Jon
It was funny. Ever Since the day he woke up in the past, nothing ever felt quiet or still for Jon. Every minute of every hour was with someone, talking about the throne, war, or where to be led. And in the times Jon was alone, his mind was racing with thoughts about nearly everything that was happening.
But now, finally, in the eyes of the weirwood of the Winterfell Godswood, he felt quiet and at peace. The snow was falling gently and all in attendance gave their reverence and respect to the most sacred of places to those of the First Men.
Breathing deep and calm as he knelt before the heart tree and copper brazier burning with yellow and orange flames, dressed in the finest suit he ever wore that was decorated with dragons and direwolves in the embroidery, Jon offered his prayers to the Old Gods and another to the Lord of Light. The blessings of these gods were known to him, he could not deny one or the other. But then again, after all they learned, who was to say that they were not one and the same?
Once he was done, Jon lifted his head up and nodded to Bran who sat in his chair next to the weirwood on the right. Next to Bran was Podrik, Arya, and Rickon, all dressed finely, especially Arya in her dress she almost refused to wear, and on the left of the weirwood were the six of Jon's Kingsguard in their armor, cloaked with white.
Podrik wheeled Bran closer and Bran uncovered the crown in his hands. Since Jon's original crown was cut up with the Iron Throne, they decided now was no better time than to accept the gift from House Dayne.
Aegon the Conqueror's crown was beautiful. The Valyrian Steel polished and the ripples keen and distinct like the grain of a wood burl, and the rubies almost glowed as they reflected the light from the torch stands lit throughout the Godswood.
Now, Bran began the rites of the Kings of Winter, how it should have been done had Jon cared enough to honor his family traditions when he was first crowned.
"Listen to the winds, for the whispers of the gods and your fallen speak to you. They speak to Aegon Targaryen, to Jon Snow, to a man who kneels before the eyes of a weirwood so that they might see him. Unto their gaze, they see the man who claims a crown, who claims a land, who claims a people to lead and rule. They charge you to be honorable to them as you would the earth that is tilled, they charge you to be strong as the stones that hold up the towering mountains, they charge you to be brave that you shall not run when the snows fall upon you. From fire you have risen and through ice you have walked. The blood of two worlds flows in your veins, the dragon and the direwolf, fire and ice, the North and Valyria. Winter is Here, and so is our King, Aegon Targaryen."
Time slowed as Bran leaned forward, inching the crown of Aegon the Conqueror over Jon's head, the gift of Atticus Dayne finally accepted in full.
He didn't want the throne… he didn't want this crown, he didn't want to be King… he wanted peace, he wanted love, he wanted Daenerys and Sansa, to fight so that they and everyone else he loved would see a true sunrise in a world where the Night King was finally gone. All those things he didn't want were simply items that came with his desires, and that was enough.
The crown rested perfectly on his head, the Valyrian Steel making it lighter than his previous one, but a weight nonetheless.
Proceeding was Leaf, wrapped in a green wool cloak with the red leaves of the weirwood adorning it as a mantle. She came forward with a stone cup in her hands and offered it to him.
"Long ago, when the Men, the Children, and the Giants united together, the Old Gods bestowed their rites upon He who claimed his crown. Brandon the Builder was the last to partake in the blessings of the gods, until today if you wish it.
Jon looked into the cup and saw a thick red liquid inside. It was weirwood sap, the same that leaked from the faces of each tree.
He touched the stone cup and pulled the rim to his lips, taking in the sap. It was tasteless, odorless, but a chore to drink nonetheless. The consistency was thicker in his mouth and tough to swallow. At the same time, Leaf and the Children behind her began to whisper a song in the Old Tongue as their amber eyes turned white.
The moment Jon felt the sap travel down his throat, a powerful sensation overtook his body. It felt like a great wind had passed right through his flesh and bone, chilling him to the core.
He blinked several times and suddenly he was not in front of Leaf and Bran or in the Godswood at all. He was standing in a room, a castle. It was evening and out the window the sun was just barely beginning to set.
Before Jon was a bed in which a sole woman rested under. Jon didn't notice whether or not he was still breathing, but for that instant he couldn't. He didn't recognize this woman, having never met her, but in his heart he knew exactly who she was. Her statue in the crypts did not give justice to how beautiful she really looked.
What startled Jon is when Lyanna's eyes turned to him and she sat up in her bed, heavily pregnant and frightened. "Rhaegar?"
Jon's feet carried him forward a few steps, closer to the last light coming from the window. "I'm not Rhaegar," he said, not sure if his words would be heard, "I'm…" his words were caught in his throat. The moment he wanted so much in his life was finally given to him and he didn't know what to say. "I'm-"
"Aegon," Lyanna breathed and she got out of her bed and stepped towards him. "My son…"
Jon couldn't breath as his mother cupped his cheek and he felt the touch of her skin. His eyes closed and he leaned his head into her palm. "Yes."
"Oh," she smiled, "you look so handsome, just like how I saw you in my dream so long ago. Is the Night King coming?"
Jon opened his eyes and nodded. "He's nearly here for me. Tomorrow is when I face him."
Lyanna nodded and a tear streaked down her face. "Aegon… please, promise me that when you win, you live your life true and good for you and those around you. Live Aegon, for me."
A feeling like coming out from underneath the water's surface befell Jon, and the room, his mother, they vanished before him and he was back in the Godswood, almost gasping for air.
What was that? An illusion? The power of the sight?
Jon looked up at Leaf, her amber eyes glancing back at him with hardly a twinge in emotion. She bowed her head and backed away.
"I will," he whispered as tears streaked down his cheeks. He whipped them away and nodded to Bran.
"The King has been crowned," Bran said in a firm but calm voice as he looked out beyond to the entrance of the Godswood. All eyes in attendance turned as did Jon's to the two most beautiful beings he ever laid his eyes on.
Theon escorted Sansa in a new white wedding dress, one that was the purest white of snow lined with white fox fur. Depictions of falling weirwood leaves were scattered across the hems among silver direwolves. Her hair gleamed in the torchlight, at times reflecting like fire itself. Behind Sansa and Theon was Jorah escorting Daenerys, also in a similar white wedding dress. A thick white wolf pelt was draped over her shoulders and bordering the collar of her neck were embroideries of winter roses and dragons.
The two brides halted before the eyes of the weirwood and Jon.
"Who comes before the Old Gods tonight?" Bran asked.
Theon spoke first. "Sansa Stark of Winterfell. A woman trueborn and noble. She comes to beg the blessings of the Old Gods."
Then Jorah. "Daenerys Targaryen of Dragonstone. A woman trueborn and noble. Heir to the Iron Throne and Mother of Dragons. She comes to beg the blessings of the Old Gods."
"And who comes to claim them?" Bran asked.
Jon held out his hands to each of them. "Aegon Targaryen the Sixth of my Name, known as Jon Snow of Winterfell. King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men. Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realms. I come to ask for their love and their faith to be mine. Who gives them?"
"Theon Greyjoy," There was a faint smile that came upon Theon's face, "Prince of the Iron Islands, who was ward to her father, Eddard Stark."
"Ser Jorah Mormont, her Queensguard and Master of War, who is her protector now and always."
Bran looked at the ladies. "Do you both take this man?"
"I take this man," they said in unison and looked at each other, "And I take this woman." Jon grinned at that. Each of them took one of Jon's hands and they took each other. The three of them together now, until the end of all days or the end of theirs.
Jon hesitated to move at first. He only now realized that they didn't have anytype of knowing how to proceed with a kiss between three people. One at a time? All at once?
"Eldest first," Sansa whispered, giving up the spot to be first. Daenerys leaned in and kissed Jon and it was the warmest thing among the snow. Then it was Sansa's turn and her blush made it just as warm. And then Daenerys and Sansa shared a kiss with each other. Just as the Valyrians had done it, even if this was a northern ceremony.
"Sansa and Daenerys Targaryen," Bran said, "kneel before the Old Gods."
The two women did so in unison, bowing their heads to the heart tree.
"Listen to the winds, for the Old Gods whisper. A king has been crowned and now he presents those he makes his Queens. Listen to the whispers of the trees, listen to the fallen who came before, they speak of Daenerys Targaryen, the woman who crossed the world to birth dragons and conquer the evils of men, they speak of Sansa Targaryen, who braved the vile halls of tyrants to protect her home and House. They charge you with bravery that you might stand with your King in his dangers, they charge you with spirit that you will have the minds to follow your King in his path, and they charge you with love, to never let your King suffer alone. They call upon you to rise, as Queens of King Aegon Targaryen."
Two crowns were presented, both made of silver. Sansa's was decorated with direwolves and winter roses that were made of many small sapphires, while Daenerys' had dragons and three gemstones each a color of her dragons. Both crowns were set upon their heads gently.
"Rise up, Queens of the Seven Kingdoms."
Sansa and Daenerys stood and took Jon's hands. They turned and faced the crowds of witnesses to this momentous occasion.
"Long may they reign!" Bran exclaimed!
"Long may they reign!" All repeated back. "Long may they reign!" All in the Godswood bowed down to their knees at King and Queens of Westeros. Finally, at least for a day it was certain, the realms of men were united.
Jon was about to take his first step to lead his new wives through the aisle of lanterns, but a noise paused his movements. It came from behind, a sound that was almost like a bundle of sticks being broken, and it looked like everyone else could hear it.
Theon was the first to gasp and he was looking behind them at the weirwood. Jon, Sansa, and Daenerys all turned around and were at a loss for words when they saw that the face on the weirwood which has never so much as blinked since Jon first laid eyes on it, had changed. The face of the hearttree no longer cried somberly, but joyfully as it smiled at them, almost as if it were laughing happily for them.
Jon looked at Leaf and the other Children who looked at the face in awe. They turned their eyes to him and they each bowed their heads at him, Sansa, and Daenerys.
He didn't know what to say, or if anything should be said at all. Instead he did what he felt was right. He turned back around and took his wives' hands. Together, they walked past all those who bore witness to their union, most of them couldn't take their eyes away from the weirwood.
The procession led out of the Godswood and into the courtyards of Winterfell. Many cheered and many applauded, unaware of the miracle that just occurred. It was on the back of Jon's mind, but with each of his hands clasped by the delicate fingers of each of his wives - his aunt and his cousin, though they were nothing short of goddesses to him - the significance of it soon merged into the joy he felt inside him.
A last moment of unwatered happiness and contentment he'd allow himself to feel before the weight of the coming fight would truly overtake him.
"Brother." Jon looked up to see a smirking Arya. His sister - cousin, but also sister in all but blood - leaned in and punched him lightly on the chest.
"Arya!" Sansa scolded, while Dany bit back a smile of her own.
"That's for me knowing what's gonna happen tonight." In classic Arya fashion, her jibe at his expense quickly changed to a genuine happiness and she darted forward, hugging him. "Congratulations… you look fuckin' estatic."
He kissed the crown of her head, as if they were youths again. "I feel that way, aye."
"Much deserved, especially since your ladies are smilin' and all." Arya hugged Sansa next, a very tight embrace showing the ironclad closeness between the sisters - the same as in his past, but without the weak foundations and mistrust towards outsiders. The good kept. Emblematic of that, Arya warmly clasped Dany's hand after detangling from Sansa. "Welcome to the family… sister."
Daenerys took the initiative and hugged Arya, a tear falling from her cheek - finally given a true family. Arya hugged her back, the moment that brought Jon to weave his fingers with Sansa's.
Suddenly something was thrust in his stomach, almost making him stagger. "I know you' called for no feastin'," boomed a grinning Tormund. "But you're not gettin' outta here without a proper drink!"
Jon shrugged. "Well, I cannot argue with that." The ale warmed his insides, tingling in his extremities but marvelously. He couldn't deny it felt good as he finished it off. Quickly but also at a reasonable pace. "Now, everyone," he called to the crowd. "There will be no feast, but that doesn't mean tonight isn't worth celebrating. Instead, we shall spend tonight bathing in the warmth and joy of love and friendship. Reminders of why we fight, of why we seek to live."
"For life, and love," Sansa said.
"For life and love," the mantra repeated.
Jaime
With thousands upon thousands of men, women, and children taking refuge in Winterfell, it would have been damn well impossible to find someplace decent to have someplace decent and quiet. Luckily there was always that one friend who had the ability to find things no one else could.
"Here we are," Bronn said, waving his hand about as if he were a wizard who magically made the room appear when they stepped in, "and I didn't even charge yeh for this. Lordship's made me soft."
"I'll bet it has," Jaime said as he stepped in after Brienne, her squire, and Tyrion. He had to admit he was surprised that there was a bedroom not in use by anyone in the castle, and then impressed with Bronn's set up he made. Two ceramic pitchers of wine sat on an end table across from a nicely lit hearth with several chairs gathered around. "Whose throat did you press a blade to to get this cleared out?"
"No one's. Bronn admitted smoothly as he took a cup and filled it with wine. "Did some talking around a few days ago and found out that this room's off limits. Something about being ceremonial to the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch or another."
"No respect for ceremony then," Brienne commented, halting in her place.
Bronn shrugged. "By this time tomorrow, we'll either be dead or seconds from it."
"No argument there." said Tyrion, taking a cup and filling it near to the brim before taking a seat. Podrick Payne did likewise, sitting next to Tywion and Bronn.
"What's the matter," Bronn asked the two Kingsguard, "too good for present company? I heard that Wilding chief's still on the hunt for you," he lifted his index finger from his cup as he took a drink, pointing at Brienne. "But I suppose he's not blonde enough."
Brienne scoffed and took a cup for herself. "Well if he shaved that beard the day we met, then perhaps I would have looked his way more."
Jaime narrowed his eyes at Brienne, noticing the smirk she hid towards him when she drank her wine. He reluctantly took the last cup for himself and joined the others across the fire when he had his wine. "Where's your wife if not with you?"
"With her sister, over in Winter town. She loves every chance she gets to boast about our firstborn on the way."
Tyrion chuckled. "From a filthy sellsword I met on the road, to now a great lord and soon to be father. All thanks to a dwarf who flashed some gold for a room."
"Here's to you then," Bronn said, raising his cup and everyone joined in the toast. After they drank, he patted Podrick on the shoulder. "The only one who's still where he started is this one here."
The boy didn't appear ashamed, in fact there was a defiance in his eye. "I've come a long way since we first met. I'll wager two gold dragons you wouldn't be able to get another cheap shot on me like at Riverrun."
"Oh?" Bronn said, brow arched and sitting up in his seat. "Mastered the form of the cutthroat, have yeh? Is there anything that magic cock doesn't bless-" in a split second, Bronn released his hold on his cup and without an effort, let it drop into his other hand while at the same time reaching out to Podrick to backhand the squire.
Podrick's hand shot up fast, catching Bronn's wrist an inch away from hitting his face. "No, just got faster."
Bronn started laughing as did Tyrion. "Here's to Podrick fuckin' Payne, the greatest squire of them all!"
Jaime smirked and raised his cup with everyone.
After they all took a drink, Brienne stood up. "I think it's time, Pod."
"Time?" he asked.
Brienne drew Oathkeeper and gestured in front of her with the tip of the blade. "You're more than ready and you've earned it a dozen times over."
Podrick started to stutter in reaction.
"Just like the brothel," Tyrion murmured.
Podrick snapped out of his surprise and set his cup aside, kneeling before Brienne. "In the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave. In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just. In the name of the Mother, I charge you to defend the innocent. Arise, Ser Prodrick Payne, the Loyal, a knight of the Seven Kingdoms."
Tyrion started clapping loudly with a proud smile almost stretching ear to ear, Bronn joined him as did Jaime. "Ser Podrick Payne, the Loyal!"
Unexpectedly, Podrick stood up and hugged Brienne. At first, she appeared reluctant but reciprocated just as well, saying something quietly to him. She refilled his cup for him and everyone cheered when he downed the entire thing in one go.
"Now every maiden across the narrow sea will be after you now," Bronn said, slapping Podrick on the back when they all sat back down. "You'll be a tourney champion, lad."
"Actually," Podrick started, "I think I want to stay here in Winterfell."
"Truly?" Jaime asked. "The wasteland of snow and ice calls to you that much?" He never liked winter one bit. He hated the constant need to always keep warm or else his balls would freeze off. To add to his disdain, even in the summertime of Winterfell, it was still damn chilly in broad daylight.
"No," Podrick said flatly, "no, certainly not that." It made Jaime a little glad to know his distaste for the country's weather was shared. "Call it a sense of duty keeping me here. I know I never made the vow Brienne did for Lady Sansa, but I've found myself trying to do just as well for the Starks. Rickon will be a good Lord, but he'll still need a vigil. I'm going to offer my services to him."
"That's a noble thing to do," Brienne said, "and I know that you're one of the few Rickon's got a better trust in than others." Her tone carried the slightest hint of shame in herself. But before anyone could address it or press on what she meant, Brienne steered the conversation away. "What about you, Tyrion? When will you be reinstated as Hand?"
Jaime blinked. He completely forgot that Tyrion had been removed from the position before the ordeal with Euron and this whole time assumed in the back of his mind that the matter was forgotten and forgiven.
"I don't think I should be."
Jaime couldn't keep his voice back. "Out of ten people alive to deserve the post, you're the first choice."
"Once, maybe. I did well with Joffrey, no one can deny me my success there. But…" Tyrion took a drink of his wine. "Ever since I left King's Landing in a box, I've felt lost. Even when I tried to be the man I once was, I've failed. The Sons of the Harpy overran Meereen, I was hardly any help to bridge Aegon and Daenerys to a compromise… it even sounded like I was just as bad at the job from Aegon's first time through this."
"You can't judge yourself for what could have been, my lord." Podrick said, ever defending his friend. "You're always best when you've had friends. That's what made you happy to make others happy."
Tyrion smiled at his former squire. "You're right… but I can feel that something in me is broken."
Jaime shook his head. "Your mind is just as sharp as it's ever been."
"My mind is fine, Jaime. The part of me I feel…" Tyrion raised a hand to his chest, doming his fingers over the region of his heart in silence that he tried to break but couldn't. His fingers curled into a fist before his arm fell to his side. "I should have just left that night without blood on my hands."
Jaime's jaw tensed. So that's what it was. Anyone would have assumed clearly that Tyrion was chiefly referring to the murder of their father. But it was clear to Jaime that it wasn't that murder that held on to Tyrion so strongly.
"A vineyard," Tyrion said, "I always wanted a vineyard to myself. I'll brew my own wine that only my best friends may share in."
"The Imp's Delight," Jaime said.
Tyrion looked at him in surprise. "How did you ever hear of that?"
Jaime smirked. "People talk and I've started to listen."
Tyrion
The hour was full of smiles and laughter. Even though Tyrion had been anxious the entire time, he was able to let the company of his friends overpower those feelings. But then the drinks were gone, and the hearth had dimmed. It had become just about time to retire.
As it was, Bronn's wife had returned from her time spent, bring in tow a very lovely woman with her. Bronn proceeded to wrap things up rather quickly.
Pod and Brienne said their goodnights, Brienne holding a gaze with Jaime just a moment longer than anyone normally would. Jaime had just about taken a step to follow her, but he was stopped.
"Jaime," Tyrion said, "we need to talk."
His brother looked at him. There was the light in his eyes that carried the feeling of knowing what of.
"How did you do it, Jaime?" Tyrion asked, handing the letter out to his brother.
Jaime spoke quietly. "I begged two spymasters for help. I didn't believe they could do it, but I wanted to try all the same."
Tyrion lowered the letter to his side. "Did you know that Tysha died three years ago?"
Jaime looked at him. "No. I'm sorry."
"Her daughter came to her place." There was a pregnant silence between them. "And it seems your children weren't the only ones to inherit our golden hair."
Jaime huffed a breath, speechless and amazed.
"She didn't realize it like I did. And it's better if she doesn't. Why would someone as beautiful as her think a little imp is her father?"
"You didn't tell her?"
"It's for the best. Women tend to die if I love them."
Jaime's knuckles curled. "That is the most idiotic thing you have ever said. Thousands of people die when they deserve life. I know I've killed my share of them." He got up and kneeled directly in front of Tyrion. "My greatest regret was hiding who I really was to my children. Don't let it be yours too."
"Jaime, what did you think would happen when you sent that letter? Regardless if Tysha was still alive or whether Joanna came or not?"
"I wanted you to have closure, Tyrion. I wanted you to finally know for certain the resolution of this so you could finally have some semblance of peace."
"Peace," Tyrion repeated. "The last thing that could have ever come from this is peace." Without even listening to what else his brother had to say, he left at a brisk pace to find some isolation to think to himself.
Taking to the cold outdoors, Tyrion paced back and forth in the loneliness of the courtyard and pondered what he should do. Whether to let things remain as they are and be tormented with this feeling inside him for the rest of his life, as short as it might be… or should he go to Winter town and face the consequences of his past?
Nothing had ever made him more scared. Not the long drop at the edge of his Sky Cell, not the mercy of the Hill Tribes, none of it compared to this.
And yet he found himself taking the long walk along the road to Winter town. Every step practically made Tyrion think of a different scenario how this would all play out, and very few of them were a good outcome.
He found the inn Joanna was staying at, entering in cautiously as if a great enemy awaited inside to greet him. Instead he found things quite and calm. The robust atmosphere must have already came and went being so late in the evening. But there she was, sharing a drink with a young woman with long black hair. Both of them were giggling at something when he approached them.
"Lord Tyrion," Joanna smiled gently at him. "I'm glad you're here. I want to thank you for giving us the assistance we needed. We wouldn't have gotten everything together if it wasn't for you."
Tyrion couldn't find words to accept the gratitude. An anchor held heavy in his chest and it got worse by the second. "May I have a word with you in private, please?"
"Of course." Joanna set her cup aside and followed him to a more private corner of the tavern. "Is everything alright?"
Tyrion took in a breath, preparing himself for the worst. "There's something I need to tell you about your mother." Joanna became silent and the guilt nearly made his body tremble. "Did she ever tell you she was once married?"
Joanna's stunned silence was answer enough, but she shook her head in response.
"When I was a young man, my brother and I found your mother under attack by some foul men. My brother fought the men off while I led her away to safety. We ended up becoming lovers and found a septon to wed us. But when my father found out he…" he struggled to get the words out, "he… hurt her greatly because I married her." He found the strength to look her in the eye. "That was twenty three years ago." Again, Joanna only gave him silence, only now she looked away. "Until you found me, I had no idea what happened to her after that. She knew to get far away from my family's eyes. If my father found out I had sired a bastard he would have killed you."
There was no reply. Tyrion waited for what felt like a long time but it was only a few seconds. And then, Joanna stood up. "Excuse me, milord." She walked away without another word, only terror and confusion stricken in her.
The moment Joanna left the comfort of the building, Tyrion clenched his little hands into fists and banged them on the table, grunting as hot tears stung his cheeks. He was wrong, and this horrible agony was his consequence.
Rickon
"You have to be joking."
"No, I do not lie."
Shaking her head, Lyanna gave him an incredulous look - one that she always gave him, but instead of a condescending frown it was paired this time with a bit of a smile. "You are not telling me that the wildlings have the same names for the stars as we do."
Rickon shrugged. "More or less. Some of the names are different, but the tales are pretty much the same." He shifted his gaze back towards the dark sky, sprinkled with the vast panoply of stars illuminated by the for now clear skies. Something that would change very soon, if all were to be believed. "On the many nights in the wilderness with Osha - while Bran and Meera and Jojen talked about his visions and such - she'd tell me about all the stars. Passed the time."
"Couldn't imagine trudging through the woods for weeks on end. Sounds frightfully boring if you ask me."
"Eh, preferred the boredom, specially when the excitement was bein' nearly found by a bunch of Thenns…" That was not pleasant. "Jon was with them. Based on what he told me, I think that was when he escaped the band of Free Folk… the one with his first lover."
Lyanna chuckled, passing him a pastry they snuck from the kitchens… well, as Lord now he didn't have to sneak anything. The cooks obeyed when he asked for a tray of them. "Why am I not surprised he had a Wildling lover… if my mother knew I fought on the same side as Wildlings…"
Once again turning to her, Rickon waited until she met his eyes. "I think she'd be proud, given the circumstances." Lyanna paused, biting her lip. "Everything's changed, for the better I think… Besides the swarm of corpses coming right for us that is."
Her smile made it look like they were speaking of something completely unserious. "Aye, besides that."
The silence that followed brought them back to the stars, staring up at them together. They laid on the rooftop, equally unable to sleep that night - mayhaps it had something to do with the wedding, an occasion promising them a sort of future after all this. Most would find it hopeful, but Rickon… truthfully it felt terrifying. An unknown beyond the coming fight and the sheer struggle that was his life.
A time beyond the fight for the dead meant it would be time for him to actually be the Lord of Winterfell, where he couldn't rely on an emergency council that was needed to make sure the castle readied itself for the Long Night.
He'd be on his own - Lyanna knew exactly what he was going through. There was no person he'd rather spend time with than her at this point.
"I heard something from Lord Cerwyn the other day?"
Rickon blinked. "What did he say?"
Lyanna turned on her side, facing him. Her face was earnest, as if wishing to discuss something serious while not spoiling the gentle nature of their rooftop rendezvous. "Everyone knows I'm close to you, while I think they see me more approachable than Lady Dustin."
"My direwolf is more approachable than her." From his perch near the door to the roof, Shaggy poked his head up at the reference to him, only to curl back up in the big ball of fur that he was. "Somethin' he couldn't come to me directly about?"
A nod. "He knows we're friends, and wanted to get somethin' to you without… suppose not letting it get to the crown."
Oh, this was serious then. "Crown meanin' Jon and Dany, or with Sansa included?"
"Probably both, seeing as your sister's a dragonrider now." Not sure if she went fully Targaryen or not. Sansa seemed quite committed to her Stark blood and heritage, but being a dragonrider was something… unique. No one not named Targaryen or Velaryon had ever been a dragonrider - at least no one not connected to those two houses until Sansa. That… unsettled some, but she wasn't the Lady of Winterfell. "That being said, he was alerting me to some discussion between him, Lord Flint, and Lord Glover."
"Piss on Lord Glover," Rickon spat. "He's lucky I didn't order him in a cell for nearly failin' to send his promised banners." Truthfully, Rickon was surprised when the sour old fart did arrive in Winterfell - it was clear he didn't want to be there. "What did that goat want?"
Lyanna bit her lip. "Northern independence." At Rickon's raised brow, she sighed. "Not fightin' for it mind you, but if they should approach Sansa about it. Decided not to now that she's Queen, but rather you."
"Ironic… Sansa supports independence."
Her eyes widened. "Really?"
"Allied with the Targaryens obviously, either very closely or some sort of vassal status with autonomy, but aye. She wants independence… with me as King. Robb's title." The last was a mere murmur - gods, to think of being a Lord was overwhelming.
A King…
Lyanna once again turned on her back and looked up, Rickon eying her expression. "I mean… I'm loyal to King Aegon, and Queen Sansa… and after all that's happened Queen Daenerys has earned my respect, but the North deserves independence I think."
"You think so?"
She nodded. "We were treated like shit by the Mad King…"
"Daenerys and Jon are not like him."
"I know… but Robert neglected us in spite of his friendship with Ned, and everything the Lannisters did…" Lyanna looked at him again. "My maester taught me a lot about history, whenever the North was faced with a wildling invasion or the like, the Targaryens never bothered to get involved. The only time they did, Alysanne gave away the New Gift… the Night's Watch barely used it."
"True." Rickon was never a lover of history, but since Jon revealed himself, Lady Dustin and Maester Wolkan insisted he study up on the relations between the North and Targaryen crown. "We never helped the Targaryens either."
She narrowed her eyes in confusion. "Cregan…"
"Once. The Faith Militant Rebellion, all Blackfyre Rebellions, the wars with Dorne… We didn't contribute anything. It's not like we were devoted and they weren't." He sighed. "Robert's dead, the Lannisters are gone, Baelish is dead… A Stark is Queen and the King is half-Stark. I mean, aye, mayhaps some concessions to make us more like Dorne is to the crown but what's the point? There's no chance they'll betray us, even generations down."
"How do you figure?"
"Read the Valyrians liked to marry within the ranks to keep the magical purity… so they could ride dragons. Mayhaps the new Targaryens would like to do the same with the first man blood - have wargs and greenseers alongside the dragonriders."
Lyanna pursed her lips. "Suppose that's true."
Rickon nodded. "I understand why everyone wants independence. I sometimes want it too, what Robb was fighting for now that I'm old enough to grasp it." He placed his hands behind his head, gazing up at the stars and smiling as a thought came to him. "Sometimes I dream about if Robb had won and came back to Winterfell. Where I'd see my mother again and we'd all be a happy family. I like that dream… and it's not weird like my dream of Winterfell made out of apple tarts and lemon cakes."
Lyanna giggled. "That at least is a fun weird dream."
He closed his eyes, thinking of the other dreams he had, the bittersweet ones. "Robb, my mother, my father… the family I never knew, my uncle and grandfather, my aunt, not to mention the Targaryen side I could've grown up with. If Rhaegar loved my aunt so much, then he could've been my uncle and his eldest children my cousins as much as Jon." A tear fell down his cheek. "Gods, all that I've lost."
Lyanna was quiet for a moment, but reached for his hand. "My mother, my sisters, my uncle… Jorah's all I have left and he was pretty much lost to all of us for years. I'm afraid we'll lose a lot more before this is all over… myself included."
Rickon narrowed his eyes. "I won't let you be lost. Not that now I have a sword."
Her lips curved into a slight smile. "A promise that I will have to mirror, Rickon, and I'm better at a sword than you are."
Anytime before he would've started a verbal spar of wit and insults from a cheeky comment like that from her, but now - the air calm and the moment serene - he only laughed, squeezing his friend's hand tighter.
Davos
Hearing the knocking upon the door, Davos Seaworth walked to it as he was seated the closest. "Lord Hand," the first man remarked, hefting a small cask in his hands with the help of another.
While he was confused, Jon rose from his seat. Waving them in. "Aye, thank you lads."
"Where would you like this, Your Grace?" the other asked in a rough accent.
"Just place it on the desk, here," Jon said, tapping the desk as Davos made his way back to his seat. "Go on, I'm sure you have better places to be than waiting on me hand and foot."
Both men laughed, bowing slightly. "A pleasure to serve the white wolf… or ice dragon rather." Davos could tell that they meant it sincerely.
"So, what's this, yer' Grace?" Edd asked, his voice the same raspy brogue. "Plannin' on goin' to battle so sloshed you can't feel the cold? Or any pain?"
Tormund, seated next to the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch whom he would've killed or been killed by not two years ago, snorted. "Walkin', fightin', and fuckin' is how we Free Folk shove away the cold." He clapped his hands. "This's the fourth best way, by fuck."
"How… proper," Sam murmured, sounding innocent and awkward in spite of everything he'd been through. Davos admired him for not turning into a hardened cynic.
As for their King… "Here, take these." Jon was over at the keg with four pewter tankards in his hands. Each of them were soon filled to the brim with a dark, opaque liquid topped with amber froth. As if he were a servant and not a Targaryen dragonrider, he placed one of each in front of his guests before allowing himself the last. "Don't wanna get too drunk, nor does the cold bother me much anymore when ridin' a dragon, but mayhaps all of us need somethin' to help with the nerves. What better than the black ale of the North?"
"Never can say I had the pleasure," replied Edd. The five of them had gathered in the Lord's solar, once Ned Stark's and promised Rickon's, but the latter had no issue with loaning it out to his kingly cousin. Davos certainly had no complaints, for the hearth was quite warm.
"I prefer wine mi'self after the pitiful experience of Castle Black brewed ale," he chuckled, seeing the King's lips curl into a smirk. "But hey, can't refuse the King's offer." He took a small taste, smacking his lips. "Not… bad…" It was a strange mix of bitter and slightly sweet, rich with hints of pine in it. Certainly had a powerful punch to it. "An acquired taste for sure, but suitable for our purposes." He took another sip.
"Much better than Three-Finger Hobb's ale, I must admit," Edd remarked. "I mean, he could stew up mutton well enough but as a brewer, left a lot to be desired."
"Dornish red is better by comparison." All four others glanced at Sam, brows raised. "What? If you grew up in the Reach you'd understand… it's a jape."
"Not much of one… ugh…" Tormund rolled his eyes after downing a third of a tankard. "Ye' call this a proper drink? Couldn't leave a rabbit drunk."
"Not all of us have stomachs of steel like you, Tormund." Jon grinned, looking more at ease than any time in the previous day. "I mean, handlin' giant's milk can set one up to put anything down the gullet."
"Giant's milk?" Now that was something Davos didn't hear every day. "I feel there's a story behind this."
Tormund glared at Jon. "Don't you fuckin' dare."
"Relax, Giantsbane," Edd said. "Some of us may be dead after tomorrow, so your secret goes with us." A bit morbid, but not a complete lie. "Tell us, Targaryen."
"Aye, tell us," piped Sam.
"I find myself morbidly curious, your Grace," Davos replied, knowing this was one his young sons would likely wish to hear. Something he and Marya could share for a laugh before bed. "We've got nothing better to speak of."
The King smirked and leaned back with tankard in hand. "Apparently dear Tormund got lost in a blizzard and was forced to stay in a cave where a female giant resided. She apparently grew fond of him and let him suckle from her teats like her two whelps. Only way he survived the blizzard."
There was silence for a moment before everyone, even Sam, laughed at Tormund's expense. "That is the most fucking funny thing I've heard in years," Edd chortled, wiping his eye.
Tormund crossed his arms. "I'm gonna kill ye', King Crow."
"Just try," Jon teased, patting Longclaw. "He changed his name from Giantsbabe to Giantsbane when he moved from one clan to another to escape his shame."
"I should never have told you that story."
"Ygritte told me."
"Then I shouldn't have told her."
Eventually the laughs died down, replaced by only the crackle of the hearth and the occasional sip of ale. "Think about it," Sam broke the silence. "Southerners, Northmen, Free Folk. Doesn't seem much different."
"Never suckled a giant in the Vale," Edd remarked sourly, his natural surly mood returning.
"Not my point," Sam murmured.
Davos leaned forward. "Nah, Samwell is right." He wiped some froth from his whiskers. "Had the Free Folk been south of the Wall when Brandon the Builder finished it, they'dve been bannermen to the Starks or Umbers."
"Don't tell Smalljon that," the King replied. "Makes me think… what did the Night's Watch do when the first Long Night ended. Patrol for walkers? For wights?"
"Did the Free Folk aid them?" Sam squeaked.
A grunt came from Tormund. "Me' papa told me tales… never said anythin' bout helpin' crows. Far as I'm concerned, we and them's been killin' each other forever."
"No, it could never have been eternal hate since the Wall was made." Jon stroked his beard. "Always did I grow up hearing of the Watch as an honorable profession. Many third sons or bastards went there to earn honor or as a sense of duty… Starks always sent someone every few generations. Thought it would be honorable…"
"Only to meet such honorable fucks like Rast, Tanner, Slynt…" Edd trailed off, point made.
"Southern Kings always used the Watch as a dumping ground for criminals they didn't want to sully their hands for killing," Davos mused. He'd seen Stannis send many Targaryen loyalists there while in his service, at least until Melisandre hooked him to burning. "I take it most of the Watch didn't choose to be there."
"Not in the slightest." Jon visibly leaned back, sighing. "Thorne and Rykker were competent enough, the scum. Rest were useless cunts. They were the ones that mutinied and killed Jeor Mormont."
"Bet you enjoyed killing Tanner," Sam said.
Jon nodded. "Damn straight I did - and I think that's why things changed. Less men of honor, more traitors and criminals. There's no doubt that those first rapists and murderers probably broke any goodwill between the Watch and wildlings."
Tormund huffed. "You may be on to something there." He thought silently for a moment. "If we do make it through the night… what'll happen to the Crows?"
"Certainly no need to defend the Wall… wildlings are with us now, and the dead will be gone."
"Don't think it'll be easy to make proper lordships and keeps out of the Free Folk," Sam winced.
"Eh, we'll do it in our own way." Tormund grinned. "Been thinkin' of making Castle Black my keep." That made the King snort. "But the Crows?"
"Maybe we could change up if some of us live - fight bandits or somethin'?" Edd commented.
Davos' brow rose. "Aye, that could be somethin' worth doing."
Setting down his tankard, Jon rose. "All that I hope to discuss with you in two days, but duty calls." He grabbed his cloak and donned it. "And to tell the truth, the last ones I see before battle joins aren't you sorry tankards, but my Queens."
"Two beautiful dragonriders just dyin' to take ye' to bed. We don't blame ya'," Edd said, making Sam blush and Tormund laugh.
Davos took Jon's arm before he left. "When you talk to them, don't let anything you wish to say slide. You'll never forgive yourself if they don't know just how much you love them before… anything happens."
The King smiled. "Thank you, Davos." The hug they shared felt like his sons come to life again, and the Onion Knight felt ot tears splash onto his cloak.
Jon
The Great Hall was empty except for the chairs gathered and the blazing hearth keeping everyone warm as they entered.
Rickon wheeled Bran in first, followed by Arya, Sansa, Jon, and Dany. The girls carried in the wooden tankards while Jon carried the cask of the Old Gods' Tears. Next to the heath was a small pewter cauldron with warm, steaming spiced cider in it.
Everyone quietly took their tankard and their choice of drink Jon, Arya, and Bran took from the Old Gods' Tears, everyone else took the cider. Nobody said anything at first when they all sat down, it was a momentary silence that felt should not be disturbed.
Jon raised his tankard out as a form of toast to them all, and everyone did the same before drinking.
"I wish Robb was here," said Arya. "He was going to be a father. I wish he could have lived to see his child play in these halls and the hills. I wish we could have stayed together for a long time."
"Me too," Sansa agreed. "He would have been a good father."
"Aye," Jon agreed, "as good a father as he was a brother."
Rickon raised his tankard up. "Here's to Robb Stark, King in the North. And to Mother and Father, Lady and Lord of Winterfell. May they and all the others we lost rest in peace."
Everyone raised their tankards up in toast to the fallen and drank again.
"So," Jon said to Arya, "You're going West again. Want to know what's there?"
"Shut it, you arse!" Arya laughed. "Just because you've heard of what's there, doesn't mean you know what's there."
"You wouldn't like it," Jon teased, "swords and fighting don't exist, the people there only wear lace dresses, and all they do is stitching and sing songs day and night. Enforced by death of long peaceful living."
"Shut up," Arya giggled, "I want to see for myself. I'm going to. I'll spend five years out there, learning every secret of the unknown lands I can, then I'll come back."
"Is that what you promised Gendry?" Sansa asked.
Arya smiled. "He's Lord Baratheon now, and I don't want to be a lady… I want to be me before I'm someone else's. Before I…" she sighed, but smiled afterwards. "I make him mine, and I become his." Jon smiled back at her.
"Well be glad you don't have a cock," Rickon said, "because nobody cares what you want if you're the heir."
"Nope," Jon agreed with a shake of his head, "No they do not." He probably understood Rickon the best out of everyone. "What about you Bran? What will you do since King of the Six Kingdoms isn't your fate anymore?"
Bran laughed at the title. "To be honest, I don't think it's right for someone with my powers to be a King. One who sees all at the top of a throne, it feels more dangerous than someone with even a hundred dragons at their command. Lord Reed invited me to go to the swamps with him and Meera. They have godswoods unlike any in the world. The Children of the Forest are going too."
"Fading away into myth, then?" Daenerys asked. "Or hoping to be with the next Lady Reed?"
"Yes," Bran said without embarrassment, "I owe everything to Meera and I love her. If we win this war, I'm going to marry her." He drank his Tears past everyone's chiding for his determination. "What about you, Rickon? You'll be Lord of Winterfell. What do you want to do with your kingdom?"
"Doesn't matter what I want," Rickon reminded, "I need to rebuild the damn place. Robb lost most of our men in his war, we're gonna lose more here… We'll be even emptier than we were before everything went to the Seven Hells." He sighed and drank his cider. "What about you, Daenerys? What'll you do as Jon's Queen with Sansa?"
Daenerys smiled, "Oh, a lot of boring, political things that would put even the Night King to sleep." She earned a chorus of chuckles from everyone. "But my brother, Viserys, used to say that our father had dozens of grand schemes he spoke of but never committed to. Building another Wall hundreds of miles further north, rebuilding King's Landing out of marble, even conquering the Stepstones as an eighth kingdom." She laughed at the grandeur of them all. "These were all vain ambitions."
"Everyone's got a bit of vanity to them," Arya countered, "indulge yourself for a moment. What grand creation would you do as Queen?"
Daenerys paused to think, almost in a trance. "I will rebuild everything my House has lost since Aegon the First became King. I will rebuild Summerhall, the Dragonpit, the fleet, and a new keep where Castle Black once stood, giving the crown no excuse to not look north when times of trouble arise."
Sansa smiled. "I think I would do something of the same. I would build a new town for the Wildings to have as their own."
Jon looked over at Rickon. "If you could leave, would you go north with the Free Folk?"
Rickon shrugged. "Maybe. I'd get to explore the True North and see realms of the First Men we southerners forgot about. If Arya goes west, then maybe I'd go north, further north than any map can reach…" Rickon took a drink of his cider and started laughing. "But then again, Being with the people you love, in a good home, that's enough for me to be Lord of the North."
Jon smiled at him. "I'm proud of you Rickon. I know our father and your mother would be too."
Arya chuckled. "Can you imagine how mother would have reacted if she knew you were a Targaryen, and then again when you stole her daughter as your lover."
Everyone chorused in laughter.
"I've thought about it," Sansa said after a sip of the cider, "She might've been overjoyed that I finally became a Queen, even if I wouldn't know what she'd say if she saw me in bed with Daenerys."
"Ugh," Rickon groaned, "we don't need to hear any of that. Jon's already got an angel for a wife, but having two makes him the luckiest bastard in the world."
"Lord Stark," Daenerys said in a voice slightly exaggerated with nobility, "your words strike me with such affection how you think of me so." She leaned down next to him and kissed his cheek, turning him bright red.
"Jon," Bran said, "Do you remember when you got the pox when you were young?"
"Aye," He said, wondering why Bran would bring it up considering it was something that happened years before Bran's birth. "but you weren't even born… oh, right." It was a surprise that he still forgot the powers of the Three Eyed Raven from time to time. "What of it?"
"Our mother sat with you through it all, she made you a prayer wheel, and she prayed to the gods you would live. She thought it was her fault, and she promised if you lived she'd love you, be a mother to you, and ask you to be made a Stark like us. But she couldn't do it when you recovered. I'm a little curious… if my mother lived long enough to see you today, who you are, and asked forgiveness, would you give it?"
Jon took a drink of the Tears. Despite this being the first time someone actually asked him, he thought about this many times over the years. And not just Lady Catelyn, but Ned Stark too. What kind of man sends his son to the Wall without telling him the truth? Was it to keep him away from the game? From all the horrors that fell upon the realms? In truth, a part of Jon was glad he was kept out of it. All that suffering for a throne, he was glad he didn't choose to be a boy fighting for such a thing.
"I don't suppose saying I don't know gets me out of it." He smirked at the obvious answer that needn't be said. "There were days I wished that just once, I could have had someone be a mother to me, even her when I saw how much she loved you all. In fact, I hated you all for that." The last words just came out with too much honesty, enough that it surprised his brothers and sisters. "But, I think I could have. After all I've lost and fought against, I've seen it's better to live without hate when you can. When the end comes, will you be proud of how much you scourged everything or how many you loathed? I'd rather think of those I've made peace with and loved."
"Some might call you a fool," Arya said, "sometimes a grudge is all that drives someone to live."
"And you know what I'd tell that person if I ever met them?" Jon smirked. "You know nothin." He took another drink of the Tears and sat back. He set his tankard down so he could hold the hands of his wives and gazed into the flames. He wasn't trying to look into them for a vision… but there was something he could see, a possibility, a hope for the tomorrow after the night.
Feeling the silence was nearing a point of being awkward, Jon decided to break it with a song that had no place in this time. It had been a composition from the Wildlings, he only ever sung it once before, years ago in an attempt to put the past behind him, but then it had only done the opposite. Now, it was just another song to him.
Long ago, the night grew great with snow
A king of darkness, his soldiers drove
We raised our blades and bared our fangs
In hopes to see the light of day
The dragon's fire grew in the night
The shields of soldiers' splintered in the fight
Our will was great against the frost
But could we see what we had lost
The evening ended with a last collection of drinks before they all bid each other good night with smiles on their faces. It had been so long since Winterfell had seen a night like these last few. If they died, then there would be no better end.
Retiring to their solar, Jon, Daenerys, and Sansa all prepared to go to bed, but while they did, Jon had taken a moment to himself to reflect on something that had been on his mind for many days before he made the decision to travel back in time, only now with the battle ahead did these concerns and questions arise again. But now there was more at stake for him.
"Dany, Sansa," Jon began, "There's something you both need to realize I don't think you have."
"What is it?" Sansa asked.
Jon sighed, he tried to speak but the words got caught in his throat. Was he afraid of this that much? "If we win again… this time… I won't be coming back."
"Jon-" Daenerys began, but Jon continued.
"I'll be dead," his words silenced Daenerys, "or rather, I won't exist anymore. We'll have changed the future. The people I left when I came back won't exist anymore, and neither will I. I don't know what will happen if that does, if I'll be dead, or just alive without a soul."
"No," the word seemed to escape Dany's lips and she was in a state of terror, "that won't happen. It won't."
"Dany-"
"No! You were brought back from death to be more than just a soldier for a god. Everything you've done, everything you've been through and lost, it can't be just so you can fade into nothing at the end. It's not fair!"
Jon walked to his wife and held her in his arms. She was angry at first, now she was sad, crying into his shoulder with fists clenched against his chest.
"What about your reward for it? Why don't you get to see tomorrow with us?" She looked up at his eyes. "Why can't you be a father to our child?"
Jon lost his breath and almost felt his heart clench as though it were stabbed. "You're pregnant?"
Dany nodded silently, but did not smile. It should have made them all happy, but the situation could not be forgotten with such news.
"She's not the only one," Sansa said, coming forward with her hands on her belly. "You have two children who need their father, Jon. They-" Jon silenced her with a kiss. He held it for the longest three seconds he ever felt before giving Daenerys the same love he gave to Sansa.
Dany was still shook when their lips broke apart, but Jon could see that the fear and worry was starting to lift.
"I want to live for us. I will, I promise."
Night darkened, and after sharing the warm embrace of his wives, Jon lay in his bed but found himself restless. No one could have asked for a warmer bed or better company at his sides, but sleep still eluded him. His mind would not settle his anxiety of what would in fact become of him if they won the battle again? Would he fade into the sight like Bran? Would he get to stay and keep all he worked for? Or would his task be done, and his life no longer needed?
He hadn't the faintest idea of an answer. But maybe he could find one.
Being as careful as he could, Jon slipped from between Daenerys and Sansa out of bed. He dressed himself in a simple white shirt, breeches, and boots. He donned his cloak and silently left the room, making for the Godswood. To his surprise, many were still up at this hour across the castle, a few guards sharing ale together, a happy couple sitting together at the Sept, and many others doing as Jon commanded which brought a smile to his face.
Crossing under the passage that he left just hours ago, Jon entered into the Godswood and passed by the lanterns that made the path for his wedding, now extinguished of their light. When he came to the Godswood, the Children of the Forest were there, whispering songs before the face with their heads bowed to it. Something new that Jon had not seen with them until now were the three weirwood bows unstringed at the edge of the frozen pond. Where did they get them?
"Your grace," Leaf addressed, getting to her feet and facing him while her kin continued to whisper their songs, "have you come to pray as well?"
Jon shook his head silently. "I understand that you know things about the sight Bran still doesn't. I guess it's a feeling, more or less."
"Bran sees through the eyes of the raven, but we are the ones who hear the whispers of the Old Gods. They beckon for their songs to be sung, lest they be forgotten."
It mystified Jon just how much of legend and myth could be truth and reality, even with all he has seen and experienced. "If we win tomorrow… if we get to change the future, what will happen to me?" He asked, not knowing if he would get an answer or not.
The songs from the other two Children stopped and they both looked at him with their amber eyes.
Leaf's eyes dropped to the ground and she shook her head. "I do not know. I do not have the sight to see ahead like the other boy had. Such a gift is extremely rare. The Old Gods do not whisper of the future to us… but they might to you." she extended her hand to him, moving aside to lead him to the tree.
Hesitantly, Jon took Leaf's hand and knelt with her and the other Children before the laughing face of the heart tree. The Children began to sing and he wasn't sure what he was supposed to be doing. Was he supposed to sing as well, or perhaps pray? Or did he just need to wait?
Then he felt something, a strange sensation in his mind. At first he thought it was a simple trick of thought to make him think something was happening, but it wasn't. He absolutely knew. He looked up at the eyes of the weirwood face and felt it again, as if someone had said something.
And then he heard the voices, not with his ears, or in his mind like he heard the Raven, but in his spirit.
"Aegon Targaryen…"
Jon's eyes locked with the tear-stricken ones of the weirwood and his mind began to fade out everything around him except the songs of the Children. The voices of three now sounded like a choir of dozens. And then just one.
"Aegon Targaryen."
