Things got a bit confusing for me here, I didn't know whether to have Edmure dead like he is in the tv series, or have him alive. In the end I chose to have him dead. Sorry if he's a particular favourite. Rickon's eight. Bran's twelve. Arya's thirteen. Sansa's fifteen(I'm having her name day soon, so she'll be sixteen). Right. I used the the tv series ages, so that makes Jon about nineteen, in this fic at least. I just had to list that out for myself, sorry. And if they're not accurate I apologise, but as I've stated this fic was purely just something fun for me to write, not serious. I am so glad people seem to be enjoying it though. Also, I do have some character development in store for Arya in particular, and Margaery too. There'll probably be others too, but those two are the only ones I've actually thought out.

Chapter Seven

Arya

One thing Arya had learnt about herself the past few years was that she was a very good sailor. She still wasn't quite big enough to help with the rowing, but she was very capable at carrying out jobs on other places around the ship, which made her feel much more useful than she'd once been. And to think, I used to be a little mouse, scared and frightened running around Harranhal. Though she reminded herself that she'd also once been the ghost of the castle. I wouldn't need Jaquen now, I could do everything myself. The thought pleased her immensely. Feeling useless or weak had never sat well with the Stark girl, and by training with the Faceless Men, she'd made sure—in her mind at least—that she'd never feel that way again. I can lie now, lie so well I could fool the kindly man. Not only that, but Arya had explored her dreams and come to find that entering cats now was as easy as when she dreamed of Nymeria. She ached to reach to King's Landing so she could tell Jon, despite sometimes fearing that their relationship may not be the same as it once was. Sometimes she grew so impatient, she considered telling Ser Jorah or Ser Barristan, but never went through with it. Secrets are better kept between one person, she constantly reminded herself. Jon doesn't count though, he is my big brother, he'd never use my secrets against me.

"Princess Arya, one of your knights wishes to speak with you," one of the boys addressed her awkwardly, staring fervently at his feet and nowhere else.

Arya inwardly groaned. I will hit Jon for this princess malarkey. "Which one? And what of?" She rose from her knees, where she had been scrubbing the deck.

"Ser Jorah and I think word from the king has reached us," he mumbled.

All of the sailors were either from King's Landing or Highgarden, where most of Jon's ships had come from, Arya had learnt,—I learn so much on such a small ship, she mused—and insisted on referring to Jon as 'His Grace' or 'the king', and though she knew this was the standard code of respect, it still irritated her. They could just say 'your brother'. The liberal ways of the Braavosi had certainly rubbed off on her.

She wiped her hands on her trousers. "All right, where is he?"

"Ser Jorah is below, in his chambers."

Excitedly, Arya sped to the knight's room, eager to hear from Jon even if she would rather stay out of the company of such a solemn man. I don't care if he has helped me with my High Valyrian or secretly taught me Dothraki, he's still a creep and unhealthily obsessed with this dragon woman.

"You summoned me?"

"I cannot summon a princess, princess," replied Ser Jorah.

Arya rolled her eyes. "Well, you wished to speak with me?"

"You may roll your eyes, princess, but a princess is what you are and how you must behave, else people will lose respect for your family and your brother, the king."

He sounds like Sansa. "Alright, whatever, but you try having everyone call you princess over and over again for two weeks straight."

"Would you prefer Arry?"

Arya let out a dry laugh at the knight's jest, thoroughly regretting ever telling him of her adventures after King's Landing. "Arya's fine, ser."

"Well then, Princess Arya, while we were docked at Maidenpool, we met with Lord Tarly, who was actually waiting for us; he passed on news from King's Landing and the rest of Westeros, and a letter for you."

Many different questions flew around Arya's mind, she decided to settle on the least interesting one first. "Who's Lord Tarly to Jon?"

"The father of the king's good friend while he was on the Wall."

What's the son of some lord doing on the Wall? I thought it was for bastards, rapers and non-inheriting cousins.

"And he was content with just sitting around waiting for us?"

"It seems that your brother gifted him with the land as a gift."

"A gift for what? The Tarly's didn't fight in the rebellion, did they?"

Another thing Arya loathed was not knowing things. Being nosy and asking questions was good and well, but being unsure and uncertain, that left her feeling young and helpless again. Though she had learnt much in Braavos, news from King's Landing always reached late and when it did, it was hard to hear it as the people of the islands were barely interested in the going on's of distant lords and ladies, and most still believed the Lannister's were in power. The last Arya had heard, before being found by Daenerys's knights was that Tommen had married some maid who Cersei disliked. I hate that I didn't get to kill her either. Now that I am Arya again, and not faceless, I can get rid of the rest on my list. And nobody could punish me because of Jon. Grinning to herself, Arya's fingers unconsciously wrapped around Needle's hilt at her waist.

"From my understanding they fought the side of the Lannister's, which is when Lord Tarly sacked Maidenpool."

"If he fought for the Lannister's, why is Jon gifting him?"

"The king is very fond of his son. The lord didn't seem to pleased about it, but mentioned that he liked the new king and considered asking him to free his son from his vows so he might allow the boy to inherit what is his."

Probably just to gain more favour with Jon. "Must've been some son."

The knight chuckled. "Sometimes you have to forget past grievances and move on. House Tarly are sworn to House Tyrell of Highgarden, who at the time was sworn to House Lannister through marriage."

More Houses, gods am I expected to remember all of them now that I'm a princess?

"Is there any other news?"

"Nothing of great importance. Only that the king has named Queen Daenerys his heir till he has children, and given her Dragonstone as the seat of House Targaryen which she will rule."

"Wouldn't that make her a princess?" Of course, he would only remember anything to do with her. I swear he loves this woman.

"No, the king has also named her a Queen in her own right. Of Slaver's Bay."

"How nice of him," confusion seeped into Arya's voice as she wondered why Jon was being so generous to this woman. Sure she's his aunt, but he's only just met her, right?

"The king has proved himself honourable and just. It is no wonder the people love him; they light candles in their windows nearly every night in his honour."

Candles? Oh yes, he is a Targaryen now, blood of the dragon, as Jorah always tells me.

"May I see the letters, then?"

"Of course," he handed them over immediatley.

Arya waited until she curled up in some crevice right at the bottom of the ship, where only rats could see or hear her, before reading it. Holding a candle to cast some light, she opened her letter anxiously, only pausing to briefly admire Jon's new royal sigil, which was the familiar direwolf Arya had grown up seeing, however behind it was the three-headed dragon she supposed represented his new heritage; idly she wondered what words he now used.

Dear Arya,

I hope this letter reaches you well, you will have to pardon my penmanship, I have only recently began writing so often and find that my scrawl becomes untidier each day rather than the other way round, which is quite peculiar since practice ought to make perfect. But that's beside the point. I impatiently await your return, as does Sansa and Rickon. Yes, Rickon is here and he is surprisingly well. I am not sure what you heard of his and Bran's supposed death, but he tells us that this Osha woman he has been travelling with, who was a scullery maid at Winterfell before it was burnt down, hid him and Bran and helped them escape. There is no word of Bran, but Osha tells me he was with trusted friends, bannermen of House Stark and should turn up eventually. I am restless, still, and may go looking for him myself, if only I had the time. What I wouldn't do for a spare morning. Alas, I have rambled. I miss you dearly, and hope you are not causing Dany's knights too much trouble. If you do, she might not let you see the dragons. I'm japing, of course, she'd never refuse me is I told her to let you see them—don't tell her I said that though—plus, I fear you and her will get along swimmingly. There is no-one who reminds me so much of you, except maybe this Osha woman. I'd love to write a page or two more, but some of the things I wish to tell you should not be put in the hands of random lords, despite my liking for their sons. Until I see you, little sister.

Jon

Feelings coursed through her veins almost too fast for Arya to name them. Excitement, happiness, joy, apprehension, and little spouts of jealousy for 'Dany'. She placated herself by focusing on the fact that Jon misses her, greatly by the sounds of the letter—I doubt he sent one to Sansa—and planned to tell her things in secret that he didn't trust in the hands of his many lords, and he still calls me little sister. Arya could almost feel his hands messing up her hair. She banished all feelings of jealousy for Daenerys—Jorah insists she is great, and I speak High Valyrian just like her, too. Anyways, Jon would never push me aside for some aunty, I have loved him always even when he was a bastard— and folded the letter, moving to tuck it into her clothes. She made to get up and leave her little alcove until a small folded piece of parchment fluttering to the ground caught her attention. She opened it up, the first words reading:

Princess Arya Stark, the only sister who accepted her baseborn sibling,

III

Rickon

Everything is so bright. So bright.

"What's caught your attention, boy?"

"Why is it so light here, Osha?"

The wildling laughed. "It's the south, little prince."

"I don't like it," the boy pouted, reaching over for his direwolf, who growled protectively.

"He's twice as big as you, nowadays," Osha commented, fondly growling back at the wolf.

"He's not bigger than Ghost, though," Rickon said, gesturing to the snow white beast snoring by Osha's side. "Ghost's massive."

"Aye," Osha murmured, she too had been slightly aghast at the size of the king's wolf, which towered past her own waist, whereas Shaggydog stood comfortably at her hips. "It is nice that they can play with one another, now."

"Yes. Robb's and Sansa's are dead now, but if Bran and Arya come back it would like their entire family's together again."

"Bran will be back," Osha said firmly.

"Yes, Jon promised," the boy said it with a strong sense of certainty; many years he'd spent without any proper family, and so he had latched onto Jon fiercely, which had at first brought out feelings of protectiveness in Osha, but eventually the woman came to understand that Jon was a good man, a northern man, who had fought on the Wall and loved a wildling woman once. By letting her roam the castle with his own direwolf, he'd successfully earned both her and Rickon's love and trust.

"It's the dragons that are a real sight," she said after a while. "I told you and your brother years ago that that comet meant dragons."

"And you were right," Rickon conceded laughing. "Like always."

"And don't you forget it, little prince," she said jokingly in return.

Rickon loved Osha in a way that words couldn't quite decipher; especially not his own since his lessons had essentially ended a year ago once he went on the run, and the most he could remember were the basic words. He naturally gravitated around the woman, and clung to her when he went to sleep, and cried into her breast when he remembered his old life before his father had died. And apart from very recently, she was the only person he'd ever trusted Shaggydog with. For a very long time, she'd been his home, his family. It was her, not Eddard Stark, who'd taught him how to fight six months ago, and her who'd fashioned him his own wooden spear which he insisted was a sword and given it to him on his eighth nameday. For his first two weeks at the Red Keep, he'd point blank refused to leave his room, and only spoke to Osha. She had been the one to coax him out and introduce him to his brother, who he subsequently latched onto with great vigour. Nowadays, Rickon had very few bad days where he was unruly or cried, and he quite liked playing with his new brother Jon, who he just about remembered from his old castle. He was a Snow, though, mother always said it. So did Sansa. Rickon decided from very early on that he didn't like Sansa very much. She was too quiet and still for his tastes, and she didn't like it when he tried to spar with her the way he did Osha and Jon. She's very pretty though and Jon says I have to be nice to her because she is my sister. Yes, the days weren't that bad for Rickon anymore, but he still didn't like being forced to eat breakfast with his sister. He sincerely hoped that the other one was more fun.

III

Jon

A month since Margaery's departure back to Highgarden and Jon still couldn't shake the feeling of emptiness that hung around and inside him every morning and every night. She had sent a raven two weeks ago, but Jon hadn't felt like it was something Margaery would say. Or write, even. Your Grace is very popular here in Highgarden, celebrations for your reign last all day long. I am glad to have had the chance to meet you in person. Grandmother wishes you well, and father is so very proud for you to have named him Master of Ships and sets sail next month. The letter left him feeling emptier than he had prior to reading it, though he still scribbled a half-hearted reply, asking her to pass on his goodwill to her brothers and new nephew. He found that it was easy to distract himself in the days: visiting Sansa and trying to draw her out of her shell, playing with Rickon and talking with Osha—which was a lot more enjoyable than he'd thought it would be, she is like Ygritte in some ways—and of course his boring small council meetings. I have achieved much though, and Tyrion takes most of the load off my shoulders. The dwarf had managed to restore stability in Riverrun by naming the Blackfish lord of the riverlands, stating that having a warrior as one of his lords would serve Jon well, especially, and had managed to take away a very large proportion of the Frey's wealth for their murder of Jon's brother Stark, which went aginst all laws of hospitality, which had then been used to pay of the last of the crown's debt to the Iron Bank and buy two hundred more ships. Except for Walder Frey being taken as prisoner and sent to Lannisport to live the rest of his days in a cell, no further punishment had been taken out on House Frey. And last week I finally received word that Dacey Mormont has officially ruling Winterfell in stead of Rickon or Bran, who I plan to send back there once I find a trustworthy Maester and he learns to read. Jon had received his own Maester, days ago, who turned out to be Tyrell, Gormon, her great uncle, making his longing for the maid all the more stronger. Even Daenerys and Rhaegal couldn't take Jon's mind of her permanently. Lately, though, Daenerys hardly had any time for Jon, as she was extremely busy with preparations for Dragonstone and organising her Unsullied soldiers and any of the people from Slaver's Bay she still travelled with. I don't want to spoil her mood, she doesn't understand anyhow, she never liked Margaery. Thinking of Arya, was the only thing that ever dulled his pain. Just a few more weeks and she'll be with me. I'll nearly have my entire family back. However, the arrival of Rickon and Osha had managed to brighten his days. He enjoyed the boys recklessness, and the woman's wit. He was upset to find that when he roamed the halls with Osha, people cooed and gossiped happily, yet when he had done it with Margaery, they'd drove her right out of his arms and back to Highgarden

"My lord," a teasing voice called, pulling Jon from his thoughts. "I just happened to find the perfect blacksmith to make the armour you wanted for your siblings."

"My lord," Jon replied. "There are blacksmith's aplenty in this city. Why has it taken you nearly a month?"

"All good things to those who wait," Tyrion said. "Have I taught you nothing?"

You taught me most things. "So tell me how you located this blacksmith then?"

"Well, I had help from a certain spider."

"Of course."

"And it seems that my sweet sister—or her darling son, whichever, managed to forget one of Robert's many bastards, and it seems that boy has found himself in the city, with no money, no food, and no brotherhood to fight for."

As quickly as possible, Jon digested Tyrion's words, starting with mention of the brotherhood which he was sure he and Dany had either gotten rid of or persuaded to fight for House Targaryen, or House Stark, whichever one appropriate.

"So this blacksmith was part of the brotherhood?"

"Yes, but mostly because he was a bastard and had nowhere else to go."

"There was always the Wall."

"Unfortunately, he didn't quite make it. Almost got killed on the way."

"Right. Exciting life this blacksmith leads. Why is he so special?"

"Patience, Jonny," Tyrion said again, causing Jon to chuckle at the nickname. "This blacksmith of mine made a friend on his unsuccessful trip to the Wall. A friend who you love very much."

For a moment, Jon almost expected Tyrion to tell him this bastard had been Margaery's friend, and then felt surges of jealousy as he considered the fact that the two may have been lovers. Easy there, Jon, why would Margaery every befriend a bastard boy on his way to the Wall?

"And who was this friend?"

"Guess. Here, I'll give you a hint: she's a princess."

"You can't possibly mean. . . He knew Arya?" Jon choked.

"Varys has done what he is famous for and pretty much found out everything that happened between the two on their travels. It did take a while though, to locate the boy, lure him to the capital and then get him to spill his guts to the spies we placed around him."

"Nice," Jon said dryly.

"Judge not, Jon Snow," Tyrion waggled a finger. "We've found that he and Princess Arya were very close, that they and some Pie fellow spent a significant amount of time together. Apparently the little princess was very distraught when Gendry decided to stay with the brotherhood rather than follow her, but almost drove himself to the point of madness searching for her when he learned that she'd been taken by The Hound."

Jon ground his teeth at the reminder of his sister's captor, glad that nothing too bad had gone down while he'd held her captive. "So Arya had a little crush did she?"

"Apparently. Although Gendry was a bit older than her, and blanched at her status, so much higher than his, so obviously nothing blossomed between the two."

"Varys will never cease to surprise me," Jon said wistfully.

"Varys?" Tyrion exclaimed. "Where's the gratitude for your ever faithful Hand?"

"You know my entire reign would've been doomed from the start without you."

"Flattery gets you everywhere," Tyrion winked.

"So find this Gendry, bring him to court, and I'll look him over."

"Give him your blessing, eh?"

Jon playfully nudged the man's shoulder. "Was there anything else, my little lord?"

"Just a friend's concern for another friend."

"We're a bit more than friends, I'd say. Why are you concerned?"

"You miss Lady Margaery."

"Lady Margaery missed her home. I'm glad she's happy, now."

"Your pitiful attempts at deceit amuse me."

"I'm not allowed to miss her, remember?"

"You're allowed to do what you like, lord of the seven kingdoms remember?"

"Ha ha."

"It's okay to miss her, you know. You can't control who you fall in love with."

"I didn't fall in love with anyone."

"Maybe not yet. But you're almost there."

"She's gone, Tyrion, she left. We're just old friends, now."

"She left because everyone at court despised, mistrusted or envied her. Your own little sister told the girl it'd be best if she went home."

"Sansa?"

"Yes. Out of concern for you, of course. She believed Margaery was using you."

"Everyone did," Jon sighed. His spies had told him that much. Except that one, the one from Riverrun, who'd told him of Margaery's complete disinterest. "Trust me Tyrion, she didn't want me."

"She did. Believe me, she loved you. When you failed to go to her dinner party, it hurt her deeply."

Shame coloured Jon's cheeks. "I was making preparations for Rickon."

"Sure."

"Just drop it, Tyrion. Margaery and I are friends, nothing more."

"Alright, Your Grace. I'll go find the princess's little beau."

"You do that," Jon said.

I hurt her deeply . . . No, I can't have, Margaery would've surely told me. If she really wanted me there, she would've invited me! She's gone, back to Highgarden where everyone loves her, her family are, and she can start her life afresh. She is no concern of mine. Think of Arya.

III

Margaery

Days were long. Long and hard and tiring. For a month, she had worn her smiling, graceful mask and participated in everything she was expected to, and for a month, she had gone to her bed and bawled. Bawled for everything she had lost in the past three years, without even realising they were gone. My integrity, marrying Renly took that away, my honesty, marrying Joffrey took that one, and most of all, me, my self-respect, marrying Tommen weeks after his brother's, her own ex-husband's death, had taken that away. And those months she'd spent in the black cells, with only silence and her own ragged breath as company, for a long while, that had taken her peace of mind away. It was easy to pretend. Easy to laugh when things weren't funny, and easy to dance with the strangers her father always brought to Highgarden to court her, and especially easy to tell everyone she was fine, and yes, the king was as handsome as people said, and yes, he was just and kind, and yes, his direwolf was real. It wasn't easy for Margaery to fall asleep at night. It wasn't easy for her to sit with Loras and hide how she felt, when all she wanted to do was cry. It wasn't easy at all, to walk and eat and drink and remember Jon's rushed, uncaring words in his letter. He didn't come to my goodbye party, that alone should've told me he had no true feelings. It was all in my head. All of it. She was still glad though, glad that she'd left. Left before she got too attached. Because it could be worse. It could. And Jon's happier too, I hear Prince Rickon has arrived and with him that wildling woman who roams the castle with Ghost. That hurt. That hurt Margaery a lot. Hearing the girls fresh from King's Landing with their tales of Osha, Jon's second wildling love, had dug a hole in her chest. I should've known I could never compare. Vapid, shallow me. He could only ever love a northern woman.

And even though all these things bubbled inside her, and engulfed her in her tortured dreams, she hadn't meant to fall of her horse. Hadn't meant to at all. She hadn't decided life wasn't worth living; only maybe if she closed her eyes for just a second, and just listened to the hooves of the horse and felt the wind on her face, for just a second, she could forget it all. She hadn't considered the horse slipping on some loose rock and throwing her to the ground. She hadn't considered how it would feel to watch her legs twist like that.