Chapter 11: Chapter 10
Chapter Text
The Hound
The night was cold with the howling winds and biting snow that fell. He couldn't sleep at all with the cold but he refused to get any closer to the fire. The cottage trapped enough of the heat for the others but not enough for the Hound.
Sandor pulled his cloak tighter over his body. He didn't care if he froze, he wouldn't get near that damn fire. It was not his trauma and fear that kept him but the shock of that vision he saw the day before.
'What do you see Clegane?'
'... Tree with red leaves. A weirwood. A weirwood with a thousand and one faces looking back. And a raven in the branches… it's got three eyes. And underneath the roots is a man covered in scars…'
His head still hurt from that image he saw. He had to have been imagining things. When those three eyes looked back at him he saw himself falling with his brother into an ocean of fire. The fucker was uglier than him but he knew it was his brother.
It was almost morning and last night's snowstorm was finally dying down. Food rations were shit so perhaps he should get a head start to find something better than the stale bread and shriveling sausages they had. There was probably a rabbit's burrow nearby.
After grabbing his sword and pulling his hood over his head, Sandor took but a few steps outside before stopping. "Fuck." he grumbled.
Surrounding the cottage was a host of men. They looked like Stark supporters based on their armor. But some of them wore Tully armor. One of them, the oldest man of them, had a black trout on his armor.
"Good morning." A young, black-haired boy greeted him. Sandor frowned at the sight of him. It was the same man he saw in the fire. "I hope we didn't wake you." It wasn't until he announced himself that Sandor's eyes found the huge fucking wolf next to him that was practically invisible against the snow given how white the fucker was. The only thing that he could see clearly were those two red eyes looking at him.
"No," Sandor replied with a hand drifting over the hilt of his sword, "but unless you keep on your business you're gonna wish I hadn't."
"There's no need for that, Clegane." The young one said. "In fact our business aligns with yours."
"The fuck you know what my business is? And who the fuck are you to know me? I've never met you. Did I kill someone you know?"
"You took care of my sisters for a time, one after the other. You may know me as Jon Snow of Winterfell."
The half-brother to the little bird and the little bitch. "Ned Stark's bastard."
"Hold your tongue, dog!" one of the Stark bannerman shouted, by the looks of the chains decorated his clothes and armor he was an Umber. Just as the man did, the cottage door opened and out stepped Beric and Thoros, swords drawn but keeping their distance. They stood with Sandor once the other men of the brotherhood came out as well.
"Lord Dondarrion," Jon Snow greeted, "and Thoros of Myr."
"Jon Snow, if I heard right?" Beric asked. "What brings the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch this far south without losing his head?"
Without saying a word, Jon show reached to his shirt and pulled the collar down just enough to reveal a scar no living man but Beric could have, just like the vision in the fire.
"Fuck," Sandor hissed in anger, cursing the Lord of fucking Light for getting him involved in this shit.
"My watch is fulfilled and my path is anew," Jon Snow announced, covering his scar.
Beric's sword lowered as did Thoros'. "Who was it that brought you back?"
"Melisandre of Asshai."
"Is she with you?"
"No. She's fulfilling other tasks for us-"
"What do you want?" Sandor cut in. "My balls are freezing and standing in the cold isn't helping a damn bit."
"Actually now that you ask, we're here with an offer. We want you to join us on our way south."
"Tempting," Beric told him, "but we have work up north. The Lord of Light's guidance-"
"Has been unclear." Jon interrupted. "A weirwood with a thousand faces and a Three-Eyed Raven."
The brotherhood went deathly silent.
"There is much I have to tell you, but know that you're better off with us than you are gambling fate with the dead. The Night's Watch got lucky enough as we did." Jon Snow looked back, directing everyone's attention to a cart with a wooden crate. Jon Snow nodded to the man tending to it, signaling for a kick against the crate. A piercing screech came from within and the crate thrashed from whatever monster was within.
Jon Snow looked back to all of them. "Perhaps some breakfast would do us all good. We have some chickens in need of roasting."
It was damn well about time someone said something worthwhile. "I'll take one of them." Sandor said. "And I mean the whole damn chicken. I'm hungry."
The bastard and a few in his company joined the Brotherhood inside the cottage. A warmer fire was drawn in the hearth for roasting the chickens which was all Sandor Clegane would pay attention to. Damn, they smelled good. The man turning them on the spit better not fuck them up.
Beric and Thoros on the other hand were caught up with their shit and stupid fascination with the Snow bastard, exchanging words about dreams and visions of a life not lived and a bunch of other stupid things that Sandor wished he also hadn't seen so he could call it all horshit.
"You brought the dead south," Thoros said with rum in hand, "is that the only one?"
"We have three others chained up in Winterfell. It's best not to have a group of them on the road."
"But you knew right from the start," Beric said, "the people south of the Wall would never believe it and now you have the undeniable truth. Is this what you saw in death?"
The Hound saw the subtleness of the bastard's body movements, the small twitch in his face, the shifting of his thumbs.
"I saw a future in which we all died. We won the battle but lost the war. And we," the bastard pointed to the Brotherhood in general, "never met yet. I found you all in a cold cell at Eastwatch by the Sea."
Beric raised his hand up. "That's enough, lad. I'd rather not know what my future could have been, especially the end."
Thoros took a deep drink of his rum and cocked his head as he swallowed. "If I told you I've been having dreams about a dead bear…" The bastard's brow arched and he shuffled slightly in place. "Ah fuck."
Beric patted Thoros' shoulder. Were they going to suck cocks next? "If the Lord of Light has guided you to create such change then your place in his plan at the center."
"I know where you're going with this but don't." The bastard demanded of them. "There is no Prince that is Promised. It's all just an empty prophecy."
"From what you saw in that vision, perhaps. But who's to say the changes you've made because of such foretellings won't lead to a reveal this time around?"
"Hey!" The Hound shouted at the man operating the spit, "you're turning them too slow, you shit." The chickens were cooking too fast on the outside. He turned his head to the others. "And would you all shut your holes already? They have a dead man in a box. There's no reason to head north anymore."
"You're right," the bastard said, "but there is a reason to go south with me. We have a wight, aye. But do you think Cersei Lannister will let us attend court and show it to the world? As long as she has the throne, we can't fully prepare to fend off the hordes of the Night King."
Of all things to consider, the bastard's offer made the Hound laugh. "I see what you're on about now, boy. And I suppose once Cersei's disposed of you'll want us as your bloody Kingsguard?"
"Your offer is intriguing but I'll decline. The Brotherhood was founded under the charge to bring justice to Ser Gregor Clegane. That has yet to be accomplished. As I understand, he's the personal bodyguard of Cersei and I know how to get to them."
The Hound went still and silent, only locking eyes with the bastard.
"Come me with, Clegane, and I shall give you what you seek most."
The Hound grumbled as he stood and left. He was having enough of this superstitious talk and a bribe like revenge was too tempting that he might accept. But fuck that. He was done serving kings and lords. Besides, the chicken wouldn't be done soon enough and any longer in there listening to those fools talking about their divination and other horseshit was too long.
He went outside where he could be alone, not in the direction of the horses or the guarded wagon with that dead shit inside it. Instead his feet carried him over to the grave where he buried the farmer and the daughter. He stood over it and peered down at the disturbed spot of land.
Their names… he knew he heard them once but he couldn't remember. In his line of living, who tried to remember the names of all they've killed? Nothing but a waste of time and effort to no end.
A disturbance up the road took his attention over. Another troop of horses on the way. They too carried the Stark banner but this time it was a real Stark at the head. Last time he saw that one, she was a petite, scared little bird. Now, there was a woman tempered like a good sword. She only looked at him for a few seconds before meeting the eyes of one of the bastard's men.
The Hound walked over to the road as if expecting to be some highwayman to stop the Little Bird from going any further until she said something to him at least. He wasn't interested in having a chat like they were long departed friends. He wanted to see if she truly had grown or if that same scared little girl was hiding under nothing but a mask.
Sansa Stark separated from her guard and approached him, still atop her horse and not leaving. And now she had a dagger at her hip, a nice one at that. He was glad that she finally was getting smart about this world.
"I heard you were thrown off a cliff in the Vale," she said, "and my sister robbed you as you laid in your blood and the rocks." She sounded… oddly proud.
"Aye. Snarky little bitch did. Last I saw of her. But last I saw of you was a little girl hiding in her chambers, refusing to run away when she had the chance. And what would have become of it, I wonder. No more Cersei, no Imp for a husband or the Bolton bastard. You could have stayed that Little Bird you were before you left Winterfell."
"And what good is a little bird with wings restrained? Those people, Cersei, Tyrion, Ramsay, Littlefinger, they turned me into what you see." Sansa didn't sound proud about it, but not bitter either. "The last two have gotten what they deserved. If I had the means to have done it myself I would have."
"How'd they get it, then?"
"The bastard fed the direwolves, and the liar lost his head."
Clegane snorted. "Hmph, never did like Baelish. As for that bastard, I never met the fucker so I'll take your word for it."
"He was in the same vein as your brother. Only smarter."
"Everyone's smarter than that dumbfuck I have to call brother. Except for the one in there," he pointed to the cottage, "can't seem to keep himself getting killed."
"Jon showed you his marks, then?"
"I meant Dondarrion. I think he's on his seventh time now. Doesn't matter."
Sansa smirked as she looked off to the cottage. "It seems like no one wants to stay dead these days."
"No, those two just got the right people with them when they die. I won't and neither will you when our blood runs cold. Only difference is that I'll be in the dirt when it happens and you on soft furs under a warm roof and good company."
"I could make a grave for you if you'd like."
The Hound chuckled. "And dirty those pretty fingers? You're not the type to dig in the dirt."
Sansa shrugged as she dismounted. "I thought you'd prefer it to burning on a pyre."
The Hound turned sour. She had him on that one, but he won't say it to her. "Why'd you come south, little bird?" He saw her look back to the cottage again with a soft expression and that was all he needed to know. People like her were too easy to read. "Family then."
"My brother… cousin… ugh, sometimes I don't even know anymore."
Clegane blinked. "Cousin? The fuck you talking about? Wasn't he your father's bastard with some fisherman's whore?"
Her eyes narrowed, ire greater than he'd ever really seen in her. She certainly acted the same way as the Lion bitch did whenever he called her brother 'Kingslayer.' "He didn't tell you, did he?"
"Tell me what? He promised me breakfast and wants to bribe the others with some shit I don't care about. Not entirely at least."
She regarded him curiously then seemed to nod to herself. "My 'bastard half-brother' is really my cousin, Aegon Targaryen." What followed made the Hound's jaw literally drop… truly stunned for the first time in years.
He didn't care for history lessons or much of other people's business, but the Rebellion was too common of knowledge when it came to the big details… like Rhaegar raping Lyanna Stark. He never would have guessed the Prince filled her belly with a babe. "He's Rhaegar's then?"
"A trueborn too. He says Lyanna ran off with Rhaegar. She wasn't kidnapped."
There wasn't that much impact on the Hound. "Never would've fuckin' thought it. Him of all people." It was shocking news, but he didn't care that much. "He seems alright. Too much Stark, but alright."
Sansa's brow arched. "And that's a bad thing?"
The Hound looked at her and spoke calmly but also bluntly. "You lot tend to be stupid in the worst of times. Trust enemies in hopes they'll be your friends, stay put rather than run away, or show mercy when you shouldn't."
Neither of them noticed the sound of snow crunching under boots until the false bastard was too close to miss. "Well what say you, Clegane?" he asked again. "The others have agreed to it."
"They know they're following a Targaryen instead of a Snow?" He didn't care what the answer was, he was just curious if the others heard this stunning revelation.
"Aye, they do."
The Hound sighed hoarsely. "Is the chicken ready?"
"Aye."
The Hound ground his teeth and looked away since he couldn't bring himself to keep looking at Jon Snow's fuckin eyes. He felt like he was gonna get stabbed. "Fine. I'll go. But when it comes down to it, I get to kill my brother. You understand?"
"I'll give you one chance to do it. If you can't then I'm stepping in."
"Works well enough for me." He pushed himself past Jon Snow and made for the cottage in haste. He wanted that chicken. He only looked back once at the Little Bird and saw bright smiles on her and her... cousin. He laughed on the inside since he couldn't on the outside.
Arya
Ever since the last man of House Frey choked to death, the air in the Riverlands was easier to breathe for some reason. Maybe it was the different mood of the people compared to when she arrived at the Salt Pans. The people were happier and more relaxed. Even though there are soldiers in Lannister armor to be found every other league, it didn't bother anyone. Maybe it was because without Tywin alive there wasn't as much a fierce presence to those wearing the Lannister Lion.
Arya always found it funny that despite the King being a 'Baratheon', there wasn't a single soldier under his command that wore the Baratheon colors.
She rode softly on the Kingsroad, passing by many traveling north, until she finally came to a good place to rest. The last time she was here she said her farewell to a friend. She hoped that he stayed well and alive since then. Maybe his bread got better too.
The Crossroads Inn was packed from the looks of it. There wouldn't be any rooms free but that was alright for her. Getting some food would be the wait though. Dozens of horses were tied to posts and being tended to. She got sight of a man wearing the regular Northern armor of her House helping tend to some of the horses. But was this man a true Northman or did he loot the armor from a corpse years ago?
She didn't do anything to get his attention. She tied her horse to a free post and gave him a pair of carrots to munch on while she was inside.
It became especially warm when she entered. There wasn't any gloom like usual. Just about every table was filled. Getting her own was impossible so she would get to make some friends for today.
She scanned around and found several spots, some had company she knew was best not to be around. But she also noticed more men dressed in Northern armor. Some of them were grouped at a table, blocking sight of those sitting down at it. Were they truly Stark supporters, or looters who wore their haul from the Red Wedding?
Softly grinding her teeth, Arya looked around more, trying to see if the company around was just as suspicious. But it all seemed for the better. The barmaids were cheerful, something they most certainly wouldn't be if brutes and brigands polluted the inn, and everyone in armor had a determined purpose in their eyes.
Someone who caught Arya's eye was an older looking man in armor that was of her mother's House talking to another man dressed in garb indicating he was a Blackwood, and more than that, the older man had an emblem of a black fish on it. He couldn't be… her uncle? Could it? Didn't he fall at the Red Wedding too?
"Arry!"
Arya turned her head back around and saw Hot Pie with a tray of hot pies. He was smiling excitedly at her. "Hello, Hot Pie," she greeted, returning a smile. Arya was so glad to see she still had a friend alive after all the terrible things. The sight of her old friend calmed her nerves down, perhaps she just needed a moment to think.
"I can't believe it's you!" Hot Pie stepped forward as if to hug her but stopped when he realized he had a tray of food in his hands and started laughing. "I just knew you'd still make it after all this. I mean with all that's been goin' on."
They both sat down at the nearest table with empty seats. "You look well," she told him sincerely before looking at the pies he had. "Are these for anyone?" Hot Pie was going to answer but she didn't give him a chance to say. She was starving for some good food and took one of the pies for herself. She cut into it and took a hefty mouthful, the taste filling her mouth wonderfully. "It's really good."
Hot Pie smiled at her compliment. "You see the secret to a good pie is-"
"Browning the butter first," she finished with a smile. "I wish I remembered that when I made mine."
"You've made some pies?"
"A couple. But the one who got them choked a bit. Poor him.'' She kept her satisfaction hidden. Hot Pie was a good man and kind at that. She didn't want to shake their friendship.
Before either of them could say anything more, a growling voice closer to a dog's than a man came from behind her.
"Girl, that's my seat."
Arya turned around and was surprised to see the Hound standing over her. Not even falling from a cliff could kill him. He looked better than she left him, but now she had a chance to kill him if she wanted to.
His gaze narrowed at her. "Knew you'd be fuckin' alive."
"I didn't think you'd still be." She told him without flinching or blinking at him.
His fists tightened ever so slightly. "You leaving me to die in blood and shit didn't help my chances."
"I robbed you too. Yet here we both are."
"... Quite the bitch you turned out to be. I guess that's why you're still alive." The Hound walked over to Hot Pie and stood over him. "Out." Hot Pie gulped.
"No, don't leave," Arya told Hot Pie, "he can find someplace else."
"Don't tempt me, girl. You think that dancing of yours will still save you?"
She looked up to him, unfazed by his threat. "It certainly saved me from Black Walder and Lothar Frey."
The Hound's anger softened almost into a smirk. "That was you at the Twins, wasn't it? You killed the Freys. I wonder what your brother will think of it."
Arya's expression cracked. She wasn't sure what he meant by suggesting that until he looked over to the table with the northmen. Some of them had cleared off and revealed someone there Arya never expected to see.
She got up from her seat and practically ran over to the table, pushing those in her way aside until she stood face to face with Jon. And yet, he wasn't the least bit surprised to see her, like he was expecting her to be here.
"Ayra!" a familiar voice said.
She turned to look and saw Sansa sitting at the other end of the table. What was she doing here? What were they all doing here? She couldn't stop herself from running to her sister and embracing her before Sansa had the chance to stand.
Her brother and sister, both here, of all places… how? She couldn't believe it even as she squeezed Sansa tightly. She was ready to believe that all of them were gone and dead now but here they were. She was never more happy to be wrong.
Arya finally let go of Sansa to let her breathe and looked to Jon with a big smile, but contrary to how this moment played out in her many dreams, she didn't see him happy to see her. He smiled, but her senses knew that it was an empty one, one that didn't reach his eyes.
"It's good to have you back," Jon finally said, but like his smile the words were empty. She had half a mind to think that he was some imposter but knew that this was her brother, the one she loved more than the rest when they grew up. So why was he acting like she was just some girl and not his sister?
"What are you doing here?" Sansa asked, drawing her attention back to her. "Where have you been? What happened to you at the Red Keep-"
"Too many questions without any answers," Arya found her smile again, less full than before though, and sat down with her sister. "And I have a right to ask you both the same thing."
Jon leaned over to them on his elbows. "We're meeting some allies in a while. If all goes well, we'll have a mighty army at our backs by tomorrow."
Now that answered her questions, some of them at least. She looked at the soldiers in Stark armor. "You're marching on Winterfell finally?"
Sansa grabbed her hand softly. "We already did."
"What?"
"The Boltons are dead. Jon united the Northern Houses and the Wildings together and took our home back." Sansa's smile grew bigger. "We found Rickon too."
Arya lost her breath. "Rickon?" Last she saw her baby brother was too long ago. He'd be a young man by now and not the little toddler she knew. But if Winterfell was theirs again then why were they here? What purpose did Jon and Sansa have that they needed to be in the South?
Jon answered as though reading her mind. "Our little brother's holding the North while we make sure we won't be bothered by the South again."
Arya looked at him in disbelief. "You're going to take on Cersei?"
"Yes… and no. It's complicated and shouldn't be said here." One of the Stark Bannermen walked across the Inn and leaned to Jon's ear, whispering to him. Jon nodded and got from his seat. "Davos is back with Loras and a friend."
A group of men entered the inn, one older man and two younger… one of them she knew. The moment she saw him, she made a vow to stop assuming the people she thought dead were that unless she saw the bodies herself.
She couldn't keep to her seat, pushing her way to the men and beating Jon to them.
"Um," the old one started, "hello there-"
"Arya?" Gendry stepped forward with the other two looking at him strangely. He laughed a smile to his face.
No questions? She wasn't disappointed. "You cut your hair. I liked it the old way."
"And yours grew out. You look like a proper lady almost."
She smirked but gave no retort as she knew what would follow if she did.
"Did you just call her Arya?" The older man asked.
"Davos," Jon said as he stepped forward finally. "I see you've met my sister." Jon didn't even look at her when he introduced her to this man. "You can call me Jon for now," he told Gendry and the other one.
"My name's Gendry, Robert Baratheon's bastard."
Jon nodded with a false look of surprise on his face before looking at the other one. "And you're Loras. It's a pleasure to meet you."
Loras Tyrell? Arya was starting to remember now that Jon pointed it out. This was definitely him. Despite the rugged looks and horrible beard, she remembered enough of the Knight of Flowers to know it was him.
Jon shook hands and looked back at the one he called Davos. "We're waiting for Olenna's men to find us. Shouldn't be too long now."
"You've got in touch with my grandmother?" Loras asked.
"Aye. I warned her about Cersei's wildfire in hopes she could get your father and sister out before it was too late. I haven't heard anything about their fates."
Arya stepped back from them without knowing it. Jon was completely ignoring her and putting on all the facades she saw right through. What was going on with him, really?
Gendry split off from Davos and Ser Loras and joined her. "So… you look well."
His awkwardness helped her put aside this distress she felt. "You too." They sat down at the table with Sansa while Jon spoke with his friend. She looked to Sansa for answers since her sister gave no false expressions to her in all the time she's been here. "What's going on?"
Sansa sighed and straightened herself. "This'll be the second time I've told this to those I know. But this won't be the last, I think." Sansa went into a quick recounting of what happened when she and Arya separated before getting to the part about returning to Winterfell, marrying Roose Bolton's bastard, and fleeing when Stannis attacked. Then things went weird. She spoke about her arrival at Castle Black to find that Jon was gone only to have him return with Rickon and Wildings in tow. She muddled over why he wasn't Lord Commander anymore and how they campaigned to unite the North and defeated the Boltons without challenge.
Then, she told of the secret Jon had that their father had kept to his dying day. Jon wasn't a Snow, he was Targaryen. Aegon Targaryen, the rightful heir to the Iron Throne.
When she finished, Arya couldn't find the words. She felt there were some things left out given how she behaved at certain points, but the amount she told was overwhelming. 'He's not my brother…'
No, Jon was her brother. In every way that counted.
"His father's the one mine killed?" Gendry asked for confirmation.
"Yes," Sansa replied and it was followed by a hard gulp from Gendry.
"Probably should've shut up about that," Gendry murmured flatly.
"Don't worry," Sansa reassured him, "he's not one to hold onto the grudges of the father." it sounded like there was a hint of disappointment in Sansa's tone, but it wasn't directed at Gendry. "But that doesn't mean he won't if you deserve it. Baelish certainly found out."
"Littlefinger?" Arya asked. "Last time I saw him was at Harrenhal, plotting with Tywin against mother."
Sansa smiled. "Jon mentioned you were Tywin's cupbearer."
Arya felt a chill run through her fingers. "How did he know I was?"
Sansa took a deep breath. "There's much to tell you that's happened. I'll let Jon tell his share when he can, but I'll tell mine for you." She wasn't one to dawdle on details, but there was enough in her tales that Arya could understand from when they last saw each other and when Joffrey was killed. That part, Arya was most happy about. Sansa went on about how Littlefinger brought her to the Eyrie and murdered their aunt Lysa, to which Arya was amazed at how close they had been to each other without knowing it.
Then the part about Winterfell came and being sold to the Boltons, being Ramsay's toy. At first shocked with the wind taken out of her. Arya's fist was tight as she wished she could have been in the battle to kill that sick cunt herself.
"Are…" Arya began, "are you alright?" She reached out and cupped Sansa's hand.
Sansa didn't immediately answer. "I'm still fighting the pain sometimes. But Jon's been helping me each day." That brought, if not a smile, but an adoring expression that was surprising to Arya. "He made me face it… I couldn't have done it without him, Arya."
Arya smiled. "Makes you think back to how you treated him before, no?"
A sigh. "Aye, I was such a bitch then."
"So you agree that me flicking pudding at your face was proper."
Sansa scowled for a moment… before smirking back. "Alright, but do that again and I will stick your face in the mud."
"I make no promises."
Both of them giggled at the fond memories of their childhood. Life was so nicer back then, and easier. Being able to reminisce with someone, especially Sansa, it was like a warm hug they both needed. Things started to relax when Sansa told of how she reunited with Rickon and Jon at Castle Black, a scene she wished she could have been a part of more than the battle. "But before we marched on Winterfell, we had to deal with the rats among us. Jon told us all it was Baelish who sold father out to the Lannisters and betrayed our household to them. He had a block brought and took his head with a clean swipe."
Arya smirked, feeling proud of her brother for enacting swift justice. Had Arya known the pain Baelish caused their family, she might have put him on the top of her list… no, he would share it with Cersei.
"And as a little keepsake, Jon gave me this," Sansa drew forth from her hip a dagger that Arya was surprised to find made of Valyrian Steel and dragonbone. "This was the knife that nearly killed Bran."
"May I?" Arya asked with her hand out and Sansa nodded as she gave it to her. With a quick twist of her wrist, Arya spinned the blade under her hand and caught it, then spun it once more in an intricate maneuver. Good balance, especially without a proper pommel. "This is a good dagger. You're smart to keep it."
Sansa smirked but also looked a tad embarrassed. "Jon's been trying to teach me a few things so I'm not a total fool with it. But I'm not the best student when it comes to fighting. My hands aren't good for blades, just needles."
Arya chuckled. "Imagine what mother would say if she saw the both of us now with blades at our hips instead of babies."
Sansa laughed. "Her face would set fire with how angry she'd be."
"How about I teach you? Maybe what you need's a woman's touch instead of Ser Brooding and Stoic over there."
Sansa laughed again, sheathing the knife to her hip. "I'd love to."
"Did Jon ever teach you the first lesson?"
Sansa nodded. "Stick them with the pointy end." They both laughed together, but the fun was interrupted.
"Sansa," Jon called, "it's time."
"Time for what?" Arya asked.
"To meet with the Tyrells," Sansa told her as she got up. "Are you coming?"
Arya looked over at Hot Pie and back to Gendry. "It's alright. I have some catching up to do. Besides, diplomacy was never my strength."
Olenna
It was at times like this Olenna hated being old. The damn winds were so cold they blew right through her skin despite all the layers she wore. This is why she never traveled further than King's Landing if she could help it. Too bloody old to go any further.
This pavilion wasn't doing any good either. It was made of linen and silks. Hardly what they needed where the snow was plenty already.
But she sat firm and waited for her visitors to arrive and thank the Gods it didn't take them long to get here. If Loras really was with them then her heart would fly to the clouds and back. She couldn't believe the worst had fallen yet. She needed to know for certain if the suffering to her House was at its worst but there was still hope.
She didn't know what to expect of Jon Snow. She'd only met Ned Stark once but that was decades ago. She couldn't remember much of him except that he was a quiet one next to Robert Baratheon.
When he entered first, she was caught off by his appearance. She expected a full beard of rough hair, a large square chin, and perhaps some missing teeth, not a handsome young man who would put more than half the court of King's Landing to shame and piercing eyes that reminded her of Tywin's in a certain way, like behind them was a force only a fool would take lightly.
The man after Jon Snow brought Olenna to her feet and rushed forward, a great sigh of relief flooding over her when she found her grandson returning to her. For too long she was afraid that her most precious treasures had been lost to her. But all her fears melted when she hugged her grandson after so long.
She looked at Jon Snow. "You have my eternal gratitude, Jon Snow."
"Grandmother," Loras interrupted, "where's my father and Margaery? Are they here? I haven't heard any word but rumor alone. I wouldn't believe them."
She opened her mouth to speak but for the first time in years she couldn't find her words. Her head fell in sorrow and dismay. "I'm sorry, Loras. Your father didn't get out in time. Only a few did thanks to the warning I received. And thankfully Margaery was pulled out just in time."
Loras brightened only a little. "Is she safe?"
"Yes, she's here with us. But she didn't escape unscathed."
"I want to see her!"
"Soon, my dear, soon. She's getting much needed rest. Her pain has been lingering day after day, she needs her time."
Loras clenched his fists and frowned at the floor in anger. "I understand." He looked back to Jon Snow and suddenly hugged him as Jon Snow's other followers entered inside. "Your help saved my sister. Thank you."
Surprisingly, Jon Snow returned the given feelings. Everything he's done has been far from what Olenna expected of a man of the North. But then again, this Snow was also a Stark. Speaking of Starks, she just noticed young Sansa Stark was with her half-brother.
"I didn't expect to see you here, my dear. The scared little girl under Joffrey's torment is gone, and here stand a direwolf before me."
Sansa half-smiled. "I've changed many ways since I left King's Landing, Lady Olenna. But do not search for any hopes of restoring a betrothal for me and your grandson. We both know I lack… certain things he desires."
Olenna didn't try enough to stifle her chortle. Sansa was now without fear. Good. "I'm sure Margaery will be glad to see you with Loras. Whether you believe me or not, you were one of her dearest friends in the capital. But come now, we all have much to discuss."
They all gathered together around the table, though there were more people than she planned to be here. For the space they had, it was almost slightly cramped.
Olenna turned to Jon Snow. "I almost didn't believe the letter you sent to me. But it struck a cord hard enough that I couldn't risk ignoring it. And you were right in every detail. Thanks to you my family's future lives on. And let me be clear, Lannisters are not the only ones to repay their debts. Where may I start?"
Jon Snow straightened himself in his chair. "King's Landing."
Olenna nodded, confirming that she understood his desire. "I wouldn't expect less from your family. With your strength returning and favors owed, I expected you'd want to settle the true victor for the War. I have twelve thousand knights ready to march on the city and another twenty thousand awaiting a single raven to march from Highgarden. Rest assured, Cersei, Tommen, and the Kingslayer will all have spikes for their heads."
"No, you misunderstand." He began, leaning in on the table as he spoke. "We're going to take the city bloodlessly."
And there was the Stark of the bastard. "You're no green boy when it comes to war, that much I can tell. But even you must understand that no battle is without blood, Jon Snow."
"We're not sacking the city. And we're not killing the Lannisters. We need them for leverage against the Westerlands to stay their armies until the time is right."
Olenna turned silent. She couldn't read this man at all. "I've always had a good sense of judgment of character but you I cannot read. If you're not planning to take revenge for your family's former ruin, then what? Why come south when your battles are in the North? With a victory like yours, the Northmen are fools not to name you King in the North."
There was a subtle twitch in those eyes Olenna noticed. "I plan to do what I need to. For us to live, I'm going to claim my birthright and I ask that you help me do it."
Birthright? What in Seven Hells was he talking about? The Starks had nothing of the sort south of the neck, let alone for a bastard. "But Winterfell is already yours and there's not a single keep or trudge of land I know of that belongs to the Starks in the south. What do you mean?"
Jon Snow breathed before the words he said turned the world silent. "The Iron Throne. I am not the bastard son of Eddard Stark, nor am I a bastard at all. I am the trueborn son of Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen. My name is Aegon Targaryen."
Olenna somehow lost her ability to speak and sent a studying gaze at Jon Snow. She wanted to call him a fool, a liar, a ridiculous man. But with the words said, things suddenly began to connect in her mind save for the detail of being a trueborn. She knew of the day all the smiles died at Harrenhal, of the kidnap and rape of Lyanna. Eddard Stark brought a baby home from the war. If it truly was Rhaegar's child then Robert Baratheon would have slaughtered it next to Aegon and Rhaenys. Of course Ned Stark kept it a secret.
Jon Snow continued on. "There's more to explain about it, but I can't yet. Not until I have the proof. All I have now are my words and the faith you can see the truth in them."
"My boy… I've lived among the vipers of King's Landing long enough to know the best of lies from the worst. I've rarely been faced with honesty. I'm having a terrible time handling it."
"Just wait until you see what else I have to reveal."
What was there more to know from this man? "Let us keep things as they are for now. I don't even think I can handle much more for a night than this." Olenna straightened herself. "So you want the Iron Throne-"
"No, I won't make myself more clear than this. I do not want the fucking throne. I am only doing this because I need to."
"I don't understand."
"If you think you can handle more, then I am willing to oblige-" He was interrupted when someone entered without consent, but who was Olenna to deny her granddaughter?
Margaery stepped in, hardly dressed right for such being only in a simple nightgown and cloak over her shoulders. She also wore a light scarf over her face covering from below her eyes to her neck to hide her burns.
"Margaery!" Loras stood from his seat but stopped himself from rushing over to her. "Your wounds… are you-... may I?" He held his arms out to hug her.
"I am in constant pain, Loras. But seeing you brings me joy again." She came to her brother and hugged him softly, Loras crying tears of joy.
Jon Snow and Sansa both stood up from their seats when Margaery turned her attention to them.
"Sansa," Margaery began, "I'm glad to see you again, truly. And you must be Jon Snow? Or if I heard right, Aegon Targaryen."
She was listening for that long?
"You did, your Grace." Jon Snow replied.
"Don't call me that," hissed Margaery, "I'm through with the fucking crown."
"Margaery," Olenna began but for the first time in her life her beloved granddaughter shouted at her in anger as she pulled down her scarf to reveal the terrible scars left on her. She no longer needed bandages, but the wounds were still scabbed and red.
"Look at what has become of me!" Margaery's eyes were tear filled and Loras and Sansa were both taken aback at the sight, not in disgust but shock. "I will not." She said, wrapping the scarf gently back over her face but Jon Snow had softly stopped her, pushing her hands out of the way and looking at her face without a trace of disgust or detest.
"You survived," he said calmly before planting a small kiss on her scarred cheek. Margaery didn't wince back in pain and neither did she try to repel him. In fact, her breathing slowed and her posture calmed. One tear fell down her face and she smiled once again.
"Thank you, Aegon."
He sniffed a little laugh. "Still not quite used to that yet," he confessed, "But I'll have to be for what we're planning."
"I imagine," Olenna agreed, "but can you honestly tell me that you're prepared to go through with all of this?"
"It's what needs to be done. Once you see what I have to show you all, then you'll come to see it too."
Olenna would scoff or roll her eyes at those words but the way he said them kept her from doing so, but that didn't mean she was going to keep her doubts back. "Young man, every single person who has sat themself on the Iron Throne has believed their crusades and self proclaiming destinies to be the foundations of fate or some other poetic shit the people like to hear." Jon's was… genuine, she could suppose. But earnestness made a person more vulnerable than simply lying about a higher cause.
"My destiny is not for grandeur or power, my lady. Mine is to survive." There was a great chill from those words and the subtle change in his expression turned the wolf she saw into a dragon that made her near want to tremble. "So," Aegon said, sitting back down with his hands folded together, "do we have an alliance?"
Olenna stared at him but found herself wanting to back away from what she saw looking back at her. It was like a wolf stood behind him in a calm but patient manner just waiting for one false move. "What kind of plan do you have in mind?"
Jon
That was that. House Tyrell and their bannermen were behind him now. He wasn't afraid of giants or wildings or even Boltons, but that woman certainly put a shake in his legs. Queen of Thorns indeed. Loras rejoined his family while Jon went back to the inn.
"How are you feeling about this?" Davos asked as he walked along Jon's side alone from the Tyrell camp.
"I don't know," Jon lied. He was glad he had the allegiance of House Tyrell now but for the means of gaining the Iron Throne before what actually mattered upset him. He didn't want to be King, he didn't want the crown, he didn't want the throne, but it would be the only way and he hated it. "Things are about to change and it's never an easy concept to accept at first."
"Rightly said. When you became Lord Commander, how was it you handled the first day?"
"With great effort and much difficulty. I never had the chance to truly command before but this will be on an entirely different scale."
"My advice," Davos said with that casual look on his face, "take it one day at a time."
Jon stopped. He couldn't drag this on any longer.
"What is it?" Davos asked.
"I found something where we camped before we marched on Winterfell." He reached from the pouch at his belt and gently pulled out the scorched wooden stag and showed it to Davos.
The reaction was immediate and the collected calmness had broken into trembling hands that took the toy from Jon's.
"I'm sorry, Davos." Jon said with the most sincerity he could offer. "I know she was like a daughter to you and she deserved a long life and warm home, not marching through the cold and burning at the stake."
A tear fell into Davos' beard and finally words came out. "It was her who did this, wasn't it?"
"Melisandre advised it, and Stannis said yes."
"So she told you… she told you and you did nothing, said nothing?" the wrath was evidently growing in each word out of his mouth. "You let her go free?"
"I said what I did and she will never forget it. I sent her away to do what must be done." This was as painful as in the past, but at least Jon knew beforehand. "You know what's out there, you know what worth she has."
"She deserves to die!" Davos shouted loud for all to hear if there were anyone around.
"I know, and she will," Jon said softly, "I promise."
If Davos were holding anything else in his hands, Jon knew he would break it from a hard grip. But through all this anger, Davos held the burned stag with gentle hands.
"I'm sorry, Davos. Truly I am."
"You… if it were anyone but you, I would leave right now." The Onion Knight looked at him with truly worn eyes. "Stannis paid his price for this, you better make damn sure that she does when the right time comes."
If Melisandre did things as before, he wouldn't have to. "I promise you that I shall. If I cannot, then I'll trust you to do what needs to be done."
Davos didn't say yes or nod, he only looked sharply at Jon for a few seconds before taking his leave.
Jon sighed. That exchange weighed heavily on him. He felt terrible that he had to hold this all in at the beginning of things. But it had to be done.
He made to keep on walking but stopped when he realized finally that someone had been following and watching them. Bran choosing not to inform him was upsetting.
"Bran," Jon whispered soundlessly, "is Ghost close?"
'He is,' Bran responded.
"Bring him to Arya," Jon told him and began to walk into the general direction that Arya was hiding but would play it off as walking into a coincidence. "Ghost!" Jon called. "Ghost!"
He barely saw the blur of white dart between the trees and followed after it. "Seven hells, boy." He pushed his way past a snow covered bush and found Arya looking delighted to have Ghost licking her face. She hugged the direwolf at his neck and scratched behind his ears.
"He got so much bigger," Arya said.
"So did you," Jon told her. "I'm sorry I didn't say hello properly. I had so much on my mind and more to comprehend." He knew she could see through him and he didn't care, she wouldn't either.
Jon was never sure if it was because of Littlefinger's plotting that made Arya decide to stand by Sansa's side without any disagreement after they had outsmarted him or if it was something else, but they both never gave Daenerys a chance despite all the things they shared in common. Arya loved the Targaryens of history growing up but the one she met was just another enemy the moment she laid eyes on Daenerys.
Sansa's enmity towards Daenerys was at least explainable. Arya's was not, and Jon found it worse as a result.
And then when all was said and done, when he was in the hands of his fate once again, where was she? Standing by. The one sibling he had the most love and trust in had abandoned him to sail out west for adventure like nothing had meant anything to her.
When did that happen? He couldn't tell, hence his hesitancy to get close to her. Arya… she was a mystery to him. If only he realized that in the past.
"Do you think the other wolves are out there? Shaggydog and Nymeria?"
"Summer too," Jon added with a smile he forced. "Shaggy's with Rickon being ever watchful. And I'm sure we'll see the others again." Seeing Summer again was a guarantee since the escape from the Cave had gone better than before. Nymeria though was a wild wolf now who would do as she pleased. "The Hound told me about your travels with him," Jon began, "and then I learned you found your way to the House of Black and White."
Arya shot a stunned look at him. "Who told you that?"
Jon's smile was genuine as the opportunity was too grand. "No one," he admitted.
She didn't find it funny or humorous. She stood up and walked up to him. "I don't know why, but you don't seem like my brother. They told me the truth, how you're a Targaryen of aunt Lyanna, but there's something… different."
"My face is mine, Arya," Jon played at her, "but what I've been through, no one but Beric would understand." He pulled the tunic to the side to reveal his scars to her and she almost gasped. "I'll tell you more of what happened, later. But I need to ask for your help."
"What kind?"
Again, Jon found it to smile genuinely. He wasn't warming up to her, but he was glad to invite her skills to be put to good use rather than not at all. "The kind you'll like."