33 Arya

"Mmmmm." Semi-awake, Daenerys Targaryen flipped from her left to her right, arm plopping onto her bedmate.

Or at least to where her bedmate was supposed to be. Though his masculine, smoky scent still wafted into her nostrils, Dany's touch was instead greeted by a pillow tugged against her. 'Well shit.'

Groaning quietly, Dany rolled onto her back and stretched, fingers brushing the headboard. If it had been the morning it wouldn't have surprised her much - neither snow nor sleet could keep Jon from his essentially Kingly duties around Winterfell. His sense of duty was one of the things she loved most about him, though them always waking up together had become such a pleasant new tradition.

Faculties slowly returning, Dany's ears picked up the crackling of the fireplace. 'The fire always burns out by morning.' Scooting till she was sitting up, there was Jon. He sat silently in front of the flames, shaggy black curls visible atop the back of the plush chair. Daenerys could tell he was brooding darkly without even seeing his face. Quietly, she slipped out of the bed and draped a thick woolen robe over her nude form.

Jon didn't notice her, at least she figured he didn't. Behind him, Dany wrapped her arms around his neck. He tensed. "Can't sleep?" she asked, kissing the crown of his head.

"Aye." Thoughts dark, a sense of relief spread through Jon's body at her touch. "Go back to bed, Dany. No need to get up on my account." He didn't want to worry her - he'd kept his fears and worries to himself long enough to be used to it.

What Jon didn't count on was the stubbornness of a dragon. Sighing, Dany disentangled her arms from his neck and grabbed a second chair. It was lighter but still cushioned, making it easy to slide it close to the other. Wordlessly, she sat upon it and cuddled close to Jon, resting her head on his shoulder. "It's hard to sleep in an empty bed anymore," she whispered, fitting their fingers together. "A Queen needs her King."

Raising her hand, Jon dropped a loving kiss to the pale flesh. "A King needs his Queen." He never understood why so many great men could cause their wives great pain by taking mistresses, his own ancestors included. He gazed upon her as if she were the Maiden herself. Not only the problem of bastards, but Jon could never feel for anyone what he felt for Dany. "It's always better to have loving company" 'Mostly…"

"I thought you had Ghost for that," Dany teased lightly, snuggling against the crook of his neck.

Jon chuckled tiredly. "When my brother…" 'Cousin.' "Bran was on his sickbed, his direwolf protected him from an assassin. Ghost will do the same for our children." His gaze drifted back to the fire, unreadable. "If I must be alone, so be it."

Dany squeezed his hand. "I love you, Jon."

"And I you, Dany."

She looked up at him, taking in the tired, haunted eyes. Slowly, she reached up to cup his cheek. "What happened, Jon? Why aren't you in bed with me?"

"It's nothing… just a dream." Jon was grateful that Dany had not seen him wake a while ago. Sweat coating his body like a sheen, lungs sucking in gulps of air as if a drowning man, it had been brutal. "Only a dream."

"Only a dream?" Dany didn't believe him for a moment. Rather than anger or annoyance, she merely kissed his jaw, his close-cropped beard tickling her nose. Her other hand shifted to rub his chest, the Dragon Queen loving the feel of her Dragonwolf's skin. "It couldn't be just a dream if you're here. What troubles you, my love?" Dany could feel him relaxing from her touch.

Turning towards her, Jon's breath hitched at Daenerys' tender gaze. Silver hair ethereal in the orange-red firelight, she looked so beautiful, so loving. She really did love him so. Jon could always trust her.

'But I want to keep her safe.' He felt the intense urge to protect her from everything.

'She's the Dragon Queen. Let her help you.' For some reason, the second voice in his head sounded like Sansa. "It was the Night King. He was in my dreams." A shiver coursed through his body. He could still feel the icy cold draping over him.

Dany hugged him tighter. "Oh Jon." Her hand found his heart, feeling the tension dissipate. "What happened?"

Dropping his head, Jon rested it on hers. The scent of her hair, of her, calmed him. "I saw him south of the Wall. In Winterfell, in Dragonstone. He… he turned everyone. My siblings, my children… you." A tear fell down his cheek. "I had Longclaw in my hand, but… I just couldn't…" Such is what brought him to the fire. Back to what his Targaryen blood was. 'Fire made flesh.'

Naturally hot, it wasn't often that Daenerys felt cold. Cold from within herself. The cold that seeped into her very bones. Now was one of those times. The tale of the Long Night hadn't been one that Viserys taught her during their childhood, but Sansa had filled her in on it - Margaery on the details of Hardhome, where she had seen it… seen him. "How did it happen? With Rhaegal?" Margaery had been vague, while Robb said it wasn't his place to tell her. She sensed his reluctance. "I need to know."

Resigned, Jon knew he had to tell her. It was painful, for Rhaegal was his dragon. Daenerys' child, but he was his rider. "We were at Hardhome, rescuing the Free Folk when they attacked. The dead swarmed the wall, charged off the cliffs hemming us in." Flashes of the bloodthirsty mob filled his mind. "We killed hundreds but they just kept coming. Nothing stopped them - no pain, no fear. They would never stop, never halt until every living thing in their path was dead."

The chill deepened within Daenerys. 'How could anyone survive that?' She thanked the gods that her Jon had.

"I called to Rhaegal, and he came." Dany squeezed his hand - Jon understood the dragon's bond even then. "He saved me, but the Night King…" Jon remembered the horror of that moment as if it were mere minutes before. "He took a spear, made of enchanted ice, and tossed it. Rhaegal was sliced through his shoulder. One inch to the left and…" He didn't go on, sensing Dany's soft sobs. "It's alright, Dany." He kissed her. "Mag and Wun helped me get him out, and I destroyed another ice spear. Valyrian steel, that stops them." His hands softly caressed her. "I would never let anything happen to our family. Ever."

"I know," Daenerys murmured into his neck. Pulling back, she kissed him, slow and loving. "We will stop them all, Jon. We are dragons. We make the impossible happen."

In that moment, Jon believed her.

Bright red adorning his youthful cheeks, Daenerys used all her control to maintain a regal air - the amused giggle threatened to bubble up at the sight of Jon's young squire. She figured that Ollie had only dealt with other men while up at the wall. Now though, his face was ripe red and eyes straining not to look at the nude Dragon Queen resting on the bed, thankfully covered by the furs. Dany imagined that the boy would have fainted had the furs not been there. Seeing Dany in the aftermath of the passionate lovemaking filling the room with moans and grunts not a quarter of an hour before. 'Was Jon this way at his age?' Then she remembered how he had been in Pentos at first. It was adorable, Jon's modesty and gentlemanliness.

Tightening the buckle of his scabbard around his waist, Jon felt Ollie fastening the last of the straps of his leather tunic. "Thank you, Ollie. Why don't you get some breakfast now."

Relief flooding his face, the squire to the soon to be Emperor bowed. "Thank you, my Lord. Your Grace."

As soon as the door closed the two shared simultaneous laughter. "Did you have to do that to the poor boy?" Jon asked his betrothed. Unlike Ollie, he didn't suppress his lustful glances directed to the Dragon Queen.

'Jon should laugh more.' Her Dragonwolf changed into a serene, joyous individual when he laughed or smiled. It wasn't something Jon shared with many, only his siblings… and her. Dany felt honored. "Oh come now, Jon Snow. Missandei has seen me naked plenty of times." The Dothraki didn't care for modesty, and it rubbed off on Dany. "You Northerners and your modesty."

"And yet the Dragon Queen's heart was captured by a northerner." Jon enjoyed the beaming smile on her face. Daenerys was something else - the indomitable Dragon Queen among her subjects or small councils, a loving and sweet woman when with their family, and a confident seductress when alone with him. Moving to take Longclaw, he noticed the glinting Valyrian steel of her blade resting next to it. "Ser Jorah told me that you've greatly improved since we last trained in Pentos."

"I should hope so," Dany replied, smiling at Jon. No one could deny he was handsome in the garb of a Northern warrior. 'And he's mine,' roared her inner dragone. "I could use some more practice though. My enemies are strong so I will need to hone my flexibility and speed."

Jon nodded. "I know just the teacher." Another rare smile was cast her way. "Perhaps I should have the smiths fashion you a set of armor. One befitting a proper Valyrian warrior Queen."

"Not bad of an idea, my love." The image of Ramsay Bolton's men pissing themselves in terror of her atop Balerion came to mind. "I dare any of our enemies not to be intimidated by the Royal Pair atop their dragons."

"Quite true, though I was thinking of something else." Sitting on the bed, Jon leaned down until his breath was hot on her ear. "Imagining you dressed as Visenya of old does things to me."

Daenerys couldn't help her moan, arousal coursing through her body despite the ravishing Jon had given her not long before. "And what would that do to you?" She loved when he was sensual like this. The husky northern brogue made her quiver with delight.

He dropped his voice even lower, a veritable wolf growl into the ear of the dragon. "To take my Dragon Queen until she roars my name." Licking the shell of her ear, Jon's hands pulled the furs away to ghost down her perfect, naked body to where he loved the most…

The knocking at the door echoed loudly through the room. "Should I have my bloodriders get rid of them?" One look in her eyes told him that Dany was seriously considering it.

"Khaleesi?"

Missandei's soft voice through the door made Jon chuckle. Though he wished to make Dany shatter under him once more, duty called. "Later, my Queen. I have a surprise for the twins planned for this morning." Dany's gaze softening, Jon hitched Longclaw to his belt and opened the door, coming face to face with his Queen's handmaid. "Lady Missandei."

Jumping slightly, the translator was shocked at the presence of the future King - normally he had gotten dressed and left before she arrived. Missandei glanced at the flushed form of her Queen, and then back at Jon. "My Lord." Her tone was neutral and respectful, but her eyes twinkled with mirth. Stepping aside to allow him leave, she strode to prepare Daenerys' wardrobe. Observant looks picked out several fresh bite splotches marring the Dragon Queen's milky skin. "New ones, your Grace?"

Dany felt no shame, grinning. "Absolutely." A content, faraway look crossed her face, remembering how each and every one happened.

"It doesn't surprise me, your Grace." Grabbing a woolen northern dress, vibrant in a light, sky blue. It added color to the drab greys and blacks common in the north, while making Dany look less intimidating - the dragons and giants were intimidating enough. "From what I've seen, it is the quiet, brooding types that make the most passionate, skilled lovers."

Chuckling, Dany donned her undergarments just as Missandei sheathed the dress from top. "Mmmm, you are right about that." The northern garment was warm and thick, but fit her like a glove. "Is that how it is with Grey Worm? He's quiet and rather brooding." The translator simply blushed.

All around him, Jon could see the life returning to Winterfell. Whatever traces of Bolton rule was gone, thank the Gods - the surviving trinkets and decorations that hung here during his childhood were back. In a way, things were happier now with the Starks back in control. 'Dany is here, and I know my destiny.' He was no bastard anymore, but a King.

The small solar that belonged to the Lady of Winterfell boasted a loving sight to Jon. "Poppa!" Dashing over in a blur, two sets of arms encircling his waist. Laughing merrily, Jon ruffled their hair. "Poppa, come join us," Arya said, looking up at him. "Aunt Sansa was telling us the story of our ancestor, Bran the Builder."

Jon found Sansa, one eyebrow raised in questioning. She smiled at him. "They wanted to know about where their father served. Who better to tell Old Nan's stories to them?" The littlest members of the pack were settling in quite nicely, eager to both watch Jon and Robb spar and to hear stories from their aunt. Davos was already making arrangements to find Rhaegar a master at arms to teach him to fight, though if Arya was anything like her namesake, Jon would be hard pressed to stop her from joining in.

"Good," he finally answered. "The Crown Prince and Princess should know the history of their ancestors." Outside, the longer night had passed and was replaced by the morning sun - sky still unseasonably cloudless. 'Perfect riding weather.' "Sweetlings, you are Wolves of the North as much as you are Dragons of Valyria."

"Of course, poppa," they both answered in unison. Unlike himself, each was an equal parts mixture of Targaryen and Stark. No one could deny their resemblance to either Jon or Dany.

"Your uncles and I are going to survey the fields and Wolfswood. Would you like to join, to see the lands of your Stark ancestors." To put it mildly, the twins rushed to their rooms for their fur cloaks.

Needles clutched in her hands as they expertly weaved, Sansa shook her head with a grin. "Always in such a rush. Must be the Targaryen dragon in them. Fire and blood, all passion." Such would temper into steel with growth and experience, as it had with their mother. "Were they like this in Meereen, mother?"

Quiet in the background, perusing raven reports from her uncle at Riverrun, Catelyn Stark's head shot up. "Yes, they were. Always curious and eager to learn. Ser Barristan said it reminded him of… Jon's father." It had been quite awkward for the former Lady of Winterfell, given Robb and Sansa's frosty demeanor towards her and the latter having essentially taken over as Lady in her stead - Catelyn had been in discussions with Olenna Tyrell for a betrothal between Robb and Margaery, her eldest needing a bride. Last time hadn't gone well for him at all, but the Rose of Highgarden was the best match possible and they were smitten with each other, Jon's consent being all that was needed. In the meantime, Catelyn was also preoccupying herself as the representative for her uncle and recently freed brother.

Eyes meeting for the first time in a long while, the soft and guilty look in Catelyn's was matched with an icy one in Jon's. "I am glad my children inherited their grandfather's intelligence, Lady Stark." He may have forgiven but certainly hadn't forgotten.

If anything mollified General Theodosius Caryn, it was that the Essosi levies looked to be far more miserable than he. Robbed of a toasty fire, the fur cloak coating his armor couldn't keep the icy winds from his body. He had never been north of Riverrun, but had traveled to the tundra isle of Ibben years before - at least he had something to compare it to. Swaddled in whatever they could procure, be it fur, wool, cotton, or burlap tarps, his soldiers shivered in utter misery.

"Keep to the banners, that's it!" Spurring the horse into a gallop, Theodosius rode along the massive throng that had departed White Harbor the previous day. The Unsullied, cold as they were, held formation. Harder to control were the levees - the volunteers procured from the freedmen and lower class masters of Meereen. "Keep going. The quicker you march, the quicker you'll be at the campfires in the Neck!" Most didn't care what the Neck was, but they heard 'campfire.'

"Those boys would be lucky to last a northern winter." Turning on his horse, Theodosius met the rotund form of Lord Wyman Manderly. "Never send a Ghiscari to do a Northman's fight."

"Good thing they won't be headed to Winterfell." Unlike himself, the Manderly host that was marching for the grand meetin, and Grey Worm's personal Unsullied cohort, the majority of the Royal Targaryen Army would be headed to the Neck and then the now open Twins - he felt no sympathy for the Freys, both dishonorable cunts and Lannister allies. "The Riverlands weather will acclimate them well enough."

Lord Manderly shrugged. "They'll need it if they want to face the Lannisters."

Fists clenched the reins tight, undoubtedly squeezed white underneath the thick gloves. "They will defeat the Lannisters. I've sworn to that." Flashes of fire burned in his vision, both warnings of the future and memories of the past.

The northerner furrowed his brows, large mass shifting beneath the mermaid engraved breastplate. "Wait… Caryn. Now I remember." He smacked his chubby leg. "Your family fought for the Reynes and Tarbecks at Castamere. No wonder you hate the Lannisters." Pursing his lips, he glanced back at the hard faced men marching with him. "You'd be in good company with any northman. Queen Daenerys better not let her wee Hand get alone with any of my men, all due warning." With that, he galloped off.

Such company did not offer solace. Fire and death following even the quickest blink, Theodosius resigned himself to a hellish night ahead of him. 'Maybe I'll borrow from the Imp and drink myself to a stupor.' It had to be a damn Lannister that had all the right ideas.

Many years had past since Jon had last experienced a true northern winter. Arya had just been born, and he and Robb were far too young to truly grasp the majesty of their homeland. Jon was determined to show his children the true majesty of the Stark homeland early on. They were mighty dragons, but they were wolves as well. "There is the Wolfswood, sweetlings." He pointed to the line of still green trees, contrasting with the snow. "It stretches all the way to the western sea."

Atop their horses as skillfully as any armored knight - Jon wasn't surprised, Dothraki training and all that - the Twins gazed in awe at their father's homeland. "Is that the plain, father? Where you defeated the Usurper Ramsay Bolton?" Rhaegar gestured to the snow-covered flat ground stretching on the northern approach of the castle.

"Aye." Robb chimed in. Wun Wun's massive figure crossed his arms, the Dothraki bloodriders assigned to protect the princes attention riveted - they did not understand much of the common tongue, but they did hear 'Ramsay Bolton' loud and clear. Young Rickon seemed to shrink away, the conversation touching on a sore subject for him. "Jon charged in on Rhaegal to save your Uncle Rickon, but the Boltons wounded the dragon so Jon stayed to fight."

"A Usurper wounded Rhaegal?" Rhaegar was shocked. "A dragon is invincible!"

Urging his horse, a stout northern mare from Bear Island, Jon trotted beside his son. "Rhaegar, nothing nor no one is invincible." He wrapped an arm around the boy's shoulders, just like Ned used to do with him. "It was true that Rhaegar was wounded and thus vulnerable, but especially in battle, you must be careful and vigilant. A good fighter and King knows this, understood?" Jon gently prodded.

"Yes poppa."

"But father isn't vulnerable to anything." Arya sounded quite like her mother at that moment, standing straight and with a patrician set in her jaw. Supremely confident in her father as Dany was in him.

Before Jon could respond, an as yet silent voice boomed. "Come now, Little Crow, the times I pulled this one out of trouble could fit in a big, fat southern book of yours." Grinning under his unkempt red beard, Tormund went to Arya and pointed to the center of the field. "That's where my axe saved the King Crow's bacon from some southern cu… idiot." Jon, irritated as he was, had to give the wildling credit for censoring himself for the twins' benefit.

Furrowing her brows, Arya was puzzled. "What's 'King Crow' mean?"

The wildling chuckled. "Your daddy's black cloak looks like a crow from far away. Even more so for the King of the Crows, cause he flies now." Tormund chortled at his own joke, earning a glare from Jon.

Giggles left his daughter's lips, so Jon figured the embarrassment was worthwhile. "That's funny, poppa." Her gaze returned to the landscape around her. "So much snow," Arya said in awe. Growing up in Essos, Jon doubted she ever experienced even a cool day.

"Much snow?" A dismissive grunt came from the lone giant among them. Wun Wun remained in Winterfell while his family stayed in the Gift, while Mag Mar had journeyed north of the Wall to see if any giants remained among the living. His hand gestured across the wide expanse around them. "Small snow."

Noticing the puzzled expressions of his kids - hells, on all faces present excluding Tormund - Jon took an amused pity on them. "He means that this snowfall is nothing compared to what is north of the Wall." Months among the free folk had left him almost fluent in the guttural, broken giantspeak used to communicate. "When you are King, Rhaegar, this whole land will be entrusted to you - and the Warden of the North you seek to appoint. It is vital that you choose your subordinates wisely, persons both strong and fair with a love for the common people as your mother has."

Rhaegar mulled it over, jaw tense in thought."Uncle Robb, will you be the loyal Warden of the North during my rule?"

Robb laughed. "It would be an honor to serve you, my Prince…"

He was cut off by Arya. "Silly brother. He'll be poppa's Warden of the North. Yours will be his son with Aunt Margaery." Jon stifled his belly chortle - as did Rickon - at the reddening of his brother's face. The two of them weren't subtle in their obvious affection for each other.

Gazing out at the castle, it was only thanks to his ranging instincts that he heard the galloping hooves behind him. "My Lord." Urging his horse to turn, Jon spotted one of his bannermen - one of the new ones raised from the Bolton prisoners who hadn't been sent to Meereen.

A growl came from Ghost, instantly suspicious of strangers. "Ghost, heel," Jon ordered. Whimpering, the direwolf doubled back with his tail between his legs, settling close to Rhaegar. The Crown Prince leaned down from his horse to ruffle Ghost's fur - he emitted a contented hum. Jon shared a smirk with Robb before turning back to the messenger. "What is this about, then?"

Gulping, the bannerman's only comfort was that it was the White Wolf's direwolf and not his dragon - or the Queen's dragons. Glancing up at Wun's towering form did him no favors though. "Horses to the west, my Lord. Banners bearing the fist sigil."

"The fist sigil, House Glover." Arya's eyes met her father's. "Right, poppa?"

Rhaegar, not one to allow his twin sister to show him up, added his own remembered fact. "From Deepwood Motte, poppa." Arya glared at him with annoyance, while her brother only preened.

Jon couldn't help the chuckle leaving his lips. 'Exactly like Bran and Arya.' "Aye. Good memory my Prince, Princess," Robb said, praising the each of them. The twins beamed, feeling ten feet tall.

"Shall we go meet them, poppa?" Rhaegar asked.

Glancing west, Jon could just make out the tops of the banners. "I don't see why not. With me, men." 'Best that Robb and I greet them first.' All wanted to avoid any confrontations with Dany or her dragons before the official banquet.

Lord Robett Glover was just as hard and weathered as when he denied Jon his fealty in facing Ramsay Bolton. "Jon Snow," he said rather bitingly. The massive giant towering before him joined Tormund in reminding the old Lord why he hadn't sided with Jon in the Battle of the Bastards. "Robb Stark."

Pursing his lips, Robb said nothing even as Jon began to simmer. His lack of respect was quite well earned, and he would have to fight harder than ever before to win it back. However, he had a champion. "You will call my father and uncle their proper titles, Lord Glover." Dozens of pairs of eyeballs darted to young Arya. Like Lyanna Mormont, she possessed a steel beyond her young years.

Silent, Lord Glover blinked. "Who are you?"

Jon trotted his horse till he was mere feet from the northern lord. "Allow me to properly introduce you, Lord Glover. These are Crown Prince Rhaegar and Princess Arya Targaryen of the Seven Kingdoms, children of Queen Daenerys Stormborn and myself." Jon's fiery gaze made clear that the dragon would be woken if any in the Glover party tried anything.

Thankfully, the old Lord merely bowed. "Forgive me, princess. It is no way for a guest to behave to his host - we are not Freys."

Calming down, Jon allowed graciousness for Lord Glover. "Come to the castle. You must need some food and rest." Swelling with pride at his children, Jon just knew at that moment that he wouldn't need to worry about the Targaryen madness with them.

There wasn't much that usually cowed or humbled Daenerys - though she did her best to rein in her more arrogant or hubristic inclinations. The ancient, blood-red visage of the Weirwood tree nevertheless managed to do so. Daenerys couldn't explain it, but she could feel a mystic energy leaving it. The Weirwood awed her, the Godswood imbuing her with a spiritual penitence never before felt.

Still… "You're sure that the marriage must be of the old faith?" Much as she wished to marry Jon - every part of her craved it desperately - Dany disliked redundancy. "I would prefer our wedding and coronation to be at the same time." It went unsaid that she approved of Sam and Sansa's suggestion of Empire.

"Absolutely sure, Daenerys." Northern hardiness aside, Sansa nevertheless cupped her nose with her hands, channeling her warm breath upward. Surrounding them were Brienne and the Dothraki bloodriders, protecting the three women from any threat. "Even if the northern lords, accept you as their ruler alongside Jon, an extra dose of humility will go a long way. Show you aren't a conqueror, but a protector."

By all accounts, mostly from her long conversations in bed with Jon, Sansa had been a typical romantic teenager with her head in the clouds at the same time Dany was a weak girl being sold to the Dothraki. And now here they were, a Queen and - in all intents and purposes - a Hand to a King. Daenerys was impressed. "I will be their Queen as much as I will be their Empress. They need not be afraid of me."

Sansa gave her a smile. "It isn't you they are afraid of, but rather the specter of the Mad King or the Mad Prince." From his short rule as 'King of the Seven Kingdoms,' Viserys made a serious bid for their father's legacy. "Learning of your… punishment for him would help greatly if it comes from you personally." The conversation where Dany informed him of his status as a Blackfyre had gone just as badly and just as oddly amusing as one would think.

"Although there is one part that confuses me." Margaery had learned directly from the most cunning manipulator in the Seven Kingdoms not named Tywin Lannister. Her life had been hard, but wasn't a trial by fire nature as was Dany and Sansa's. "Hypothetically, if Robb and I were to marry…" Based on internal developments, it was an all but certainty. "We would conduct both ceremonies before the old gods and the Seven at once. Why have one at the coronation?"

"If we are to create a whole new crown for each other, we must be married as equals." Daenerys would not stand for Jon to be considered at a lower station than her. Following their coronation, they would be wed in the eyes of the Seven, cementing their status as equals. To rule and protect their empire together.

The magnitude suddenly hit Daenerys. 'I'm getting married…' Political dynamics and the importance of alliances didn't really faze the Dragon Queen. Daenerys had married before for political reasons, and while her then-husband ultimately did not treat her badly it was still loveless. 'I'm marrying Jon.' It was different with Jon - the stars had aligned perfectly. Not only was Jon - as Tyrion put it, "The best damn bachelor in all of the seven Kingdoms" - the upcoming marriage was a love match. No noblewoman could ever hope for half as much. 'How do I deserve this blessing from the Gods?' Daenerys had no answers.

A rustle in the grove barely merited a second glance by the party. A second, louder rustle drew attention, Brienne tensing while the Dothraki bloodriders preemptively forming a loose defensive screen around their Queen and her companions. When a branch snapped, a full alert was triggered. "Stay back," Brienne cautioned Sansa, blade drawn.

Dany felt her heart beating, hand on Saracen. "Raiders?" asked Margeary to no one in particular. There had been scattered reports of Bolton diehards causing havoc closer to the Dreadfort, but nothing this close to Winterfell - everyone here was a Stark loyalist. Sansa quickly drew her dagger, not intending to ever be captured again.

With the snapping twigs growing louder and closer, Daenerys turned to her bloodriders. "Qhoro, flush out the intruder," she barked in Dothraki.

The words were obvious enough when the long-braided bloodrider snarled and headed to the grove with his Arkh raised. "Come out, Andal," he said in halting common tongue, picking up some from Ser Jorah. "You cannot hope to… kill Queen Daenerys." He disappeared through the thick leaves…

Only to reappear after a tense silence, a massive grey-white beast growling with teeth bared. It was as big as Ghost - actually, exactly like Ghost except for the color to the shock of all present, Sansa especially. 'But there are no Direwolves south of the Wall…' "Oh, if I were seeking to kill you, you'd be dead already."

Voice hitting Sansa like a charging ox, it was as if a long-dead spirit was facing her. Out of the woods then emerged three figures clothed in warm furs, but only one drew the Lady of Winterfell's attention. Much older and far too experienced in the realities of life, but there was no denying it. Even still, utter shock still tinged Sansa's tone. "Arya?!"

Dany's eyes widened. 'Jon's sister?' There had been a sort of tenderness by which Jon had talked about her, more so than his other siblings. Such had been her driving motive in naming her daughter - after the sister so dear to Jon's heart. Of a wild, headstrong, yet sensitive girl that burrowed her way into one's heart and never left. And here was Arya Stark in the flesh. Emotional reunion bringing out all that Jon had said about her, Dany could detect a hardness within her, a stoicism earned as hers and Sansa's had - the past years had affected them all.

"Sansa…" Both Gendry and Hot Pie stepped back, content to let the reunion play out. Even Nymeria gave the sisters a wide berth. "I'm home." Eyes flickered to the other women. "Who are they?"

Initial shock wearing off, Sansa tried to remain composed. "This is Lady Margaery Tyrell, and Queen Daenerys Targaryen, the Dragon Queen and Jon's betrothed."

Eyes widening at who she was standing before, Arya bowed. "Your Grace." She had no love for protocol, but did for those she respected. What followed was clearly her personality. "Do I have to call you Lady Stark, now?"

Amazingly, Sansa kept a straight face. "Yes." Smiles then broadened on their lips, the two sisters embracing tightly. "Welcome home, sister."

"Open the gate!" called out the guards as the party arrived at the castle. If they were shocked to see another massive direwolf, they didn't show it - a castle full of dragons and giants largely took away their capacity to be shocked.

Riveted to the massive direwolf banners strung over the castle, Arya felt every bit of the surreal nature of the moment. "Rickon… Robb… but I saw Greywind's head on his body." The memory was still a hard one to swallow.

"Lies," spat Sansa. "For Walder Frey and Roose Bolton to curry favor with Joffrey."

Dany nodded. "And your brother Bran is alive as well. He's safe in Essos under the care of my soldiers."

And so through all of it, the fighting and the chaos, all of Ned Stark's brood had lived. "It just seems so good to be true," the young girl confessed. Arya scowled. "I'm still glad the Freys are dead." 'As will the rest on my list.' Changing the subject, she turned to Dany. "So you're marrying my brother?"

Feeling it wasn't the time or place to confess the truth, Daenerys punted. "Yes, we will be married."

"He couldn't stop thinking about you, before he left for the Wall. I can tell you love each other, but if you hurt him I will kill you." The iron set of her jaw belied Arya's seriousness.

"Your Grace," Catelyn began, just happening to be walking the grounds upon their arrival. "We must…" She stopped in her tracks, jaw slack. "Arya?"

"Mother." In no time the young woman was swept in a motherly embrace. The two had driven the other mad, but at that moment there was nothing but love and anguish. "I thought you died at the Twins." Only soft sobs left Catelyn as she wrapped her arms tightly around her daughter. While she could have stayed buried in her mother's skirts for hours, Arya was still nervously excited. Her head swivelled around the courtyard, looking for someone specific. "Where is Jon?" All the last years of her life led up to this moment, and the one person she most wanted to see again was nowhere to be found.

Even Daenerys was slightly concerned. "He was supposed to arrive…"

Any worries as to his whereabouts were buried when the gate was opened. "Make way for the Lord!" called one of the bannermen, a large party of horsemen entering. Dany could see the banners of House Glover mixed in with the Stark Direwolf, and at the vanguard was Jon. "Maester Wolkan, have the stewards get our guests settled in. Get the horses in the stables and…" Eyes searching for Daenerys, needing to see her, Jon began to smile at her but noticed the small warrior to her left. He stared in stunned silence, a look shared by Robb, Rickon, and even Lady Brienne.

"Poppa, who's that?" Arya's namesake asked inquisitively, her and her brother confused atop their horses.

Their father didn't hear them, dismounting with his gaze never leaving Arya. She had changed just as all of them had, in many facets even more so, but there was no denying that it was her. His eyes shone, twinkling with unadulterated joy. It was done, his family confirmed safe and alive. "Is it really you?" Jon finally said.

If her normal stoicism had been sorely tested at the reunion with her mother and siblings, seeing Jon after so long was the emotional equivalent of a blast of dragonfire. Lip quivering, a single tear fell from her cheek. Breaking out into a run, she leapt into his embrace, burying her face into his tunic. There would undoubtedly be emotional reunions with Robb and Rickon - not to mention when she met her niece and nephew - but for now all her attention was reserved for her brother.

Voice a mix of laughter and tears, Jon noticed the narrow point clipped to his sister's belt. "You kept it?" Disappeared for so long, the same sword he had personally made for her still remained in her possession.

Arya grinned. "You gave it to me. Of course I'd keep it." Another merry laugh left Jon's lips as he twirled his sister around. Knowing that Bran was safe in Essos, the Starks were finally together. Winterfell was whole again.