Chapter XIII: The Heir

She looked almost ladylike, with head held high and eyes straight and fierce. She didn't have to wear a dress, and she wasn't. She intimated everyone even with her ragged breeches and loose tunic. There was a roughness about her, a Northern air, and Jon guessed the men appreciated her more so for it. She was a warrior who had won them back their freedom and their land, and a Lady wouldn't have been able to do that.

Her eyes met his across the room, and Arya frowned.

Jon looked away.

"She has done the right thing, you know," he heard Tormund say. "Even if it wasn't to your liking."

It had been a good decision to make Tormund wear Northern clothes. They hadn't pretended to hide he was a Wildling, but it wasn't too obvious, which surely helped. A few men had been suspicious, but all it took was a stern look from Arya for them not to linger on the subject.

Jon realized then that Arya would always have Riverrun in her grasp, although it was he who was the King.

"That's it," he said, replying to Tormund, keeping himself from looking at her. "I know she had her reasons, but running off like that is-"

The anger came back. He remembered the blood on her; some gashes on her skin so deep that they would take weeks to heal.

"And her companions," he added. "The Hound? He's a bloody Lannister dog. What the fuck's he doing with her? And what if he had turned on her. I have tasted enough betrayal, and the last thing I want is for her to end up with daggers in her back."

The very thought of anything like that happening to her made his blood run cold.

"You worry too much, King Crow." Tormund looked her way, and Jon saw admiration in his eyes, and awe. "I don't know what your sister was like. I don't know nothing about who she is now. But the woman sitting there... Believe me, Jon, she is no helpless maiden to be locked up in a tower."

"I wouldn't lock her up," Jon said, watching as the Lords seated themselves.

Tormund laughed, and Jon thanked the Gods it wasn't too loud.

"Your face says it all. You would take her to a tower the moment you get a chance. Only the Gods know what she'll do to you after that, though."

Edmure was in front of him now, looking every bit of a Lord, and bowed respectfully. Jon didn't remember Edmure ever being fond of him when he was younger, and wondered if it was because of anything else but his Crown.

"Are your wife and child well, My Lord?" Jon asked.

"Yes, Your Grace," he said. "They are in need of care, but they will be in good health in no time." He turned to the men.

"My niece has given us this castle back, even after all hope was lost," he said loudly, and Arya looked surprised. The men stopped talking. "I know I am your Lord, but I have failed you once, while she has given us freedom. If Princess Arya agrees, Riverrun is hers, today and always, and I will gladly offer her my position as the Lord Paramount of the Trident."

Jon's eyes widened, and to his shock, nobody looked taken aback except him and Arya.

They have decided it unanimously.

They all wanted Arya as the Lady of Riverrun.

"I refuse." He heard her voice, cutting through the silence. "It is your right, Uncle Edmure. I will not take it from you. Besides, I didn't fight the Lannisters for this, I fought them because I'm a Stark and a Tully. I have no desire for this seat. It is yours."

"I have failed-" Edmure began, but Arya cut him off with a gesture of her hand.

"You will not repeat your mistakes. I know. Family comes before duty and honor for a Tully, and you did what you did for your wife and child." She looked at the Lords. "I understand you have your reasons, but you must trust my judgement on this. Lord Tully will always be the better choice. I will fight for you if need be, but I am not one to sit and look over a castle, and I am unwilling to stay away from Winterfell."

"You would have to look over the entire North if circumstances arise, Princess," Edmure said.

"What do you mean?" Jon heard himself say.

Edmure took a deep breath, and looked between him and Arya.

"I do not believe you know of this, but King Robb wrote a will before he died, Your Grace. You were to succeed him as the King in the North, and if you weren't able, Princess Arya would've sat as the Queen."

Jon guessed Arya's reaction even before he turned around to look at her and confirm it. Arya was walking towards them, steps steady.

"Sansa is the older one," she said, confused.

"Yes," Edmure agreed. "But your sister isn't really a Stark now. By that time she had married Tyrion Lannister, and in fear of a Lannister taking Winterfell for himself, King Robb excluded her from his will. You would have been next in line, but you had disappeared, and many had taken you for dead. So King Jon was put first, then you, and then your brothers Bran and Rickon."

Sansa wouldn't like that, Jon immediately thought, but brushed it off his mind.

He looked at Arya and imagined her as a Queen, sitting on a throne with a crown on her head. A Queen as harsh as Winter itself. It was a strange sight, but not an unpleasant one.

"Nothing will ever happen to Jon for it to come to that," she said.

"Riverrun is yours, Lord Edmure," Jon said, speaking for the first time on the matter. "I do not think my sister wants it. And let us not allow the past to affect our actions now."

When Lord Tully turned to talk to his men after a lot of silent speculation on his part, the siblings turned away, and Jon saw Arya breathe out in relief.

The weather was livelier in the South: blue skies and breezes and the warmth everyone so desperately craved for in the North.

The horses were saddled and ready to be mounted. There was no reason for staying longer in Riverrun, and by the morning, they were ready to leave for Winterfell.

"I am still waiting for that scolding, you know," Arya said to him, while the drawbridge was being lowered. Jon turned around and saw the men that would accompany them.

"You're bringing Sandor Clegane to Winterfell?" He asked.

"He's a changed man now," Arya said and shrugged. She looked over her shoulder as well. "He's not too much fond of me, but he has my trust."

"I don't know about mine," Jon confessed.

"Sansa trusts him too," she said nonchalantly. "He helped her, I think."

Jon found it hard to believe Sansa would even talk to a man like Sandor Clegane, but if Arya believed so, it might be true.

"And the rest?" He asked.

"Thoros and Beric. Thoros is a Priest of the Red God. Beric was the Lord of Blackhaven. Father knew him, and trusted him. That is enough for me."

The mention of Ned Stark bombarded his mind with memories.

"And the one with the dark hair?"

"He's a friend."

"And knighted?" He asked, as the thud of the lowered drawbridge could be heard.

"Yes, by Beric," she replied. She mounted her horse and the beast neighed almost wildly. Arya tried to calm her mare with a palm over the face.

"They sense the wolves," she whispered, then as if stopping herself at the last minute from blurting something else out, turned around.

"What is it?" Jon asked. Everyone was ready to leave and he saw Tormund approaching him.

She shook her head.

"Now's not the time," she said, and nodding one last time to her uncle, took off. Jon followed, then Tormund and then the Brotherhood.

He heard the creak of the bridge again behind him, but his eyes were ahead.

Perhaps Arya wasn't wrong.

They had entered the gates of Winterfell and the first thing he had seen was Sansa standing with Ser Davos and Lady Brienne. She didn't look very pleased, and when she seemed to catch the image of the men behind her siblings, she almost took a step back in shock.

Jon had a hard time understanding the look Sansa gave the Hound. She recognized him: that was evident, but he didn't see the indifference he was hoping to see. Clegane only received her stare, devastatingly contrasting in emotion to the one the Lady of Tarth was giving him. Brienne had her hand on her sword, practised fingers gripping the hilt, ready to strike any moment she was allowed to.

"Your Grace," Ser Davos said, "I did not know you'd bring company."

Sandor Clegane was receiving a lot of deathly glares from every corner. Jon decided not to let the fire rise

"They are Arya's companions." He ignored her snort. "They will stay here now?"

"Everyone?" Sansa asked, finally taking her eyes off Sandor.

"Yes," he said.

Sansa nodded, then turned to Arya who was at Jon's side.

"You didn't send for the Knights of the Vale."

Arya narrowed her eyes.

"I said I would if I needed them. I didn't."

"You did it all alone then," Sansa said. "I guess it made it easier?"

"I don't-"

"I think we should speak of this inside," Jon said, interrupting them, sensing the inevitability of a quarrel if he didn't interrupt.

Sansa nodded and turned around to walk back. Arya also went away from his side and he found himself beside Davos.

"Are you willing to give the particulars, Your Grace?" He asked.

Jon looked at Arya. She was talking to the dark-haired man. He was shivering, and he whispered something in her ear and Arya elbowed him in the stomach, making him laugh.

"It was all her," Jon said. "Riverrun is ours. More precisely hers, now. They wanted her to become the Lady Paramount. She refused saying she wanted to stay here."

"Your sister is a brave girl, Your Grace," the man said, smiling fondly.

"Yes, I know she is. And mayhaps that is what scares me."

She wasn't someone to back away from a fight, and it would lead to her being at the front in dangerous situations. Situations he didn't want her to be a part of.

"A raven arrived at dawn, Your Grace. It was addressed specifically to you with a-" he hesitated, "a Targaryen sigil."

Jon sucked in a breath.

"Have you read it?" He asked.

"No." Davos reached inside his cloak, and handed the small scroll to him. Jon opened it tentatively. He had not written back to Tyrion Lannister, and he had not expected him to write again within such a short period of time, and definitely not the Targaryen woman herself.

"They are coming," he breathed out softly.

"Who?"

"Daenerys Targaryen, Tyrion Lannister. They are all coming here to Winterfell. They want to settle a truce."

He crushed the paper in his hands.

"What is it?" He heard Arya's voice and turned to find her brows furrowed together in curiosity, and her gaze alternating between him and Davos.

"Arya," he said, watching as she waited impatiently for his answer. He would have to tell her at some point, and there wasn't any way to avoid it.

He only hoped she wouldn't react rashly. The very thought of telling Arya Stark that he had been thinking of bending the knee to someone when she had just given him Riverrun was enough to make him nervous.

I cannot expect her to do anything other than be against it, he thought. But I have to tell her of the dangers that lurk beyond the Wall.

He exhaled.

"There is something you need to know."