The White Knife River flowed past Castle Cerwyn and beneath a bridge on the Kingsroad, a half-mile south of Winterfell. There, a jetty served as a stop for riverboats heading to Winter Town, Winterfell and beyond. Boats bound for Winterfell would halt at Castle Cerwyn, who would send a raven to Winterfell, requesting horses and carts to transport the goods. It was an effective method.
The riverboat pulled up at the jetty. Jon and a shivering Oberyn stepped onto dry land. Jon wasn't one to revel in another man's suffering, but Oberyn, known for his flamboyance and danger, looked rather pitiful wrapped in a woollen blanket and trembling from the cold. Jon couldn't help but chuckle to himself. He wouldn't dare do it to Oberyn's face, but he was sure the Dornishman knew how much amusement his suffering provided.
The castle walls of Winterfell loomed within a mile of the jetty. Oberyn appeared surprised by the castle's size. To Jon, it was his childhood home. He had never appreciated its grandeur until now, having travelled south and seen more of Westeros.
The ground was cold and frostbitten as the cart trundled across the hardened terrain. The grey skies threatened sleet or snow; Jon couldn't be sure. In his previous life, he had been north of the Wall at this time. Snow would soon blanket the ground, and Jon hoped they could raise the army, march south to take the Iron Throne and return north to face the army of the dead before the weather made it almost impossible for armies to cross the Neck.
Winter Town came into view, its wooden and stone houses still standing. The brothel and inn were familiar sights, reminding him of Ros, whom Jon hoped had reached Queenscrown without trouble.
"Is that Winter Town?" Oberyn asked.
Jon nodded. "Just beyond that is the East Gate. There will be lookouts posted, waiting for us."
"Are you sure they won't mistake us for peasants peddling their wares?" Oberyn quipped, amused at his own expense.
The cloak Oberyn wore, wasn't the finest quality, but it should have been warm enough. The Dothraki had worn less and survived, albeit only just.
Jon pointed to one of the sturdiest-looking buildings in the town. "That is the whorehouse, if you feel the need," he said with a smile.
"Is it any good?" Oberyn asked. Upon seeing Jon's blank face, he rolled his eyes and laughed. "Let me guess, your wife is the only one."
"She's the only woman I will ever need to warm my bed," Jon replied, sidestepping the question.
"You are young and naïve. That will change," Oberyn said, sounding convinced. Of course, he couldn't know Jon was eight and twenty and already had some experience with women.
As they neared the East Gate, a horn sounded, announcing their arrival to the castle. Jon knew from experience that this would trigger a flurry of activity within. The Starks were expecting him, and he knew the proper reception for royalty. He had experienced it himself once before when he arrived with Daenerys.
This time, the Starks couldn't formally bow or curtsey, regardless of protocol. Jon's identity was unknown to most in the castle, and with a multitude of lords likely already in attendance, it would seem odd for them to bow to him. However, they could offer Prince Oberyn a respectful welcome.
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They entered the East Gate to find the Starks and the main household awaiting them. Lord Stark stood front and centre, with Lady Stark on his left and the only Stark child remaining in Winterfell, Rickon, on his right. Beside Rickon stood Maester Luwin, Vayon Poole, and Ser Rodrik Cassel.
Behind the Starks, Jon spotted Greatjon Umber, Rickard Karstark, Galbart Glover, Maege Mormont, Helman Tallhart, and a man dressed in black with salt-and-pepper hair, whom Jon suspected to be the Blackfish. A few others had arrived, but Jon didn't recognise their faces.
Once they descended from their cart, Lord Stark bowed his head, and the rest of the lords, ladies, and castle staff followed his lead.
"Lord Stark," Oberyn removed the ugly cloak and sauntered towards Jon's uncle, extending his hand. "Good to see you on a less sombre occasion."
Ned shook it while Jon watched on in silence. His uncle glanced at Jon, who gave a tiny nod of approval.
"Prince Oberyn. A pleasant surprise to have you travel so far north to attend our meeting," Ned smiled, though Jon could tell it wasn't as warm as it could be. "I would like to introduce you to my wife, Lady Catelyn Stark."
Oberyn took Lady Stark's hand and kissed it, his eyes never leaving hers in an almost flirtatious manner. She blushed at the act, and Jon tried his best not to smirk.
"A pleasure, Lady Stark. You are as beautiful as your reputation," Oberyn said, turning to Ned. "You are a lucky man."
Ned looked uncomfortable, and Jon pressed his lips together to keep from laughing. Oberyn was the worst type of flirt.
"And who do we have here? Let me guess, Robb?" Oberyn asked with a mischievous twinkle in his eye.
"I'm Rickon!" the boy almost sounded affronted by the comparison to his eldest brother.
"You are so big, it is easy to confuse," Oberyn apologised. Rickon puffed out his chest and smiled back.
"I'll soon be as big as him and wield a sword like he does. But I won't be as good as Jon. He's the best in all of Westeros. Even Ser Barristan says so," Rickon declared, his lips turning down.
Oberyn turned to Jon with a raised eyebrow. "A fine swordsman? You never mentioned Ser Barristan compared you to being the best in all of Westeros."
Jon was just as confused as Oberyn. The last time Rickon met with the knight, Jon hadn't even Ser Barristan at the time Rickon encountered the former Kingsguard. Fortunately, Lady Stark stepped in to correct Rickon's imaginative recollection.
"Now now. Ser Barristan never said that while he was in Winterfell. He hadn't met Jon."
"But Jon is the best swordsman ever. Everyone knows. Ser Barristan couldn't beat Arya, and Jon always beats her," Rickon protested in the way only a nine-year-old could.
Jon smiled back, puzzled at who the man might be, but Ned pulled away and stared at him. "I've missed you, son," he said.
Jon almost choked up at being called "son." Jon always sought Ned's approval as a son, more so now that he was only his nephew. Ned was the only father Jon had ever known, and despite his blood, Ned Stark would always be his father. Now, Ned was Jon's good father, which was close enough.
"Lord Whitestark," Lady Stark said, with a small curtsey. "It is good to have you home at last."
"My Lady," Jon bowed his head and kissed the back of her hand.
"JON!" Rickon shouted and ran over to him.
Had Rickon done that two years earlier, Jon would have picked him up. But Rickon had grown, now too tall to lift.
Jon crouched and hugged the boy he still viewed as his brother. "I missed you," he said, ruffling Rickon's hair. The little boy scowled.
"Can you help me practise my archery?" Rickon pleaded.
"Theon will be back soon. He is a better archer than I," Jon replied. He stood and turned to Ned. "Any word on when they will arrive?" He didn't need to specify who he was talking about.
"A raven arrived this morning. Sansa should be home tomorrow," Ned told him.
Jon's stomach swooped; he hadn't seen his wife for over three moons, and he was feeling impatient, eager to see her again.
"Shouldn't we get inside where it is nice and warm?" Lady Stark suggested. "I believe Prince Oberyn is unused to the frigid northern climate."
"My Lady, you are most perceptive," Oberyn smiled.
"Follow me," Cat offered Oberyn. "We have prepared special chambers for you in the guest wing."
With that, Lady Stark led Prince Oberyn to the guest keep. Most of the lords dispersed to continue their business from before Jon's arrival. Just one remained: the small man who had stood behind Lord Stark and mouthed "Your Grace."
"I think we should visit the crypts, don't you?" Ned asked, echoing the time King Robert had visited Winterfell in Jon's last life.
Jon nodded in agreement. "What about my belongings?" he asked.
"They will be taken to Sansa's old room. It's large enough for you both, although I'm not sure it is grand enough for a—"
Jon held up his hand. "We shall visit the crypts and speak freely there."
With that, the three men traipsed across the lichyard and descended the steps into the crypts.
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Torches were placed in sconces along the walls of the crypts, lighting their way down to the statue of Lyanna Stark, Jon's mother. The small man had yet to be introduced to Jon, but he suspected the man was Howland Reed, who had been with Ned Stark when Jon was born.
A few minutes later, they arrived at the statue. Lyanna stood in all her granite familiarity, with a feather in her hand. Jon felt sad for a woman who died too young. However, he felt little connection with her, despite who she was. Jon couldn't reconcile that the woman buried beneath was his mother.
Jon turned to the small man. "Lord Reed, if I am not mistaken?"
Even in the dim light of the crypts, Jon could tell there were tears in the older man's eyes.
"Your Grace," he nodded. "It is wonderful to see you as a man grown. You look just like her. Your mother would be so proud of you," he said.
"Thank you, Lord Reed. I can think of no greater compliment," Jon replied with uncertainty.
Ned, ever the practical man, got to the reason they were there. "Why is Oberyn here? And how does he know who you are?"
"Prince Oberyn knew more than most about what happened between his sister, Ashara Dayne, Rhaegar, and my mother. It would be best if you spoke with him yourself. But his knowledge and my looks led him to guess my identity."
"He knew about Ashara's daughter?" Ned asked.
Jon nodded. "He knew the story about me being Uncle Brandon's son was a lie."
"What is his purpose here?" Ned continued.
"He wants revenge on the Lannisters," Jon replied.
"And what then?" Howland asked. "I cannot imagine he wants to see you sitting on the Iron Throne."
"He claims not to care," Jon explained.
"Horseshit!" Ned shook his head. "He wants more than that."
"I offered a betrothal. One of my children to a child of Dorne," Jon said, feeling uncomfortable. Had he been foolish to trust Oberyn?
"Oberyn might support you for now, but Prince Doran will not. He is eyeing a bigger prize. He doesn't want a grandchild tied to the Iron Throne. He wants one of his children to wed whoever sits on it."
"And I am already wed, which rules me out," Jon said, walking away and pinching his nose. Melisandre's words returned to him. Would Oberyn be the one to betray him?
"Ned, I don't think now is the right time to worry the lad. He must be exhausted after being on the water for all that time. He wants a hot bath, good food, and a comfortable bed to sleep in," Howland must have read Jon's mind.
Jon turned around and nodded. "Right now, I need to rest. I wish to be ready to receive my wife, whom I have missed."
Howland laughed. "Ah, young love. I remember that feeling. How about you, Ned?"
Ned frowned. "I'm not sure about the young bit," he laughed. Jon and Howland joined in. "Come, son. A bath has been ordered for you. I'll have some ale and some of Old Nan's kidney pie sent up for you."
Jon smiled; he hadn't had one of Old Nan's pies for years. His mouth watered at the thought. "You've no idea how much I have missed her kidney pies," he laughed as they left Lyanna's statue, and departed the dark, damp crypts.
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The following morning, Jon felt more refreshed than he had in years. He had slept well, felt clean, and eaten the best meal in a long time. The only thing missing had been Sansa. However, he wouldn't have long to wait, as she would join him within the next few hours.
Breakfast was being served in the great hall, and when Jon arrived, he was surprised by how full it was. More lords had turned up since Jon's arrival the previous day. Jon would have had to fight for a seat if it weren't for Lord Stark insisting he sit at the high table. In truth, Jon wanted to refuse. He wished to be back on the benches as he had been during his childhood. But Jon was no longer a child. He was a Prince of the realm, and his status granted him the privilege of sitting on the dais.
Lord and Lady Stark engaged Jon in small talk while they ate their porridge, although Jon wasn't particularly hungry. He felt a pulling sensation in his stomach, a familiar feeling linked to the dragon egg. He knew Sansa was near.
The second confirmation of her proximity was a white apparition at the door. Cries and screams came from the lords and ladies who had not encountered a direwolf before. Shaggydog had gone off hunting, probably to avoid the visitors, while Ghost, being rather partial to human company, had no issue simply strolling into the great hall to find Jon.
"What the fuck is that?" Oberyn yelled.
Jon stood and ran down to his direwolf. "Here, boy," he called, crouching a little, though not by much.
Ghost was the size of a small pony. In a couple of years, he'd be the height of Jon himself. Jon wrapped his arms around the enormous head of the white wolf and took in his scent, which held a faint perfume of lemon, reminding him of Sansa.
"Has Sansa been brushing your fur?" Jon asked, stroking Ghost. Not that the wolf could answer, but Jon didn't need a reply.
Jon stood and led Ghost to Oberyn. "This is Ghost," he said. "He won't hurt you. Any friend of mine is a friend of his."
Oberyn looked uncomfortable. "Are you sure he won't bite?" he asked.
Jon shook his head. "No, not when I'm here. He likes to be tickled behind his ear," he added, giving the helpful tip.
Ghost stayed still as Oberyn placed his hand behind his ear and tickled him. The direwolf leaned into Oberyn's touch, thoroughly enjoying being petted.
"Three more will arrive soon," Jon said.
Oberyn looked up in shock. "Are they all as friendly as this one?" he asked.
Jon laughed. "Ghost isn't friendly. He is friendly to those who are friends with me. Lady, Sansa's direwolf, is friendly. She is more obedient than any dog I have ever encountered. Greywind belongs to Robb, and like Ghost, he does what Robb says. I wouldn't get too close to Nymeria. Arya isn't here to control her. Even if she appears friendly with my family, it doesn't mean she will be friends with anyone else."
"I'll remember that," Oberyn nodded.
Just as he said that a horn blew, Jon looked up to Ned and Cat, who were wiping their mouths and getting out of their seats.
"What is it?" Oberyn asked.
"Sansa is here," Jon grinned and rushed outside, only just succeeding in not looking like a greenboy.
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Outside, in the courtyard, dozens of people had arrived, most on horseback. Ignoring protocol, Jon scanned the crowd for the long copper tresses of his wife. At first, too many people converged for him to see. Then he spotted a horse entering the courtyard, carrying her. Jon barged through the crowd, with Ghost close behind.
Moments later, he stopped, gazing up at her like a fool, not a king. However, Jon didn't care what other people thought. He hadn't seen her for over three moons, and he just wanted to hold his wife in his arms and kiss her full, red lips.
"Jon," Sansa smiled, as Jon held his hands up to help her down from her horse.
Once her feet were on solid ground, he pulled her into him and wrapped his arms around her, making sure she was real. Jon never wanted to let her go again.
"Gods, I've missed you," Jon whispered, pressing his nose into her ear and taking in the scent of her hair, lemon, just like Ghost.
"And I you," Sansa replied, holding him as tightly as he held her.
Jon pulled away and rested his forehead against hers. "I love you," he breathed.
"I love you more," Sansa insisted, tears welling in her eyes.
For a moment, forgetting who and where they were, Jon placed his lips against hers, tasting her for the first time in moons. Their lips parted, but the kiss went no further, interrupted by the sound of clearing throats. Sansa pulled away.
Ned stood nearby, holding his arms out to Sansa. Jon realised they hadn't seen one another in two years. Jon did his best not to be selfish. He let Sansa go, and watched as she rushed into her father's arms, tears flowing as he pulled her to him, holding her tight.
Lady Stark, Robb, and Rickon all joined in on the family embrace. Jon stayed back. This wasn't his moment; it belonged to the Starks. Jon wasn't a Stark, he was a Targaryen.
"You weren't joking when you said she was the most beautiful woman in all of Westeros," came Oberyn's voice from behind.
Jon turned to face the Dornishman and smiled. "Be warned, she's as clever and dangerous as she is beautiful."
"Fuck," Oberyn shook his head. "Cersei Lannister needs to watch out."
"Jon," came Sam's voice.
"Sam?" Jon turned and saw his friend climbing down from a cart carrying Gilly, Little Sam, and a huge wooden box. Jon stared at the box, certain that the egg was inside. The pull was stronger than he had ever felt before.
Sam must have seen Jon staring at the box. He strolled over as quickly as he could. "Are you feeling the pull?" he asked.
Jon stopped himself from staring and concentrated on Sam. "Yeah, it feels like it is calling out to me."
"I think it is close to hatching. Sansa says it has doubled in size. Which is strange. I've searched through everything I can find, which in truth isn't much because the library at Queenscrown is not very good yet. Anyway, dragon eggs don't grow," Sam whispered.
Jon frowned. "Are you saying that this one is different?" he asked.
"The Wall is full of magic. It might be affecting it," Sam suggested.
Jon nodded. "I've brought some things back from Dragonstone, including books. There might be something about it in one of them."
Sam's eyes lit up. "Original Targaryen books from Dragonstone. Do you know how rare they must be?" he asked.
Jon didn't know and didn't much care for the books he found. He'd brought them to learn High Valyrian and to keep Sam happy. However, he never gave Sam his answer, for he was being approached by Theon and Ygritte.
"I hear congratulations are in order," Jon smiled.
"I'll be even happier when we've made it official in the Godswood," Theon grinned. "Thank you, Lord Whitestark. You've given me more than I could ever hope for." Theon looked at Ygritte with loving eyes, a look Jon had never seen from him before. He couldn't believe this was the same Theon Greyjoy.
Ygritte looked equally happy, although Jon could sense she was feeling somewhat overwhelmed. But there was something else. He couldn't put his finger on it, but Ygritte looked different. The glow of being happily married, he supposed. He had seen Sansa with a similar look on her face.
"Brother," Robb strolled over and embraced him with a thump on the back. "Good to see you."
"You too, Stark," Jon replied, pulling away.
"Little Lord," boomed Tormund's voice from Jon's left.
Before Jon could receive another thumping hug from Tormund, a horn blew. Everyone stopped and stared at Lord Stark.
"Today will be spent showing people to their quarters and everyone getting to know each other. Tonight, there will be a reunion feast in the great hall to welcome back my children and my nephew," Ned announced.
A roar of approval echoed through the yard, and people dispersed, being led to their quarters. Jon picked up the box that had been calling out to him. In the background, he noticed a cage containing a familiar-looking man. He turned to Sansa.
"Is that Ramsay?" he asked.
Sansa nodded. "He'll get his trial and will be executed for his crimes. Along with his father," she whispered. "Which room are we staying in?"
"Your childhood room," Jon smiled. "It's big enough for us both."
"Is the bed strong enough?" she asked, as they started walking across the courtyard.
"I'll have a bath readied for you, and afterwards we can test it," Jon smirked.