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Chapter 28: SnowboundSummary:
Jon & his internal conflict.
Dissent in the North.
Sansa's misgivings.
The reunion of two adversaries.
The Journey of Arya and Dany.
Notes:
Hope all of you are having a great day.
Enjoy!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
28.
Snowbound.
Jon watched as the Night's Watch brothers depart with the new recruits, among who were Tyrion and Jaime Lannister, until they became light-blue purple shadows lost in the landscape of snow-capped fields and tall leafy pines. Dawn broke again with grey skies and in this unrelenting frozen world, a biting, harsh wind polished raw the skin of their faces. Jon quickly became reflective, brooding over what would fare for those men once at the Wall. Edd Tollett would greet them as Commander of a near-decimated Watch, while Tormund and the other Free Folk would surely be awaiting reinforcements at Eastwatch.
The arrival of the Night King and his army of undead was impending and the North was bound to suffer greatly unless some miracle happened. The North folk were a stubborn and unrelenting lot; Jon would face a hard time trying to make a case for a temporary exodus.
The last few weeks had felt like a lifetime for him, going South to gather help and returning with only the promise of it. Ever since coming back from the dead, he'd been carrying around this crushing feeling of ruin and estrangement that only compounded the more thoughts of it persisted in his mind. Thankfully Arya had decided to stay behind otherwise he might have felt driven to share his truth with her at some point. It was not just that it grieved him, but the guilt of owning a truth whose existence also affected them, his siblings that is.
He felt the same way about Daenerys. His thoughts inevitably — hopelessly — traveled to Daenerys. In a strange way, he had this urge to know more about her, where she was now, how she was doing. Not a day since they bid farewell did Jon not think of her, of what would it be once they see each other again. In their brief but intense time together Jon came to accept two things: that he enjoyed being around her and that he cared for her, more than he ought to. And those feelings did not rely on a blood tie, as he would pointlessly try to excuse.
He also owed her the truth.
Ser Davos, Ghost, and the others in their retinue continued along the road to Winterfell, at a steady gallop. In all that time, his mind kept turning over the same thing, the same face that kept popping up in his memory and haunting his dreams every night. When it was not Daenerys, when Jon made a conscious effort to free himself from her memories and turn his attention to the affairs of his kingdom, she found a way to put herself back on his mind. His growing frustration with himself started to show even in seemingly insignificant gestures that notwithstanding Ser Davos was quick to notice and ask about.
"I'm just thinking," Jon responded in a gruff.
"It seems more like you're battling with your thoughts, son," his Hand posed.
And he wasn't far from the truth, Jon thought. But that was also how Davos had known him, as a troubled and introspective man, given more to moments of silent contemplation rather than conversation. On the ride home, try as he might elicit from Jon more than his account of his days in the South, the old smuggler failed in his attempts and could only offer reassurance that they were on the right track and would soon arrive at a solution with which all would be content.
"It's either that, or we all die," Davos asserted.
***
Winterfell
A wave of tranquility washed over Sansa as she embraced Jon, similar to what she felt when she saw him again in Castle Black. Her affections for him had always been curtailed by his dark nature and tendency to recklessness, but Sansa was glad that her brother was home once more.
"It's good to have you home and to see you safe and sound, brother," she said sincerely. Her eyes wandered around the courtyard in search of Arya. Her quizzical gaze found Lord Varys and Sansa frowned in shock.
"I say the same," Jon returned, less warmly.
"Where's Arya?" Sansa asked him.
"We'll talk about it," he replied, gaze falling on Bran, who watched him with a serious look on his face.
"They're crossing the Neck, they'll be arriving by the morrow," Bran said.
"They?" Sansa was surprised, looking between both her brothers. "Who is they?"
"Of that, we need to talk," Jon cut her off.
***
Jon stood in front of the long table, turning his back to the fireplace and Sansa who sat in the middle, facing the harsh-as-winter faces of the Northern lords that spared no warm feelings.
"As you know, I went on a mission when I left the North. A decision with which many of you disagreed..." he began, before being interrupted by an imposing young Lyanna Mormont.
"Disagreement is putting it mildly, your Grace. We explicitly told you not to go and not to surrender our independence to the Dragon Queen," she stated.
Fervently, the older folk concurred.
"And that did not happen," Jon made clear, "The North is as independent as it was when I left, and therefore as alone as it was in the coming war; The South will not lend any aid if we are not part of the Seven Kingdoms, as much as they are aware of this threat," he said flatly.
"Better off alone than serving for southron cunts!" shouted some crass-mannered Lord.
Some voices of contention arose that made Jon let out a snort of frustration.
Jon banged a fist on the table. "You will not be so happy, my lords, when the dead snatch your children from their beds and lay waste to the North!"
Meanwhile, Sansa shuddered in her seat and gave him a cross look. She stiffened expectantly on the edge of her seat.
Jon strode to snatch his saddlebag which rattle with the dragonglass inside. He showed it to them.
"Daenerys Targaryen..." he paused, thoughtfully, "Queen Daenerys, she has given us a vote of confidence and a token for our cooperation in rescuing her friend during the escape of Cersei Lannister—"
Again he was interrupted, this time by clamor and cheers.
"Quiet!" Jon demanded, "Will you not attend to the gravity of the matter that concerns us?" He was visibly exasperated. "In a matter of weeks, the Wall will do nothing to stop the Night King. We'll be on our own, unless..."
Dead silence.
His next words hung on the tip of his tongue, hesitant.
"Unless what?" Sansa lashed out, unsympathetic.
Jon turned around; his face a sober expression of weariness.
"Unless we convince Daenerys Targaryen that we deserve to be saved," he said.
***
What a troubling lot, Varys thought as he watched from a lonely and quiet corner the event unfurl. He did not despair or intervene, as Tyrion might have felt compelled to do in the same situation.
The memory of his disadvantaged companion plunged him into deep misery. Varys tried to cheer him up the last time they met by telling him to look on the bright side of things, before being ambushed by jokes of cockless men.
It was not long before he felt an insistent presence behind him. Varys turned slightly to see his old rival in trickery approaching: Lord Petyr Baelish, also known as Littlefinger. He was not impressed by the fact that he made it this far. On the contrary, he would have been surprised if his trickery had met an ungraceful end.
"Lord Baelish," Varys greeted him with a discreet bow of his head.
Instead, Littlefinger with a smirk commented, "I have thought you lost in the far reaches of Essos. But it seems you have found yourself a new benefactor to shield you from your mischievous deeds."
"If you're referring to Lord Tywin's death, my Lord, that was perhaps just a side effect of my good intention to help an innocent friend," Varys stated. "I am so amazed to find you so far from your nest. Last thing I heard of you, you wed the Lady Lysa Arryn, widower. Gods have her in their grace and my condolences for such a tragic demise," Varys pointed out with an ironic edge.
Baelish grinned knowingly, as always.
"You know what they say about love — it burns and it never lasts. My dear Lysa couldn't hold at bay that passionate streak of hers. All the years that she spent locked up in that high fortress have taken its toll on her mental health."
"Was her mind so unstable that she stumbled into the moon door?" Varys questioned.
"Some heights dumb us down," Baelish responded with a withering look.
"Hmm, I have no doubts; I imagine her lost must've meant that suddenly you've become the sole and primary caretaker of that volatile little child of hers."
"I do; I take care of him."
"I'm sure you do. I'm sure you do take care of those younglings in need of protection and guidance," said Varys, turning his gaze to the young woman that Sansa Stark had become. The spitting image of her deceased mother.
"Speaking of guidance...How is that you put it once? when we were discussing the fate of a young girl and his unborn child. 'We, who presume to rule, must do vile things for the good of the realm, howevermuch it pains us. We have no choice. Sadly, sadly...' Yet here he is, the same man. Allied to that same young girl today a woman and a queen. I'd say I'm surprised but then I remember, you served well her father first."
"My history doesn't shame me, Lord Baelish. It talks about a man who survives. Same as yours."
"Surviving to serve, I take?"
"My aim is to serve the realm, of course."
"What realm?" Baelish moved to speak to him more closely, in a low tone. "Those filthy wenches that butchered Cersei or the conceited families that waged war every time a flame of discord is ignited?"
Varys looked at him unperturbed.
"The realm from which we are all part; the innocents and the not-so innocents," he replied.
Baelish scoffed.
"What does Daenerys Targaryen embodies then? I don't imagine you a believer of gods amongst men."
"Some men need to believe in gods to achieve peace. So do kingdoms. But do not worry, my Lord. You'll have the chance to make a judgment for yourself. She's coming sooner. And she's eager to have a conversation with you."
Baelish took a deep breath and took a few steps back, suddenly steely.
***
Jon and Sansa entered the library, he exasperated from his meeting with the bannermen and in low spirits; she, somewhat, tense. As always, Sansa masked her concern with a serious, undemonstrative countenance, but a thousand drastic possibilities swirled in her mind regarding their situation. She wished Arya were there.
"I have been taking care of supplies. They are scarce. We can feed our people for the rest of winter, but if Daenerys Targaryen and her armies arrive..." she began to explain, trying to show him her notes but Jon looked up at her with a frown.
"They won't. You can stop worrying about that," said Jon, running a gloved hand over his face in a weary gesture.
Sansa sighed.
"Maybe it's for the best, I mean, is it so impossible to think that this threat can be dealt with by us, without help from the South?" she posited.
"We didn't even take back Winterfell without outside help," Jon reminded her.
Sansa swallowed hard, nodding and averting her gaze to the ceiling.
"She will come with intentions of making the North bend to her wishes," she said through gritted teeth.
Jon looked up with a disbelieving expression. It was not just her close-mindset and unrelenting belief that Daenerys was some kind of tyrannical monarch who would burn the North to ashes. There was an irrational fear of loss, which seemed more akin to losing her home to a human force such as Dany, than what lay ahead with the coming of the Night King.
Jon did his best to show sympathy and understanding.
"She's not the person you think she is," he warned, looking at her with serious eyes. "I wouldn't be here if she was like her father, you know that and you must admit it."
"And then where is Arya?" Sansa reproached him. "It was some sort of hostage exchange? The King's sister for the Queen's adviser?"
"Our little sister felt she owed it to Daenerys and her people. She's a lot smarter and braver than you give her credit for. As for Varys...I don't know what to say. The man seems rather an interloper than a hostage. As long as he does not cause trouble and tries to meddle in the Northern affairs, he will be treated with respect."
Sansa crossed her legs in thought.
"Lord Varys was kind to me. Of the few people in King's Landing that were so. Still, he's allied to the Dragon Queen." She quirked an eyebrow at Jon. "And I know Arya is brave and resourceful — as I know of her eagerness to put herself in danger," She looked down, absent-mindedly stretching out the parchment on which her notes and numbers were written. "She and you would put yourselves in danger for what you think is right."
Jon reached out a hand to take her notes from her and glance at them.
"And you think that's a bad thing?" he asked her.
Sansa took a deep breath.
"Half our family would be alive if good intentions were enough."
Sansa stood up, her chair squeaking loudly as she left the library.
In his solitude, Jon leaned back and stared into the fireplace, wondering what Arya and Daenerys were doing exactly now.
***
Flying a dragon had been Arya's greatest dream as a child. She imagined it'd be like touching the clouds with her hands and reaching where the moon blinded her eyes as much as the sun in the morning sky. To soar above valleys and mountains, cities and oceans, feeling the wind whipping against her face. Whatever her imagination had conjured fell short in comparison to the experience that replaced that childish enthusiasm with an unrivaled adrenaline rush.
Arya spent the first part of the journey just crouched down and clinging to the dragon's spines, which burned and scraped the skin of her bare hands. When they made their first stop at Harrenhal, the Dragon Queen pulled out some bandages and balms from her travel bag.
"If it makes you feel any better," she said when Arya hissed as she healed her wounds, "my first flight with Drogon also gave me blisters in my hands and scrapes between my legs."
Arya frowned and just watched her. It wasn't that she did not want to strike up a conversation with her at all but the fact that she didn't know what to say that would serve a purpose. Why did she name him "Drogon"? Why not Balerion? What it was like when she woke them out of stone? Would she ever do as her ancestor and burn castles and cities with them?
Arya felt somewhat uncomfortable. As if anything she said would be the wrong thing to say.
Looking around, a question arose in relation to those same thoughts: what were they doing at Harrenhal?
"The journey North takes at least three days, a week if the weather is unkind. I want to give your brother time to get there before us," Daenerys explained, as they walked through the abandoned and decaying corridors of the castle, and memories of her time there flashed through her mind.
Encountering little to no opposition inside, they were greeted by the castellan, a knight named Ser Bonifer Hasty, who commanded a group of one hundred soldiers that manned the castle. Perhaps out of awareness of the very real threat of dragons flying over the bent, lumped, and cracked towers that testified of the consequences of challenging the dragons, they were all well obliging, pleasant, and even obfuscating at times.
***
Harrenhal
Absent-mindedly, Dany fiddled with her mother's ring, hearing Ser Bonifer's voice as a muffled sound in the background. Her thoughts were on her mother Rhaella. She drew in a deep breath and turned her attention back to the knight in front of her. She bit her lower lip nervously.
"It was not my intention to cause Her Grace such distress," he said when she looked at him with moist eyes. His gentle, drooping gaze reminded her fleetingly of Ser Jorah.
"Not at all," Dany cleared her throat, composing herself, "It feels good to hear such a sweet recounting of my mother's life knowing that her marriage to Aerys was not."
It felt wrong to call Aerys her father knowing who he really was, after so many years. Although, an ever haunting and recurring voice in her memory reminded her that at the end of the day, she had become a worthy heir to his cruelty.
Dany rested her hand on Ser Bonifer's.
"Thank you very much," she said wholeheartedly.
They continued to discuss the administration of Harrenhal and the surrounding lands after the last Lannister visit. If Daenerys had more time, she would have wanted to stop in the small towns and villages to really see the extent of the damage.
"The further north Her Grace goes, the worse she will see," the knight warned.
***
Daenerys met in private with Ser Bonifer and Arya found a way to snuck in to eavesdrop. She regretted it.
It was one thing to hear about plans and schemes, but personal matters always made her feel like she was committing a crime. Which was ridiculous since she had already committed very real crimes.
This man, Ser Bonifer, had known Daenerys' mother, Queen Rhaella. And in addition to knowing her, he had loved her and she had loved him.
The revelation felt uncomfortable in Arya's knowledge, the guilt of becoming privy to something so intimate really struck her.
The next thing she knew, Daenerys made Ser Bonifer the new Lord of Harrenhal permanently and no longer as a temporary replacement for its true Lord, Petyr Baelish.
It was the first time Arya felt the need to let her know her opinion.
"Littlefinger is not going to be happy with this slight," she said casually.
"I owe Lord Baelish nothing, and besides, he was appointed by the Lannisters, who no longer rule," Daenerys replied, marching off with bated breath. Both were walking at a brisk pace toward the dragons.
"And Ser Bonifer was personally appointed by Jaime Lannister," Arya objected.
Daenerys came to a sudden halt.
Arya stood a distance ahead, confused before she cursed under her breath, aware of her slip.
"Did you spy on me in my private meeting?" Daenerys questioned, voice sharp.
Arya said nothing.
Daenerys looked sideways in a gesture of disbelief.
"What else did you hear? Are you trying to snatch something to blackmail me?"
Arya scoffed.
"Blackmailing a woman who can roast me alive, with all due respect your Grace, but why would I be so stupid?"
Daenerys took a step forward, looking as if she had slapped her.
She brushed past Arya as she stood there still, taken by a strange awkwardness.
Suddenly it all felt like a very bad decision and for an instant, Arya thought she'd left her behind, and rightly so. However, once mounted on her dragon, Daenerys stood still, waiting for Arya to ride up as well.
***
Riverrun
The next destination was Riverrun and Arya's stomach twisted at the bitter memories of her time wandering those lands. The Tullys of Riverrun were her mother's family and her uncle Edmure was the only survivor of House Tully after the War of the Five Kings. He and his son, of course.
Even her aunt Lysa was dead — coincidentally after she had married Littlefinger.
"Littlefinger is a dangerous snake. He's a manipulator and a first-rate opportunist," Arya shouted above the wind as they flew the dragon. Daenerys shot her a quick, confused glance. Arya felt the urge to make that clear and not continue in silence as they had done since they left Harrenhal. "I am not protecting him. I don't care that he helped take back Winterfell, I do not trust him!"
Daenerys turned her head and did not reply until they landed back on earth.
"I thought you were protecting Lord Baelish interests..." Daenerys explained.
Arya wrinkled her nose in explicit disgust.
Dany sighed and looked to the side. Shadows started creeping on the other side of the valley, framed in the cedar branches. Cedar groves stood out darkly by the river bank, and there was a steady humming of insects. In the distance, Riverrun rose like an island in the middle of the confluence of the rivers.
"Are you also going to spy on me when I meet with your uncle or will you just take advantage of your filial bond to undermine me?" Daenerys flung the question.
"I do not have that intention. I saw my uncle just once."
"When?"
"When I killed Lord Frey and all the men in his household."
The confession escaped Arya like air from her lungs. Daenerys stopped to stand in front of her and look at her carefully.
"Lord Frey...the man who betrayed your brother Robb," Daenerys ascertained. Arya nodded.
A moment of quiet silence. The wind blew briskly from the north, in the distance, the murmur of the river's current ran obliviously like time.
"Good," Daenerys stated, without further ado.
Arya quirked an eyebrow. "Aren't you mad?"
"Should I be?"
"It was unlawful."
"It was fair. It was justice. You've served what law is meant to serve."
"Do you mean we can take the law into our own hands?"
"No, Arya, I did not mean that. I mean that..." She made a pause as if collecting her bearings, "When the act of overt atrocity could not be spared a single more minute so I concede it could be achieved through the most immediate means. Surely you are clever enough to understand it means exceptional, right?"
Arya swallowed hard and nodded.
"I regret what happened at Harrenhal, Your Grace. My skill is to be everywhere and know everything. But I suppose I'll have to trust you from now on..."
Dany shot up a hand in the space between them.
"Only Daenerys," she said, "And I do not ask for your trust, Arya Stark. I ask for your respect. If you are incapable to offer even that then you may go home on your own way."
Daenerys turned in haste and continued on her way to Riverrun, where they were received with enthusiasm and cordiality.
Her uncle Edmure was particularly pleased to have the Dragon Queen in his stronghold and entertained her for hours with conversations about the war and the years he spent imprisoned by the Freys. Daenerys was sympathetic and attentive throughout it.
Her uncle's wife, Roslyn, approached Arya with a little boy in her arms, no more than half a decade old perhaps.
Her stomach turned even knowing that this beautiful young woman looked nothing like the man who gave her his name.
"This boy is your cousin," the woman introduced them but Arya only gave the infant a cold look, and then she bowed her head, turning around to walk out into the fresh night air, needing to get away from it all.
The next morning she learned of Daenerys' meeting with the Lords of Riverrun, she suspected, to rally forces to concentrate on the Neck. Arya ruled out meddling. She did not feel she had anything to gain at this point.
The Eyrie
Once they began to see mountains, the cold became unbearable for both of them, so they had to descend. The dragon queen — Daenerys — Arya corrected herself, changed into a much thicker cloak. Arya, who once roamed these grounds, pointed out the best place to spend the night, close to where the dragons could hunt and they could stay away from curious stares.
The one who remained speechless this time was Daenerys, who gave the impression of being far away from here, not a real presence at all.
Arya lit the fire and after a while, she spoke, "You are handling cold too well for a southron," she complimented her, the two sitting one across from the other, the Dragon Queen recumbent on her dark dragon, whose long neck lay stretched.
Arya was wary of getting too close.
Daenerys snuggled closer to Drogon's warm scales.
"My children keep me warm," she explained succinctly, with her drooping gaze caught in the flames.
Alone in the quiet, Arya could think of little more to say.
"Thank you," she blurted out, "For the ride and for everything else."
Daenerys smiled unconvinced.
"You don't like me, right?" Arya asked straightforwardly.
Daenerys raised her eyes and blinked in confusion.
What makes you think that?" she asked her.
"Because of my family," was the most obvious response Arya conjured up.
"I have nothing against your family," Daenerys said simply.
"They help destroy your family, " Arya insisted.
"And I think that you went through enough tribulations for it."
Arya crossed her arms over her pulled-in knees, her eyes, narrowed at the sight of Daenerys and her seemingly unflappable spirits. Was this intentional or was it really her nature?
Dany soon felt Arya's insistent gaze upon her.
"Tell me, Arya, honestly, what was your intention? Did you really want to get information from me or was it just the experience on top of a dragon that you were hoping for?"
Arya shook her head.
"Jon believes you are good."
"And you don't trust his judgment."
"I do!" Arya asserted. "I do and I always will. But nothing good..." she started to say but Dany already knew where she was going.
"Nothing good is ever good enough to be truly good," Daenerys finished up, quite aggressive.
The sounds of the night served a silent response from Arya who kept motionless and stunned.
"Look, Arya," Daenerys started, but in the middle of her statement she found herself wondering if it would serve any purpose to try to give her reasons. Dany flitted upward. "It's hard to see something that has never been done before. But you must want it. It just doesn't happen randomly. Your brother knows that."
"You mean the good?"
"I mean everything that it's worth fighting for."
And with that the conversation came to its inevitable end.
Arya was sure of one thing now, it no longer felt like the rift that divided them was so great.
***
The Lady of Ironoaks of the Vale and head of House Waynwood, Lady Anya Waynwood, was a slim, grey-haired old woman, with loose skin beneath her chin, and crows-feet around her eyes. Although less welcoming or amiable than had been her previous hosts, she received Daenerys with proper courtesy.
"I presume not wrongly sure that her Highness expects the houses of the Vale sworn fealty to her; but a problem arises. Our present alliance puts us in a very complex situation. Lady Lysa made Lord Baelish Lord Protector of the Vale before her sudden death. And as such, the agreement between the great houses was to allow him a year to prove that such a title was given to him with sufficient cause," she explained.
"And has Lord Baelish proved it?" Daenerys asked her, as they descended the long, narrow stairs to the High Hall, an austere hall, with walls made of blue-veined white marble, decorated with rows of slim fluted pillars and a blue silk carpet. At the top, sit two thrones: one the high seat of the Lord and the other a lesser throne for a consort.
Sunlight poured over through its narrow, arched windows, between which were torches mounted on silver sconces. The entrance to the High Hall was through carved wooden doors.
"His management of business is not lacking certainly and Lord Arryn holds him in high regard," the older woman replied. Yet something in her tone seemed to Dany to convey dissatisfaction.
"A great businessman," remarked Dany, a bit ironic, "I have made myself acquainted with his affairs at King's Landing."
At her coaxing words, Lady Anya paused and grimaced.
"I admit it. Lady Lysa did not have the best judgment nor the right state of mind in her last days."
Dany cocked her head. So it had been with everyone she turned to inquire about this Littlefinger character. In her other life, it hadn't been a problem to be reckoned with. In this one, it seemed a very volatile element. If she only had the necessary faith in her Master of Whispers, she would entrust this matter to him. However, it all seemed to indicate that Lord Baelish was a man of equal or similar wiles to Lord Varys, and to complicate matters, a close adviser to Lady Sansa...
"I understand that Lady Sansa Stark was sheltered here when she was being falsely accused of being the culprit of Joffrey Baratheon's death," Daenerys started. "And I also understand that Lord Baelish and her are close."
Lady Anya looked at her in surprise with a grim countenance.
"Yes, you could say there is a bond between the two. You see, your Grace, since a boy Lord Baelish was closer to the Tullys of Riverrun, and I wouldn't be surprised if through Lady Sansa he's trying to emulate that lost connection with the Ladies Catelyn and Lysa."
Infatuated rather, Daenerys suspected. So Lord Baelish had sentimental motives for being so close to Lady Sansa, not just political maneuverings, which Daenerys did not rule out that he had as well.
Now it remained to be answered whether Sansa was aware of this or was oblivious to it. No, not at all. The Sansa Stark Daenerys knew was a meticulous and unscrupulous woman. She must know, what Baelish intended, and he was just one more weapon in the many in her armory.
Lady Anya led her to where the little Lord of the Vale was waiting to have a conversation. Before she got there, she asked for Arya to be brought in to introduce her to her cousin.
***
Arya kept her eyes fixed on the marble floor as she listened to her cousin, the sweet Robin, try to woo and impress Daenerys with absurd accounts of events Arya was sure he never even witnessed. The young man, still pretty much a boy, looked as if he spent more time being groomed by others rather than he did with a sword in hand.
Arya was surprised at how sympathetic and responsive Daenerys reacted to it all. Well, that's what you do when you're a Queen, she thought. Yet, she never saw that glow in Cersei, who looked rather dull and always scornful.
Later on, Daenerys made her way to a meeting with the Vale's true rulers, one in which she called Arya to participate.
"What for?" she questioned, taken aback.
Without looking at her, Daenerys replied,
"Because I have realized that this is the way to make you pay for your meddling."
And Daenerys was right because Arya hated every moment of spending hours and hours in that close chamber with those — mostly — men who only spoke to her to tell her about her father and who belittled every word of her that she tried to add to the conversation.
She didn't know how Daenerys put up with it, even with three dragons prowling the skies of the Vale, they dared to contradict her.
The proposal to mount a defense at the Neck was something Arya had heard Jon talk about. According to advisors in the Queen's inner circle, to cut off the ailing limb before it went any further.
That ailing limb was the North, Arya thought with fists clenching and unclenching at her sides, the whole North.
At last, a man stood up and declared, "We lend our help to Jon Snow and Lady Sansa Stark when they reclaimed Winterfell from the rotting clutches of Ramsey Bolton. We cannot leave them to their fate now when the same enemy threats us all, no matter our names, House, or rank."
Daenerys also stood up, as always imposing and causing the whole room to fall silent.
"Lord Lyn, you are right. I respect the Vale's decision to work with the North in its time of greatest hardship. And right here," she looked over at Arya, "Is the voice of the North, herself. Ned Stark's daughter. I urge you, my Lords, to hear from her of the North's position in all of this."
Daenerys and Lord Lyn took their seats back and gave way for Arya to take word.
She rendered dismayed at such a position.
She cleared her sore throat from so disuse, and began, "I remember my father used to tell us about his childhood here in the Vale. Of his adventures with King Robert—" someone coughed and Arya realized how awkward it was to name him in front of Daenerys, so she went on to omit him, "Of his adventures in the valleys of the mountains and the teachings of his mentor and friend, Jon Arryn. After him, he named one of his sons. His bastard son whom he loved as much as all his other legitimate children and who today rules the North, at its lowest point after suffering and bleeding for the ambition and cruelty of the Lannisters."
Her gaze became blank, her mind returning to the memory of watching her father die...the birds flying in the sky as the sword severed his head.
"The hardships my family has been through since then have been many. My brothers, my sister Sansa...and yet we always knew in our hearts that we wanted to come home. To Winterfell."
Arya shook her head and swept her gaze over those present, settling on an undaunted Daenerys.
"We only want to protect our home. To save the North and also all that that is worth fighting for: life." She watched as Daenerys shifted in her seat. Arya returned her own words. "No matter what decision you end up taking, we will not give up, we will not leave the North and its people to their fate. We will fight to our last breath against the Night King."
***
They left the Vale in apparent harmony, with the Lords sworn to Daenerys as much as in Riverrun. The news would reach Sansa surely before they reached Winterfell, and Arya believed it would be a cause of disgust for her, especially with Littlefinger whispering all sorts of erroneous assumptions in her ears. Arya found herself understanding perhaps what Jon had gone through.
The journey became more and more difficult, with the dragons even unleashing bursts of fire in protest to the cold that narrowly missed them. It was nightfall when Daenerys finally decided that they would set up camp on a mountainside.
This time the dragons wandered off in search of food and water while they sought out the gentler side of the rocky terrain to arrange fur blankets and their traveling bags, as they lit a fire to warm them up.
Daenerys covered herself with an extra layer of fur in the absence of her dragon to shelter her from the cold of night.
It wasn't until the moon rose in the middle of the night sky that they struck up a conversation.
"That was a fine speech you gave in Eyrie," Daenerys complimented.
Arya sighed, smiling thinly.
"I was honestly raving, remembering my family and the good times."
Daenerys looked at her with interest.
"You had a lot of those moments, didn't you?"
"Well, I mean, like most children. If they're lucky, I mean," she reminded that village girl and her father. Would they survive the winter? she wondered.
If she had had the strength she had now, she would never have let Sandor rob them.
"Exactly, if you're lucky," agreed Daenerys, cuddling further into fur blanket.
Arya looked at her curiously.
"What about you, your childhood, I mean..."
She immediately regretted asking that question as her face became grave and her eyes lost their light.
She sat up straight and took a deep breath, but breathing was clearly painful.
"We had to run away or risk the chance to be turned on Robert's assassins," she asserted very seriously.
Of course. Robert Baratheon, Arya thought. But was it really like that, and did her father give the go-ahead for that?
Never, she answered herself.
She had heard the stories of Daenerys' brother, not Rhaegar but Viserys. A mad rabid dog like his father. It was indeed the fact that Viserys was just as insane that made it all the more surprising that Daenerys was not.
"What if your brother was wrong? What if was just his paranoia?" Arya dared the question.
Daenerys had thought about it. She had considered it many times before. She knew Arya's intention was not to upset her, but she felt that pang of anguish in her chest.
"Is it paranoia when you are just a child, forced into a situation you didn't ask for? Was it paranoia when the Lannisters hunted you down? Every time you felt fear, did you call it paranoia?"
Her face was turned half away.
Arya shuddered at the memories of fleeing and just trying to survive at any cost. She understood that feeling.
"Fear has the power to either quiet us or impulse us to action...I believe that whatever we do, a boundary is broken," Dany said, pulling her legs tighter against her chest. For some reason, she wanted to stress the point. As if she wasn't just saying it to Arya, but to herself. Suddenly she felt a little nauseated.
With a jolt Dany staggered up, dropping the fur blanket that covered her.
"I need to walk a bit," she said, striding past Arya and the fire.
As she passed, she picked up one of the cloth-wrapped branches that served as torches to cross the forest. Through her bond with them, she sensed that dragons were up in the mountains, hiding from the cold. They didn't like it, just like before.
More and more questions piled up in her mind regarding the exchange with Arya. If it was all Viserys' paranoia...then had it all been in vain? the fleeing? the fear? the misgiving? the resentment? Her whole belief that the world wanted to see her gone. The blowing of a cruel wind engulfed her and Daenerys felt more helpless than ever.
It seems that the closer I get to the place of my greatest suffering, the more the pain increases, Dany thought, moving carelessly through the dark terrain. She made a great effort not to stumble on the deceptive ground. She felt herself back in those dark corridors of her memory, looking for a door that would lead her to the right place, only this time neither Brandon nor her own memories were guiding her, instead, it seemed, she was frightened out of her wits for the idea of wandering those unknown lands was a bad one, and Dany recognized it when she heard a low, menacing growl that was not that of her children.
"Down," she was startled by Arya's commanding voice, "Down, now!" she insisted.
***
Fortunately, Daenerys understood that the order was not directed at her but at the great direwolf standing before her above a pile of rocks, ready to pounce on its prey if this dared any sudden move.
Not far from Nymeria was her pack, surrounding them. Unless Arya's commanding voice had the desired effect, they would indeed become the pack's meal tonight.
Where are those bloody dragons when you need them most? Arya cursed inwardly.
Breath came back into her body as Nymeria receded. With measured, quiet steps she came up behind Daenerys and reached for her arm, making her look into her face to tell her what they would do next: they bent down on their knees, slowly, and with neck and shoulders firm, waited for Nymeria to emerge from the darkness to come closer to know their scent.
"Let her know you," Arya whispered, "She'll want to lick your mouth. Let her."
The amethyst Valyrian eyes watched her bewildered. Nymeria's muzzle hesitantly came up to sniff her and then her tongue darted out to lick her mouth.
Staring at Arya with those piercing eyes, her heart pounded inside her ribcage as it had the last time they had met. Arya gasped, expecting her to turn to her but she did not. She got the scent she wanted and left them behind.
***
Daenerys shook the dirt from her cloak with still trembling hands. She looked up at Arya and found her grimacing strangely as if trying to disguise a laugh.
Daenerys, in a stunned voice, struck out: "Are you laughing, aren't you? You're laughing at me!"
She took a linen napkin out of her pocket and dampened it in water to wipe her wolf-licked face.
"It's just a reaction! We could have died!" Arya replied, tittering.
Dany huffed and sent her a crossed look. After they returned to their camp, she smiled slightly as she felt the nerves and tension go away.
***
The Neck
The causeway was the only dry road through the Neck and rested on a raised embankment which provided the only navigable passage through the bogs and the only safe route to travel through the swamps. The southern leg takes twelve days to traverse for an army. As she surveyed the terrain, all she could think about was what kind of fortifications could be set up there...in the middle of the swamp.
"Do you know what a lizard-lion is?" Arya asked, wiping a hand across her moist forehead.
Daenerys shook her head.
Arya grimaced.
"Well, we'd better not run into one of those. They're not exactly going to lick our faces."
As it turned out, they did come across one of those creatures as they crossed the muddy road to Moat Caitlin, where they would make their first foray into the Northern Kingdom. Luckily, before the animal that resembled partially submerged logs floating in the water could pounce on them, Viserion swooped down from the sky and with his hind claws lifted it into the air and carried it away.
Dany seemed on edge.
"Are you well?" Arya asked her.
Her eyes were fixed on the ground in acute discomfort as the shadow of a memory crept in.
***
Dany drew circles on the unevenly healed skin of his scars, watching his chest rise and fall in steady breaths. The gentle rocking of the boat lulled her to sleep but she wanted to stay awake as long as she could just to watch him sleep. How strange was that?
Eventually, her persistent wakefulness made him open his eyes slowly and meet her gaze, to which he smiled, blushing.
She beamed as well.
They rambled on for a while, about everything and nothing, conversations about their pasts and observations about the present, which seemed never promising for either.
There was an uncertainty hanging in the air, about what it all really meant, and a very real fear of delving too deeply into something that wasn't serious enough.
Dany was not ready to hear him warn her that this did not mean to him what it meant to her. Never in her life had she felt that her heart, her whole stability, depended on one person.
Now she dreaded, however, and very deeply, that despite all this, the end was inevitable.
***
Arya watched her disappear, her gaze becoming empty as if her soul had left her body. What memory or thought could have taken her so far away? She wondered.
Blinking, Daenerys returned to herself.
She sucked in a deep breath.
"I'm sorry, the sight of that creature truly impressed me," she excused herself, but Arya knew better than that. Still, she didn't want to meddle where she shouldn't have. With all that had transpired in the past few days, she could only guess what was troubling her.
Daenerys frowned at her. "Do you think we will be received at Moat Caitlin? I would hate to arrive at Winterfell in the dead of night."
Arya shrugged and invited her to go on, thinking that in the worst-case scenario, the dragons would have to eat those who got in the way.
The thought strangely crossed her mind as if she herself had control over it.
Although brutish and less gallant than the southron, they were well received at the castle. The same pair of clueless guards Arya met at the entrance to Winterfell that time she returned first, were there. Almost shitting themselves at the sight of the dragons flying overhead.
"Y-Your Grace," they both stuttered at the same time, trying to thrust out their chest in imposture. They bowed their heads.
"Do you remember me?" Arya asked them, moving in front of Daenerys almost unwittingly.
"Of course, Lady Arya," one of them responded.
The other guard aggressively prodded him.
"I mean, Princess Arya," he corrected himself.
"Please, do not call me that!" Arya protested loudly. "Just lead us inside and help us something to drink."
Once inside and settled, the castle steward presented them with a scroll from Winterfell, which stated that Daenerys Targaryen and Arya Stark and any company they brought were to be treated as honored guests, under threat of severe consequences if they did not.
"Any offense to Queen Daenerys will be taken as an offense to the North," Arya finished reading aloud. She looked up to survey Daenerys reaction. She seemed absent again. "It seems my brother is serious about making a deal with the South," Arya suggested, tossing the notice aside and returning to her broth.
Daenerys merely looked at her bowl quietly.
Arya sighed, exasperated at this aloof behavior.
"Have you and my brother engaged in sexual intimacy?" she blurted out.
This had the expected effect. Daenerys dropped her wooden cutlery and raised her confused — and offended — gaze to Arya.
"We didn't," she replied categorically.
"Don't be defensive, after all, there was a marriage proposal at some point; you are both bound to be questioned about it," Arya argued.
Daenerys watched her carefully.
After a while, she replied, "I'm trying to make my way without having to sell myself for an alliance. I think Jon really appreciates it. A man like him is not the stuff of old ways."
"How do you know for sure? How do you know he didn't want you to say yes?"
Daenerys raised an eyebrow.
"Arya..." she said, but she hesitated, staying thoughtful. She straight up in her seat and reached across the table for her hand. "I want you to know that I will not leave the North alone."
And with a sincere look in her eyes, she strayed the conversation to a different matter.
***
Winterfell
Sansa knocked softly on the fine wooden door of one of the guest chambers, waiting apprehensively for Lord Baelish to appear on the other side. Still the shadows of night washed over Winterfell's courtyards and walkways. Nearly consumed fires on the sconces barely lit the corridors.
Baelish opened the door, greeting her with a stunned and bright-eyed face.
Sansa stepped inside without explanation. Inside, his personal servants were carrying things back and forth. Sansa surveyed it all feeling a dark foreboding.
"My Lady..." he tried to say but she accused, quickly,
"You leave," she asserted, "The Dragon Queen arrives and you leave."
It had come as no surprise to learn from Bran and then from Jon that Daenerys Targaryen was coming with the intent to have his head.
"I can explain," he tried, as usual.
"I don't need explanations from you, my Lord. I know very well what kind of trickery put you where you are," she reproached him, with a dark look. "The Valemen have just sworn fealty to her."
"That's precisely the reason why I'm going home to put the place in order again," he said, completely sure that he was making an accurate statement.
Sansa wanted to laugh in his face.
"That's what you know how to do, isn't it? First with Cersei, and now with Daenerys. You're going to run away," she pointed out.
Baelish lowered his face, but then laughed smugly.
"If you have learned even a little from me, dear Sansa, you will know that sometimes you have to accept defeat with dignity and find your ladder to the top in the propitious time."
Sansa scowled at him and approached with a baleful countenance.
"What kind of ruse did you conjure up to provoke the Dragon Queen herself?" she asked, though it was a question to herself. She shook her head, looking at him in disbelief and disgust. "Never mind. Whatever it is, you are not wise enough to face a person like her."
Stepping away, Sansa threw him one last glance over her shoulder, "And don't worry, my Lord. I'm a slow learner, it's true. But I learn."
***
A heavenly glow fell over the white mountains, and everything was covered with snow, leaving only shades of blue and violet in sight. In the midst of it all, rose a castle of dark stone, with tall and slender turrets, whose banners proudly wavered with the direwolf sigil of House Stark.
Winterfell.
Arya and Daenerys stood on a high hilltop, still a considerable distance from Winterfell, to look down on the castle, which from that vantage point only looked like a miniature form. Both their hearts were thrumming yet for different reasons — nostalgia on the one side, and apprehension on the other.
Arya saw fit to let Daenerys know something.
"May I tell you something?" Arya asked, looking over at her with squinted eyes. "They won't be kneeling and bowing when you arrive. Most likely they'll hate your guts."
"I am prepared," Daenerys responded, standing up straight and sticking out her chest.
"Don't let them intimidate you. The North is harsh, it sharpens you like a rock to steel," Arya insisted. "You just have to be clever and more merciful than them."
Daenerys looked at her unconvincingly but nodded. After all, she had come back to face the past, not just change it. Even as her heart squeezed in her chest, she had to put her resolve first, and face her destiny.
At the end of the road, home awaited her.
"Thank you," Arya said, surprising her.
"What for?" Daenerys asked.
Arya shrugged and they walked off.
***
Jon took a deep breath and walked outside to the main courtyard. Looks of explicit discontent greeted him but he did not feel threatened. There were men willing to kill for what they perceived as an offense and Jon knew that none of those men were present now. The winter's scourge and scarce resources had played their part in keeping the Northmen humble. Only their egos were bruised.
Still, he would not put his hands in the fire for anyone. Guards and his most trusted men had positioned themselves in key places to allow for a cordial and smooth entry.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Sansa and her loyal sworn sword approaching with the squire pushing Bran in front of the other inhabitants of the castle. Her face was serious, contemplative, uneasy. It took no words for her to let him know how strongly she disagreed with all of it. Especially with latest his decisions like sending a message throughout the North, warning of Daenerys' presence, and the retaliation of any threat to her life. Jon had to remind her that it was also about Arya's sake.
Sansa's disapproval was the last thing he cared about now. Bran saw the Night King and his army already near the Wall, ready for a first attack that promised to be lethal. As he had warned before, the Wall was not impenetrable. Once the Realm's first defense was breached, the rest would be a matter of luck.
Luck and dragons, he thought, hearing the distant but certain shrieks that heralded the arrival of the dragons to the North.
Their return.
***
The crunch of snow under her boots echoed through the crowded courtyard of Winterfell, the one Daenerys stepped on for the second time. Instead of focusing on the somber looks, the attendants threw at her way, Daenerys focused only on the eye-catching frame of Sansa Stark.
She was beautiful as a crystal figure forever frozen in a still countenance. She radiated such coldness and acrimony that might well the weather in these lands were only a reflection of it.
By the time Jon Snow stepped in sight, Dany already had mustered a tight smile on her face. Seeing him again made her heart involuntarily skip a beat. She had missed him, she regretted to admit.
Jon's look reminded her of a time when it meant everything just to get a glance for herself before it all fell apart. Dany could not change what she felt, but she could change her attitude toward it. This time she would swallow the pride and put common sense first, no matter how much one look in his eyes could threaten to make her falter.
No pleasantry was required. Dany folded her hands in front of her and stood stiffly waiting for someone else to dare to say a word; to break through the dry ice.
Jon, as always, vested as the impartial intermediary.
First, he cleared his throat and introduced her to his family.
"Lady Sansa Stark, Her Grace Queen Daenerys Targaryen; Your Grace, this is Sansa Stark, the Lady of Winterfell. And this, this is Lord Brandon Stark, my brother."
It seemed curious to her that Sansa bore the title corresponding to the wife of the Lord of Winterfell, which in this case was Jon. Lord and King. If Sansa wanted, she could've striven for the Northern crown with just a procedure where they acknowledged Jon's parentage. Even if they were raised as a brother and sister, no one would oppose the union that would permanently seal the reign of the Starks in the North.
This sort of thought was not something new in Daenerys' mind, but something she had wondered about for years.
Well, she had to ruminate no further. The answer was plain in Sansa's eyes — eyes that were not those of a woman in love. They held no greater affection for Jon. Perhaps a trace of fraternal feelings, but nothing that was stronger than her pride and arrogance.
The hard, bitter feelings toward her eventual adversary had accompanied her all the way up here. And she doubted that this time she could turn the other cheek for temporary and unlikely peace. The same truth applied to the North itself. And although her mission was to change what was wrong and do it again right, she did not find in herself grace enough to endure their mistreatment.
Including Jon's.
Daenerys looked down at Brandon Stark.
Unlike the first time, when she dismissed his quiet, wandering eyes, this time Dany held his gaze and tried to look past his expressionless face, to find the wise, aged man who came to her asking for her aid.
She saw a complete stranger in his stead.
"Welcome, your Grace," said him, "The golden dragon is very beautiful."
Notes:
I am so ready for those comments about the slow pacing.
Don't worry. Next chapter will be 💣