36 No Time Left

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The Following TEN Chapters are avaliable for Patrons.

Chapter 37 (A Wildling's Life), Chapter 38 (Crow's Eye), Chapter 39 (To The South), Chapter 40 (White Harbor), Chapter 41 (A Bear's Roar), Chapter 42 (Where it All Began), Chapter 43 (Harrenhal), Chapter 44 (A Feast and A Queen), Chapter 45 (Queen Rhaella and The Hidden Prince), and Chapter 46 (My Name is Aemon Targaryen) are already available for Patrons.

Arya Stark

Arya came wandering outside with Nymeria by her side, scuffing her feet along the ground, and meandered over to where Jon was sitting. She plopped down next to him and sighed heavily and dramatically.

"I don't think mother loves me."

Jon felt his mouth quirk. "What did you do this time?" She shot him a deadly look.

"I didn't do anything."

Jon shrugged. "All right. If you say so, except the last time you thought Lady Stark didn't love you was when you put a mouse in Sansa's bed and closed the door to her, locking her inside with the mouse." Arya had the grace to blush, at least a little. Not much, but it was something.

"I didn't put anything in Sansa's room," she said defensively and added quickly, "Or in her sewing or down her dress." Jon's eyes widened.

"You put something down her dress?"

"I didn't!"

"I mean, at some point." Arya stuck out her tongue at him, and he laughed, ruffling her hair. "All right, all right. So what did happen?" His little sister shifted uncomfortably.

"I didn't start it."

"Someone had to," Jon accepted reasonably. "Who did then, if not you?"

"Some stupid boy." She spoke vaguely. "I don't even know his name. But he's stupid."

Jon made a face at her. "What'd you do to him, break his nose?"

She shuffled her feet. Jon stared.

"You did? Arya – I was joking. What did he do?" And just as suddenly as that, his expression turned slightly belligerent. "Because if he deserved it, you could've asked me to beat him up."

"I can fight my own battles," Arya said quickly. "You know that. I can beat you and Robb wrestling."

"Only 'cause we let you."

Arya groaned in annoyance, knowing he was right. Jon ruffled her hair again, and she shook her head. "He said I couldn't."

"Couldn't what?"

"Couldn't beat him up. He was annoying me, so I told him to leave, or I'd beat him into the ground, and he said I couldn't; I was a lady." Arya grimaced with disgust. She hated nothing so much as being mistaken for a lady, though it happened rarely enough. "So I had to prove him wrong."

"And let me guess. Someone caught you."

She sulked. "Jory pulled me off him and said I couldn't go beating up stableboys, or we wouldn't have anyone to take care of the horses. And I said I'd take care of the horses, and he laughed; only then he went to find mother. And she was furious with me."

"So you think she doesn't love you because she's mad at you?"

"No," said Arya, looking up solemnly at him, "I think she doesn't love me because she said so. She said, 'Sansa never gets in this kind of trouble. Why can't you be more like your sister?'" A bit of hurt showed in her eyes. "I don't want to be more like Sansa. I don't want to be a stupid little princess. I think I'd be bad at it."

"I don't think anyone's going to argue with you there," Jon told her wryly, and she threw a punch at him that he easily dodged. "Going to have to work harder than that." But he tugged her into a hug anyway, feeling more sympathy than usual, even. Something he and Arya had in common – something else, other than the Stark face and the Stark dark hair. "I don't think Lady Stark really wants you to be like Sansa, Arya."

"Then why did she say so?" Arya demanded. He hugged her more tightly, knowing that she was fighting tears under the fierce, self-righteous anger in her voice. "I didn't do anything wrong. I mean – maybe I shouldn't have beaten up that boy, but he asked for it, and if Jory hadn't said anything, no one would have known either-"

"I think you confuse Lady Stark," Jon said and couldn't help a little grin. Arya had always seemed perfectly rational to him, and her father seemed to have no trouble handling her. But Catelyn sometimes seemed a little at a loss to deal with this half-wild not-girl. "I think she doesn't know what to do with you when you do things like that."

"Why?"

"Because you're not a boy, and you act like one," Jon told her frankly. "If you were a boy and went beating up other boys, she would understand and tell you to stop and explain why – because it's not fair to them, they haven't had the same training, all that."

"I haven't had any training-"

"That's what I'm saying," Jon cut her off. "She can't say the same thing to you. Because you're not a boy. Little girls don't usually go around catching mice and breaking people's noses and – I don't know, breaking their arm jumping out of a tree on a dare." Arya flushed bright red.

"He said I wouldn't do it."

"Just because she's confused doesn't mean she should yell at me. It's not my fault she doesn't understand."

"Alas. Many things that aren't our faults, we still get yelled at for," said Jon wisely. Arya eyed him suspiciously but could not see any teasing in his expression.

"I still think she loves Sansa more."

"I don't think so," Jon said firmly. "I think she loves both of you. Lady Stark understands Sansa a little more. Eventually, she'll figure you out. And then things'll get better." He paused. "That might go faster if you didn't try to see how many times you can make Sansa shriek per day."

"I don't try."

"Then you do a great job of managing without trying," Jon told her wryly. And paused, thinking. He looked at the castle, looked at Arya, and thought of Catelyn.

"Are you supposed to be out here?"

"No one said I couldn't be," Arya said evasively. Jon groaned.

"You know that just means if you get caught, you'll be in bigger trouble." Arya grinned.

"Well, yeah. If I get caught, I'm not going to get caught." She paused for a moment. "Where's your wife? She promised me she would teach me how to wield a dagger," Arya asked, looking around. Still, no sign of Lady Snow, as some around the castle had started calling her, Arya had thought she would be offended, but when she asked her about it, Val had simply laughed in amusement.

"I was born and raised amongst men and women who fight every day to have food; how someone calls us is the least of our problems,"

Arya smiled upon hearing that and felt relieved; she had been concerned that she wouldn't like Winterfell and would tell Jon to leave his home and find another.

Arya didn't want to be parted from her big brother ever again, she knew it was perhaps selfish of her, but she wished things never changed her family together, Jon, Val, and the rest of her family.

She had even thought of Jon's future children; she wondered what name Jon would choose for them, perhaps a little girl named Visenya with Val's blonde hair and a boy named... perhaps Deamon would be a fitting name.

She escaped her thoughts when they both heard footsteps; Val appeared from a corner, and beside her was Ghost; Arya had noticed the Direwolf would often accompany Val. She figured it was because the Wolf could somehow understand that Val was one of them.

"Jon, Arya," she greeted them with a smile, kissing Jon on the lips; Arya looked away, much to the amusement of the couple, which could be heard snickering.

"That's disgusting. I don't know why people do that?!" Arya thought out loud, she had seen her father and mother kissing once or twice, but she felt disgusted by just the thought.

Pulling away, she took a step forward toward the Stark girl. "Little Arya, I'm sure when you grow up, you will want to do this to a boy," Val said in amusement.

Whirling around, Arya wrinkled her nose, giving her a look that she usually saved only for Sansa. "Don't be stupid. I would never do that," she quickly said, stomping on the ground near her as if making her point more validated.

Val and Jon laughed at her antics; the wildling thought she would love a child like Arya. Wild, A Fighter, and Carefree. Seeing them laugh at her, Arya gave them both a look of betrayal before she turned around, not looking at them any longer, folding her arms in front of her chest, Nymeria noticing her mood, she put her front legs to her arms, standing on her back legs, her eyes looking at Arya before licking her nose, trying to make her owner feel better.

Arya's frown disappeared before grabbing Nymeria and hugging her close; despite knowing each other only for two days, she felt as if they had known each other for years; the direwolf was licking her cheek, making Arya laugh, feeling ticklish.

"Stop it, Nymeria," Arya said, laughing, letting go of her.

"Arya, I believe I promised you that I would show you how to use a Dagger," Val suddenly said from behind Arya; the little's girl face brightened up like a fire, whirling around, she almost jumped in joy, and it seemed Nymeria was suddenly just as happy as her.

"Please, show me," she exclaimed in excitement; the wildling woman smiled before making a move; Arya didn't even see it, but she was holding a dagger in her hand, the hilt made of bone. The girl couldn't even see where she got it from.

"H-How?! That was fast!" Arya almost shouted, walking closer to see better, the dagger twirling around her fingers like a toy; before she handed it to Arya, the girl grabbed it from the tiny hilt; the hilt was made of unrefined bone, and she could see something sharp was used to make the grip not cut the hand of whoever would grab it, the second part of the bone that was used to stab. Arya could see something small and sharp was used to make it with a pointy end. The pointy end looked so sharp and clean that for a moment, she thought this was made of iron.

"Where did you get it from?" Arya couldn't help but ask, her little fingers tightened around the dagger, still looking at it.

"Here," hearing her voice made Arya look up at her; the wildling woman had a hidden pocket in her clothes that would almost disappear when she wasn't using her fingers to open the pocket and make it more obvious.

Arya briefly wondered how many weapons she held. Val grabbed Arya's hand, which was still holding the dagger. "It is important to move swiftly and efficiently when you use any weapon," she explained before quickly saying.

"Being fast is the most important part, someone might be able to overpower you with brute strength, but if you move fast enough and do not allow your enemy to get a hold of you, you will always be in advantage," Val spoke from experience, her way of fighting mainly relied on speed rather than strength, grabbing the dagger from Arya's hand.

Before Arya could take it back, Val threw it at the nearby tree; the Stark girl had barely seen her arm moving before hearing the sound of the dagger hitting the tree. Looking at the tree, the dagger had dug at least five centimeters into the tree.

Arya moved to pull it out, her hand tightened around the hilt but couldn't make it move an inch; clenching her teeth, she tried with all her strength, her feet digging deep into the snow to support her as she tried to pull out the dagger, after several times of trying, she gave up, her hands were burning, they were red, and her skin around her palm was split into several places. Arya was half-convinced to put them in the snow to make the burning feeling disappear.

She felt a little relieved as her hand buried deep into the snow; Jon walked up to the tree, pulling out the dagger before handing it to Val; Arya frowned, a little disappointed that she couldn't keep the dagger, ignoring the burning pain on her hands.

"She's right, Arya," Jon suddenly spoke, a little smile on his face, happy to see Val getting along with Arya; now that he thought of it, Arya and Val were quite the same. Jon grabbed her hand, his palm gently stroking her palm; she felt better already.

"What's the most important thing in any dagger or sword?" Jon questioned, kneeling to her level; Arya thought of an answer before looking at her feet, not knowing the answer.

"Stick it with the pointy End," Jon spoke softly, spreading his arms; Arya jumped to him, hugging him close.

"I know which end to use," she spoke to his ear, enjoying the warmth she felt from her brother. She looked at Val, who was looking at them with a smile; Arya gestured to her with her eyes to come closer.

The wildling woman reluctantly joined the hug; she wasn't used to this. All her life, she had known only survival of the fittest; she had opened up only to Jon, but hugging them close made her heart beat faster, and she felt good. At a moment like this, she couldn't help but think of her sister beyond the wall, she was pregnant, and the children beyond the wall were known to die within the first two name days. They wouldn't be given names until the parents knew the child would survive. No point in giving them a name if they wouldn't survive. It was easier to forget them and not feel the pain. Val thought, remembering Jon's words to Mance before they went South of the Wall.

"I will bring The Free Folk South of the Wall; after hundreds of years living here, you will have a chance to live and not fear if your children will live another day,"

Val hoped Jon could keep his promise to her, but she knew he would.

Stepping back, Jon messed her hair, and Arya moved away quickly. "Arya. I think it is time to give you my gift!"

"Gift?" Arya asked with a tilt of her head, her eyes briefly flickered at Val, hoping she knew what Jon was talking about, but to Arya, she seemed just as lost as her.

"Yes, for all the name days I missed. I will give you what you always wanted," Jon said with a nod.

Arya's face brightened up like a candle. "What is that?" She couldn't help but ask, despite knowing in her gut what Jon would give her.

"A Sword,"

Ned Stark

It had been three days since he had received the letter that the Tourney of Harrenhal would start three weeks later. Ned had decided to get as many things done as soon as possible with the time he had left.

Ned could only thank the old gods that his brother was present; he and Maester Luwin were helping him with duties around Winterfell. There weren't that many things left to do, but he knew he wouldn't come back from this. Last time The South had taken most of his family; this time, it would be him.

From House Stark, only Benjen would stay in Winterfell instead of going to Harrenhal.

' "There must always be a Stark in Winterfell,"

"You can't expect me to stay here; I will need to be there, last time. I-I knew Lyanna had feelings for Rhaegar; I could have perhaps said something to her to change her mind; me and her were close. I could have prevented the Rebellion, perhaps, but I did nothing. This time, I should come," Benjen spoke, his voice cracking as he spoke.

His voice echoed throughout the empty crypts; Ned could have sworn that Lyanna was watching them, he had been here before, but her eyes, they felt alive, still watching over them.

Ned knew perhaps Benjen could have changed something, but, of course, he didn't voice that out. No point in reopening old wounds.

"The Rebellion would have still happened, King Aerys had gone mad; I'm sure something would have happened to trigger the rebellion," but as he spoke the words, even he didn't honestly believe them, his mind going back to his promise. Westeros knew him for a man of honor, yet he was perhaps the most dishonorable Lord. Ned felt his eyes burning up at the thought of her, hunting violet eyes, a promise broken.

Taking a breath, he forced himself not to think of her, at least not now. Benjen seemed to be able to see right through him.

"You know how the South is to us; The Starks don't do well there. If I'm there, I can back you up-" "No," Ned interrupted, almost shouting at him; he didn't want that; he didn't want any of them to start a War for him.

Benjen looked ready to counter his words when Ned stepped forward, putting his hand on Benjen's shoulder, and forcing him to listen.

"I chose my fate the day I stole Jon. I will accept my punishment. I only want you to promise me here, in front of our sister, in front of our ancestors, that you will raise no armies for me. You won't hold any ill thoughts towards The Royal Family," Ned spoke sternly, leaning close to his brother, who avoided his eyes, before looking down, shaking his head, his long dark hair falling in front of his face.

Ned saw his mouth moving, but he couldn't quite tell what he was saying.

"What?"

"Is happening again!" Benjen said, this time louder, lifting his face to look at his brother, who looked sad. His hair covered his right eye; his brother didn't move the hair away, his visible left eye looking back at Ned.

"Harrenhal, we lost everything in that Tourney; so many things would have never happened if we had just stayed North. Where we belong, Brandon would still be alive; father would still be Alive! L-Lyanna, she Would Have been here, she..." his brother stopped talking; as tears rolled down his cheeks, Ned pulled him close, hugging him.

Benjen always showed himself strong in front of everyone, but not in front of Lyanna, and in front of his family, he showed his vulnerability. Ned's eyes briefly flicked at Lyanna's face; he swore he saw stone eyes filled with tears, as if she was alive somehow, watching them.

"I lost all my siblings Ned, Lyanna, Brandon, Father, and Mother. They're nothing but bones. Is it really asking too much that I don't lose you as well?" Benjen asked him, no longer crying, stepping away and looking his brother straight in the eyes.

"Promise me, you will return in Winterfell," Benjen said, his eyes filled with a flicker of hope.

Ned closed his eyes, shaking his head. "I can't. I won't make another promise I can't keep,". '

Now, Ned was sitting in his solar; he had asked for Robb to come to his solar, and he needed to talk with his son one more time.

"My lord, Lord Robb is here," a voice came from the other side of the door.

"Let him in," Ned ordered; the door cracked open, and his son stepped inside, closing the door behind him. Ned noticed his clothes right away; his pants were a bit loose, his face flushed, and he saw a bite mark on his shoulder that he had forgotten to hide.

Seeing that made Ned's blood boil; he was already not happy with his son looking at Jon's wife that way, he had known his son had gone to brothels, but that was before his betrothal to Lady Wynafryd Manderly.

"Where were you, Robb?" Ned asked with a low, calm tone. His eyes seized him.

Robb shifted on his feet, looking a bit nervous; he made a move to sit across him, but Ned stopped him before he could; he wouldn't be here long...

"I-I-" "You were in the brothels. Again." Ned gave him a disappointed look; he had expected better from his son and heir. Robb looked away, avoiding his eyes, looking at his feet instead, suddenly looking like a child who was caught stealing cookies.

"Robb, you're betrothed. I don't want to hear or see you going again in brothels," Ned spoke but more like commanding him, his voice cold and calm, hoping his son would understand.

Robb looked like a cornered dog who didn't even have his teeth anymore to protect himself. "I-I- Lords from the South, t-they-" SLAM

Ned slammed his hands on the table, making Robb stop talking; his shifting grew more pronounced. Standing from his seat, he made his way to stand in front of his desk, his figure looking menacing to Robb, who looked down.

"You are from The North, boy. You're not in the South. I won't tolerate you bringing shame to my house and House Manderly; you saw the girl; she's kind and beautiful. She will be your wife, and you will stop brothel visits. I somehow understood before you were betrothed, but not Anymore," Ned spoke, his voice cold like the Wall, looking down on Robb, who seemed to shrink from his father's gaze, making him look like a toddler. Robb thought this would be the end, but it seemed his father wasn't done yet.

"And you will stop with the way you're looking at Jon's wife!" Ned ordered sternly; Robb looked at him shocked, a hint of shock and fear in his eyes, he opened his mouth to speak, but Ned didn't want to hear it.

Stepping closer, he roughly put his hand on his shoulder, silencing Robb, who shut his jaw tightly.

"I have seen it, and I believe so has your... brother. She's married, happy, and not yours to lust after. I don't want you going against your brother. Is That What You Want?" Ned spoke, making Robb look him in the eyes. His words of being against Jon and fighting him had the desired result; his face paled before shaking his head quickly as if alarmed.

"I-I would n-never. Jon is my Brother. I would never want to fight him," Robb said with as much determination as he could muster.

"Good, this ends then," Ned said, taking a short pause, speaking with a much softer tone. "I won't be here forever, Robb. One day you will sit in my seat and rule the North and your children after you. When the day comes that I won't be here to guide you, I want to know that I left behind a man, not a boy, someone who can rule with his head, fight with his sword, and feel with his heart. Son, don't make the same mistakes I did. You must be better than me," Ned spoke, his voice cracking slightly at the end, but he kept a blank face, wanting to look strong in front of his son.

Ned briefly remembered the hunting violet eyes; he wondered what Robb would look like now if he had married the woman he loved.

Robb looked shocked to hear his father's words; there were many times before when they had spoken before, on how to rule, act, and how to lead people from his seat and on the battlefield.

But never before had he spoken like this; Robb knew he would one day become the Lord of Winterfell, perhaps after twenty years or more, but he noticed that his father was talking as if that day would come soon...

"Father, why are you talking like this?" Robb questioned; his throat felt dry, his face filled with concern.

Ned kept silent, not answering his question; his eyes looked away for a moment before looking back at Robb.

"I just want to make sure that you and your brother keep your brotherly relationship, and not break it, ever. Me and...Brandon weren't exactly at the best of terms the last time we saw each other." Ned explained, remembering his big brother, who had shouted a lot. Now, he regretted that the last words to one another hadn't been kind.

Robb could see the pain behind his father's eyes; he wanted to ask why but held his tongue, knowing his father would have told him if he wanted to; with all that in his mind, Robb understood why his father wanted to ensure that there would be no bad blood between him and Jon.

"I promise, father. I will be a Lord you will be proud to call son," Robb promised, full of determination to keep his word. He was of House Stark, and Robb knew House Stark always kept their word...

Rhaella Targaryen

"My Queen!" The voice of Barristan reached her ears as she put on a nightgown before opening the door.

Her loyal knight bowed his head but did not enter. The former queen could hardly make out the details from the darkness around them; a candle in her hand was the only light source.

"Ser Barristan, is very late?" She questioned with a neutral tone, her face turning blank.

"My Queen, please forgive me for waking you up at such a late hour, but the Nameless had an urgent message," the knight apologized, his voice sounding tired, extending his hand, a small scroll on his hand.

The Queen understood that a servant from him had woken up Ser Barristan to hand her the message through him.

"I appreciate it, Ser Barristan; tell Ser Oakheart he can return to his post now," Rhaella spoke softly, knowing the knight needed rest as much as she did before closing the door.

Walking back to her bed, she put the candle on a table near her bed and opened the scroll; despite the dim light source, she could easily read the words. She felt her blood boil the more she read.

After reading and rereading it, she burned the scroll, laying on her back, her purple eyes looking at the ceiling with only one thought lingering in her mind.

I will have your head for this, Lord and Lady Stark...