This chapter is a bit short, but rather important. I hope you have fun reading it!
And since it's mostly about a journey, I'd like to use the opportunity to thank all of you who have accompanied me on this journey so far, who have been reading, following, favouriting, and commenting. Your support means a lot - please stay tuned, and tell me what you think!
Arya had barely been at Winterfell two weeks when another raven came from the south, heralding the end of their reunion.
Charleen had returned to the keep late one night after helping to deliver a baby in the winter town to find Jon sitting up by the fire in their bedroom, waiting for her with the letter in his hand.
"I have to go to Dragonstone," he had said, holding the parchment out to her by way of an explanation. His tone had been final, brooking no argument, but Charleen, glancing over the contents of the letter, had been unable to stop herself.
"What if something happens to you? You promised never to leave me..."
"I'm not going to leave you. You're going to come with me."
They had slept but little that night, and on the following morning, Jon had called Arya, Maester Wolkan, and Ser Davos to his study to tell them of his decision. On the table before him lay the second letter, and beside it the first one that had been sent by Tyrion Lannister.
Looking first at Charleen and then at each of the others in turn, Jon took a deep breath and picked up the second letter.
"This message was sent to me by Sam Tarly," he said. "He was my brother at the Night's Watch, a man I trust as much as anyone in this world. He's discovered proof that Dragonstone sits on a mountain of dragonglass." He paused, reaching for the other letter. "I received this a few days ago, from Dragonstone. It was sent to me by Tyrion Lannister. He is now Hand of the Queen to Daenerys Targaryen. She intends to take the Iron Throne from Cersei Lannister. She has a powerful army at her back, and, if this message is to be believed, three dragons. Lord Tyrion has invited me to Dragonstone to meet with Daenerys, and I'm going to accept."
There was a moment's silence, and then an exclamation of disbelief from Arya.
"What –? No, you can't go now, you can't just leave –!"
"I've asked all the Northern maesters to search their records for mentions of dragonglass," Jon cut across her, "and now –," he gestured towards Sam's letter. "We need this dragonglass. We know that dragonglass can destroy both White Walkers and their army. We need to mine it, and turn it into weapons. But more importantly, we need allies. The Night King's army grows larger by the day. We can't defeat them on our own. Daenerys has her own army, and –" he looked meaningfully at Ser Davos, "she has dragonfire. I need to try and persuade her to fight with us."
He turned to Charleen, and with a nod she confirmed the answer that she had given him the previous night.
"Charleen and I will ride for White Harbour," Jon continued, "and sail from there for Dragonstone."
"Have you forgotten what happened to our grandfather?" Arya interjected heatedly. "The Mad King invited him to King's Landing and roasted him alive!"
"I know that," Jon said quietly.
"She is here to reclaim the Iron Throne and the Seven Kingdoms," Arya insisted. The North is one of those seven kingdoms. This isn't an invitation, it's a trap!"
"It could be," Jon agreed in a level voice. "But I don't believe Tyrion Lannister would do that. I know him. He's a good man."
At this, Maester Wolkan straightened in his chair.
"Your Grace," he said, "with respect, I must agree with Lady Arya. I remember the Mad King all too well. A Targaryen cannot be trusted. Nor can a Lannister."
"Jon," Arya pressed, "winter is here. The King in the North needs to be in the North!"
Jon lowered his gaze for a moment, but when he looked up again, his face was set.
"I never wanted to be king," he declared. "I never asked for it. But I accepted it because the North is my home. It's part of me and I will never stop fighting for it, no matter the odds. But the odds are against us. None of you have seen the army of the dead." He exhaled deeply. "We can never hope to defeat them alone. We need allies, powerful allies. I know it's a risk. But we have to take it."
"Then send an emissary!" Arya exclaimed. "Don't go yourself!"
"Daenerys is a queen," Jon replied calmly. "Only a king can convince her to help us. It has to be me."
"You're abandoning your people! You're abandoning your home!"
"I'm leaving both in good hands."
"Whose?!"
"Yours."
Taken entirely by surprise, Arya merely stared at him.
"You are my sister," Jon told her. "You're the only Stark in Winterfell."
He looked at her steadily, and after a moment, Arya nodded.
"Be careful," she said, very quietly. "Both of you."
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A few days later, dawn came with swirling snows and the stomping and snorting of horses in the courtyard as Jon and Charleen made ready for their journey south. Jon had asked Ser Davos to accompany them, and a small escort of a dozen armed men.
By the gate leading out of the castle stood Arya, watching silently as Jon examined his horse's tack one final time and then came towards her, pulling on his gloves. Charleen followed him, shivering a little in spite of the thick fur cloak wrapped around her shoulders. She hung back as Jon bade farewell to his sister with a few quiet words and a tight embrace, then stepped forward in her turn.
"Goodbye, Arya," she said.
"There are dangerous people out there," Arya told her. "Take care of yourself."
"And you," Charleen murmured.
She put her arms around Arya, and they held each other close for a moment. Then, Charleen broke away and turned to take her horse's bridle. Jon was already mounted, and when she had climbed into the saddle, he caught her gaze. Charleen gave a nod, and they both spurred their horses on to gallop out through the castle gates, with the others following them.
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Charleen could smell the sea before she saw it. She had never been to the coast before, but the faint, salty tang in the air that grew ever stronger as they travelled south along the White Knife river was unmistakeable. Unfamiliar-looking birds were gliding across the sky, emitting strange, keening cries.
Finally, the river widened, and a vast expanse of water came into view, stretching out all the way to the horizon. Charleen could hear a faint rushing noise from where it lapped the shore, surging right up to the great stone wall that encircled the city of White Harbour.
The city was a marvel in itself – Charleen had never seen so many buildings so close together, innumerable walls and roofs nestling around the New Castle of House Manderly that was perched high upon the cliff overlooking the river and the sea.
Lord Manderly had invited them to stay with him for a few days before continuing their journey, but as they approached the city, Charleen's gaze was drawn to the port and to the ships lying at anchor there. Another ship was visible out at sea, sails billowing in the wind. Out there upon the main, it looked minuscule, a few planks of wood and yards of cloth against the boundless swell of the waves, and Charleen felt a sudden, shivering thrill prickling down the back of her neck.
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Lord Manderly had chosen his grandest ship to bear them south, a magnificent, two-masted caravel furnished in a manner well worthy of a king, but Charleen did not find the sea voyage to be particularly enjoyable. The constant movement of the planks beneath her feet disconcerted her from the moment she first stepped on board; and when they left the estuary of the White Fork river on the morning of the second day and sailed out into the open ocean, the movement turned into a steady, lurching roll that made her head spin and her stomach clench with nausea.
By midday, she could no longer conceal her suffering. Slumped in a chair in the cabin with a wooden bucket on the floor between her feet, she closed her eyes, fighting desperately against the urge to be sick. Jon was sitting beside her, comfortingly rubbing her back even though he was looking miserable himself, his face deathly pale and glistening with cold sweat.
"We should go up on deck," he suggested hoarsely. "The fresh air helped me when I was sailing to Hardhome."
Charleen merely shook her head. If she was going to lose her dignity, she felt, it would be better to suffer it here, away from the eyes of the sailors.
There was a knock at the cabin door and Ser Davos entered. Having spent most of his life on boats and ships of various kinds, he did not even seem to notice the swell that was threatening to turn Charleen's insides out, and at the scene before him, his lips twitched into a pitying smile.
"It does get better," he said. "You just need some time to get used to the movement."
And he quickly averted his gaze as Charleen, finally losing the battle with her stomach, bent over, and reached for the bucket.
