The raven from Lord Cerwyn announcing the return of Arya was a surprise. The speed at which she journeyed from Castle Cerwyn to Winterfell was an even greater one. However, the most shocking information was how much money Arya had brought. He and Sansa had assumed around one or two million gold dragons. Enough to pay for the war and repay some of the loans to the Iron Bank. Three million would have covered most of the loans. Anything more was a bonus.
Once they'd sealed the vault, Jon turned to Ned. "Not a word of this beyond these walls, Lord Stark. We can't risk this gold becoming public knowledge."
When Arya said fifteen million gold dragons, Jon was astounded. He wanted to grin like an idiot, but he couldn't make his surprise and joy public, as the money needed to be kept safe. Should anyone get wind of such a large amount of gold, he was certain there of pilfering if the true amount was known.
By the time Jon and Lord Stark had guided the gold to the cells, arranged the guards, and made it back to Lord Stark's solar, everyone except Arya was already gathered, including Robb. That morning, a scuffle took place in Winter Town, and as practice for his role as Master of Laws, Robb had to deal with it. They had expected Arya to arrive later in the day, meaning Robb had missed her arrival. As Robb sat, his expression, was one of barely contained frustration. Dealing with petty squabbles was far from what he had envisioned when he accepted the role of Master of Laws.
Food was brought to the solar, chicken cooked in herbs, potatoes, peas and gravy. Moments after the food was set out, Arya turned up, washed and in clean clothes with wet hair. Now she was nearing her fifteenth name day, she looked less and less like the little girl who had left Winterfell over two years past. Jon noted the sharpness in Arya's eyes, a stark contrast to the child who had left Winterfell, now replaced by someone who had seen and done much in her absence. What had she done since he last saw her, he wondered.
They sat around the table, eating in silence until they were full and ready to catch up with all the news. The stillness was heavy with unspoken questions, just the sound of forks scraping against plates, awaiting the impending revelations.
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"I killed the sailors!" Arya burst out saying.
Jon and Sansa exchanged glances. This news was of little surprise to them. In their previous lives, Arya had killed the Freys. The difference between then and now was Arya being older and more lethal. The coldness in her eyes told her story. However, her words hinted at an underlying guilt.
Although Jon and Sansa, and to a lesser degree, Robb were unsurprised by this news, Lord and Lady Stark had very different reactions. Lord Stark looked like he couldn't decide whether to be horrified or proud, whereas Lady Stark sucked in her breath and covered her mouth in shock.
Sansa, the ever-sensible one, took charge. "What happened after Jon left Kings Landing?"
Arya took a deep breath and began her tale. "The quick version is I attended Joffrey's wedding. I sat on the panel to judge Tyrion guilty of his murder. Returned to the Vale. I wrote a letter to Jaime, claiming to be from Lord Varys. It named Olenna and Littlefinger as Joffrey's killers. Proposed to Aunt Lysa. Ensured the loyalty of the Knights of the Vale. Then I withdrew all the money from Littlefinger's account in the Iron Bank of Braavos and made my way back to Winterfell."
"Who are these sailors, and why did you kill them? What did they try to do to you to make you kill them?" Lady Stark was turning puce at the notion her youngest daughter might have been in the slightest hint of danger.
Arya stared at her mother and knotted her eyebrows. "They did nothing wrong, mother. I was preventing them from telling anyone of Littlefinger's death, or lack of it. They knew his death was faked. Nobody outside of this room can know what I did. That is if you want me to tell you the grisly details."
"I think you should spare mother and father the details," Sansa said.
"I want to know what they did," demanded Lady Stark.
Arya stood tall, hands behind her back, shoulders squared. "Mother, they did nothing wrong. They were helpful and fun. However, they have lips and tongues. I couldn't risk them knowing anything. Loose lips cost lives. Sometimes you have to break a few eggs to make an omelette. If we don't survive, then all of Westeros will perish."
The silence in the room was stifling. Although this did not surprise Jon, nor Sansa, from what he could tell, it was a harsh reality. Only the Starks who hadn't lived in the future appeared appalled by Arya's actions.
Ned turned to Jon. "Do you condone this behaviour, your grace?"
"This was not on Jon. He had nothing to do with my decision to kill those men. I wish I didn't have to do it. But I didn't know what was happening here. I didn't know everyone was aware of Jon's true identity. Not that it matters. Nobody knows how Littlefinger died and when. I told Jaime Varys had him murdered. Some ships might find a boat with his body in it. But they knew too much. We have to keep certain pieces of information to ourselves."
"Varys will be delighted to take the credit for Littlefinger's death, but annoyed he didn't kill the man himself," Sansa said.
"There are three hundred gold bars in those chests. Roughly about fifteen million gold dragons. The country will be debt free, no thanks to me."
Jon wrapped his arms around Arya. "Thank you."
Lady Stark stood and stormed out of the room, slamming the vast oak door behind her.
'You should give her time, love," Ned said to Arya. "She isn't angry about you killing the sailors. She is just finding it hard to accept you for what you are. She'll come around. I promise."
Arya shrugged and sighed. "Never mind that. What in the seven hells has been going on here? A dragon? A King beheading Ramsay, and whatever else."
Jon sighed and poured himself a tankard of ale. It was going to be a long night.
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Jon had been proven right about the night turning out to be a long one. They had spent hours catching up in Lord Stark's solar. Eventually, Ned left Jon, Sansa, Arya and Robb alone to spend time together. Something they had rarely done since they had returned from the future. The only siblings missing were Rickon and Bran. Rickon was too young, but Bran was maturing, and Jon couldn't wait to see his younger brother. Sansa had told Jon how much Bran had grown, and this time he would be just like any normal child.
The sun had been set a few hours when they took their leave for their chambers. Arya was yawning, a combination of not enough sleep and too much ale. Jon promised to spar with her the next morning before she left Jon and Sansa with Robb.
Despite his apparent joy of seeing Arya again, Robb had been subdued once more. Robb's mood was worrying Jon. Reassuring Robb of his future position had done nothing to settle or lighten his mood.
As they arrived at their chambers, Sansa, astute as ever, made a suggestion. "Why don't you two have a night in Winter Town? I need an early night. And I mean sleep," she glared at Jon.
Jon realised what Sansa was hinting at. "Robb, do you fancy a drink?"
Robb took a deep breath as he considered his options. "Aye, a quick one."
Jon kissed Sansa on the cheek. He noted she looked tired. However, she'd gotten her moonblood a few days earlier, and he knew it sometimes made her feel exhausted. Jon hoped there would be no moonblood the following month, although Sansa getting pregnant whilst on a war campaign would not be ideal. He shrugged off those thoughts, ready to concentrate on finding out what Robb wanted.
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Half an hour later, Jon and Robb were seated in the smoking lodge with a tankard of ale in their hands. The place was only half full, and they had found a seat at the back of the room, courtesy of Edyth, the landlady.
"Why are we here?" Robb asked. "You want something. What is it?'
"You've been a right miserable sod lately. Are you still pissed off about being Master of Laws?"
Robb's cheeks flushed. Jon knew his brother couldn't lie very well, especially after consuming the amount of ale Robb had.
"Do I appear ungrateful?"
Jon smiled and shook his head. "You're not one for reading up on laws. Although you did good with the skirmish earlier." Jon raised his tankard and took a large gulp. The ale in the Smoking Log was some of the best in the Seven Kingdoms. Rich and slightly bitter, just as it should be. Jon thanked his lucky stars it wasn't Night's Watch ale. That stuff was disgusting.
"Two men fighting over a chicken. It was hardly a challenge." Robb grumbled.
Jon laid his cheek in his hand and thought for a moment. He needed to find an interesting task for Robb. One which would utilise his skills. After a moment, he had an idea, but he needed to see if he was thinking along the right lines.
"Do you want to do something more productive? Helping with the war itself?"
"Of course it is. I feel like everyone else has something to do and I'm just twiddling my thumbs."
"I have something which needs doing before we march south. It won't be pretty, but I think you'd be perfect for it. You're a solid organiser and leader."
Robb's blue eyes lit up. "Go on, what is it?"
"I need someone to shore up Moat Cailin. Make sure it is sturdy enough to let fifty thousand men pass. Sansa will join us, and I want to make sure she has somewhere comfortable to sleep."
"You want me to prepare it for the army?" Robb looked happier than he had done for days.
"I'll need to speak to the Blackfish and Lord Bolton, but I think you take a small garrison of around three hundred men and fifty stonemasons and rebuild it the best you can. Report back to us as soon as you arrive. I have another job for you to do from there if we get the go-ahead for the project. The only problem is I'm not sure you will like it"
"I'll need you to go to the Twins and treat with Walder Frey. Secure the crossing for us."
Robb looked at Jon aghast. "You told me he killed me last time."
"He did. But you didn't have a dragon to back you up. Once Blizzard is close enough, I'll make him follow you to the Twins."
"And what am I to offer Lord Walder? I'm not marrying one of his daughters."
Jon laughed. "No, you won't need to do anything too drastic. You will let him keep the Twins. If he doesn't agree, threaten him with Blizzard."
"I thought you weren't using Blizzard like that."
"I don't want to. Although Walder Frey and his family are an exception to the rule. No, I don't want to burn them. I want to scare him. Let him send a terrified raven to the Lannisters. Let them know we are coming for them."
"Is it a wise idea to let the enemy know you are coming for them?"
"If Lord Tywin knows about Tyrion, then he will already suspect the North is preparing for war. I wouldn't be surprised if the Lannister and Reach forces are already being mobilised as we speak."
"Do you think war is inevitable, even if you weren't vying for the Iron Throne?"
"Aye, I do. The crown declared war on the Night's Watch. The North must fight on their behalf."
"What do you suggest?" Robb asked.
Jon lifted his tankard and looked inside, noting there was only a quarter left. "I say we get pissed. Then tomorrow we do what needs to be done with the grandest of hangovers."
"Does that include sparring with Arya?"
Jon had forgotten about his promise to his sister. Sparring with her was always dangerous. Add in an enormous hangover, and it was handing the victory over to her before they even started. Jon chuckled at the thought.
"Aye, the hangover will be worth it," he said, draining the last of the dark amber liquid from the pewter tankard. Jon held his hand in the air. "Edyth, two more, please."
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Jon didn't remember the journey back from the Smoking Log to Winterfell. Nor did he remember vomiting in a bucket and falling asleep in the chair and being covered with warm furs wrapped around him.
However, as he woke he knew he had a stiff neck and a hammer hitting an anvil inside his head. Jon looked up at a rather grim-looking Sansa, who was standing with her hands on her hips, making Jon feel like he was five years old and about to be scolded by Lady Stark.
"How did I get here?"
"The guards heard you and Robb singing The Bear and the Maiden Fair as you walked in through the gates. Robb fell over, pulling you down with him. The guards realised you were extremely drunk, so they helped you to your chambers. They brought a bucket with them."
"It was your suggestion." Jon grabbed his throbbing head and screwed his eyes.
"Here," Sansa passed him a small cup of cloudy liquid. "Willow bark. It should help you with the headache. The tea and breakfast over there," she pointed to the table, which was loaded with bacon, eggs, fried tomatoes and fried bread. "That should help soak up the alcohol to make you feel human again."
"Have I ever told you that you are the most wonderful wife in the world?" Jon stood, his head spun. But that would not deter him. He walked over to Sansa and wrapped his arms around her. Jon moved in to kiss her, but she pulled away.
"You reek of alcohol and vomit. Clean your teeth, and eat your breakfast. Then bathe in the bathing pools. Then you'll get a kiss."
Jon was still thankful she hadn't scolded him. "I love you," he gave her a toothy grin before drinking down the disgusting willow bark mixture.
"No sex for a fortnight!"
"WHAT?!" Jon cried. "But you'll suffer as much as I will. Unless…" Jon didn't want to consider the alternative, which was him no longer able to pleasure her.
"Of course, I'll suffer." Jon sighed in relief at her confession. "My suffering is your punishment. You cannot go around in public behaving like Robert Baratheon. If you do, you will lose the respect of the northern lords quicker than you can say dracarys."
"Going to the Smoking Log was your suggestion."
"For just a couple of drinks to get Robb to open up. Not to get so drunk you could barely stand."
"Sorry."
Sorry isn't enough. My punishment still stands. So, were you able to arrange something suitable for Robb?" Sansa asked, changing the subject.
Jon was silent for a moment. As he wracked his brains trying to remember last night's discussion, he sat at the table and picked up a rasher of crispy fried bacon. Little pieces of the previous night's conversation returned to him as he bit into it. A minute and two rashers of bacon later, he remembered the discussion about Moat Cailin.
"Moat Cailin needs repairs and to be readied for the army to cross. I plan to send him with a small garrison and some masons to prepare it for the fifty thousand troops crossing in less than a moon's turn."
"Have you spoken with father and uncle Brynden?"
Jon shook his head as he picked up a piece of fried bread. "I'll need to speak with the Blackfish and Lord Bolton."
"Why Roose Bolton?"
"Because he has the northern mason inventory. Or at least he should have reviewed the figures by now. I'll need enough left over to help Theon build the dockyard."
Sansa gave him a nod and picked up a rasher of his bacon. "I was thinking about the dockyard while you were in bed. Theon is going to need a lot of lumber. Should we ask Lord Glover to send a few lumberjacks out into the Wolfswood and chop down some trees? He could get them chopped into planks. The more wood ready, the sooner the ships will be built."
"Send a letter to Ser Davos in White Harbor. Between Ser Davos, Theon, Lord Manderly, Lord Glover, and Lord Bolton, I'm sure they can come to some agreement regarding the lumber. We can utilise our lumberjacks and send them with Ser Davos and Theon."
Sansa stood. "I'll get it done. You finish your breakfast and clean yourself up." She kissed him on the head and pulled a face of disgust. "Ugh, you stink. There are some clean clothes on the bed. I'll arrange a meeting with Father, Uncle Brynden and Lord Bolton. Be ready in an hour. We'll meet in Father's solar."
Sansa turned, and with a swish of her skirts, she left him alone to recover from his hangover and clean himself up.
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When Jon arrived outside Ned Stark's solar, his hangover had somewhat subsided. Sansa was waiting for him with a raven in her hand.
"You look more presentable. Almost king-like."
"I feel better."
Sansa gave him a chaste kiss on the lips.
"That makes up for this morning."
Jon gave her a teasing smile and knocked on the door.
"Enter." Ned Stark called out from inside.
Jon and Sansa walked in to be met with the faces of Ned Stark, the Blackfish, Lord Bolton and a very green-looking Robb, who appeared to be ready to vomit at any moment. The four men gave a polite bow of the head, reminding Jon of his status amongst them.
Once they were inside and the door was closed, Sansa handed the raven she had written to her father, who read it before handing it to Roose Bolton. The Lord of the Dreadfort's eyes glanced over it. He nodded before passing it to the Blackfish as Ned addressed the group. "I think we can spare a few lumberjacks in Winterfell. It should hurry the process a little."
Sansa turned to Robb. "Have you told them about last night's discussion with Jon?"
Robb gave her a sheepish look. "I can't remember what he said."
Sansa rolled her eyes. She was about to speak, but Jon cast her a glance, this was his job, not hers. He had suggested the mission to Robb but hadn't included the figures when he told Sansa. Not only that, but he knew Roose Bolton wouldn't be happy taking instructions from Sansa.
"I need a garrison to go to Moat Cailin and prepare it for the movement of soldiers. They won't have a lot of time. But a small garrison of say three hundred with a retinue of around fifty masons should only take a week to travel to Moat Cailin. Fifty thousand soldiers will take considerably longer. I estimate it should give them about six weeks to make some repairs to the gatehouse tower and clear the causeway of any debris. I have another task for him, but that is between Robb and I."
Sansa furrowed her brow. Jon hadn't told her about Robb's trip to treat with Walder Frey, and he wasn't looking forward to telling her. Robb looked bewildered by Jon's statement, making it clear he couldn't remember anything about the previous night's conversation.
The Blackfish seemed to agree. "Moat Cailin is in a state. There's no doubt about that. I doubt you'll get everything done in six weeks, but it can't be any worse than it is now."
"How many masons can you spare for Moat Cailin, Lord Bolton?"
Roose opened a large ledger he'd brought with him. "We'll need to keep a minimum of eighty for the dockyard. Forty more for the upkeep of Winterfell. I can spare thirty-eight," he said, looking up at Jon with a cold, milky gaze.
"Less than I'd hoped."
"How many men did you want young Robb to take with him?" Blackfish asked.
"About three hundred," Jon responded.
"I'm sure we can muster something together. There are already over twenty-nine thousand soldiers garrisoned outside Winterfell. We can spare three hundred."
"How soon can you have them ready, Brynden?" Ned asked.
"A day should be enough to sort the men. It is the supplies which take the time to organise."
"Give me a list of everything you need, uncle. I'll ensure everything is prepared and Robb is ready to leave within a day or two."
Ned rolled the raven scroll and sealed it with the wax wolf sigil of House Stark. "I'll take this to Maester Luwin, along with Robb to get him some willow bark. Have you written a copy?" he asked Sansa.
"Of course, father."
"Is there anything else?" Ned asked.
"No, Lord Stark. That is all for now."
"Good, then I suggest you join Arya in the courtyard. She's been pestering me this morning, asking where you were. She says you were supposed to be sparring." Ned chuckled.
Jon sighed in resignation. Despite the receding hangover, he wasn't in the mood to spar just yet. However, Arya wasn't one to take no for an answer.
"I suppose I should find Arya and a fool of myself. This meeting is dismissed. Return to your duties."
"Your grace," echoed the four voices of the men in the room.
Jon nodded his head, and he and Sansa left the solar and headed towards the courtyard for him to face being disgraced by a girl of only ten and four. Albeit a faceless assassin, but nobody else knew that.