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Chapter Thirty-Five: Centuries

The closest Jon had ever gotten to seeing a naked woman was when Theon drew a crude picture of one and showed it to him. He was eleven at the time. Now, on his wedding night, Jon was seriously doubting the Ironborn's skill as an artist. With one barely perceptible sleight of hand, Margaery had tugged at a bodice lace that resulted in her entire gown sliding down her body. The silk whispered against her skin, then pooled at her ankles in a shapeless formation, leaving her completely exposed. Her hair was a wild tumble of golden brown curls framing her shoulders and arms. Had she practised that, he wondered. Had she come to their marital chamber the night before and had a few trial runs? As he considered the possibility he tried to get his eyes back in his head and to regulate his wildly beating heart. By contrast, his own undressing was a cumbersome thing. Doubled over, on one leg, as he wrenched a boot off one foot. Almost falling over as he exchanged feet, he hopped around to keep his balance until Margaery came to his aid.

There seemed to be grace in everything she did. Even unbuttoning his shirt. Sitting him on the edge of the bed, she lowered herself onto his lap and trailed little kisses down his chest as she worked the ivory buttons free, exposing his skin in a playful strip tease. Meanwhile, his head swirled. Excitement, nerves and fear all clashed and converged as he fretted over what came next. He had been a bastard, lived as a bastard, and sworn to himself he would never create another bastard to endure the same as himself. As such, he had never been with a maid before. Now he wished he knew what he was doing.

Once the shirt was off, he reclined on the bed and raised his hips so that his breeches could be pulled down over his thighs. As he lay on his back against the feather bed, a memory popped into his head unbidden and out of the blue. He had been a boy at the time. Small and skinny, shivering by the side of a lake in the north. Next to him was Robb, both of them only in their small clothes as their father taught them both to swim by throwing them in the water and shouting at them to stay afloat. Sink or swim, he remembered Eddard lecturing them. He supposed sex was something similar. You learned by doing it.

His breeches caught over his ankles, necessitating him to twist his feet. As he did so, he sat up abruptly and caught Margaery in his arms. Her laughter rang out in the empty chamber as he pulled her into a tight embrace. When he fell back against the mattress, he pulled her with him and kicked his legs free of the last of his clothing. The feeling of having her naked in his arms was something he had never expected to be so good. He remembered then the fever dream he had of her, when she came to him in the darkness making a light of her own. She looked like that now, with her skin reflecting the soft candlelight.

"Am I in a dream?" he blurted out, breathless although he had not done anything yet.

Margaery raised her gaze to meet his own. "No, my love."

All the same, he touched her face to see if she was solid and traced the contours of her cheekbones as she lay in his arms. After a few deep breaths, he began to relax. I can do this, he assured himself, I really can do this.

"If you would rather wait until we're married by the Faith, we can." He meant it too. It would not do to have them consummate a marriage barely recognised by the most powerful religious body in the realm.

"We've already checked this," she reminded him. "The Faith of the Seven fully recognise the ceremonies and rites of the old gods. Just so long as we're blessed by a Septon of the Faith before any child is born. We have plenty of time."

"We don't have time," he pointed out. "We have until dawn."

He could feel time itself slipping away when he thought of the weeks and months ahead. Beyond that, their actions this night could determine the decades ahead. It all still felt so big to him. And it was; it was bigger than both of them.

"We have all the time in the world," she insisted. "You and I, we're joined forever. For our forever, at any rate." She paused, kissing his mouth. "But tonight matters. Tonight centuries can wait, because moments never do."

And in that moment, he forgot all that and ran one hand the length of her body. He tracked every curve and jut of bone, letting himself shed is childish inhibitions as their need for each other burgeoned. Others may have thought him half a boy, but it was a man's duties he had on his shoulders now and the burden never felt better.

Daenerys' pavilion tent was open at the front, tempting in a cooling night breeze as the small company laughed and chattered amongst themselves. Even Ser Jorah had relaxed, sitting at table with his cousin as they talked over old times on Bear Island. Ser Barristan sat beside Dany herself on a bank of silk cushions gifted to them by merchants in Qarth. Drogon curled up at Dany's feet, asleep and emitting curls of smoke from his nostrils as he breathed. Her handmaidens, Irri and Doreah served dry white wine and handed around platters of cold sweat meats and confectionaries as the hour grew later. Meanwhile, Sam was content to listen and observe, especially while in the presence of a warrior of such renown as Barristan the Bold.

He talked of Daenerys' brother, Rhaegar, and the times they shared before the rebellion. The music they played and the songs they sang. A time before he was born, Sam had little to add to the discussion anyway. But it shed new light on the much maligned prince, leaving Sam wondering what life could have been like had the rebellion not happened.

"I know your father well, Samwell," Ser Barristan stated. "A fine man and a finer general."

Sam was used to hearing it. Randyll Tarly the greatest strategic mind of the Reach, but still mention of the man's name made him shiver with residual fear. Fat, bookish and useless as he was.

"We do not discuss our fathers here, Ser Barristan," Daenerys curtly point out. "Mine may have been mad, but Sam's was cruel."

Suddenly, the old man looked embarrassed and flushed. His discomfort made Sam himself uncomfortable and he moved quickly to smooth things over.

"It's all right, Ser Barristan, I know my father is admired for his military skill." Sam tried to smile and even managed a weak laugh. "Sadly, I'm one apple that fell far from the tree. In fact, I think I landed in the wrong orchard altogether."

"Maybe the wrong orchard, I call it a better orchard," Daenerys opined, then turned back to the aged knight. "Sam is far too modest to say so, but he has a first rate mind and is the best read person I have met. He's negotiating with my nephew for me."

Harmony restored, Ser Barristan looked impressed. Sam, meanwhile, was blushing bright red to the roots of his hair. Blushing more because he knew he was blushing, he was torn between hiding himself away somewhere and willing the ground to just swallow him up.

"To think I knew Eddard Stark for near a full year before Joffrey took his head," said Ser Barristan. "Never once did he mention Lyanna and Rhaegar having a baby. But, now I think on it, it makes sense. I knew where they were and what they were doing. But I never gave Ned Stark's bastard a second thought. Why would I? I never knew the man then. I'd heard he was honourable, but you don't see that when you're fighting for the other side."

Dany laughed aloud. "So honourable he sent paid assassins after two young children. I know because I was one of those children."

"No!" Barristan cut in, sitting up now. "No, you have it wrong. Ned Stark replaced Jon Arryn as Hand of the King. When Robert heard you had been married and were expecting a baby, he wanted to send assassins after you then. Ned Stark was so enraged he resigned his post in protest, rebuked the King soundly in front of all his advisors and tried to leave the capital bringing his daughters with him. I swear it, Princess, I was on guard duty when it happened."

As Barristan concluded the tale, Ser Jorah rose abruptly to his feet and left the tent. Sam turned to see if he was all right, but the man had already vanished into the darkness outside. When he looked back to the old Knight and Dany, the other man had a calculating look in his eyes. Odd, he thought, before dismissing it.

"I think he's gone for a piss," Alysane stated.

However, Dany did not seem to mind and wanted to return to the discussion. "Did you know Jon then? He's offered to send a fleet of ships to bring me and my army home."

"Sadly no. I did not travel to Winterfell when Robert left on his progress. We met the royal party when they returned. The Inn at the Crossroads, if I remember rightly. Stark's two daughters were there, with great tame direwolves at their sides. Huge things, they were. Never seen the like before or since. But trust me, your grace, Ned Stark was a good man. Seeing him getting arrested and dragged away made me realise how far from honour I'd fallen since accepting Robert's rule. Being dismissed from the Kingsguard was only the final nail. I'm sure any boy raised by the late Lord Stark is a good man, too."

Dany looked by turns curious and disappointed. After a moment's silence, she asked: "If you had known about Jon would you still have come searching for me?"

Sam cringed on Barristan's behalf. But the old knight proved himself the master of diplomacy. "I cannot say, my lady. The way of it is that I did not know of his existence. But do I regret coming all this way to you instead of him? Absolutely not. You have given me my honour back, not him. You brought the dragons back, not him. But if we get the two of you together, you both can rule the world. I know it."

With that answer, Dany was all smiles again.

"Jon is my friend. The first person to accept me for who and what I am," Sam piped up. "When I met him again at the Riverlands I was sore tempted to just stay with him, instead of coming all this way to give a sword to an outlaw. But now I'm here and I've seen things I thought I'd only ever read about in books. I wouldn't swap that for anything. But Ser Barristan is right. We need to bring you back to Westeros as soon as we can. Let's get this army, wait for Jon's fleet and go home to join the war. Only then will the dragons truly be returned for neither one of you can do it alone."

Daenerys nodded, drawing herself up as she resolved herself to the facts. There were still misgivings there, Sam could tell right enough. But the alternative was drifting from city to city, slowly getting nowhere. Westeros is home. Jon is family.

"What is the latest news from Jon's camp?" she asked, looking to Sam.

"The knights of the Vale have sworn to him," he replied. "So that's the North, the Riverlands, the Vale and the Reach. They are biding their time at Harrenhal until you are ready to join the war. Dorne is allied to the Lannisters, as are the Stormlands and most of the Westerlands. Although, Dorne might sit out the war, given what happened to Elia."

"Either way, Jon and his brother are on course for a military victory," Barristan stated. "On the morrow, when we put in an offer on the Unsullied, you need to know what you're doing."

"I already know what I'm going to do," she replied, looking to Drogon who was still sleeping at her feet. A smile played at the corners of her lips as she caressed the dragon's scaly throat. "Yes, I know what I am doing."

Sam could only hope that that was true.

Sansa and Arya joined hands as they raced up to the battlements of Harrenhal. All around them, people had gathered, all waving Stark banners and the direwolf fluttered from every crenel and merlon atop the curtain walls. That morning, Robb was riding out for the Westerlands and taking the northern army with him. They would join up with the lords of the Riverlands and begin their assault on Lannister lands. She and Arya, however, were to be left behind at Harrenhal until they could be escorted home to Winterfell.

The view from the battlements was spectacular. A great cheer rose up from the castle as the northern host began trickling out from beneath the portcullis. The direwolf banners first, followed by the sun of House Karstark, the chained giant of House Umber and the mailed fist of House Glover. Then came the Cerwyns, the Hornwoods and other lesser houses. Thousands of men in all and, the best part for Sansa, was Robb at the head of them all. All marching to the beat of the war drums. Winter really is coming for the Lannisters now, Sansa thought to herself.

"Let's follow them," Arya called out, making herself heard over the cheering grounds. "Come on, or we'll never catch up."

Sansa had her reservations, but she nodded anyway. And, five minutes later, she and her sister were setting off across the grounds and squeezing themselves past the great lines of armoured men on horseback. Once clear of the gates, Sansa hitched up her skirts and ran after Arya, running until they reached the head of the procession. As they ran, they passed along a dirt road that led past the woods she dreamed of every night. They opened up beside her, dark and deep. But in that moment, all she could think of was catching up with Robb.

When they did, he wheeled his horse around and dismounted. Grabbing them both, he pulled them into a bear hug.

"What are you two doing here?" he tried to rebuke them, but failed as he was grinning from ear to ear.

"We only wanted to wish you luck again," replied Arya.

"Both of us," Sansa agreed. "Please stay safe, the Lannisters are all bastards."

Robb laughed at her uncharacteristically harsh language.

"Well, they are!" she added.

He cupped their faces and kissed their foreheads in turn. "Go straight back now. Promise me. Especially you, Arya."

Arya rolled her eyes, but agreed anyway.

"I'll make sure she gets back. You trust me, don't you?" said Sansa.

"Make sure you both get back," he corrected her, before climbing back onto his destrier again.

They stood to the side of the road and watched again as the vast host moved off into the distance. Only when Robb was out of sight did Sansa turn around and walk back the way they came. They could still hear the beating drums and the steady pounding of horse's hooves, no one noticed them as they walked by the roadside. But without Robb to distract her now, all she could think of was what was in those woods. The wolf pack she dreamed of every night. She knew Arya did as well.

Suddenly, without thinking too much about it, she grabbed Arya's hand and pulled her into the nearest thicket of trees. "In here, sister."

"Wh-what are you doing?" Arya stammered in shock. Normally, it was her doing the illicit exploring.

She soon found a path wending through the trees. But visibility was poor and the air was damp, forming a mist low on the ground. However, she could still hear the drums beating and knew she was not far from the road.

"In here," she said, turning a circle so she could look in every direction. "There's something in here, I know there is."

Arya looked at her as though she had lost her mind. But, as always, it didn't take long for her to reconcile herself to the idea of an adventure. "They're just dreams," she pointed out. "But if this is what it takes to convince you, we had best stick together otherwise, you'll get yourself killed."

Sansa would have objected to that had she been inclined. Instead, she led the way deeper into the woods. She may have dreamed of it every night, but that didn't help her find her way in real life. In the dreams, she could pick up scents from miles away. Now all she could smell was the sharp tang of pines and the earthy damp ground. Beneath that, however, she detected something rancid, a dead forest creature more than likely.

"Sansa, we need to look for signs of the pack," Arya stated.

She hadn't noticed, but somehow she had let go of Arya's hand and was walking a good ten feet ahead of her. Stopping beside a small stream that wound through the woods, she waited for her little sister to catch up.

"We don't have to look for their excrement, do we?" she wrinkled her nose, but resolving herself to it if that's what it took.

"There's other ways," Arya assured her. "Like paw prints, or signs of clawing on the trees and dead prey. I think I can smell dead prey, but it's old. Rotten."

"I can smell it too," she replied. Once more, she looked all around her. The mist, the trees and the paths leading into darkness. Every small sound was amplified this far from the road and now even the drummers could no longer be heard. But she was too determined to be afraid. She leaned down to be closer to Arya and added: "It's Nymeria, I'm certain of it. If I can track her down and bring you back to her, it would make up for all the awful things I did to you."

Arya's expression softened. "I did bad things too. I told you. Like father said, it's what we do now that matters, not what we did before."

"I know what father said," she replied. But the guilt was on her. Just as it was whenever she remembered how she threw the doll back in her father's face. Just as she remembered how rude she was to Septa Mordane. None of that she could change, but this she could. "If I can do this one thing, it would make things right. I'm going to try whether you come with me or not."

Arya took her hand in her own. "You're my sister. Of course I'm coming with you."

It was Arya who led the way now, so Sansa followed. Having precisely zero experience of tracking wild animals, she was out of her depth. But Arya was armed with Needle and she had the knife that Shae gifted her the night of the battle of Blackwater. Hours passed and all they heard was the scurry of small animals in the undergrowth. Daylight was poor to begin with, but as the day wore on it grew worse. All the while, the rotten smell grew worse. They reached a brook where there was evidence of a cook fire beside the river bed, where the stench was overpowering. Whoever had the camp had clearly left a carcass to rot somewhere close by.

But as Sansa turned to investigate, a figure darted from behind a tree, grabbing her and wrapping an arm around her throat. Immobilised, she cried a muffled scream to attract Arya's attention. Needle was drawn in the blink of an eye and the younger girl slipped into what she called her Water Dancer's pose. But before she managed even that, two more men had appeared from a hiding place in the trees. One of them stank like hell itself and wore the flayed man of House Bolton on his tunic. He leered at her intently, causing her to try and cry out again.

"Yes, that's her; that's Sansa Stark. Ramsay will be pleased with his wedding gift," the stinking man stated. His smile showed crooked yellow teeth. "Kill the other if you have to, but bring this one alive. Cersei's been looking for her."

Sansa tried to plead for Arya's life, but the guard's stranglehold was too tight. All she could do was kick out and bite his dirty hand, causing him to scream the woods down. It was so loud, it sent a flock of birds flapping from the treetops in alarm. But the pain was enough to make him let go.

"Arya!" she cried out.

A cry met with a grunt of pain as someone was stuck with Needle's pointy end. Unable to see who, Sansa tried to push past the stinking man but he tripped her and landed on top of her, immobilising her once more. She could feel his hands groping at the back of her skirts, but she was no longer scared. Arya was at her side and she knew the pack always survived. All she was was furious. A fury that brought out the wolf in her, just like in her dreams.

"Sansa!" Arya cried.

When she looked up, she saw her sister being grabbed around the middle by a fourth man they had not seen previously. Gods, how many are there? She wondered, before renewing her assault on her own rancid attacker. She aimed an upwards kick at his private parts, to which it seemed he responded with a low and rumbling growl. Suddenly, everything stopped.

Jon awoke with a start, gasping as he looked all around him. But he was back in the marital bed he now shared with Margaery. The fire had been lit in the hearth and was bringing a friendly warmth to the room. But the residue of the dream brought him no cheer. A second later, the bed linens rumpled again, and he felt Margaery's arms closing around his bare chest. He turned to see her face tight with concern.

"Sweetling, what is it?" she asked. "Were you dreaming again?"

"Ghost," he replied, still breathless.

Not having had much sleep on their wedding night, they both returned to bed for an afternoon nap. Evidently, the nap had gone on far longer than they anticipated but it was the dreams that were still troubling him above the lateness of the hour. And he knew it was late, the window showed only darkness beyond.

"Ghost," she repeated. "You said he's hunting in the woods."

"He is," Jon answered. "But I thought I saw him being attacked."

Margaery shook her head. "You were only dreaming."

But even as she spoke, they were both already climbing out of bed and hurriedly dressing. They threw on whatever clothes came to hand and tidied their hair. As soon as they could, they were out of the door and taking the turret steps two at a time. They crossed the bridge to the main keep, went down another flight of steps and emerged into the Hall of a Hundred Hearths, where Catelyn was arguing with Petyr Baelish.

"Not now, Petyr, my daughters are missing!" she snapped at him, trying to cross the room to get away from him.

"My lady, please!" he sounded like he was pleading with her.

He reached out to grab her arm, to which Catelyn responded by wrenching herself free again and almost rounding on the man. Jon realised it was time to make his presence felt. "Lord Baelish, I trust my wife and I are not interrupting."

Catelyn looked like a drowning woman who'd just reached a life raft. Whatever was happening, Jon misliked the situation intensely.

"Did you say Arya and Sansa are missing?" Margaery now followed Jon into the hall, disregarding Baelish altogether.

With one final, sidelong look at Baelish, Catelyn came up to meet them. Worry and tension was etched in her face. "They were last seen up on the battlements, waving good bye to Robb."

"Gods, that was hours ago," Margaery murmured. "Rouse the men, we must search immediately."

"Saddle my horse," Jon called out to a nearby servant. "I would ride out now."

"Mine too!" Margaery added. Turning to him, she said in his ear: "We'll search together. I'll get my brothers before we go."

He nodded his agreement and waiting in high impatience. Meanwhile, Lady Stark was pacing like a caged lioness while Baelish sulked in a corner. Despite all that was going on, Jon couldn't help but wonder what he wanted of Lady Stark. The loud and boisterous sex he and his wife were having was the talk of the castle and it was any wonder Catelyn wanted to be seen with him at all. Meanwhile, Lysa Arryn was hopelessly under his spell and couldn't seem to care less what other people said. While he was looking, he inadvertently caught Baelish's eye and Jon inwardly groaned as the man approached him.

"I don't suppose you've given much thought to your counsel, but I have some names-"

"With respect, Lord Baelish, I am more concerned with finding my sisters," he interjected. "If you excuse me, my horse will be ready by now."

He left, with Lady Stark following close behind. Knowing that the castle would already have been searched, all he could think was the woods. And his dream. The woods again. However, once the search party formed up, they made for the main gates and the mounted searchers fanned out in every direction possible, following the lanterns of the outriders.

The growling came again, low and ominous. Arya cried out as she tried to throw off her captive and Sansa had one hand wrapped around her assailant's throat. When she tried to turn her head to see where the growls came from, all she could make out were the reflective eyes; eyes of yellow. Her own gaze locked into that one and she felt her heartbeat speed up and her head swim as her attacker almost overpowered her. But half a heartbeat later, the growl rose rapidly in pitch and a flash of grey fur cut across her line of sight. The man wailed in pain as the wolf's jaws clamped over his leg and started shaking him like an old rag doll.

Suddenly free, Sansa scrambled to her feet and gasped for air. Another wolf leapt from the top of a small bank, straight onto the man who had Arya, tearing his throat out and showering the girl with hot blood. A third wolf, of pure white fur, gave chase to another Bolton man, bringing him down screaming before finishing him off.

"Ghost," she said, but not loud enough for anyone to hear.

It was over as swiftly as it began. The men were dead within minutes of the wolves tearing at their flesh. Then they padded back into the forest clearing. Slowly, almost shy now that the fight was over, the large grey one that had saved Sansa looked up at her with bright yellow eyes. She was huge. Much bigger than a normal wolf. Grey fur, fading to white beneath her belly. Another, similar wolf, was approaching Arya. Only this one had eyes of amber.

"Nymeria!"

The wolf remembered her name, bounded up to Arya and began licking her face as she hugged her old wolf. Ghost returned to the clearing, too. But he was licking at a wound in his leg. Meanwhile, Sansa watched the wolf that had saved her. It wasn't possible. But there was no mistaking the direwolf.

"Lady," she whispered, lowering herself to her knees. Tears sprang into her eyes. "It is Lady. Arya, Lady is alive." Still cautious, she opened her arms to the wolf, inviting her closer. Lady licked the blood from her lips and bounded over, nuzzling eagerly at Sansa's neck and lapping at her face. Even though it was late, even though she knew everyone would be searching for them, Sansa couldn't bring herself to let go of her direwolf for quite some time.

Thanks again for reading. Reviews would be lovely, if you have a moment.

I'm assuming everyone knows how Dany got the Unsullied army, so I'm not covering that. If anything, it'll be Sam's reaction to it. After that, I might borrow the show's teleportation devices to get this plot moving toward its natural conclusion.