They came through the castle gates, a small company of Dothraki warriors and Unsullied soldiers leading a large double-decked wheelhouse of rich coloured woods, intricate carvings and gold plated sidings.
The men that rode with them were covered head to toe in light winter furs – very much like the ones his sister and her guard wore – and numbered to about twenty warriors. But it was three particular men that rode alongside the carriage that stood out among them.
The one dressed in Kingsguard clothing had to be Ser Barristan Selmy, a man who had once served Aerys Targaryen and then Robert Baratheon only to give up his position as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard when Joffrey had taken the throne. He instead left the shores of Westeros to find the true reigning monarch. Daenerys Targaryen.
A man of pride and honour, Arya had said. Someone who willingly served a monarch that he believed in. And he believed in this Dragon Queen.
The second one was Ser Jorah Mormont, exiled son of Ser Jeor Mormont ex-Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, who had been banished from Westeros for slave trading. His sister had said that he had initially been sent to spy on the Dragon Queen to gain his Kings pardon but ended up pledging his life to her instead.
But love – his sister said - could do that to a person, change their loyalties. And unfortunately for Jorah Mormont he had fallen deeply for the Queen. Enough to change his loyalties. Enough to watch the woman he loved, love someone else.
And the last had to be Daario Naharis, a man who according to his sister had been a lieutenant to the Second Sons, a sellsword company from Essos who would fight and kill for the highest bidder. He joined the Dragon Queens army because of a debt he owed but stayed because of the cause.
He remembered what his sister had told him about these three men, their strengths, their weaknesses. She said that one needed to remember as much about their allies as they did about their enemies.
And these three men would willingly take a knife in their belly for their Queen.
Taking a deep breath, Rickon turned his attention back to the Dothraki, trying to remember his lessons. Spot their weaknesses, every man had a weakness. Search for it, catalogue it and use it only if necessary.
But the Dothraki were dark fierce warriors with kohl lined eyes and scowling faces with blades of all different kinds strapped to their backs.
It was the blades that caught his attention. Some he recognised, thanks to his sister's large collection but there were others that he did not. Others that held his fascination, his fingers itching to test one out.
The Unsullied were eyes straight forward, emotionless and tense. All waiting for their next command.
His two eldest siblings stood stiffly beside him as well as the entirety of the Stark household, all there to welcome the Dragon Queen and her horde.
The only one missing was the very one who needed to be here.
"Where is Lady Arya?" he heard Ser Davos whisper to his brother, his tone concerned, as they watched what had to be one of the largest men they had ever seen, break out from the group and make his way towards them. His eyes were centred on Jon, scowling fiercely as he glared at his brother.
Jon to his credit stared coldly back at him, not at all cowered by the mass of this man nor the ferocity in which he stared at him. Although considering Jon had faced the Night King and an army of Whitewalkers, Rickon supposed that there wasn't much that cowered his brother these days.
"She'll be here." Jon said softly, answering Ser Davos' question but never taking his eyes off the man who had to be Khal Drogo, the Dragon Queen's consort.
A hush fell among those waiting as the Khal came to a stop, a sneer tilting his lips as he continued to glare at Jon.
The two men stared at each other, locked in a silent battle that had the northerners shifting uncomfortably. It was Grey Worm who broke the tension as he pulled up alongside the Khal, speaking to him in low tones before he dismounted.
"My Lady." He bowed at Sansa, causing Sansa to dip her head in acknowledgement. "My Lords –"Grey Worm addressed both Jon and Rickon. "Where is –"
"My-Arya!" Rickon tensed as a boy - who had to be no older than 5 winters - roared his sister's name, flinging open the carriage door and glaring at them. "My-Arya!" he roared again, vaulting to the ground and stomping towards them. "Where is she?" he demanded coming to a stop in front of Jon who blinked down at him in surprise. "Where is My-Arya?" he asked in a barely accented common tongue.
"Prince Rh-"Grey Worm began only for the boy to shake his head stubbornly, staring at Jon and then at Sansa.
"Where is she?" he growled, fists clenching.
The Khal gave a low chuckle saying something to the prince in a foreign tongue before dismounting.
"My Prince –"Sansa began haltingly, almost flinching as the Khal came towards them causing Rickon to take a protective step closer to her.
The Khal noticed this, his lips twisting in a mocking smirk.
"I want to see her now!" the prince commanded, turning his glare on Grey Worm. "You said she would be here." He snapped at the man. "Where is she?"
"Right here, my prince." Arya's amused voice broke the staring match between the two as the kid turned his face lighting up as he watched Arya come towards him, a small smile on her lips.
"My-Arya!" the boy did a running jump towards his sister and she caught him in mid-flight her soft laughter barely heard above his excited babble.
Watching them Rickon couldn't help but feel slightly jealous as he saw his sister push back the Prince's white-blonde hair, a warm look of affection in her eyes.
The little boy in him was screaming that Arya was HIS sister, not this little blonde brat's and he had no right coming to his home demanding to see HIS sister.
The man in him was unsuccessfully trying to push his own spoilt little brat back into the background.
Coming home had been emotional for Rickon. He barely remembered it, barely remembered his siblings and barely remembered his parents. Yet that had not stopped him for mourning all that he had lost.
But since being home the majority of his time had been spent with Arya.
There was a calmness in her that soothed the rage in him. She tempered him, helped him gain control of his rage and channel it in a different direction.
Their days were spent helping Sansa to rebuild their home, gaining the respect and support of the wildlings, helping the smallfolk of Winterfell with their needs and for him - training.
It was the training that Rickon loved the most. Hand to hand combat, weapon fighting, archery, it seemed his sister was an expert at everything and Rickon ate up her lessons like a man starved.
And the others respected her as well. From Jon to the wildlings to his father's bannermen. They all deeply respected his sister and what she had to say. And for a woman to have such a voice was amazing in itself.
But then there were the special lessons. Ones that his sister said would help him protect their family when she wasn't here. Ones that that taught him how to spot a threat by just a glance, how to tell when someone was lying through their teeth and how charm even the most aggressive of adversaries. Right before you slit their throat.
And then at nights, it was just the siblings. Sansa, Arya, Jon and him. After the war council meetings that had Jon and Arya holed up with the Lords hours after dinner and Sansa organising the servants for the upcoming royal visit, the four Stark siblings would just spend time together. Reconnecting with each other, rebuilding their bonds and creating new ones. No one would drive a wedge between them again. No one would use one of them for their own means. Not without a fight.
But as Rickon and his siblings watched as the little boy – who had to be Rhaego Targaryen - wrap his legs around Arya's waist and tug on her braid, Rickon knew that his family circle was suddenly going to be much wider.
And he wasn't sure how he felt about that.
"Well." a smooth distinctively feminine voice interrupted everyone watching the pair as a woman walked slowly towards them, her face a cool polite mask. "Is this any way to greet your Queen, Lady Arya?" the woman asked with barely veiled amusement.
Arya smiled back at what had to be the famed Dragon Queen, unwrapping the boy's legs from around her waist and dipping into a smooth curtsey.
"Your grace." Arya greeted a hint of warmth in her tones. "Welcome to Winterfell."
::
How did he forget that he hated the fucking snow? It was so fucking wet. And cold. And Daario Naharis did not do cold.
Being that he was from Tyrosh where it barely rained, let alone snowed, Daario was more inclined towards the warmer climates than the freezing cold ones.
The things one did for royalty.
Muttering darkly he dismounted, grimacing as he sank into the snow before making his way towards the Queen's carriage.
They had all been eager to get to this frozen version of hell for days now, the excitement of seeing their little commander waning rapidly as the days wore on.
Arriving on the shores of Dragonstone had been a poignant moment for Dany. They had all watched as she landed on the shores pausing as she scanned the surrounding lands. Her dragons flew above her, screaming their call as the Prince and Drogo came to a stop beside her.
Gracefully falling to one knee she sank her hands into the sand before turning a beaming smile up at her husband and her son.
"We are home." She had told them, quietly.
But now they were here. In Winterfell. The home of the Starks, Warden for the North.
Fuck he hated the cold. The things he did for family.
Ignoring the tensing of the guards of Winterfell he opened the carriage door, ducking his head in to see his Queen and her advisor/handmaiden – the beautiful Missandei - shaking their heads.
"Got away from you did he?" Daario teased her in Valyrian so the Northerners wouldn't be able to know that he was teasing the Queen.
"He's a brat and I blame all of you." She muttered shaking her head and taking his proffered hand. "And I blame her." She said resigned; as Missandei pulled back the curtain to see her son wrap his legs around Lady Arya's waist nattering away like a baby raven. "I especially blame her."
Arranging her features Dany into a cool blank mask she allowed him to help her down from the carriage, her eyes on her son and Arya Stark.
Shaking his head at the babbling coming from the little Prince he turned to help Missandei before turning back to Dany, waiting to follow her lead.
Ser Jorah Mormont came up to her left, while Ser Barristan took the rear, as they followed their Queen towards the embracing pair.
"Well," Dany drawled a small smile playing on her lips. "Is that anyway to greet your Queen, Lady Arya?"
Arya lifted her head and Daario felt his breath stall in his throat as she gave them a slow wicked smile.
Arya Stark was achingly beautiful. Silver coloured eyes in a lightly tanned face, with high cheekbones, full lips and ink black hair. Her face was slightly longer than normal yet it only added to her appeal. The Imp said her beauty rivalled that of her aunt Lyanna and having not known the aunt Daario couldn't compare. But what he did know is that besides Dany, Arya Stark was one of the most beautiful women he had ever met.
There had been light flirting between them, mostly from him, and a few stolen kisses that lead to them to seeking satisfaction in one others arms on a number of occasions. But Daario always knew that it would only be a temporary thing.
Too bad, because Daario had a feeling he could easily fall in love with Arya Stark.
"Your grace." She greeted, drawing Daario's attention once more. "Welcome to Winterfell."
The two women shared a smile that said more than words could say. Their affection for each other in a smile alone that only family could interpret.
"Well shall we?" Dany asked Arya turning to the silent Northerners, ever the Queen in public.
"Your grace." Arya bowed slightly, her lips twitching in silent amusement.
Dany turned slightly towards Missandei, who nodded taking her Queen's side.
"May I present Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen. Rightful heir to the Iron Throne. Rightful Queen to the Andals and First Men. Protector of the Seven Kingdoms. The Mother of Dragons. The Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea. The Unburnt. The Breaker of Chains." Missandei introduced noticing the twitch of Ayra's lips as both women shared a look that had Dany giving them both a narrowed eye glare.
It was an ostentatious title that had those close to the Queen almost laughing out loud.
But apparently the people of Westeros understood and expected these things.
"May I present Jon Snow, your grace, my brother and Lord of Winterfell." Arya introduced as they came to a stop in front of the male version of Arya Stark.
Tall, lean with what was said to be the Stark long features and the dark brown almost black hair, the bastard son of Ned Stark bowed to the Queen, grey eyes so much like Arya's watching Dany carefully.
"Your grace." He greeted solemnly.
"My sister Sansa Stark and youngest brother Rickon Stark." Arya introduced presenting the two red-heads beside the older brother.
Seven hells, he thought, what was it these northerners drank that popped out such beautiful women. Sansa Stark easily matched both Arya and Dany's beauty. Tall with porcelain skin, brilliant blue eyes and deep red hair. Her face looked like it was craved from the ice that surrounded them, an ice cold beauty with sharp cheekbones and blank almost emotionless eyes.
Damn these Starks sure make for a beautiful family.
The boy, the younger brother looked like a male version of Sansa Stark, with his blue eyes and his red hair. But the look in this Stark's eyes was suspicion with barely suppressed rage.
Daario's lips twisted. Interesting family you have little wolf, he thought, watching all three closely.
"Thank you my Lords and my Lady, for receiving us to your home. May I present my son, Rhaego and my husband Khal Drogo." Dany held her hand to her son who reluctantly left his aunt's side to stand beside his mother. Drogo just grunted glaring at Jon Snow like he killed his prized horse.
"Welcome Prince Rhaego, welcome Khal Drogo." Sansa greeted stiffly, her eyes flickering from Drogo to him to Ser Barristan and then to Jorah.
Arya took a step forward brushing up alongside her sister smiling at Dany. If Daario hadn't been watching the red head so closely he wouldn't have noticed her visibly calming at her sister's touch.
"We wish to welcome you, your grace, with a feast in your honour." Sansa told her.
"Before we do that." Dany held up her hand, as two men carried a large ironwood chest and placed it gently down in front of them. "A gift, from my family to yours." She said softly her eyes on Arya.
They all watched as Arya paused her eyes flying to Dany's.
"Da –"
"Your father is home." Dany interrupted her quietly in high Valyrian causing Arya to freeze as she continued to stare at Dany. Dany inclined her head breaking the little wolf's frozen state. Stumbling forward she collapsed in front of the chest, visibly shaking.
"Arya?" concerned all three siblings broke rank and came towards their smaller sister, the youngest brother lifting his head to glare at Dany.
"I –"Arya paused reaching out to touch the chest reverently. "It's father." She told her siblings as they crowded round her, protectively. "They've bought father home."
Stunned the Stark siblings stared at her blankly before all three raised trembling hands to touch the chest almost reverently. Sansa Stark had tears in her eyes as she leaned forward to kiss the chest; Jon Snow lowered his head while the youngest Stark dug his fingers into the wood, wordless.
Arya lifted her head to stare at Dany.
"Fuck it." The little wolf muttered before leaping to her feet and grabbing the Dragon Queen into a hard hug that had the Northerners gasping and the Queens men laughing.
"Thank you, Dany." He heard her whisper as the Queen threw off all sentiment and hugged her back hard.
"You are welcome, little wolf. You are welcome."
