22

 Notes :

This is the only moodboard that I have resorted to using an AI generated art for Rickon because there is only so much that can be done with screenshots and photoshop of the character and for that I ask forgiveness.

Also big thanks to justwandering neverlost for the work of Jon in the board as well

Chapter Text

Jon

The Small Council chambers began to fill with everyone who would be witness and present for the first negotiation between both factions of House Targaryen. Jon was joined by Ser Davos, Sansa, and the Blackfish to be his councilors and Beric would be his vigil. Daenerys had Varys, Tyrion, and Missandei with her and Ser Jorah as her vigil. All awaited for formalities. Jon took his seat first and his advisors went after, Daenerys then took her seat directly across from Jon and her advisors followed too.

In front of everyone was an empty silver cup each and one of Jon's servants walked in with a tray carrying two pitchers, both of them with water only. Tyrion took notice of this when his cup was poured. "No wine, your grace?" he asked.

"No," Jon told him, "I want us thinking straight."

"All the more reason, I say," Tyrion replied, "sometimes matters such as these need some lax and jollyness instead of tension and stern faces."

"Indeed, and should the worst happen and we decide to go to war against each other, we can at least say that we were jolly when we decided."

Tyrion's lips pressed. "Yes, point taken. Then as our host, you have the first say in this, your grace."

Jon sat up and took a sip of his water but it felt dry in his mouth. "As you all have seen, we have a much bigger problem than who sits on the throne. The dead are coming and so is the Night King and his powers are far beyond what I have faced before. We've received word that Valyrian Steel does not harm him, in fact he carries Dark Sister as his own blade now." There was almost a look of disbelief in Daenerys' eyes, like it was an exaggeration, but she continued to listen intently. "We need to unite together. Westeros, the Dothraki, the Unsullied, and the dragons. Together we can be an army the Night King has no chance of stopping."

Daenerys finally poke. "You are right. The safety of Westeros and its people come first. But I cannot rush blindly into such an alliance. Do not mistake me, your grace. I do not doubt your word of honor, but I cannot overlook potential risks to my armies and myself."

"And the price we have to pay to overcome those risks is the Iron Throne?" Jon said flatly.

Daenerys looked upset and her voice grew stern. "My armies are not a sellsword company to be bought, your grace. You are asking me to fight for the people of Westeros which is exactly what I have come to do but against an enemy as powerful as you say, there can be many casualties, tens of thousands. And what would become of my goal to rule should my armies unexpectedly perish in this war?"

The Blackfish asked, "are you saying you wish your armies to be at the very back of the battle?"

"Of course not," Daenerys replied, no longer stern, "but you can understand my concerns, my lord."

"Absolutely. Some here say that your armies alone could be enough to stop the dead. What's to stop us from sitting on the hills when the time comes and watch it all play out. Well, your grace, we are not Roose Bolton, we keep our word and fight in the heart of battle, whether for glory or survival."

Jon lifted a hand up to gain the spot of attention. "If you do fight with us then it shall be with us. But as you said, we do need to consider what comes next."

Danaerys said, "I did not spend twenty-two years of my life in exile and fought through all I have for six just to be told no. I have come to be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and that is what I shall be."

"And why should you?" Sansa asked. "What have you done for the realms that deserve you the right to rule? You come with foreign armies and murderers at your back and expect the Seven Kingdoms to welcome you with open arms?"

"I expected to meet the people who have wronged the country for far too many years. Unfortunately I was too late. But that will not stop me. The only difference is, we are talking as reasonable people instead of drawing swords."

"Aye," Jon said, "but you need to understand that you haven't given the best first impression, your grace. The people of Westeros are a quiet group that do not take kindly to foreign armies like the Dothraki and Unsullied. They've heard the stories and they let the fear of such control their ideas. And not to mention Ellaria Sand and her daughters who murdered the rightful ruler of Dorne and his heir. Kinslayers and murderers of Princess Myrcella, an innocent girl whose only crime was sharing blood with the Lannisters. The Greyjoys do not help strengthen that image either, especially to the North." Jon had to pause for another drink of water. His head was starting to pang hard and feel numb. Something…. There was something he was forgetting… he shook his head of this ache and went on. "I do not wish to fight against you, your grace, but alongside you in the darkest hour of the country. If achieving peace means stepping down from the throne, then so be it." Sansa, Ser Brynden, Tyrion, and Varys all looked at him with both amazement and puzzlement. "But I cannot step down so immediately when all is done. The realm would not accept it. If you want the throne, you must earn it, not receive it. If I simply abdicated then you would be rejected, seen as a Queen who took charge of my reign, not your own."

"I do not see why you shouldn't just from that kind of suspicion," Missandei suddenly said. "You have the right to sit on the throne but not the mind or the desire to stay there. You're reluctant to be a King and why should the people have someone like that instead of one who truly desires to rule for the good of the people?"

Sansa opened her mouth to hiss at Missandei, but Jon beat her to it. "Because no one else can lead us all against what is coming. I've fought these things more than anyone else and you will not know just how dangerous they are unless you were to take a sword, dress in armor, and march with the soldiers. I fight to guard the realms of men. That's all I need to sit on that throne."

Tyrion raised his hand up in hopes of gaining all's attention and calming things down. "Perhaps we need to look at things as they are instead of how we want them." He looked to Jon, "The majority of the realm supports you and to go against you would lose any hope for us of gaining their loyalty. But you confessed that you are here because you are our best hope to lead all against the oncoming war. After that, what purpose do you desire?"

All eyes turned to him and there was a sullen silence. What happens after? He would go back beyond the Wall again, away from all this. He always hated it. He hated it now. Out in the True North, none of it existed. They could call him a coward for running away from such problems, but that was what he wanted, not the Starks, not the Lannisters, not the Targaryens, but him.

"That doesn't matter right now."

"You are the King which makes it all of our concern. It concerns the future of your House as much as it concerns the people. You are the last of two living Targaryens in the entire world but you are the only one who can continue your family's line."

Daenerys' fingers curled into a fist and her eyes fell to the table. The reminder of her curse was always a great pain to her. Whenever she spoke of it to him in the past there was always a small leak of her sadness into her words when she did her best to cover it.

"You're a King without a wife and without an heir after Daenerys. We are on the brink of what will certainly be the bloodiest war for thousands of years. If you die, then House Targaryen has lost its future. That is something that I think we all agree should not come to pass." No one nodded but no one disagreed either. "I believe the best course of action is this: We let things remain as they are, King Aegon as King, and Daenerys as an heir. We find a suitable candidate for you to marry and father children with, guaranteeing the future of your House. And if the war is won with the best outcome, we let things advance slowly. We give the realm two years to see our Queen for all her grace and kindness. Once they are ready, you step down as King and let Daenerys take her place as Queen with your child as her heir."

All eyes except for Jon went to Daenerys and she subtly nodded. "That is acceptable for me."

It wasn't for Jon though. He was angry at all of this. Having to do things like this.

He stood from his seat. "We're done for today." He briskly walked out of the small counsel chambers to someplace outside he could find some peace of mind.

His feet carried him without direction and Beric followed behind to a small patio that overlooked the city. He should have just nodded along with whatever was said. Tyrion, or rather the Tyrion in the future, had predicted this kind of a compromise to happen but the entire meeting just made Jon so angry.

He didn't want the throne. He never has and wanted to leave it behind as soon as he could but the demands of these stupid political games kept him chained to it. If only these people put their idiotic desires aside for what really mattered, they'd find everything they wanted falling into their laps at the end of it.

His arms were shaking, only steadied as much as they were by his fists pushing down on the stone railing.

The meeting went horrible but that moment when Daenerys spoke up fiercely and without withdrawing anything, it made him worry that if he continued to say no then would this be what leads to her fall into madness.

The problem, the greatest problem, about that happening is that he would not be able to find the will to do what he once did a second time.

He pushed himself off the railing and strode off. He needed sanctity, someplace he could be distracted long enough to calm down. The gardens.

The place did distract him as he hoped, but not the way he intended. He hoped that he might dawdle at the flowers or the rich decorum. But all of it made him hate being in the south. These trees, these flowers, the scent of the ocean and air, Tormund was right in that the true North was where it was finest.

The sound of a fast and hard paced set of footsteps broke the dreadful silence. Jon thought that maybe it was someone just passing through in a hurry, one of the servants at work, anyone who would just walk on without bothering him right now.

Beric, unfortunately, confirmed that it wasn't. "Your grace, you may not be here at this time-"

"Do not say where I can and cannot roam, Ser," Daenerys hissed angrily, "this is the home of my family and I will not be denied any longer."

Jon turned his head and was surprised to see that she had come alone. No Jorah, no Unsullied, no one. It… honestly was something Daenerys would do.

"Beric," Jon said weakly, "It is fine." There would be no getting rid of the Dragon Queen even if he truly wanted to… and damn him he was too much a northern fool to try and do so. "I dismiss you from your vigil and task you to stand watch at the entrance to the gardens. Until we both return, no one is to enter."

Beric turned to him and bowed his upper body before leaving back the way they came, walking past Daenerys without a second glance.

Jon walked over to a gap between two hedges that allowed one to peer out to the rest of the garden like a window grown from the soil.

Daenerys walked up right next to him and did not hold back her furious tone. "You dare to wear a crown on your head, call yourself a King, and yet you disgrace the duties that a real King is upholden to." Jon turned his body in her direction, only to receive something he did not expect. A loud slap echoed throughout the gardens and Jon's face stung from Daenerys' small but strong hand. "You hide yourself from all of it, how dare you! Stop acting like a damn fool!"

Rubbing his stinging cheek, Jon actually felt invigorated. "Hide myself, you say? Ironic." He chuckled mirthlessly, gazing out at the choppy waters of Blackwater Bay. "I feel the Free Folk that fought with me at Hardhome would disagree."

Out of the corner of his eye, Daenerys blinked. "Is that supposed to mean something to me?"

"Yes, they are as vital to me as Astapor and Meereen were to you, when you took the Unsullied and then when you recaptured your city from the Sons of the Harpy." He found a sense of bemusement at the flicker of surprise in her eyes. "You know nothing of me or my life yet I know everything about you." Not completely fair, since he knew all since Daenerys told him in his past. It worked most of the time, as it did now. "At Hardhome I watched over a hundred-thousand Wildlings get slaughtered into meat for the Night King's army when all I could save was a fraction of them. And now that army is getting closer to the Wall day by day."

Daenerys was silent, taking in what he just said.

"Do you have something to say?"

"I… I…" Daenerys' anger seemed to dim. It wasn't gone, but dimmed. "My long lost nephew arrives seated on the Throne I fought to get, and I know little about him. A point against me, I suppose. But if you are trying to say that you have held up what is to be a King, then you are still wrong. A King's place is not only on the battlefield but among the people he leads in peacetime, to show them he can make sure that another day in this damned world is worth living for."

"Well then apologies for not being a good people person. I usually like to keep to myself and how better to do that then be the most public figure in the entire bloody country?"

The tone shifted down and things felt quiet and calmer than when he was alone at the start.

Jon sighed. "I don't care for these meetings, not when the real threat is right in front of me and I need to do everything I can to get through it, to lead everyone I can through it, to make sure that people can live for tomorrow instead of dying before the dawn. Everything else is nothing more than a distraction for me."

Daenerys sighed. "That's fair. But it's not enough for you to only see that while you reign."

Jon looked at her deeply. "We are who we are. After all you've been through, the rights you've wronged and the mistakes you've made along the way, are you satisfied with the person you have molded yourself into? The things you've done to be where you are?"

The question sounded simple, but only a true fool would have answered without second thought. Daenerys didn't, she paused to think on the words and there was much to think about. She had done noble things but terrible things as well. "I hold no joy in the days I have had to be a ruthless enemy to evil, but I am proud of the change I have made in the world."

Hard to argue with that.

"Are you?" She asked. "Are you satisfied with what Aegon Targaryen has become for you?"

Jon looked out to the sea and leaned his elbows on the stone railing. "I hate it." The last three words came out as a growl. All of his hidden scorn and anger slipped through the cracks of his will just enough that Daenerys flinched back just an inch from him.

Daenerys fell silent, adjusting herself to try and get a better angle on him. "Tyrion spoke of you as a brooding man. I finally see at least one thing people say about you fulfilled."

"What are the others that I've failed at?"

"Sansa says you're honorable, which to be fair is true. But reasonable, a strong warrior, and an honest man has me doubting. You put on some facade of open arms towards me and yet whenever I'm near you I can see that you hold great anger in your eyes." She walked next to him, Jon instinctively turning his head slightly to the left to avoid looking at her, but Daenerys would not have it. "Look at me," she said as Jon took a breath before turning his head and looking at her.

Their eyes locked and Jon's face tensed up. All he felt when he saw her was the betrayal and heartbreak he saw looking at him as Daenerys fell to the floor that day. He wanted to fall to his knees in tears but he could not budge.

"Not anger," Daenerys whispered, "Loss."

He leaned against the stone railings of the balcony and looked out to the three dragons flying over the bay. "A long time ago…, I fell in love. She was unlike anyone I ever met. Stubborn, fierce, and ever so beautiful. We loved each other, we laid together, we fought together. When I was with her, nothing else mattered."

"She sounds perfect."

Jon nodded. "She was… until she met me. She strayed from her journey for me and it brought nothing but ruin and death to those around her." He hung his head, unable to look at Daenerys. "I learned a truth about her, one that meant nothing in the scheme of things but it kept me away… away when she most needed me. Letting the loss she felt turn to hate, it consumed her until she murdered innocents." Daenerys' gasp nearly broke him. "Men, women, and children… after a lifetime of selflessness when the moment came she didn't even care."

There was a haunting silence that wrapped them both. Daenerys had to take a deep breath to find her words again. "What happened to her?" Daenerys' voice was hesitant.

"She still loved me in spite of everything. So I loved her back… and I killed her. I stuck my knife into her heart and witnessed the very light leave her eyes." His hands clenched into white knuckled fists. "I'm tired of fighting, I'm tired of games, I'm tired. But here I stand, readying myself to fight and maybe to die again. At least this time it will be on my own terms, I hope."

"Don't say that," Daenerys said almost immediately, "You shouldn't look forward to death as you seem to. What you did… you did what you had to do."

His heart clenched. Oh, if Daenerys only knew… "And yet it felt like the maddest thing I have ever had to do. It makes me wonder if I really am my grandfather's grandson."

There was silence… Daenerys quiet, Jon silently cursing himself for having to really hammer the truth they truly weren't able to face the last time around. "Then do you fear that I am my father's daughter?"

"I believe anything is possible. We can be the furthest people we are from our family and still it simply takes one, horrible day to make everything we fought for mean absolutely nothing. And then, if we are still standing, we'll lie to ourselves and say it was always meant to be."

"You're forgetting that the Mad King lacked so much that you and I have. Friends, true friends, loyalty, respect, love-"

"All things that can be gone in an instant," Jon said rather harshly that he didn't mean to. "Answer me this. Let's say Cersei was still in control. She uses her resources and manages to kill… two of your dragons. She captures the one person you hold closest to your heart and takes her head right in front of you." Daenerys went deathly silent and was visibly upset and hurt by this. "Would innocence still matter to you? Would you burn it all to please the rage that consumes you? Would you become that which you say you fight against but not believe that you are?"

There was nothing that came from Daenerys, only a glare that looked undecided and still trying to comprehend what he was suggesting. Jon expected an immediate no but that fact that she was thinking about it made him realize just how much this meant to her. Fuck, did he say the wrong thing? Was this sowing a seed of doubt in her that could grow?

Finally she looks up at him. "This is what happened to your love, isn't it?"

Jon froze which gave her all the confirmation she needed.

"Are you so afraid that history will repeat itself? That you might fall in love with me just to lose me to madness and grief?"

Just like in the throne hall when he laid eyes on her for the first time in years, his body betrayed him in the worst way possible by breathing out a single word. "Yes."

Daenerys' breath hitched and all the world seemed to fall still. The sound of the wind, the ocean, it was gone, there was only her.

His body moved on its own and before knowing what he was doing, Jon laid his lips on Daenerys' and everything he felt weighing him down, the guilt, the sadness, all of it melted away for one brief moment.

But then he remembered who he was, where he was, and what he was doing. He immediately broke the kiss apart and saw that Daenerys had her eyes closed. Her eyes fluttered open and she looked dazed.

"I'm sorry, your grace. I didn't… I'm sorry." He turned on his heel and walked off. Seven Hells, why did he do that!? Thirty-seven years and he was still a damned northern fool. And yet had he turned around, he would have seen Daenerys gently caressing her lips as though this had been something familiar to her.

Rickon

The Great Hall fell silent as all in attendance welcomed the representative from the Reach presenting himself in front of the North. He was some steward in direct service to Lady...Ramona? Hellana? The old Lady Tyrell, whatever her name was that Rickon had forgotten.

"Welcome to Winterfell," Rickon greeted from the head seat. Shaggydog rested peacefully at his feet. "I was told you bring supplies and reinforcements from the south."

"Yes, my Lord Stark," the steward replied with high posture, "Four hundred cows, three hundred goats, five hundred chickens, fifty thousand bushels of wheat-"

"Yes, yes," Rickon interrupted, "you brought enough food. What else?"

Lady Barbrey, sitting at Rickon's left, leaned over to him before the steward pressed on. "It is a rude gesture to interrupt and you yourself should make sure you hear the numbers in case someone decides to change them later without your notice."

This was so boring, he hated it. This is what Robb wanted? What Sansa wanted? Nevertheless, Rickon sat back up and gave an apologetic smile. "Fifty thousand bushels, you said?"

It took a full half-hour for everything to be accounted for. The numbers Rickon cared most about were the number of soldiers joining them in fortifying the defenses. Two thousand seven hundred men to aid the Night's Watch with manning the castles and training them into better warriors. Six thousand knights and horses and enough of the finest arms and armor to distribute to twice that many to remain at Winterfell. Even with the boring numbers, Jon certainly knew how to get favors repaid generously.

The North had nearly regained the fighting force it had before Robb lost it for his war, even if half of it was from foreign Kingdoms.

Despite it being a bore, Rickon did find a bit of gladness with the steward informed that Riverrun had received the other half of House Tyrell's aide. Uncle Edmure better put those supplies to good use for his kingdom.

And then there was also the missive that Smalljon Umber and half of his men were going to be returning to Winterfell soon and they were bringing with them a surprise, whatever that would be.

With the meeting over, Rickon, followed by Shaggydog, Brienne, and Lady Barbrey, went to the battlements over the south gate portcullis. The fields where Jon had annihilated Ramsay Bolton's resistance were filling up with more and more tents. The closest to the castle were bearing the flags of House Arryn and other Vale Houses and now the Golden Rose of House Tyrell was beginning to appear.

"I suppose we'll have to make sure these people are adjusting to the cold well enough. And if they aren't then it's our responsibility to take care of that, right?" He looked at Barbrey for confirmation and she nodded in agreement with a small smile.

"Your patience is as thin as a Wildling's but you are learning at least. If we had a full year ahead of us, I think I could transform you into a lord to be reckoned with. And it would be perfect to shape you during the winter when the real snows come."

Brienne, looking over the edge at the two feet thick sheet of snow surrounding the castle, then raised her brow. "The real snow?"

"Oh aye. When I was a little girl in the Rills, there was snow reaching heights taller than my grandfather and he was perhaps a head shorter than the Mountain. And with the greatest enemy in the history of humanity on his way with the most terrible winter for thousands of years I imagine it would be possible to step off this stone wall and right onto a study footing of snow without so much as a drop in level."

Brienne leaned back. "Perhaps we should stock up on firewood as well as grain."

Rickon shook his head. "I think we'll all be dead before the snow gets that high. The stores are filled and so are those in Wintertown. We're fine."

"Fine isn't good enough, my lord." Barbrey said, making him look at her instead of at the scenery. "We need to be the greatest army that Westeros has ever marched across the lands."

"I know. But Jon's the one to do that, not me."

"Your brother's duties are to gather up what he can from the South. Yours is to make sure that those in the North are ready when he arrives."

"Then what do I do? Everyone's sticking to drills, pulling their weight, the smiths are forging plenty of dragonglass weapons, and everyone's getting fed and warm. What are we missing?"

"Heart." Brienne said. "An army that marches behind a leader without heart that strives for victory shall lose no matter the number. Your brother's return has instilled a joy in the people but more can be done to clear the fear and worries of what is to come."

Rickon found an exit to this conversation. "Speaking of my brother, is he in the godswood again?"

"I believe so. Podrick is watching over him."

"Good. I'm going to go and see him. I'll meet you in the training yard in about thirty minutes." Rickon stepped away, feeling impressed at how better he was getting at slipping out of these stupid topics. He couldn't keep doing this, he wasn't cut out to be a stupid lord. The moment the Night King is dead and he gets the chance, he was going to slip out of Winterfell with Shaggydog and live on the road again. He grew to like that way. It was easier.

In the Godswood, Bran was sitting in his newly maid chair on wheels by the heart tree. Podrick was next to him, vigil as usual, and only two of the Children were present. Where the other Child was, he did not know and nor did he care.

"Hi, Bran."

"Hello, Rickon."

"Where's Summer?"

"He went off to hunt. I was warging with him before you came along. And I'm about to try something new if you want to watch."

If it was warging or greenseeing, Rickon was half and half on how he felt about those. It was amazing but also scary.

Bran's eyes suddenly turned white and he went still. Rickon waited for a few seconds but nothing was really happening. He looked at Shaggydog but his direwolf remained the same, he looked at Podrick to see if maybe Bran had warged into a person again.

But it did not appear as if anything was happening.

Suddenly an entire flock of ravens swooped into the godswood, flying circles around the weirwood and the people around it. Podrick nearly panicked and drew his sword halfway but one of the Children shot a hand at his wrist and stopped him.

The ravens cawed out and then shot up to the sky, flying north and out of sight.

An entire flock, now that was impressive. Rickon sometimes had dreams of being Shaggydog but couldn't find out how to actually warg into his wolf willingly. Maybe one day. But for now he would just have to watch Bran in all his glory.

Now that he thought about it, Rickon was growing a little jealous that Bran got all the mystical powers. Bran could see through time and was the most powerful warg in the world now. Maybe a little joke would humble his brother.

Rickon suddenly rushed out of the godswood to the forges and found a box of dry charcoal. He dug his hands into the box and after a few seconds of sifting he pulled them out and they were completely covered black. He raced back to the heart tree, chuckling uncontrollably as he returned to Bran who was still in his warg trance.

"Let's see how good a beard would look on him." Rickon traced his fingers around Bran's mouth, smearing the charcoal dust on his brother's face and leaving the beginnings of a beard. He was about to do the sideburns but thought that just this alone was funny enough. As he went over to where the pool would be, he realized he had forgotten the bloody thing was frozen over. So instead, he rubbed his hands in the snow, turning the pure white color gray in blotches. His hands were… somewhat clean, enough that it wouldn't raise questions.

The moment he brushes his hands dry, Bran sucked in a breath and came back to his normal self.

"Oh, Bran," Rickon began with a low smile, "welcome back. That was certainly incredible. Where'd you go with the birds after here?"

"I wanted to see how high they could go. The view from the sky is unlike anything imaginable. Maps do not do justice to what the world truly looks like. But I need some food before my next adventure with them. Soon, I must take them beyond the Wall and find the Night King. I need to see if he has any more surprises for us."

"Aye, that'll be a few hours I bet."

"Podrick," Bran turned his head and when Podrick saw the fake beard on Bran's face a snort escaped the squire and he bent his head down to hide his smile.

"What is it?" Bran asked.

"Nothing," Rickon said, taking the handles of the wheelchair himself. "Absolutely nothing. Let's go get you some food, brother," Rickon said through stifled laughter.

While the Children remained at the heart tree, Podrick followed Rickon pushing Bran into the public view and everyone who chanced a quick glance found themselves staring and giggling at the legendary son of House Stark.

Rickon could feel that Bran was noticing and the growing collective laughter was making it harder for him to hold his in.

"Rickon," Bran said flatly, "what's going on?"

Rickon didn't need to answer since at that moment Meera and Osha were walking by and stopped when they noticed Bran's new feature.

"Hm," Meera said, "warging, greensight, and now magical beard growing? Your powers are strange, Bran. But it does look good."

"Beard?" Bran rubbed his hand over his mouth and then saw the charcoal on his fingers. "Oh for Gods' sake, Rickon!"

Rickon burst into laughter, bent over and some of the people watching laughed harder. Podrick failed to hold back his own laughter as Bran rubbed his face with his sleeve but only succeeded in smearing a black smudge on his face.

"I won't forget this and you can be damn sure I'm getting you back for it," he growled as a giggling Meera asked a servant for some warm water and a cloth.

"Please do," Rickon told his brother, "you've been far too boring lately."

"Lord Stark," Lady Barbrey said as she walked in on the scene, "what do you think you are doing?" she asked in a condescending tone.

"What you said to do. Raise the people's spirits." Rickon said with outstretched arms and indeed, the people were in better moods than they were when he first walked into the godswood.

"Hm, I see." She walked away without another word.

After Barbrey had walked off, the amusing mood went down but did not fully extinguish. Rickon looked around and realized that while these people around got their spirits up with his little joke, there were thousands of others who missed it.

What to make of this? What could he do to truly rally his people's spirit all at once?