Rickon
The banner of House Stark flapped gracefully in the wind, proudly displaying the mighty direwolf to the North and her people.
Rickon never found it strange that looking at the way the direwolf danced made him feel calm, more so than he did in the Godswood cleaning Ice just as his father before him did. He used to think it was something to be ashamed of that the presence of the Old Gods was more distant to his spirit than the symbol of his family. Family… maybe that's why. It was his way to remember them.
Taking a deep breath, he smiled and marched from the balcony of his room inside, eventually making his way to the Great Hall where his Stewardess, Jeyne Poole, was overseeing the preparations for the upcoming festivities. She was directing a pair of men on ladders who were hanging banners all across the walls. Currently, the banner of House Baratheon of Storm's End was being set to the right of a banner of House Baratheon of the Sapphire Isle.
"No, you need to lower it! We want a two level pattern effect!" Jeyne exclaimed up at them before noticing Rickon approaching. "Oh, Lord Stark. How does it all look so far?"
Impressed already, Rickon looked around the Hall with a raised brow. The banners were displayed beautifully, the new tables were cleaned of every crumb and stain, and the swords and shields displayed on each wall were dusted and shined.
"It's looking excellent, Jeyne. This will be a tourney remembered for a hundred years."
"Only a hundred?" Jeyne asked. "I'm losing my touch."
Rickon chuckled before proceeding with his business. "Any ravens today?"
Jeyne nodded. "Wolkan's already sending out the responses and preparing rooms and homes in Winter Town. Though I am concerned with the Dothraki that will be coming. If the rumors of their "practicing customs" at the Flower Festival at Highgarden are true…"
The Tyrells were quite furious about two dozen Dothraki stripping down and making love out in the open of their own castle. "Hm… I think that problem is best dealt with when it's closer at hand. Queen Daenerys will be able to control their urges." Jeyne gave him a doubtful look. "I hope," Rickon added. Only a few hundred stayed behind to live in Westeros, but they were still foreigners after ten years to acclimate. "What about the food for the festival? Any delays or problems?"
Jeyne's pleasant demeanor returned. "None at all. We received a message from Bear Island. They've had a bountiful migration of crabs in the bay and will be bringing many to share."
Rickon couldn't resist a smile of excitement. The crabs from Bear Island were absolutely amazing, better than anything he had ever eaten before in his entire life. "See to it that when they arrive, the men delivering are allowed to partake in my personal store of Umber's Brew."
"A kind gesture, my lord. Is there anything else?"
"That will be all, Jeyne. I need to greet the Thenns and Paynes now, so I shall leave you to do your fine work."
Every corridor he went through, every corner he turned, wherever Rickon saw his people at work preparing for the Night of Dawn, he could see the joy and eagerness in their eyes. Every year that passed, it was greater for them and Rickon knew that they were truly happy. He sometimes hoped that his mother and father would be proud of the man he became, but then again, he knew in his heart they would be.
"Rickon, come on!" Lyanna called at him when he entered the courtyard. She was standing with a small host of their staff that wasn't at work for the moment, holding their infant son, Jon, in her arms. Not only were the celebrations to be held for the holiday, but also the birth of the heir to Winterfell and the North, despite it actually being two moons ago. "They've just about reached the gates."
"And here I am," Rickon said with open arms as if displaying that he was guiltless in the matter. "Right on time," He kissed her on the lips quickly and she smirked angrily at him.
"If you didn't look so handsome when you stare at your banners, I'd kick you in the arse." She growled as he took his place next to her.
"And if you didn't enjoy it whenever I squeezed yours," he whispered, "well, I don't know what you'd do."
Lyanna whispered back, "you'll find out tonight."
Rickon's face grew warm with excitement. Perhaps it was already time to try and give their son a brother or a sister soon.
Following the quiet yet warm exchange between the Lord and Lady Stark, a host of riders rode in through the northern gate. Podrick was leading them, dressed in garb befitting the Lord of Redfall Halls, a long abandoned but refurbished seat of the North and now head of the lands previously controlled by House Bolton. His bannermen behind him displayed his sigil proudly on their banners, a golden dwarf carrying an axe on purple fields. Behind the bannermen of House Payne was the wheelhouse that no doubt carried Podrick's wife, Wynafred Payne, and their children. The moment the wheelhouse stopped, the door burst open and five children spilled out. Tyrion, Bronn, Brienne, Robb, and Teora Payne all lined up outside, waiting for their pregnant mother to disembark herself.
Podrick and his men dismounted their horses and bowed respectfully to their liege.
"Pod," Rickon greeted with open arms, walking up and giving his old protector and friend a great hug. "It's good to see you. All is well at home?"
"Never been better," Podrick said, "there seems to be no end to the copper in the mines. We've even struck a vein of silver."
Rickon looked over to his family and leaned in. "Aye, for the army you're fathering you'll need that prosperity. Five was almost too much for my mother. Can't imagine how anyone can manage six."
"Seven," Podrick corrected, "Wynny's having twins this time."
A sigh escaped Rickon and he patted Pod on the shoulder. "You are the hero of many, my friend." They laughed together as the host of House Thenn rode through but Alys and her children needed no wheelhouse of their own. Sigorn led them and sitting with him on his saddle in front was his youngest child Elnora, and riding by himself was the oldest, Skamyr.
"Sigorn," Rickon greeted as they all dismounted, Sigorn holding Elnora in his arms after helping her off, "it's good to see you."
"Aye, been far too long since we've been here," Sigorn greeted his liege with a shake of the hand. "This'll be my first tourney, I bet I'll make an arse of myself." Sigorn's eyes turned to Lyanna and Jon. "Well there he is, little Jon Stark. He looks just like my baby brother did. He'll be a strong lad. I hope it's not a bother we're here so early."
"Not at all," Rickon said to both of them, "I'll take all the help I can get preparing for the holiday. I can't deny having fifty thousand hands the first time made it easier. Come, we have rooms prepared for all and supper is well underway. Tonight we shall feast merrily."
"My lord," Pod interrupted, "there's one more host behind us. Snuck in about an hour ago on the road but kept their distance. It's House Greyjoy."
A grunt almost escaped Rickon's lungs but he held it in. Despite having peace with the Ironborn, old grudges were hard to let go. But it was his duty to keep the peace with Yara, and he would welcome his neighbors of the Iron Shores. He sent out the invitations as a courtesy, but the lack of response until now was the question.
And to be honest, it would be interesting to hear the progress of the Ironborn settling in their new lands and the renewal of the old keep that used to belong to the extinct House Amber. The last bit of news they got was a year ago, the new words of the Greyjoys since they have finally sown crops.
Waves and Strong Arms. Powerful words, defining and everlasting.
But there was one thing that was a curious concern.
"And they come from the North? The roads from Sea Dragon Point lead south through the Wolfswood. Unless they passed by Deepwood Motte."
"We didn't fraternize on the way, so your guess is as good as ours." The distant sound of horses trotting on the road gave way to just how far behind they were.
"Very well." Rickon gestured to the driver of the Payne wheelhouse to move on, clearing the way for the next guests arriving. The Thenns and Paynes joined their lord's side and waited as the bannermen of House Greyjoy arrived, led by Queen Yara and her son and daughter, Erich and Asha.
Keeping formalities, Rickon and his people gave a respectful bow to the Queen of the Iron Shores, but found themselves almost embarrassed for doing so.
"I'm not your Queen," Yara said, her crown of wood and bronze displayed proudly on her head, far more regal than the Driftwood Crown, "no need for that much courtesy." She walked forward to Rickon, removing her rabbit fur gloves and pulling her cloak tighter around her shoulders. "I felt a raven after a year of silence was awkward enough."
Rickon smiled as though he found it funny. Feelings between the Ironborn and Northmen were not hostile, but they were stale. It was both Rickon's and Yara's hopes that the generation after them would be able to find real friendship between kingdoms. "You are still welcome, your grace. I'll have another room befitting your station prepared."
"Thank you, my Lord." Yara replied before looking back at her children. "Oy, get up here and give your greetings."
Asha ran up to her mother's side and did something of a curtsey in her little yellow dress. She was quite adorable, probably six years old. Erich Greyjoy on the other hand was still by his horse looking all around at the castle.
"Erich!" Yara growled.
Erich snapped out of his sightseeing and walked up to his mother and bowed, but the moment he rose up, he went back to looking all around.
"Looking for something in particular?" Rickon asked.
Erich pursed his lips and shook his head. "Not like Tide's Tower at all. This'll be fun." He smiled up at Rickon.
Yara scoffed and rolled her eyes. "He's the curious type, but he'll behave. He prefers watching the waves of the sea instead of the ships upon it."
"The minds of children are curious," Rickon said. "Welcome to Winterfell, my friends."
Bran
It started snowing. The chill in the air preserved the shape of each snowflake as they met the surface of stone, earth, and wood.
Bran took in a deep breath. It was like breathing in ice itself, but it was a nice feeling. However this wasn't the start of winter. Autumn had only just begun. This was merely a northern storm drifting down south. In a fortnight, the sun would shine warmly and the air would blow cold.
But there was something in the air that made the hairs on the back of his neck stiffen, a resonance in his power. He stroked his beard, curious of this feeling, this call from the sight. There was a memory to be seen, but what and why? He had ventured through many times, discovered secrets that could collapse empires, but nothing that prophesied or warned of something of a coming threat to the world like the White Walkers.
"Father!" Willas called up from the courtyard. Bran looked down from his chair where he sat atop the walls of Moat Cailin, his home for eight years, and his project.
Five years ago, with the help of the Children and their magic, he began work to restore some of what once was the greatest gateway in the world. What used to be a strong fort was now a fine castle, but still strong and firm in protecting the pass. An outer wall was built and sections of the land were made into parts of the castle while still retaining the benefits of the marshland's defense to intruders. From the raven's eye view above, the wall made a circle and the sections of the castle made it look like a pie that was divided into six sections. Without the Children, it wouldn't have been possible. Their spells of the Old Gods are what kept it from sinking into the swamp and what gave bounty to the land.
"Everything's just about packed except for you!" Willas called. "I want to get to Winterfell as soon as possible!" he was practically jumping with excitement.
"Patience, Willas. Winterfell will still be there if we're delayed. I just have a little business to conclude."
"Liar," Willas pouted, "I made sure to check with mother and all your work's taken care of! Can we please leave yet?"
"Willas," Bran spoke with a stricter voice, "patience. I mean business at the weirwood."
"Oh," Willas became sullen, "alright."
Bran whistled loudly into the air and seconds later, Summer appeared in the courtyard next to Willas. "Summer, chase!" Bran commanded and Summer immediately attempted to pounce on Willas but the child was finally starting to sharpen his reflexes and dodged. Laughter broke out as Summer continued to chase Willas around the castle.
Such a sight brought a smile to Bran's face. "Andrew," Bran ordered his captain accompanying him, "take me to the weirwood."
"Yes, my lord." Andrew was a loyal man who had fought with Stannis at the Blackwater, Jon at the Battle of the Bastards, all the way to fighting in the Long Night. There was hardly a better man more trusted than he in Bran's company.
Together, Bran was brought to the nearest lift constructed for him and they lowered down slowly to the courtyard. People waved and said hello as they passed by in the eastern section of the lower wall that was the godswood. The weirwood was transplanted from the Stoney Shore. It wasn't a large one which made it easier, but the face was there and it continued to grow, another courtesy of the Children.
"That will be all, Andrew. Thank you."
Andrew bowed his head and returned to his duties. Despite having exceptional skill for a tourney champion in melee and archery, he was not coming. He was to hold the Moat in Bran's absence.
The godswood was something that Bran tried to make a familiar place like Winterfell, but in a different image. He planted many aspen around the heart tree and their roots sprouted into more trees, giving one the task of cultivating the trees when too many grew. With autumn beginning, the greens of the leaves were turning bright yellow, and the colors clashed beautifully with the crimson red of the heart tree. The men of the Reach could have their flowers and vines, the North was beautiful without them.
Bran took a deep breath and reached his hand to the pale bark of the weirwood just above the weeping face. The moment his fingers brushed the surface, he was pulled into the sight and the chill disappeared.
Moat Cailin was gone, replaced by a beach and rain was falling lightly all around instead of snow. To the North was a castle besieged by thousands of men bearing Targaryen and Lannister colors. The sea was filled with ships whose sails were black with the red three headed dragon on them.
Just left to Bran as he took a few steps closer to the castle was a host of tents, one of which was large and red with the banners of House Lannister and a flag with a golden hand painted on it. The Hand of the King?
Before going to the tent, Bran looked all around, aside from the obvious signs that this was Westeros, he searched for other clues to define his positions. This wasn't Castamere, the castle wasn't as big and as close to the ocean as this one was. The coast… this was the eastern coast but it wasn't the Stormlands despite the rain. It wasn't the Vale either, House Lannister never laid siege to any castle there before… the Crownlands, it had to be, and sided with House Lanniste were the Targaryensr. It wasn't the Dance of Dragons, he watched the major events of that war play out and this was not one of them…
Looking up to the Hand's tent, Bran concluded where and when he was. This was the Defiance of Duskendale.
He marched up and entered the Hand's tent undisturbed by guards who looked like they would gut any who put a toe too close without invitation. Inside were several men gathered around a table with a map on it. In the middle was an all too familiar man, golden hair and fierce even in his younger years. Tywin Lannister never failed his image.
"It's been long enough. Tomorrow at dawn, Damon Marbrand is to lead a host to butcher the townsfolk. If Lord Denys does not crumble at the sight of his people's blood staining the ground then he is set to see this through without our King seeing daylight ever again. As such-"
"My Lord Hand," Ser Barristan Selmy spoke up, looking far better than he did in his final years, "There's no need to shed so much blood of those who simply live under their defiant lord's rule."
"But we will. If Denys is refusing our terms then another type of message is needed." Tywin explained as a maester would teach a lesson.
"Again, I disagree. Allow me to attempt to rescue King Aerys under nightfall. My face is not known to the people within and they won't be expecting a single man to try it."
Tywin's eyes narrowed at Ser Barristan. "Were you any other swordsman, I'd say you would be cut down at first sight. I will give until dawn to return with our King. But if light breaks and you are not back, my message to Lord Denys will be sent."
Ser Barristan only nodded and immediately left the company of the other men.
"Even with his skill, if he's caught then he's dead." One lord argued.
"Quiet," Tywin shot back, silencing the arrogant man. "There is no knight greater. Denying his skill is the same as denying the sun rises in the east."
Bran's brow raised. It was rare to see a memory with Tywin praising another who deserved it. Memories like these made him wish Tyrion didn't kill him just to see how the Lion of Casterly Rock would measure Jon, Sansa, and Daenerys if he ever met them in person. Then again, he doubted Daenerys' and her dragons at times. Perhaps his family's peak of control gave him arrogance that even he did not see.
The resonance came again, this time emanating from an object on the table, a map of Duskendale and a token of a dragon inside the castle walls. Bran reached out his finger and touched the token. The men, map, token, and all around him vanished and he was in a dark and dank room of stone illuminated by a flickering candle. Iron bars divided the room in half and a locked door was on the side opposite that Bran was on.
Behind him, as Bran turned around, was a lonely filthy and naked man in a pitiful state huddled in the corner of his cell. In the candle's light, all that could be seen was a small wooden plate with moldy bread crumbs and scratches of fingernails on the walls all around.
Aerys Targaryen had never looked so withered than this. The Mad King appeared to be asleep and twitching constantly, perhaps having a nightmare. But the resonance was coming from him.
What was this? What knowledge did Aerys possess that Bran was going to be shown? Perhaps the reason for the madness? The reason why Aerys became vile and twisted?
As Bran reached his hand out to touch the Mad King's hair, Aerys suddenly jumped from his sleep and howled in terror. "Who's there?" he yelled and swiped his hand as though to stop Bran from touching him.
But then, something impossible happened, something that shouldn't be able to happen unless the man was the Night King himself.
Aerys touched Bran's hand and grabbed it tight. And the moment he did, his eyes turned from the Valyrian violet to pure white and Bran felt his power connect with him. Visions began to flash through his mind, visions of his past and the war. The army of the dead marching in the cold, slaughtering Wildings and the Night's Watch. Visions of the war and dragonfire cascading from above, burning thousands of the wights into ash and cinders.
Bran pulled his hand free and Aerys howled out in terror once again. "Monsters! Everywhere! Dead men! Kill us all! No, no, I am King, I will not. I am the dragon… fire, yes, fire kills them, not steel. I want fire, I am the dragon. Fire all around them, yes. I'll kill them… I'll burn them! BURN THEM ALL!"
It was as though the Night King himself was laughing at him at his lowest point. By the Seven Hells and the void of nothingness that the Night King was banished to, it was his fault. He had just forged Aerys Targaryen into the Mad King.
A gasp escaped Bran as he returned from the sight. He slumped back and gazed up at the leaves, breathing deeply. It wasn't fair, not at all. Couldn't it have just been Aerys' own broken mind that made him what he was?
"Bran," Meera's voice immediately calmed him down, "are you alright?"
He turned his head to see his wife standing patiently near him.
"What was it this time?" She asked.
Bran smiled at her. "Just a sad memory. But that's all it is. A memory."
Arya
The smell of the sea was beginning to fade as land drew closer in sight and the smell of the North was creeping in the air. A rush of familiarity passed through Arya and her joy spiked at the sight of White Harbor. She loved being at sea, but being back home was better. The mood was only more perfect with Alysanne's arm linked with hers as they both looked out from the bow.
"Will there be dancing?" her daughter asked.
"Of course," Arya told her, "wouldn't be much of a festival without any, don't you think?"
Alysanne shrugged. "I just thought it was gonna be horse fighting and battles."
"That's part of it too. Winterfell's never had a tourney in all its history. This will be historical."
"Are you gonna be in the sword fight?"
Arya squeezed her daughter's arm gently. "I would be shaming our House if I didn't show the men how a real warrior fights, wouldn't I?" They still had about an hour's sail ahead of them before they would dock, and the sound of Grendry's hammer arm against his anvil was not making the journey go by faster. "Seven hells," Arya growled.
"Uh oh," Alysanne trailed behind her mother as Arya marched her way to where Gendry's little forge was set up.
Catelyn, Arya and Gendry's youngest, was watching her father in awe at the sight of him shaping steel.
"I thought I told you, no working while we're not on Tarth!" Arya had half a mind to pinch her husband's ear and yank it off as hard as she could. Being the Lord and Lady of the Sapphire Isle, life was much easier than being part of the Mainland, let alone liege of the Stormlands themselves. Brienne was too gracious to give her family's home to them, being the last of her House and without an heir, but Arya sometimes wished a formal contract was made so Gendry was out of his forge more often. It wasn't that he was obsessing over his time in them, and ever since Gendry got his capabilities back, courtesy of Tyrion, Arya couldn't berate him for spending as much time as he could regaining his former skill. He used to be right handed with his hammer, but the need to maneuver his tongs with his wrist was too much a needed part of the craft, so Tyrion helped make a substitute limb of sorts, an arm with a hammer for Gendry's left arm. In truth, he would never be as good as he used to be, but he was still a damn fine smith, and a damn fine husband and father.
"You said no work while we're in the North. As far as I can see, we're still at sea. See?"
Alysanne and Catelyn giggled.
"Sea, see? Sea, see?" Catelyn began to sing.
"Besides," Gendry continued, "I'm just touching up a few bits, or do you want your armor to rattle when you fight?"
"You should be more concerned about yourself. Or do you want to be knocked down by that Ashford boy again?"
Gendry's face twisted in annoyance. "For the hundredth time, the mud was slippery!"
"Oh, slippery he says, girls."
"Slippy daddy!" Catelyn sang out again. "Slip slip slippy slip," She hopped from the barrel she sat on and skipped around the deck singing her little song, making many of the sailors smile and laugh.
"Alysanne, go play with your sister for a while. Mummy needs to have a talk with daddy."
"Alright," Alysanne chased off after Catelyn, tickling her when she caught up, and Gendry went back to work adjusting the plate steel for a pauldron.
Arya stood behind Gendry, watching him work and her daughters play. Years ago, she never would have thought being in a place like this, with a family like this, would have made her happy. She thought she couldn't have it if she wanted her sword and her adventures. She was glad she was wrong.
"Everything alright?" Gendry asked, turning his head back at her for a glance.
"Perfect," she responded before taking a deep breath. "I want another."
"A new pauldron?" Grendry asked, holding the piece up to inspect it before dunking the hot steel into a small wooden bucket. A fume of smoke grew from the oil.
"I want another child, Gendry."
He turned his head to her with wide eyes and a bright grin. "As milady commands."
Arya wrapped her arm around Gendry's good one, hoping that this time they'd have a boy. On the day she realized her first pregnancy, she immediately knew the name she wanted if she ever had a boy. He would be just as strong as his namesake, but not as stubborn of a hound.
The smoke from the quench drifted over to Arya and the smell… Arya's face scrunched up as she sniffed and found it to be… delicious? "This isn't oil. What is this you're using?"
"Bacon grease," Gendry replied nonchalantly. "I thought I'd give a couple of substitutes for oil a try."
Arya waved a hand in front of her face, brushing the smell away. "To make the steel tastier?"
"No reason at all, just thought I'd try it and see. How else are we supposed to discover new ways to do things?"
Arya laughed. "Well if my pauldron isn't hard enough, my delicious scent might distract my opponents. You might be onto something."
Gendry pulled the piece out and let the grease drip as much as it could before inspecting it. "That looks good." He set it aside and placed his tongs away. It always amazed Arya that somehow Gendry found a way to build a forge on a bloody ship. He looked over to his apprentice, Donnel. "Finish it up after we land."
"Yes, milord." Donnel took the piece away and began to clean up as Gendry removed his hammer arm and replaced it with his normal hand prosthetic.
"Tyrion wrote before we left. He says he might have figured out how to design a new one that can actually open and close the fingers when I bend my elbow."
"You're still handsome to me either way, Gendry." Arya pulled him into a kiss and he felt her husband steal a quick squeeze of her ass. "I hate it when you do that." She growled, lying and knowing that Gendry could see right through her.
"And I love it when you get like this." They kissed once more.
Sansa
Only once before in all her years had Sansa ever seen such a host present at Winterfell. Hundreds upon hundreds of tents and pavilions were erected around her ancestral home. The remnants of snowfall were all but melted away from the unclouded warm sun.
Her horse steadily trotted through the southern gate and the welcome of House Stark and the other nobles from the Kingdoms fell to their knees, bowing before their Queen's arrival, Yara Greyjoy's host being the exception, bowing their heads respectfully but standing tall.
Behind Sansa, the Kingsguard and the Royal wheelhouse halted and all in her party began their dismount. Her son, Eddard, practically jumped off his pony and was itching to just run off and explore. Ser Wallace came up behind him and patted Ned on the shoulder. "Looks grand, doesn't it?"
"Better than the pictures in my books." Ned smiled and came over to Sansa as Daenerys and their other children disembarked from the wheelhouse. Were she not so heavy with her third child, they would have flown in with Drogon and Viserion. But the dragons would have to be content with Rhaegal and Jon in the far north until he returned.
Lyarra, Sansa's daughter who shared her father's dark hair, ran up and hugged Sansa's hand, hiding behind her dress. Always the shy one. Aemon and Saera stood by Daenerys' side and together with their Kingsguard approached the Lord and Lady Stark. Sansa couldn't help but smile at the sight of little Jon. He looked so much like his father when Rickon was a baby.
"Arise, all," Daenerys said and everyone obeyed.
Sansa met Rickon with a great hug. "It's good to see you, brother."
"As it is to see you, Sansa." Rickon said with a cheerful grin before presenting Lyanna and Jon to Sansa and Daenerys. "This is Jon, our son."
"Oh," Sansa's smile only grew, "may I hold him?" she asked Lyanna who smiled and offered her son to the Queen. Sansa took her new nephew in her arms gently and brought him to Daenerys.
"He's so beautiful," Dany said. "Children, say hello to your new cousin."
Sansa knelt down and the four of their children gathered around. Jon's eyes explored each of them curiously.
"His feet are all pudgy," Aemon said with a light squeeze of Jon's left foot.
"That's how all babies are," Dany told him before Sansa returned Jon to his mother.
"Hello Daenerys," Rickon greeted, giving her a kiss on the knuckle before receiving a hug from her.
Sansa leaned close to Lyanna. "I hope you're keeping my brother out of trouble."
"To be fair," Lyanna shrugged, "that's when he's at his best."
Sansa almost showed surprise, but kept it in check for now, desiring to see the rest of her family, including her other nieces and nephews which is why she almost dashed forward and hugged Arya tightly. She had finally grown some, and how in Seven Hells did Gendry convince her to wear a dress? Not even her scar could defeat her beauty right now.
"Hello Sansa," Arya squeezed her, "you look well."
"So do you. I heard a dozen different tales about your triumph at Starfall. How are you enjoying the grand prize?"
"The Starlight is the best ship I've ever set foot on. The Ironborn make them strong, but there's something about having something made beautiful too that makes it all the more better. You need to come to White Harbor when we leave and see it for yourself."
"I will, most definitely." Sansa promised before looking at her nieces who were beaming at her. "Alys and Cat! Give your aunt a hug!" She knelt down and was almost tackled by the two little beauties. "You've both gotten so big! Why haven't you bothered your mummy to bring you to King's Landing? I missed you both."
"Because Mummy says that she can't stand how loud you are at night." Alys told her. "Do you snore that bad?"
Sansa's ears grew warm and her cheeks tingled. "I think she means how loud the winds are at night. They tend to sound like howls." She shot a look at Arya who was looking away as though she had nothing to say while Gendry was pressing his lips together hard to keep himself from laughing. "Mmhmm."
Squeezing her nieces once more, she moved onto Bran and Meera and Willas. It looked like Meera was also in the beginning of expecting another child too.
"I have to admit," Sansa said when she hugged Bran, "you look marvelous with a beard, but you also look like you're thirty."
"Which is why I'm never shaving again or else I'd look like I was turning thirteen," Bran replied, "When we get a moment, I have a few memories to share with you all. Well, once Jon gets here, I will."
"I'm excited." Her eyes turned to Willas. She was surprised to see that Bran and Meera let his hair grow so long. "And who's this? Surely it can't be Willas. This boy's too tall."
"Um," Willas began with eyes looking away like he was thinking hard, "I'm supposed to say it's wonderful to be here and how much it's a pleasure to see you again, your grace."
"I see your parents are doing a fine job with your manners, but as long as I am here, you're to never call me your grace again. Only Aunt Sansa."
"Oh, as you command, your gr- Aunt Sansa."
Sansa smiled. "Now come and give me a hug." She held her arms out and even though Willas was not as enthusiastic to see her as her nieces were, she was still happy. But she looked back to Bran. "Do you know when Jon will be here?"
Bran waved his hand. "No need to worry. He'll be here in time. As long as Tormund's milk doesn't kill him before he leaves."
Sansa rolled her eyes and watched as Daenerys and their children went through introductions. Lyarra broke her shy shell when she met Alysanne and Catelyn, managing a "hello" to them which is more than any adult ever got from her that wasn't anyone she knew. To Sansa's envy at most times, Lyarra was most calm and open whenever Ser Davos read her and Saera bedtime stories in the days and nights he visited the Red Keep. Davos was going to be a grandfather soon, and he was already at a good headstart with the girls. It was a joy to see him be so happy. She prayed every day that he was enjoying his new life with his family in High Heart.
"Well then," Rickon announced for all to hear, "our Queens have arrived, and tomorrow morning begins the festival for the Night of Dawn! Tonight we feast and take joy with all of our friends and family gathered." He looked at Sansa and Daenerys. "Winterfell is now yours, my Queens."
Daenerys waved the Kingsugard forward, directing Commander Brienne to lead them to begin getting their staff together to get themselves settled.
"Where's our rooms at, mother?" Ned asked her.
"In a moment," Sansa told him, "first, we need to go pay our respects."
"I'll see everythings situated," Rickon said, "take as long as you need."
Ser Brienne came over and gave Sansa the small wooden box filled with the offering for the dead. Sansa and Daenerys led their children from the courtyard to the entrance of the crypts, the direwolf statues were finally replaced after the pettiness of the Boltons destroyed them.
It was warm underground, and torches were lit throughout the crypt. Rickon had prepared their visit for them. The statues of the Starks of old stood their vigil in silence, but the air about them was different than before. It was no longer a place that shivered the skin and damped the spirit, but a place of reverence, respect, and honor.
Sansa opened the box and held it before the children, letting each of them take one of the winter roses within and placing it on the tombs. Ned and Aemon set theirs on her father's, Saera and Lyarra each put one on Lyanna's and Robb's, leaving two for Daenerys and Sansa to place one for themselves. Daenerys took hers and set it with Lyanna while Sansa placed her rose with Robb. She let her hand fall on the cold stone lid of the empty tomb. Walder Frey burned the bodies of the Northmen after the Red Wedding, piling them together like trash, and stained the river under the Twins with the blood of the Rivermen, including Sansa's mother. There were no remains to be found of her family, only their memories.
"Come now," Sansa said, "let's go and have some fun."
Daenerys
The feast that night was bountiful and plenty. And if anything was to be said about the new keep Rickon had built for the castle, or rather the expansion of the Great Hall, it was indeed something of welcome for such a large host of guests. Now it was called the Hearth of Winter, large enough to fit three times as many people as before. Granted, it still wasn't enough to house Every Lord and family member who had presented themselves for the celebrations, only Harrenhal possessed such capacity, but here it was enough.
Fires roared in the hearths of the hall, red meat glazed with honey and salt roasted on spits, and spiced malt beer filled many cups. The girls had all gathered together as cousins just as the boys had, only the scenes of both genders was the polar opposite of one another. While the girls were behaving, giggling, and keeping themselves clean, the boys had started a game of tag and were taking it quite far. Ned and Willas had dived underneath the table where Lord Willas Tyrell and his family were. A wave of people jumping up from their seats flowed down the table as Aemon chased after them the same way.
Rickon and Bran were sitting by the hearth, talking with brooding looks but occasionally laughing. Arya was sitting with Brienne, Podrick, and Tyrion. It was a bit of a shame to see them gathered without Lord Bronn with them as usual, but it was his own fault for philandering with so many different women until his syphilis killed him.
The festivities came to a grinding halt when a noise from outside echoed inside. The powerful roars of dragons.
"The King has returned!" A Northman cheered and the Hearth of Winter erupted in cheers. A subtle vibration went through all, indicating the landing of the dragons. The hall quieted down, but whisperings remained as all prepared for the arrival of their King. Everyone stood from their seats, set their drinks down, children's faces were cleaned, and men straightened themselves as best they could.
Aemon, Ned, Saera, and Lyarra all returned to their mothers' sides and waited patiently. Sansa could feel Ned and Lyarra shaking with excitement and every second waiting only built the desire to just run from the table and meet Jon wherever he was already.
Finally, the doors swung open and all fell to their knees, bowing to their King as he strode in. Five steps inside, Jon stopped and smiled. "Arise." The moment everyone began to stand, Lyarra took off and Ned followed her. Saera ran from Daenerys' side as well but Aemon stayed, trying his best to be proper.
"Daddy!" Saera cheered. Jon fell to one knee with open arms and was almost tackled by his daughters, but Ned's attack did the final trick and they all fell to the ground. The Hall erupted in cheerful laughter.
With his strength, Jon managed to find his footing and lift the girls up off their feet in both of his arms. "It's good to be back!" He yelled happily and all raised their drinks to him. Dropping the girls, but holding their hands, Jon made for the high table and Rickon went to greet him. Brothers met with a great hug and smiles. "Good to see you, brother."
"Good to see you too."
Jon looked over at Lyanna. "My lady, how's my nephew?"
"He's strong and healthy, your grace. But he sleeps now."
"Good. I can't wait to meet him in the morning."
Striding up behind the table, Jon met Sansa with a quick kiss. His lips were warm, but by the Old Gods he smelled terrible.
"I know," Jon whispered, reading her mind and facial expressions "I almost decided to jump off Rhaegal as we flew over Long Lake, but then I'd miss the feast."
"If Bran warned us, we would have waited if it meant we didn't have to bear it."
Jon chuckled and moved onto Daenerys, kissing her and resting a hand on her stomach, before giving Aemon a great hug. Ned and Lyarra rejoined their mother and finally, the King's vacant seat in the feast was filled. One of Rickon's people came and poured black ale into an ornate horn mug and Jon raised it high, toasting the audience before him.
"Your grace!" Lord Willas Tyrell called after the drink, "what news from the north?"
"Wonderful news," Jon proclaimed, "I found the Free Folk in lands that had never been seen for thousands years. The snow has finally melted in the valleys. Spring has come again!"
A collection of reactions went throughout the hall, many cheers rang out, many impressed and amazed, and many conversations began amongst everyone.
When Jon took his seat, Daenerys leaned over and whispered to him. "Since you're here now and it is the feast, should we have the children choose now or wait?"
"Mm," Jon raised a finger as he finished the mouthful of ale he drank. "Good question. I think tonight would be just as well too. Sansa?"
"I agree."
Daenerys smiled and waved over to Ser Brienne.
"Yes, your grace?"
"It's time we held the ceremony for the children. Bring the chest here."
Brienne smiled with a pleasant eagerness. "At once, your grace." She gathered two men and led them out of the hall, only to return minutes later. The two men carried the chest and placed it at the feet of the High Table.
Daenerys, Jon, and Sansa all stood from their seats, gathering their children and bringing them down in front of the chest. Brienne undid the locks and opened the latches, revealing a sheet of silk covering the contents within.
All the murmurs and whispers fell silent as Daenerys stood at the table. Carefully, she pulled the silk sheet away and revealed the six dragon eggs to all lucky enough to bear witness to this event sacred to the blood of House Targaryen.
"My sons," Jon began, "my daughters, the time has come for you all to receive your inheritance as Valyrians of House Targaryen. There is only one for each of you, but which shall be who's, I do not know. Only you do. Now come forward and find your future."
Aemon, Ned, Saera, and Lyarra all came forward. Lyarra held onto Saera's hand as all she would look at were the eyes staring from all around. Ned did not hesitate choosing his egg, immediately taking hold of the cream and red colored egg. Aemon looked at each one, inspecting it as if to find some mark that he knew for certain meant it was for him. Surely enough, he hands picked up the bright orange egg. Saera and Lyarra both looked at each of the remaining eggs together. Lyarra finally let go of her sister's hand so she could pick up the red egg while Saera took the dark green egg.
"Long live the dragon riders!" Arya cheered and the collective gathered chorused in repeat. Ned raised his egg up for everyone to see with a great smile.
Jon
It was solitary under the enormous weirwood upon the hill. Who would have imagined that one so massive existed in the world, especially one that had a thousand and one faces? The sunlight seeping through the red leaves gave the underside of the tree branches a beautiful red glow, almost like autumn in its peak for the seasonal colors.
Jon felt at peace here, looking out to the surrounding lands. It was his first time here, and yet something about it was so familiar. He felt he was waiting for something, or someone. Beyond him down the hills, he could see shadows of people there.
As if the world itself responded to his feelings, someone behind him placed a hand on his shoulder. It was a comforting feeling that overtook him in ways he had never known. His whole body filled with light and peace.
"Well done."
"Papa!" If the sound of his son didn't awaken the King then the sudden jumping onto his sleeping body did. It was such a good rest, too. After the celebratory feast in the Great Hall for Rickon and Lyanna's firstborn son, Jon Stark, the wonderful food made for wonderful dreams. But damn the ale, the tole of the headache wasn't worth challenging Rickon at his cups.
"Oof!" Jon almost had the wind knocked out of him. When did Aemon get so heavy? He was only nine years old, he shouldn't be this big. "Aemon, I told you not to do that anymore." Jon groaned out as Aemon slipped down from the bed with a confused frown.
"But you said I could if you ever accidentally slept in again."
Jon's eyes darted open and he looked to the window to see how bright it was. "Son, it's only just sunrise. If anything I'm sleeping… out." He never was as witty as Tyrion or Sansa. Ten years with them in his company and still he only got one of those shining moments for himself every other year.
"But you promised me. 'Aemon, at the crack of dawn tomorrow we'll go for your first flight.' I was nice and waited for you but you were late."
"Oh… oh!" Damn, that's right, he did promise. He rubbed his eyes and sat himself up on the edge of his bed. "Yes, right. Well let me get dressed first and then how about something to eat?"
"Uncle Rickon told me it's wiser not to eat before riding a dragon."
Of course Rickon would say that. He couldn't even get up above Winterfell before throwing up into the godswood his first time all those years ago. "Heh, yep, that's probably the best for a first timer. Why don't you do a few drills in the yard with Willas while I get ready, or do you want to lose to me again next time we cross swords?"
A determined grin came upon Aemon's bright face. "Next time I'll get you and Longclaw will be mine!" Aemon rushed off from the solar to find Bran's son for a spar.
Jon sighed as all he wanted to do was go back to sleep after the feast last night. But a promise is a promise. It was then he realized that he was getting old. He looked to his left and saw Dany still sleeping on her side with an arm resting on her swelling stomach. Sansa wasn't in the bed with them, she must have gotten up early, probably to oversee that everything was prepared for the tourney and festival. His former stewardess seemed to always forget she was relieved of those duties.
Getting to his feet, Jon started walking, that was enough to get him on the path of waking up. Normally he would have another hour before his stewards and Dany and Sansa's handmaidens came to help prepare them for the day. But that was mostly for the dealings of court if they were in King's Landing. For a dragon ride, Jon wanted simple clothing he wouldn't mind getting ruined should an accident or two happen, specifically if his son couldn't hold his stomach on the flight.
He stood in front of his mirror that gave him a full view of himself from head to toe. The scars on his chest were starting to fade into the normal color of his skin finally. It only took eleven years since he got them. The stab from Dark Sister though… that one was still dark. It had healed, but it stood out so differently than the others. He could remember just how sharp the blade was…
Jon stared at himself, finding something odd that he couldn't explain.
Who on earth was that boy just now? He didn't have a son… yes he did, he had two, and two daughters. Aemon and Saera with Daenerys. And Eddard and Lyarra with Sansa. But… When did all of this happen?
He couldn't breath as a sudden rush of strange sensations came over him. He wasn't sure what was going on and yet he did. He was in Winterfell in his room. He was King with Sansa and Dany as his Queens, ruling together for eight years now… because he needed the other two to adjust to everything that happened when he woke up after the battle. An entire year of his life happened and he had no clue what transpired. All the secrets and truths he learned were overwhelming. But now he didn't just remember that missing year, he remembered living it and his other life. He went through time for a second chance and succeeded…
"Jon?" Dany leaned up from the bed with her eyes half open. She stretched out her arms and yawned. "You look a bit pale. Maybe you should postpone the ride for the evening."
There wasn't a response. Jon couldn't say anything, he could only breathe out of his belief. What was this? This feeling when he looked at her was unexplainable. It was the same as meeting someone years later after seeing them, someone he loved with all of his heart. But he spent those ten years with her and Sansa, with their children, so why was it like this? Why was it like the last time he saw Dany was when she won the Battle for the Dawn?
"Is something wrong?" Dany's eyes fully opened as she slowly got out of bed and approached him.
"You did it," Jon whispered as a smile began.
"Did what? Jon, you're starting to worry me. What's going on?"
"I wasn't strong enough on my own. I only needed to share one look with you to know it had to be you to save us. You did it, Dany."
Dany's eyes widened when she realized what he meant. "You came back."
Jon rushed forward and immediately kissed Daenerys. His arms wrapped around her body and held tight, not letting go. It felt like he was meeting her for the first time in years and the great thirst of waiting was finally quenched.
"I remember," he whispered softly as Daenerys cried tears of joy into his neck.
"Don't you dare forget about us again."
Jon smiled and gave her another quick kiss. "Doesn't matter if I do. From the moment I woke up again, I knew that I would love you both, always."
Daenerys smiled but then her eyes suddenly widened. "Well what are you waiting for? Go and tell Sansa, you fool!" She said with laughter leaking into her words.
Jon quickly dressed himself into his black doublet and grabbed his cloak before rushing out of the room.
He passed by many people in a near sprint to get outside and find his family. He entered the courtyard and looked all around, not caring about the curious looks on the many faces around him, each wondering what had him in such a wonderful mood.
The instant he saw the shine of red hair, he jogged over to Sansa with all haste. When she noticed him, she smiled at first, but then looked confused and startled as to why he was coming at her so fast. The feelings grew more so when he took Sansa in his arms and kissed her unexpectedly.
"Ew! Papa, that's gross!" Eddard said distastefully while covering his eyes.
Jon laughed as he broke his kiss with Sansa and picked up his son and hugged him tightly.
"Hey!" Eddard laughed and so did Jon.
"Jon," Sansa was in a little daze after the kiss, "what's gotten into you all of the sudden?"
He looked at her joyfully. "I remember. Sansa, I remember everything!"
Her confusion became joy, and she tearfully embraced him and their son in a tight hug.
"What's he mean, mother?" Eddard asked.
"It's a long story, Ned." Sansa said, wiping her tears. "Quite a long story indeed-" Sansa yelped as Jon picked her up and spun them together, laughing joyously.
"Seven hells," Arya called, "get a bloody room, why don't you?" She smirked through her discomfort.
Jon looked at her and almost had the urge to chase her down and hug her too. "I remember everything!" he exclaimed loudly. "I remember!"
"YES!" Rickon cheered loudly from the balconies where he watched with Lyanna and Jon. Many others cheered and rejoiced while Arya rushed over and hugged him tight.
"It's about damn time you did." Arya said.
The news was spreading faster than wildfire throughout the castle grounds of Winterfell. Just about every single person that passed by Jon offered their congratulations to him and it never got old at all. All he hoped for, dreamed for, he did it.
His children all knew about how he was hurt in the battle, but they never knew how he lost his memories. It was Jon's decision in the first days Aemon and Eddard were born that Jon wanted to keep such a life forgotten. Soon they would know about it, but not today. Today, Jon got to be with his family.
"Are you ready?" Jon asked and Aemon nodded excitedly as both of them were strapped to Rhaegal's back. He leaned forward and tightened his hold on the harness. "Let's go, Rhaegal."
Rhaegal cocked his head and rustled before outstretching his mighty wings and jolted forward. The great dragon only took four bounds before jumping into the air and flapping his strong wings. The rush of winds immediately pushed against Jon and Aemon at first, but then the ascension accelerated and the wind currents began to rise above their bodies. Rhaegal dove down back to the land at great speed and Aemon let out a great cry of excitement.
Jon smiled as they began to bank over Wintertown and over the fields around the castle. Rhaegal glided lower to ground, closing in on a group of riders together on their galloping horses. In the lead was Ned riding alongside Qhono, waving up at them as they passed by. Aemon waved back, laughing joyously as he did.
Rhaegal crossed over the hills and the trees around Winterfell. The groups of men and women in the tourney grounds peered up as the green dragon let out a mighty roar.
A pair of roars responded in kind. Drogon and Viserion had taken flight and were chasing after them when they banked around Winterfell.
"Aemon, look who's watching!" Jon pointed down at the castle walls where Daenerys, Sansa, and his daughters were watching. Lyarra and Saera were running after them when Aemon waved down.
"Where do you want to go?" Jon asked closely to Aemon's ears.
"Higher!" Aemon cheered.
Jon laughed joyously as Rhaegal began to climb into the sky, over into the clouds and emerging to a vast kingdom in the sky of light and brightness. The sight before them was the manifestation of the heavens, the realms of the dragons where no sinisterness, no plots, and no games could ever hope to touch. This was freedom, this was their reward.
