wedding with Jon, whenever that happens, and if you win, you can have the original gown. I know how much you like it, and Grey Worm will not know what to do when he sees you in it."
Missandei nodded her acceptance, inwardly thrilled Dany had picked up on the thread she desired, while also pleased that her queen too saw the inevitability of her marriage to the King in the North.
The two women were sitting there giggling as they went over Missandei's loose draft of Dany and Jon's love story. She had a small sketch along with it, of Dany her hair braided and in curls with a crown of blue roses nestled on her head, Jon was cloaked in grey and white, a snarling direwolf in the center of a three-headed dragon on his breastplate. As Dany snickered over Missandei's description of Dany and Jon's first meeting as troubled, with tension and subtext rife between the two, the door to her solar swung open and Jorah stepped through.
He looked like the Seven Hells had grabbed ahold of him, and dragged him through the muck and grime and filth of humanity. His hair was caked with mud, his cheeks streaked with mud,a bright red underneath from the cold. He was wearing the same clothes from the big reveal, two nights before and the smell of ale preceded him. Dany winced as he stepped further into the room, his eyes visibly bloodshot as he staggered towards her.
"Khaleesi, I beseech you. Can we please talk?"
Missandei looked at Dany and widened her eyes, the question implicit. Dany nodded ever so slightly, and held her breath as her translator left, and her longest serving knight knelt before her. Before she could say anything, the door was pushed open once more, and Ghost padded in the room, his red eyes fixed on Jorah as he made his way to sit behind Dany, placing his head in her lap as he curled around her. Jorah gulped as Ghost yawned towards him, his fangs gleaming as he did.
"Khaleesi, my queen. Long have I served you, with loyalty and love in my heart, even in my actions in regards to the Usurper. I have crossed the ruins of Old Valyria, stole into the heart of Vaes Dothrak, and been the first person to recover from greyscale, all for you. I love you...Daenerys. I love you with all my being. I love you as much as an Old Bear can love. I know I am not a young knight, handsome and in his prime. But I am entirely devoted to you. Please my Khaleesi," he reached for her, his mud caked hand trembling as her violet eyes widened, "Do not join with the Stark boy, even if he is as the cripple says, your nephew, your claim to the throne is challenged by him. He will ruin you. Do not trust him. He is young and naive and easily swayed, a boy. He does not deserve you. He does not know you. He does not love you, as I do."
As Jorah poured his heart out, Dany was trying to keep the rising well of panic from erupting from within her. Long had she known that Jorah harbored feelings of a more amorous nature towards her, but she had been content to ignore them as long as he didn't say anything. She'd met him when she was fifteen, barely out of childhood. She'd viewed him as a friend, a mentor knowledgeable of Westeros. And after everything with Drogo, she'd begun to view him as the father figure she'd always longed for. When she'd dallied with Daario, she knew that Jorah had disapproved, but she hadn't cared too much. But his disapproval of Jon, hurt. She had hoped that he would have cared for her enough to support her. Jon was the first man since Drogo. On their original meeting in Dragonstone, she'd been prepared to hate him, this northern dog, bastard son of Eddard Stark. But as he'd walked in, his steps soft and sure, dark grey eyes stern, but somehow, endearing, and with that scar over his eye. She'd felt something. Attraction for sure, but something deeper too.
Their consecutive meetings strengthened that tie, a bond forming upon his meeting Drogon that she knew instinctively would never be broken. After Viserion's death and his miraculous survival, she knew she could never leave his side. And when he pledged himself to her in front of Cersei Lannister, her blood sang. Knowing now that he was blood of her blood, a Targaryen and a Stark. He was hers and she was his. His actions that first night on the ship, coming to her in the dark, she would fight tooth and nails, with fire and blood to keep him.
As she sat there, she started to run her fingers through Ghost's fur, carding through the knots and he began a slow rumble of pleasure. Jorah looked, unnerved at her continued silence. He shifted as his knees began to creak and shake beneath him, his old joints not able to handle the position for much longer.
"Khaleesi?"
"Jorah. You have been my sword for years...but I cannot. I cannot, return your feelings. You are my dear friend, my mentor, my Bear. But you are not my love, and you will never be. And even if you were, you have no right to tell me what to do or feel. If I marry him, we will rule the Seven Kingdoms together, for he is the King in the North." Her words stole the breath from Jorah as he reeled back, each word like a small thorny barb to his hopes and dreams.
Standing, he tried to step towards her, his mind fixed on getting her to see reason. She was his light and love, all that what pure and right with the world. He served her, for life. And even if she didn't love him, she needed to listen to him. He knew that the Stark boy would be her ruin.
Before he could take another step, Ghost had lunged forward from behind Dany, saliva dripping from his mouth as he snarled at Jorah before snapping at his outstretched hand. Jorah barely manages to pull it back before the direwolf can bite it.
"I think, you should go cool off. We shall talk tomorrow after the war council." Dany's voice went cold, her words clipped as she stood and placed her hand on Ghost's shoulders. As Jorah sputtered and tried to respond, Dany walked out of the room, Ghost following with his huge bulk, making Jorah sidestep so he wouldn't get run into.
Meanwhile, Brienne was in the training yard running drills with Pod. Driving her sword at him, she barked out directions, trying to correct his footwork. Pod shuddered under the weight of her blows, before returning them with equal force. The last few months being an intensive yet ultimately productive as he gained muscles and actual technique. Landing a quick blow on the side of her breastplate, he spun around to dodge her retaliating swing. Stumbling over his feet, he tried to right himself but ended up ass over teakettle in a snowbank on the side of the yard.
Great booming laughs echoed across the yard as Tormund appeared from the snow, his fiery hair a wild mess as he shook with laughter at Pod's misfortune. Brienne glared over at the wildling, his mockery of her squire doing nothing to endear him to her.
"With moves like that boy, you'll be more dangerous to us than those white fuckers," Tormund chuckled as he hefted his axe over his shoulder, "Ye ever consider that the sword, isn't your weapon?"
Brienne bristled at his denigration of Pod while the boy-man in question stood and brushed snow off himself. But as he bent to pick up his sword, Brienne noted the slight discomfort on his face, and she began to wonder if the wildling was partially correct. While Pod had been improving, it was mainly with the spear and surprisingly with the axe. Narrowing her blue eyes at Tormund, she jerked her head at her squire and barked at him to get his axe. Running over to the pile of weapons in a wheelbarrow off to the side, Pod hurried to do her bidding. Turning to face Tormund, Brienne sheathed her sword.
"He's had some training with the axe, but it's not my area of expertise. Why don't you have a go, maybe you can teach him something," Brienne said before walking off the yard to the spectator area.
Tormund grunted his assent, pleased that the giant woman had acknowledged his words and was paying him attention. But his pleasure disappeared as he watched the cocky, one-handed Lannister fuck walk up and stand next to her.
Jaime Lannister leaned over Brienne's shoulder as she settled into a leaning squat against some wooden posts used for archery. Smirking as she jumped at his sudden close proximity, he leaned in closer to whisper in her ear, "Passing on the reins already, though to be honest I am surprised you kept Pod as long as you did, he was hopeless back in King's Landing."
"Pod has proven his mettle as a squire many times over since then, and while he may not be a swordsman, he has skill with the spear and the axe," Brienne's reply was clipped as she tried not to inhale, Jaime's scent pervasive as he leaned in closer, placing a hand on her opposite shoulder. He was too alluring for his own good, she swore internally, and damn hard to resist.
"Well well, high praise coming from you," Jaime's voice suddenly dropped it's lilting and mocking tone, "I'm glad he's been with you. I wish I could have been, I wish many things could have happened differently."
Shocked by the sudden turn of events, Brienne turned around to face him, pinning his green eyes with her gaze.
"You are here now, and that's what matters. What happened in the past is in the past, and while we can use it to inform what actions we take now, we cannot let it rule us," her words came flooding out, and Jaime blinked at them, he knew that her opinion of him had long changed from resentment and disgust to something more pleasant, but this held an edge of, could he even hope to think? Leaning forward again, he flicked his eyes up to hers then down to her lips before slowly moving in, giving her time to pull away, but before he could reach her lips, she moved forward and kissed him. Her lips were rough and chapped, but so were his as they moved together, hers unsure, his hopeful. He carded his hand through her short hair as the other moved to hold her, cursing slightly at how the golden hand impaired his movements. Brienne stepped into his embrace more fully and deepened the kiss, her unsure movements growing bolder as she licked along his lips until parted them. Then it just became a game of dominance, each pushing and pulling the other until they were suddenly waist deep in snow having falling into a snowbank much like Pod had.
While they were busy dusting each other off laughing and mooning into each others eyes, Tormund was venting his aggression with Pod. Swinging his axe, he let out a bellow as it struck Pod's, the metal sparking at the force of the blow. Pod barely managed to keep ahold of his weapon as the wildling wheeled around and struck again and again. Pod's eyes flickered over to his mentor and he saw her and Jaime cuddling into one another as they laughed, and he immediately understood Tormund's rage, and was enraged himself.
Snarling, he lunged forward on the offensive and barely missed nicking Tormund's cheek as the wildling recoiled in surprise. Driving him back with another blow as he twirled the axe upward with his wrist, Pod started to berate the presumptive man, "How dare you. Lady Brienne is worth ten times you if you can be jealous of her happiness. She deserves everything. She deserves to be happy, and if you don't like it that's your own problem."
Tormund was having a hard time keeping up with the smaller man's blows as the axe began to whirl faster and faster, Pod's feet sure and steady as he weaved around the larger man's stature, nicking the leathers that Tormund wore every so often. He was careful enough to pull the blows so he didn't eviscerate the man if he didn't block fast enough, but Pod had had it with the wildling's infatuation with his mistress. He was either going to back off, or become more civil about it if Pod had anything to say.
Standing several feet off to the side: Sansa, Tyrion, Jon, Arya, Gendry and several others were frozen in complete shock at the vicious display of the younger man. Pod's rage and sudden accuracy and force were unheard of for the young man, and Tyrion especially was proud of his former squire. But it was hard to accept meek and quiet Pod as the snarling warrior on the training grounds in front of them.
"Don't act so surprised, the boy's got a lot of hidden depths," Bronn said walking up before biting into an apple, the crunch startling the crowd from their watch, "I mean look at what happened with the whore's. The boy's got passion, he just needs to find the outlet, and he did here."
Murmuring, everyone nodded their heads at Bronn's eerily accurate analysis of the squire before dispersing, they had to prepare for the War Council later that day. An event that would prove mind numbing and challenging to all those in attendance.
The Stark women were in the younger's chambers trying fully comprehend all of the preparations that would need to be made in order to get all of forces moving to their respective posts. The council had went long into the evening before they begged for a recess. Arya had stopped paying attention after the first argument between Jon and Davos over supplies. She'd only tuned back in when it came to her specific role in the coming war.
"Warging is getting easier the more I do it. Sometimes it is hard to come out of it. Bran said that if I'm not careful I can get lost in warging." Arya fiddled with the cup that held the hot water with lemon; one of the few things she had picked up from her time as cupbearer.
"I wish I could let myself go and do it, but after Lady, I can't seem to connect to any animal, let alone in that way," Sansa replied as she leaned across the table to pour herself a glass of wine, she'd taken to drinking it more after her late night discussions with Tyrion.
"It's hard, but my training in Braavos helped. You just need to embrace the Stark within," Arya paused and leveled a look at her older sister, "I heard about what you did to the Bolton bastard, you're capable of wildness Sansa, you just need to admit it to yourself."
Sansa thought about it for a moment, she knew she could be ruthless and wild, she was fiercely devoted to her family, her pack, and she knew that even as she denied, it there was a deep well of passion within her for a certain Lannister...why shouldn't she tap into all of it. She knew she'd never have a bond like she had with Lady but perhaps, perhaps she could try warging. Arya and Jon were both good at it, and at levels where they could teach her unlike Bran. And it would help the war effort to have as many wargs on their side as possible. Bran and Arya could only cover so much distance as ravens, and Jon was to focus his time on bonding with Rhaegal.
As Sansa pondered over her options, Arya smirked inwardly, her prim and proper sister wasn't nearly as stiff and proper as she liked others to think, she was a Stark after all. And in the Council meeting, though she'd barely paid attention, she knew that Sansa was a power player. And warging was important, even more so as the direwolves and shadowcats were coming down from beyond the wall, fleeing the horde of the undead. She could sense them whenever she slept, a wild rush of fear and desperation that would soon be on their doorstep. They would need every available warg to help corral them, and she hoped that Ghost's presence as an alpha would help. Nymeria's presence would also be helpful, but her wild wolf was still in the Riverlands, she dreamt of her every other night, their bond renewing as they became used to one another once more.
"Do you think," Sansa paused as she ran a finger around the rim of her glass, "Do you think we have a chance? To win this against Them?"
Arya looked at her sister, studying Sansa's clear blue eyes, once so fresh and near sparkling, now darker, like the waters in the godswood before the Heart tree. Seeing the age in her sister's eyes now, the world weary sheen Arya knew her own eyes held, she couldn't help but remember one of the last times they were together like this, before they'd left for King's Landing all those years ago. In a rare moment of vulnerability, Arya had turned to Sansa and asked, "Do you think everything's going to work out? With us leaving and Bran still asleep?" Sansa's response came to her now as she looked at her older sister, "We're Starks, we weather the storm, and we come out on top."