Chapter 115Notes:Hey! Thanks for understanding the change to every other week updates.
Chapter TextArya blew a short breath of air in her brother's ear.
Rickon lept three feet straight up, twisting like an eel, a sharp shriek leaving his mouth. "aaAAARGH!"
"Boo." She raised a brow daring him to try and tackle her for the scare. The fact he wanted to was pretty obvious. But, then she'd have to sit on him in front of his little friends. It'd be fun if he did though.
"ARYA!" His pale face left his cheeks a bright red as he glared, lips pulled up faintly in a snarl.
She let her wrist casually rest on the hilt of her sword. "That is my name."
"Did you need something?" He huffed with all the indignation in his frame.
The smugness would keep her skipping, metaphorically, for hours. "You and Lyarra, something about listening to the small council meeting." Arya's smile widened at the sudden alarm. "Think Sansa was planning on bullying some Lords about her marriage laws she wants accepted."
Rickon grabbed Lyarra's hand. "You're still the worst!" And then he took off running dragging the girl along with him. Before they vanished there was a sharp yelp as Lyarra whacked him upside the head as they pivoted around the corner.
"The small council meeting isn't for another hour." Lyanna Mormont said as she straightened her cloak, her breath billowing into white clouds.
Arya raised a half shoulder. "Well, shame he wasn't paying attention to the time then." Her eyes caught the face of little Robert Blackwood. She winked sending the kid into a fit of giggles. "My work here is complete." She turned on her heel, her cloak swishing with satisfying flair, and then she was on her way for more important tasks. To Wintertown it was.
Arya took a deep draw of her mug of ale, her feet propped up on the side table. The chair was pretty comfy too. Not as nice as Sansa's chairs in the family wing, but comfy enough. And it was clean, a thing she had checked before sitting on it. What with the location she'd rather not get some unfortunate stain on her clothing. She wasn't her sister's only spy after all. And Arya wasn't washing another bit of fabric in a creek to keep the laundresses from noticing something.
She was just polishing off her mug of ale, the soft hum of voices from down below seeping through the floor, when the door finally opened, and the room's occupant entered. "Finally, I was just about to have to hunt down something to eat."
"Princess, this is a surprise." The blonde woman shut the door carefully behind her before dropping into a curtsy.
Arya set the mug aside. "You're the one who left the signal you had something for me." She didn't need to indicate the window, bright holly nailed decoratively around its frame. They both knew it was there and why it was there.
"Hmm, and once more you failed to warn me you'd noted it. What would you have done if I'd had a customer?"
She shrugged. "You didn't have one."
"Princess." And Salna was chiding her now.
Arya slid a knife out of her sleeve, twirling it between her fingers. "It's too early for you to have already taken a customer, all the rich ones are panicking about the Queen's new marriage law."
"I'm not the one with a reputation to ruin, your Highness." The blonde glided to the bed, sitting down on one edge of it.
She snickered. "I wear the faces of the dead to become them. Anyone becomes a problem, they can have other uses."
"Hmmm…and your sister would permit you to hunt so near to home?" Salna cocked her head.
Arya raised a brow. "We're pack, who do you think I hunt for?"
"Since you're sure then, Princess." Salna artfully flicked some of her blonde hair over one shoulder. "One of Little Finger's creatures brought him letters from Harrenhall last night."
Her attention turned razor sharp. But she saw the pause for what it was. Arya pulled out three silver coins and set them on the table.
The whore's eyes caught the light glinting off the metal. "Two letters, the contents were not easy to gain access to."
Arya clicked another coin on top of the stack.
"The Company of the Rose and The Wolf Pack are now at Harrenhall. They've been promised land, coin, and protection from the crown. A representative of each will be in Winterfell within the month." Salna crossed her legs, dropping her hands upon one knee.
Wasn't that interesting, not what she'd expected. "I owe my sister a night in a dress for that." She let her head thunk back slightly. "I hadn't thought he'd dare."
"Perhaps wagering against your sister on the matter of what Lord Baelish might or might not dare would be unwise, Princess?" There was a certain purr to the whore's voice.
Arya groaned. "You're no fun. And she's got to be wrong about it at least occasionally."
"If she wasn't sure she wouldn't wager anything, Highness." Salna laughed.
Fair enough, ah well. Arya narrowed her eyes. "You've been taking bigger risks for information. Why?"
"I need the coin." The whore didn't bother with a lick of propriety, it made her far preferable to most everyone else.
However, the answer wasn't quite what Arya had been expecting. "Why now?"
Salna paused, her fingers trailing shapes along her thigh, more mindless than passively seductive as usual. "I would have expected you to have put it together by now." Her head fell to one side, her blonde curls spilling down with the movement. "Haven't you seen it yet? Every man 'er the age of six and ten and under the age of fifty will be wed within six months. If a smart match can't be found they'll take a poor one. The first babes of these marriages will start being born soon. They know they are probably going to die, best get heirs made. And if they're desperately fucking their wives, why pay for a whore?"
"Ah." Arya's eyes narrowed. "And with so many soon to die there won't be enough men for the women. Not even close." She straightened, legs coming off the table. "That bitch!"
Salna laughed. "Oh, I hope I'm not the 'bitch' you're referring to, Princess."
Arya grimaced, she couldn't exactly explain the various bits of whispers, notes, and arm twisting she'd been about in order to ensure various Northern supporters' daughters marrying south suddenly made more sense. She liked Salna, it'd be a shame to have to kill her. "Unfortunately not." She rose to her feet and then paused. Well, best ensure Salna had no reason to think too hard on who and why Arya might have had an outburst. Also, damn, she was getting too comfortable here. She dropped four more silver coins on the table. "Let me know before you retire from the business."
"Of course Princess." Salna demurred, but something genuinely fond lurked just behind her mask. "Consider it thanks for the sizable tip. Ser Oswold Wode has said several, very rude things about Lord Baelish in taverns."
Arya paused, paying for whores really had been a good idea. And Lord Baelish would not take kindly to finding out a House sworn to him, technically, thought he was the scum he was. She'd probably have to do something to keep the idiot Wode from getting killed. "I'll keep that in mind." And then she slipped out of the room, pulling a face on as she walked, vanishing into the skin of a man. A man had many people to see.
A man pulled his face off, and Arya breathed out. Through the change, she hadn't broken stride in the slightest. The worst part of being Master of Whispers was the dozens of contacts she was forced to keep. Not all of them were as fun as Salna. Or as useful. The cost was steep as well. After all, what she paid them, they paid a portion to others, and so on. Why they called Varys 'The Spider', was apt.
Arya didn't glance at the movement. The wolves were stalking her, after all, she was walking toward their den. She let her fingers stroke along the back of one of the wolves, brushing against her hip. Wolves made more sense than people. She felt more like a wolf than a human. Perhaps she was. But so was her family.
Nymeria stepped out of the deep shadows of the towering pines. Her padded steps were near silent even on the snow.
With a step forward, Arya caught Nymeria's head in her arms, burying her face in the thick fur, her fingers digging in to hold them steady, and also scratching at the right spots. She breathed out, and as she breathed in she was entirely Arya Stark from her bones to her flesh. Pulling back she met her other half's eyes. "Hey girl, you want to have some fun?"
Nymeria pushed her nose into Arya's chest. And well, Arya grinned. She slid to the side, and then swung herself up and onto her direwolf's back. The rightness settled. She let her head fall back and she howled.
The wolves in the clearing joined in, taking up the cry. Then, Nymeria's great reverberating howl joined in. And then they were off through the woods.
Arya stayed loose and fluid as she rode Nymeria down out of the woods and to the settlement of Free Folk outside the walls of Winterfell. They'd not wanted to be trapped within the walls. She understood. Rickon was the same way. No doubt she would be as well if she lingered in her home for too long.
As Nymeria loped into the small Free Folk settlement, Arya couldn't help her glee. She didn't have to be quiet or hide her teeth near the wild people here. Not that she did much at all to hide her teeth at Winterfell. The jumpiness was too much fun to avoid it. Besides, she'd get to stab at least one fucker.
Arya yawned as she dropped into the chair in front of the fire. The fire's dim light was the only source of light save for the few candles. She lifted her feet from the floor, folding them under herself to avoid getting her ankles gnawed on by Joramun. He was teething, and she liked her ankles. "He suits you."
"Who suits me?" Sansa asked as she peeled her gloves off.
She stretched, curling into the warm fur and pillows of her chair. "Joramun, he's a vicious cunt."
"Charming as always." Sansa's voice was dry as she unhooked the last of her outer layers, then walked further into the room. "Wine?"
Arya grinned. "Sure."
Sansa crouched by the fire, ladling the hot mulled wine from the pot by the fire into two mugs. She straightened, handing one mug to Arya, with a fond smile, before taking her own seat. How she made sitting look elegant was ridiculous. "I trust you had a profitable day?" Sansa lifted her mug to her lips.
"Some." She cocked her head. "You'll have a hard time with Tormund and the clan leaders."
Her sister hummed. "I expected that, I haven't been setting the board for the Free Folk for months for no reason."
Arya just sipped at her mulled wine. The cloying spice and sweetness bit at her tongue with its richness. "Some of the clans are threatening Tormund's command, keep Ghost with you when you meet them."
"Which clans are closest to revolt?" Sansa asked, her eyes narrowed.
She wiggled a hand. "All of them and none of them." Arya considered her sister. "It'd go better if you stabbed one a little bit."
"That could go very badly. I'm not a fighter like you." Sansa's brow rose.
Which, the fact that her perfect sister's argument against stabbing was that it'd be bad if she failed in the stabbing was hilarious. "I don't know, they say you stabbed Peasbody."
"In the arm, and was then nearly helpless till Daisy arrived." Sansa retorted, and good lord her sister was apparently willing to beat herself up over ridiculous shite. "And I will not break guest rite to prove a point."
Arya grimaced at the gentle rebuke. "Yes well, politics would be easier if you would kill someone soon. They like you well enough, but you're too different from their leaders for that to go far with you being…you?"
"And how do you propose I do that?" Sansa's voice was dry and faintly exasperated. "Murder is hardly a form of authority I'm trained in. Even if Daisy's made sure I have a chance at surviving long enough for her or the guard getting to me in time."
"Torulas." Arya's nose wrinkled. "He tells me when the next idiot plans to steal me, you be there. If anything goes wrong I'll handle it."
Sansa blinked. "And Torulas is?"
"Brother of the first one to try and steal me. I only stabbed him a bit." Arya wasn't sure what to do about the whole stealing thing. "And convenient idiot Svegir has been bragging about how he'll fuck me."
From the fire, where Joramun had been gnawing on a bone a loud snarl echoed out.
She snorted, her sister wasn't a warg like the rest of them, her arse. "You're my sister, if he tries to steal me, you're allowed to kill him."
"Fine, I suppose the neck since only an idiot would try and take you without armor?" Her face was disgusted, but there was a darkness there.
Arya tipped her head, she let the sharp spark of fury and anger burn under the surface. It tasted like bile. She wasn't stupid, had heard enough. Knew what she had accidentally brought to mind to make her sister speak and look like that. She shouldn't have mentioned the fucking. But, if her sister was already murderous, "You'll be more interested in what Little Finger has done."
"What has he done?" Sansa's voice was cold.
She understood exactly why most of Sansa's lords were terrified of her. Her sister was as much a wolf as any of them. It was delightful. And Arya fully intended to keep it aimed at their resident slime lord who would not be surviving long. "You were right, he's purchased the services of the Company of the Rose and The Wolf Pack from Essos and brought them to Harrenhall. Representatives from both should be here soon."
"And so our southern border is made secure." Sansa frowned. "And it gives him a sizable army, loyal to coin in the heart of our weakest quarter."
Arya just sipped at her wine, watching her sister contemplating the situation. She'd have ferreted out what to do fast enough. She realized that Sansa wasn't going to speak. Well, that wouldn't do. "Where do I push next for his plan?"
"Mallister." Sansa frowned. "And Sweet Robyn."
She arched a brow. "You mean the betrothal he's negotiating with Glover?"
"Hmm." Sansa took a long drink of her wine, her gaze was faintly clouded as she looked sightlessly at the time. "He'll need access to his gold stored in the south. Two large mercenary companies will charge steeply."
"He promised them land as well as gold." Arya's eyes stayed sharply on her sister's face for the faintest twitch, as she spoke.
There was a faint flicker. And then Sansa just looked exhausted. "Wonderful. At least that is a promise we can fulfill after we've killed him." She ran her fingers against her chin slightly. "Find where he is keeping his gold, and who holds the keys."
"You don't think the Ironbank?" Arya was rather hoping not. That was too close to the House of Black and White for her taste. It could get very dangerous to prod too hard in that direction.
She seemed to consider that. "He may have some gold there if only to help ensure they do not dismiss him out of hand, but he's not powerful enough to be willing to put enough gold in their hands to buy their respect." Sansa sighed. "He played broker for the more powerful with the bank. It's his value to them and his main interest. I never saw much of his books, but I would imagine he was skimming off transactions he facilitated. He certainly was skimming and funneling a great deal of the royal coffers into his own care."
"So it's a treasure hunt." Arya could handle a treasure hunt. "The Fingers then?"
Sansa tipped her chin up slightly. "Possibly, though I would be surprised, his land was of little use and his men there owe him little loyalty. So if it is there, what few men serve him there are not aware."
"Harrenhall, it's certainly important enough his ego would like it." Arya offered, she had a feeling they both knew the likely location of the majority of his wealth, and that wasn't Harrenhall.
Sure enough, her sister shook her head. "I'm not sure he's ever even been to Harrenhall."
"At least once." Arya saw the question in Sansa's eye. "During the war. I was Tywin Lannister's cupbearer. It was just after Renly's death. He arranged the alliance between the Tyrells and Lannisters." She wasn't sure why she hadn't said it before. It hadn't felt necessary.
Sansa's eyes widened ever so slightly. "And why the Tyrells would have trusted him enough to provide their poison for Joffery. I had wondered what he'd done for them that they'd have risked that." She stared at Arya again. "Seven hells though Arya, Tywin's cupbearer? How did you manage not to get yourself killed."
"I lied." Arya wasn't sure how to describe what she felt about the old lion. She'd have killed him like any other. But she…had respected him in a way.
Sansa scoffed lightly. "I meant more held your tongue enough he didn't have it removed."
She grinned. "I think he liked my sharp tongue. Thought it was funny. Let me eat his dinner a few times. You'd have enjoyed hearing him, always insulting everyone around him. And they couldn't say anything back because he was Tywin."
Sansa huffed, but a certain amused light was in her eyes. "Before it was terrifying, a member of the mob threw human shit into Joffrey's face. He squealed. Not as good as when you made him cry though."
"That was good, wasn't it?" Arya would treasure that while she hadn't gotten to kill the fucker, she had made him whimper like a girl.
Sansa gave a nod, amusement painted across her face. But then sighed, the humor fading. "Still, to the matter at hand, we need control of his whores. They'll know where the gold is. Likely in some forgotten tunnel beneath King's Landing itself, and entrusted to a hundred or so of his creatures throughout the city. We'll need to know where so we can intercept it."
"I have an option for that." Arya considered how to word this without possibly making her sister slightly displeased. Because if she knew Salna had been one of the whores Baelish had sent to try and seduce Daisy, her sister certainly knew. And well, they were wolves.
Sansa clearly knew what Arya was going to say was something she might not like. But she just took a long drink of her mulled wine, eyes watching her curiously.
"Salna in the brothel has been useful. She's intelligent, and the business of whoring is beginning to dwindle."
Sansa raised a brow. "It's a risk. If Baelish realizes then her death will not be good."
"She's already feeding him information." Arya shrugged. "And we just need the lines of communication. The rest can be worked through after we've fed Baelish to the wolves."
Sansa gave a nod. "Usurping the loyalty of his new mercenaries will not be horribly difficult. He chose them well for us."
"It's crap that he was dumb enough to hire both the mercenary companies of Northerners who told the Targaryens to fuck off and left rather than submit," Arya grumbled darkly. It was like handing them men who were half inclined to bend the knee to Sansa with minimal fuss.
Her sister had a sharp smile pulling at the corners of her lips. "The Riverlands are too destabilized to support an army of sell swords that lack cause to not pillage. Any other company would be too great a risk. He needs to make himself essential to stability within the Riverlands and the Vale if he hopes to force me into marriage to hold the realm together."
"Still crap. He's just handing you an army. Again." Arya tipped her mug up, taking a long draw of the wine.
Sansa just laughed. "They're sell swords who have not held strong bonds to the North in nearly two hundred years at the latest. I hardly think they'll bend to me easily. At least not while Baelish is alive. Once he's dead, what's important is that their contracts fall to me." She looked at Arya pointedly.
Arya groaned. "Which means you need to know exactly what is in those contracts. Fuck. Why do all your spy things involve paperwork?"
"You're plotting to assist me in the possible pre-meditated murder of one of your suitors. You'll survive securing two contracts." She raised a brow. "Contracts no doubt the men soon to arrive will have copies of which would be guarded less zealously than Baelish's."
Arya tapped her fingers against her now-empty mug of wine. Well, it would seem she may require a new face. Slipping into a small group of representatives of a sellsword company would not be difficult. "Cheers to actually getting to kill someone."
Chapter 116Notes:Pumpkin Spice is back, and once more, I am a basic bitch.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter TextLeonette Tyrell walked into the gods' wood. She did not typically go to this particular part of the gardens. It had frightened her as a girl, and now it terrified her. The stillness, the quiet weight that made laughing or dismissing the realness of the old gods foolish. Words trapped in the back of her throat. It was beautiful here.
The tree was massive, but it wasn't what her gaze focused on. Instead, her eyes found the human-appearing form sitting beneath the giant looming weight of the bleeding eyes of the weirwood. It was ironic that the woman with human-appearing shoulders was likely the more divine, certainly the most powerful. Leonette likely would have delayed this conversation slightly longer if it had not been brought to her attention that delaying would do nothing worthwhile. In that at least, Lord Varys was correct.
She came to a stop at a respectful distance from the living gods. "Holiness."
Goddess Quake looked away from the faces in the tree, her dark gaze felt weighted. "Hi?" Her eyes flicked to the wood's entrance, confusion on her face before she was looking at her again. "Did something happen?"
"I wished to speak with you, if you willed, Holiness." Leonette refused to lower her gaze. It was clear assuming and submitting to this Goddess had been a mistake. Also assuming her behavior meant what it would if she was mortal had clearly been wrong.
Goddess Quake half hopped, half floated to her feet. "Sure?" She walked closer but left more than an arm's length between them. "Where's Garlan?"
She shook her head faintly. "I thought perhaps we could take a turn of the garden, just us, if that was acceptable?"
"Why leave your guards behind?" Goddess Quake asked slowly.
Leonette gently tipped her head. "A sign of trust. Am I wrong to make it, Holiness?"
"No." Goddess Quake softened. "No, you're not wrong. But come on, you're jumpy as hell."
She breathed out and took the offered arm. Sliding her arm through the crook of the Goddess's. It was a relief to be gently led out of the gods' wood. "Thank you."
////
Jon felt shaky, gods this was a terrible idea. But Varys had a point. "Seth, stay here."
"Your Highness, her Holiness won't like this." Seth was pained and distinctly pale-looking as his eyes flicked the field where the dragons were eating some cows that'd been brought out for them, and to where Daenerys was clearly waiting for him.
He winced. "It needs to be done. If I'm to marry a dragon rider, her mount has to at least not try and eat me."
"Your Highness they attacked last time!" Seth's fingers were spasming around the hilt of his sword.
Jon dropped his hand on the man's shoulder. "They attacked her Holiness. Plenty of dragon riders have introduced their dragons to their spouses and lovers. If I'm to be her consort, I need her dragons to not randomly eat me. I'll be by their mother's side the whole time."
"I was ordered to protect you by the Queen herself!" Seth protested. "We can't have peace if you get eaten!"
Jon squeezed Seth's shoulder. "It's going to be fine. They will not eat their mother, they won't harm me." He really wished he shared the confidence he was pretending to have. But Varys had made a good point. It had been known that Targaryens who were riders introduced their dragons to their lovers. And if he was to lead his future wife to war with said dragons, he really did need to be able to at least go near her when she was mounted upon one. Just tactically it would be important he and some of her guard were able to ride with her into battle to ensure she didn't get herself killed.
Seth grimaced. "Highness, if you do this I'll send someone to fetch her Holiness."
"You do that." Jon was not looking forward to the probable lecture. But clearly bringing Daisy with him for this was a terrible idea and she'd insist on it.
He repeated it'd be fine in his head. Besides, the dragons were fascinating and a small part of him left from boyhood was delighted at the prospect of meeting them. He might even get to touch one! Robb and Arya would have killed for the chance. And again he could not deny the draw the creatures had on him. The way his eyes naturally lifted to the sky when one was passing over, whether he heard it or not. It was as if he knew it was there. Mayhaps it was a warg thing?
Jon walked towards Daenerys, very aware that Seth had just taken off at a sprint to find Daisy. He probably should be glad of so loyal a guard. And to be fair, the man probably had the right of it. But the dragons had to accept at least the presence of some men besides the Queen near them. It was imperative for her safety when flying to war against the Dead.
"Your guard certainly seems displeased," Daenerys remarked as she watched him approach.
His lips twitched upwards. "Aye, he's made his displeasure known. He's a good man. Don't let your children eat me and there won't be any trouble."
"Stay near to me then." She held out her hand.
Jon felt a soft warmth as he took her hand in his. She was fierce and beautiful and good. He knew that he could love her given time. And that was more than enough.
Daenerys led him to the great red beast of a dragon. It near enough must be what Balarion the Black Dread had appeared like when he'd been a dragon in his prime. Her face was alight, she loved these beasts as truly and deeply as he cared for Ghost.
He wondered if the Targaryens had a form of the old warging magicks in their blood? It made as much sense as anything. The heat from the dragons was tangible as they came closer, the same as the heat he felt from Daenerys's own hand. He felt awe and not an insignificant terror at the sight of the dragons so close.
Daenerys was brash and unafraid as she strode to her largest child and mount. Her eyes closed as Drogon pressed his massive nose against her. It was terrifying and yet incredible how gentle the creature was towards its mother. It blew out a deep breath, the sulphuric scent of it was nearly overpowering. She didn't open her eyes, just gently pulling Jon forward, till she was pressing the flat of his hand against Drogon's snout.
His eyes were wide, his heart beating near violently in his chest. He felt a rumble in his bones of recognition. If he'd thought on that it would have surprised him, but as it was he merely found himself smiling at the rightness of it, the awe of it all. His voice was low as he spoke, deep with the utter truth of it. "He's gorgeous."
Drogon pushed against his hand and then pulled his head back, shifting his head to one side so that he could look at him. A moment passed between them. And then the great beast moved back to its meal. It felt like a test passed.
He let out a breathless laugh. "Truly, they are incredible. I had never thought to see them." Jon grinned like a silly boy, his eyes not moving away from the three creatures from history and legend. "We used to explore the crypts convinced we'd find eggs from when Prince Jacaerys flew to Winterfell during the Dance. It was just an old wives tale. But we spent hours convinced there was some corner none had looked in before."
"Those must have been dear days," Daenerys said, her hand turning, lacing their fingers together.
He turned away from the great beasts. "They may take a while to warm, but when we are wed, they will be your family as well. If they can call me their brother in full, and love me as fiercely as any of our kin, they will find it impossible not to love you." Jon felt full with the truth of it. He could not give her dragons, or gold, or power that his sister did not grant him to give, but he could give her family. His loyalty. And perhaps that would be enough.
She reached up with her free hand, brushing his loose hair behind his ear. Her warm palm stayed there resting.
And Jon may not be a man of great experience or even any experience beyond Ygritte. But he knew when a woman wished for him to kiss her. And so he did, reverently.
Daenerys was having none of it, kissing him back and hard. Her fingers curled into his hair enough to pull.
He couldn't help laughing against her even as he obeyed the command to kiss her properly. Not that he was passive, this, this he knew how to do and do properly. When he finally breathlessly pulled away, he felt fit to burst. His eyes were still closed. Even distracted he knew the dragons had moved, they were not quite creatures.
A shiver ran down his spine at the feel of dragon breath against the back of his neck. He opened his eyes staring into Daenerys'. "Which dragon is behind me?"
"Rhaegal." Her eyes were warm, her passion shining through. "My children approve I believe."
Jon couldn't help the nervous sound he let out. "Well, I won't be eaten then."
"No, not today," Daenerys replied with good humor. A fierce pleasure at her children's acceptance seemed to fill her.
He turned slowly, and his eyes widened at how close the great green dragon was. But then he laughed as he realized what the creature wanted. Reaching out he scratched along the beast's jaw. "Well, hello there."
Mayhaps the dragons were not so different from the direwolves. Well, save being far more dangerous. Jon was going to have to write every detail down for Arya. He could have laughed at the ridiculousness of this moment. This was not the life he'd ever dreamed of. But he felt overwhelming relief. Already the Tyrells were calling their banners and fleet to send men and aid to the Wall. With every day he was closer to a true alliance. It tasted of optimism. A thing he had not thought to feel again just a year and a half ago.
Jon was smiling as Rhaegal made a pleased sounding rumble. "I think Rhaegal likes me." He paused as Rhaegal moved, bending one wing down to the ground. Moving his head away from where Jon had been scratching him. His smile fell, his throat feeling suddenly thick. The way Rhaegel had rolled his back made it look so very easy to climb up and mount him. His hand shook.
"Jon?" Daenerys spoke as she stepped closer to him.
But Rhaegal shifted eying Daenerys in what looked like frustration. A screeching croak of protest in his draconic discontent. It abruptly halted Daenerys' steps.
He looked into the dragon's eyes and he knew. But…he was the blood of the wolf. Jon pulled back and turned sharply, finding Daenerys shocked and confused expression. He opened his mouth but…there were no words that could come out of his mouth. A rush of air was all he could muster. And then he turned to stride for the walls and escape from whatever this was.
Standing there, waiting for him, arms crossed and unamused was Daisy. He'd never felt such relief at the sight of her. He could care less about the various advisors of Daenerys who'd come watch, the various servants and men at arms risking peeks at the dragons. His gaze locked onto his friend. Daisy could solve this.
Her voice rose as he reached them. "What the fuck Jon."
He reached her and…and what? The dragon had chosen him as a rider. And there was no undoing that singular moment. The meaning of it gaping and horrifying. "I…" His voice was a croak. He didn't want to know the answers to the thoughts in his head, nor the ones on Daisy's lips. So he just stood there, unknowing of what to do.
"What's wrong?" Daisy's voice had changed from exasperated to sharp as she instantly closed the space between them.
Jon still couldn't speak, though he felt like the air was robbed of his lungs at the grounding weight of Daisy's hand on him and her powers rushing through him. It made his bones feel like they were humming briefly.
"You survived your stupidity. I didn't see anything happen, what's going on?" Daisy's face was awash with concern. "Jon?"
Daenerys' voice was controlled but had an edge of sharpness as she spoke from behind him. "A question I would like the answer to as well. How is this possible?"
Leonette Tyrell spoke, and good gods Seth must have made a hell of a scene to get this many members of the court out here. "Your Grace if your dragon has chosen his Highness as its rider…his mother must have been of Valyrian blood."
"Is that even possible?" Garlan asked his wife, the confusion in his voice clear. "The only Valyrian House that Ned Stark could have gone near would have been the Velaryons and they had no daughters the right age. Beyond that, they were on opposite sides of the war. A Velaryon girl taken captive and dishonored could not have been hidden. Not even for Lord Stark."
Daisy's eyes widened in sudden understanding as her eyes locked onto Jon's gaze. She hadn't realized what had happened until that second. "Oh."
"Holiness?" Leonette's voice asked curiously.
He couldn't tear his eyes away from Daisy's face. Away from the understanding and knowledge there. It burned.
Into the awkward silence, Tyrion spoke, his voice careful in a way he rarely was when parading a piece of information he knew that others were not clever enough to figure out. "Your Grace, it's impossible, or nearly so, for Eddard Stark to have fathered a child on a woman with enough blood of the dragon for it to have mattered. But he wasn't the only Stark in the south at the time of Jon's birth."
Leonette made a sudden sharp sound as she inhaled too quick.
"Lord Rickard and Brandon were dead too soon to be his father," Ser Jorah spoke slowly. "And Benjan a boy still. That leaves only…"
Tyrion cleared his throat. "Lyanna Stark died of a fever, reportedly. If it was a birthin-"
"My father is Eddard Stark!" Jon's voice cracked as he snapped his head around to Tyrion. "He would not have lied. It…it must be a mistake." He nodded turning and looking at the dragons. Rhaegal made upset sounds and snapped at the white one, Viserion. If he walked over there right now Rhaegal wouldn't want him mounting him at all. It was a mistake. It had to be. He got exactly one step forward before Daisy had a hand on his arm stopping him.
"Don't you dare." Her voice was firm. "You're lucky they didn't eat you the first time."
His jaw tightened. "I have to do this."
"No, you don't." Daisy looked pained slightly, but her hand held on. "I promised to protect you. Don't be stupid. I'm not sure I can protect you fast enough from this far out."
He swallowed as his purpose settled within him. Jon knew he and Daisy understood one another well. That they had a great deal in common. And he saw that same understanding on her face, the genuine grief for him. He didn't need to fight her. "Would you do any different?"
She closed her eyes, breathing out slowly. His arm hummed under her hand. And then she let go of him. She spoke as her eyes opened again. "Your sister is going to kill me."
"Thank you." He gave her a nod, and then he marched towards the dragons. They wouldn't accept him. He was a Stark. His father would not have lied to him, to his wife, his King, his people. He would not. It wasn't possible.
As his long strides brought him back to the hillock the dragons were upon, Rhaegal took great shuddering steps towards him. And then lowered one wing again, coming to a halt as if asking to be mounted.
Jon felt sick, his blood felt like ice. Surely if his blood felt like ice it could not be blood of the dragon? But he had a purpose. He didn't hesitate, just moving to Rhaegal's side. His hand ran along the heated scales of Rhaegal's neck. He felt the connection. It felt as if there was a hook tethering them to one another. He could no more have stopped now than a rock could have stayed in the air.
And so he climbed onto dragon back. As he reached its spine, he swung a leg over, and then let himself settle between the great spines of its back. It felt real then, yet unreal at the same time. He was seated on a dragon. There was a singing rightness that made his stomach swoop in rebellion.
Rhaegal's massive, muscled form adjusted, bracing downwards. A second before he moved Jon realized what was going to happen. He grabbed onto green spines desperately. And then Rhaegal launched himself into the air.
////
Daenerys was cold as she stood in the temporary council room provided by the Tyrells. The voices of the various men washed over her. She didn't need to listen to know what they were saying. Seeing Jon on Rhaegal's back, she'd known. He was her brother's son. Her brother who had kidnapped and raped a Stark, Jon's mother. For all she'd been told, she'd clung to the stories of Ser Barristan and quietly hoped it'd been some terrible mistake. Could not the girl have wished to escape a marriage to her brutish drunk of a betrothed? Could her brother merely have meant to intercede on her behalf by preventing the marriage from going forward? Gallant, princely Rhaegar. A misunderstanding not known till all had ended in death? It was clear that it had been foolish of her.
Her eyes flicked to Lady Olenna who had just begun to speak. Absently she paid some attention to the woman's words.
"I suppose it makes sense. Certainly says what the best of the Kingsguard was doing in Dorne of all gods-forsaken places while their King and Prince died." The woman grimaced. "Foolish."
Tyrion's hand was palm up as he spoke. "Why guard a raped girl instead of their Prince though?"
"The Kingsguard does as the King commands." Olenna scoffed. "Their oaths mean nothing before that. Or do you not remember your nephew's Kingsguard beating Sansa Stark before the court? If Rhaegar told them to guard his raped and pregnant prisoner, then that is what they would have done."
There was a miserable lull in words.
"I find myself impressed," Olyvar spoke from where he'd been somewhat slouched in his seat, one hand cradling his jaw. "Lord Stark saved his nephew. He took his sister's child by rape and raised that boy in his home. A birth that killed the mother. Yet he claimed the boy his own son. Protected him from the King. That is…he committed treason for love of his family."
Olenna made a sound of disagreement. "Yes, very touching. But it leaves us all fucked if you forgive me for saying so. A bastard he may be, but he's Rhaegar's son."
"Jon would never make a claim for the throne." Tyrion protested, but it was weak.
Lord Varys spoke, voice hesitant. "But Sansa could. Even if she and her brother are honorable enough not to. Any descendent of his could raise the banners to lay claim. It would be worse than the Blackfyres.
"We're about to agree to a marriage between him and our Queen. Their marriage prevents that as a possibility. It is even more vital they are wed." Tyrion argued.
Dany looked out the window, their words swirling in her mind. She was not the last Targaryen. Her brother's child lived. His son by rape. It was not welcome news to her…nephew. Her advisors and Lords spoke of Blackfyres, and she thought of Bloodraven, Baratheon, and other bastard lines that had remained loyal. She thought of Jon's grey eyes which looked nearly purple in the sun. Gods, he had nearly purple eyes. His face was not that terribly different from Viserys'.
She was pulled from her thoughts by the door to the room swinging open. Dany turned and paused at the expression on Daisy's face. It was not a good expression, a thing her suddenly silent advisors had no doubt noticed. "Daisy, what else has happened?"
"Something I should have brought up a while ago." Her eyes narrowed slightly, but her eyes stayed on Dany. "Willas, Missandei, Ser Jorah, stay. The rest of you get out, now."
Dany raised a brow but gave a faint nod of assent at the suddenly alarmed advisors. "I take it you wish for me to remain as well?"
Every person in the room had certainly noted the lack of titles neither of them were using. Dany may be willing to allow the blunt demand, she doubted it was without reason. But she would ensure the point was made that it was familiarity not an utter lack of respect. A point Daisy either did not mind or had not noticed. Likely the first.
"Yeah, it's you I need to talk to." Daisy stepped aside, not bothering to glance at the suddenly stiff advisors trooping out. They'd been given an order by a god, and their Queen hadn't told them not to do as told.
Dany waited till the door closed with a resounding click. "Is this pertaining to Jon?"
"No, but I'll have him at least speaking and not just brooding by tomorrow. Possibly useful again by the end of the week." Daisy appeared distinctly concerned at the thought of Jon. But the quiet affection and concern vanished as quickly as it'd come. "But that's not what we needed to talk about."
She knew this day was somehow about to become even more exhausting. "What is the matter at hand then?"
"Your spymaster is a traitor," Daisy replied shortly.
Ser Jorah's hand automatically dropped to his sword hilt. "Lord Varys?"
"Yes." Daisy gave a sharp nod.
Dany took a deep breath, fury burning through her veins. She knew they were waiting for her to react. "You have evidence?"
"You're not an idiot." Daisy winced. "Sorry, what I mean is you're capable. You have the numbers, loyalty, name, and a tactical situation that means you should have been on the Iron Throne when I first met you. But here we are and you're still not on the iron throne. And then you were woefully unprepared for the situation in Westeros. So, either you were stupid, mad, whatever you want to call it, or you were being sabotaged somehow. Treason or incompetence, probably treason."
Dany forced herself to remain still. Her nails bit into her palm so hard she would be unsurprised if her palms were bleeding. "Explain." It was an order.
Daisy tipped her head and explained. "Prolonged war always kills more than are in a single city. If you flew your dragons into King's Landing and burned down the Red Keep the death toll of your conquest would have been far less than it will be by the time you are done with it now. Not possible now, but when you first landed it was. Whoever was fucking you over had to be important and your circle of advisors was way too small. Another problem really. So, Tyrion, Varys, Missandei, or possibly Olenna. It's not Olenna, I'd wager anything she told you to burn King's Landing to the ground."
"She did." Dany's jaw was tight as she admitted that.
Daisy nodded. "Thought so. Missandei is a freed slave from Essos who's never even been to Westeros before." She shrugged, gaze turning to Missandei. "And you basically breathe loyalty. I knew it wasn't you within two days at Dragonstone." Her eyes flicked back to Dany. "Which leaves Tyrion or Varys. Tyrion had a personal bias, was from what your Dothraki tell me drunk without ceasing until you put a stop to it, and owes Varys his life. And Varys is your spymaster, the one person who had no business not giving you a great deal more information. Tell me, in your long, long voyage that took you past the coasts of fucking Sothoryos, how much of the basic political situation of Westeros did he explain to you?"
The silence was damning in and of itself. Dany knew she'd do something unhelpful if she spoke a single word of the burning fury she felt right now. Because she could see the conclusions Daisy was drawing out.
"If I'm wrong, tell me this, he's arguing against the alliance with the North, nothing overt, plenty of small concerns, pleas for more time to think things through. I'd wager good money he's brought up Gendry and his possible risks at least once, likely more. He'll have approved of and tried to guide you toward every choice that delays the progress of your conquest. Because the longer you stall, the more momentum you lose, the less certain your victory becomes."
Willas spoke slowly, every word measured and chosen specifically. "You believe Lord Varys encouraged the introduction of his Highness to the dragons in order to have him killed then, Holiness?"
"Jon confirmed it was Varys' idea, and he brought it up to Daenerys and Jon away from the rest of you." Daisy's jaw ticked to the side, her eyes dark. "No doubt he had valid points. But no contingency plans for Jon's protection. What do you think would have happened if Jon died?"
And Daenerys knew exactly the answer. The same thing she'd have done if Missandei was harmed by an animal. "You would have killed my children." She refused to lose herself to the rage. Strangely the fury was leaving her mind startlingly clear. "There would be no hope of peace, likely the Dead would kill us all if you didn't stop them personally." Her jaw tightened. "You've believed him to be a traitor for some time. Why wait to bring this to me?"
"Because I don't know who he serves. I thought leaving him to show his hand would be more useful in the long run. But if he's desperate enough to attempt to have Jon killed, that doesn't matter any longer. At least not to me."
Willas once more spoke. "You may not know who he is working on behalf of, but you no doubt have some suspicions, Holiness?"
"He's survived at this too long for smoking him out to be of much use. And anything else would take too long. Whoever he's working for is from Essos, probably not further east than Volantes. Whoever it is doesn't want to invade Westeros, they're profiting on chaos here. And he really, really hates supernatural shit. Cause if he just needed Jon dead and his death blamed on your party, getting a dragon to eat him is not the easiest or like the most dependable option."
Daenerys loathed with every fiber of her being how well it all worked. A thousand reasonable, cautious pieces of advice that all served a singular purpose.
"Do you have evidence, a note, a letter, something that can stand as proof at trial?" Willas asked in that same careful tone.
A flash of something like actual rage flickered across Daisy's face, the air in the room turning unnaturally cold. "Look in the mouths of his 'little birds'."
"Lord Willas," Daenerys spoke with a measured tone, her soul snarling, "Seize Lord Varys."
Notes:On the everyone assumes Rhaegar raped Lyanna, it's what the evidence all points to. The whole secretly got a marriage annulled and eloped like twitterpated idiots, isn't exactly the first thing to occur as a possibility from the evidence. Even if anyone is feeling particularly merciful over the whole thing, at best it would look like he seduced and ran off with a teenager and knocked her up with a bastard before leaving her under guard in Dorne. And the under guard in Dorne part looks...really bad.
Chapter 117Notes:I did almost forget this because I'm like twelve hours deep into Baldur's Gate III, But I remembered! Or actually accidentally triggered a companion's romance scenario on accident and it was not a companion I meant to trigger that for. So off to google to make sure I hadn't mucked up my plans, at which point I noticed the time.
Chapter TextDaisy ached for her friend as she saw Jon hunched in his seat by the fire where she'd left him. He looked wounded. Which, she supposed he was. But she wasn't the one who could help him. "We're leaving."
Jon didn't move.
She sighed, right, he was in the stage of denial where he was locking out reality. It would be real bad if he came to stupid conclusions. And she knew he would. She had when it was her. So she walked over between him and the fire, dropping into a crouch in front of him, forcing him to look at her. Daisy waited till she saw the glazed look in his eyes fade enough to know he was actually listening. "Jon, your family needs to know." She hesitated at the pain on his face. "You need them to know."
"How am I to tell my-...cousins that my father raped their aunt." He spat the last part.
Daisy laid a hand over his hand that was fisted on his knee. "By being brave, and trusting that just like how you love them, they love you." She silently begged him to listen to her. "And if not that, then every dutiful and honorable bone in your body has to know Sansa needs to know. It has to be from you. And it has to be now. It can't wait." And waiting would be terrible for him.
She knew in her soul, her bones, that the Starks would still love him. That he needed to hear it from them. She could get him drunk and let him talk out his thoughts on it later. But right now he needed his family to still love him. So she didn't let him flinch away from this to spiral by himself. "You're a Stark aren't you?"
His face looked heartbroken at the name 'Stark.' "I-"
"Sansa named you Stark. You were a bastard either way. She named you. By every law around here, that I'm aware of, you are still a Stark." Daisy didn't look away. She wished it was as easy as grabbing his shoulders and shaking him, but she knew horribly intimately just how much that wouldn't help a fucking bit.
Jon closed his eyes. "Ok."
She stood up, pulling his arms and him up with her. "Let's go."
"Now?" His voice croaked.
Daisy nodded. "Now. Seth and Joran won't let even servants into either of our rooms. Marlon and Greengood know to kick their heels in and delay shit if either of us is needed tomorrow as long as possible." She dragged his technically moving self to the open window. This was going to suck. But one short jump outside of Highgarden, then she could attach him to her properly and fly them to Winterfell. "Sorry about this first bit."
"First bit?" Jon shook his head slightly. "Daisy we can't leave? It's the middle of the night."
"Sun just set, it's barely night." Daisy winced. "Sorry about this ahead of time. You can yell at me in about five minutes."
Jon's hands went up, his eyes wide. "Daisy?!"
"Did always say you were kind of a pretty, pretty princess." Daisy would tease him about this once he felt better. Instead, she just scooped him in her arms and launched them out the window before he could complain.
Daisy rubbed Jon's back comfortingly as he stood, half bent over, trying very hard not to heave into the bushes of Winterfell's gods' wood. "Hey, you're getting used to it."
"That is not flying." He wheezed, back spasming as he nearly retched but managed to swallow it back.
She winced, to be fair the only other person she'd taken 'flying,' jumping with style, was Sansa and that'd been more of a nice short hop. Less… hour-long sack of potato at high velocity. "Ready there?"
He held up a hand. Eyes squeezed shut, he took a couple of deep breaths before standing. "Aye."
"The 'aye' thing is kinda adorable." Daisy was really trying to keep the mood up, knew it was pointless, but he wasn't stopping her. So like…there was that. Daisy felt lighter, breathing in the crisp, bitingly cold air of the North. She laid a hand on his shoulder and directed them both to the entrance.
His shoulders tensed. "Daisy…"
"They love you, you love them. We're already here," Daisy replied. Because Jon deserved to be loved. Not to be kidnapped and left tied to a chair while processing that her father had been a monster like she had. Or left to sit in a bunk crying for a mother who'd tried to kill her, and no one around was anything but glad at the death. She shook off the morbid thoughts. But the point stood. He deserved his family. The rest could wait.
Jon was silent as their feet crunched in the snow as they walked to the passageway to the royal wing. He opened the door in the wall without comment. Daisy gave a brief blast of her powers to cover their tracks and then followed him into the tunnel. The quiet was oppressive in the dark as they walked.
Daisy hated everything about this because she understood what her friend had been robbed of. Her eyes were closed as they walked, there was no point in keeping them open in the pitch-blackness of the secret passage, the vibrations guided her enough. And she was feeling for the vibrations of the rest of the family. She breathed out in relief. Rickon was with Bran and Arya was with Sansa. All of them were in the family wing, thank god.
As they opened the door into the ruined bedroom she spoke. "Bran and Rickon are in the room next to Rickon's. Go get them, I'll get Arya and Sansa." And warn them.
He made a pained noise in the back of his throat. And oh god, he hadn't seen Bran or Arya in years. It was fucking unfair as fuck this was what their reunion was going to be.
Daisy grabbed his hand and squeezed it, forcing him to look at her. "You are Jon Stark, and you love them the same today as you did yesterday."
Jon's eyes were faintly blurry, but he gave a stiff nod, and then he was gone down the hall.
She sighed, fuck. This was a disaster. Daisy paused, biting her lip, her eyes on his back. She would wager everything he'd be accepted, fuck the details. But what if? She hated that terrible 'what if.' She closed her eyes. No matter what she was sticking to Jon. Sansa would understand.
Daisy paused at the startled expression on the face of the guard who'd just come around the corner. She forced herself to smile and lift a finger to her lips as she knocked on Sansa's door. Sure enough, the man turned on his heel and moved back to the hallways leading to the wing. She shook her head, well it wasn't a bad thing. It wasn't like anyone would survive trying to touch a hair on any of the Stark's heads.
There was a muffled 'Enter,' and that was clearly an irritated Arya's voice.
She'd have smiled if the whole reason for her being there wasn't miserable. Daisy ducked into the room. "Yo."
"Daisy?" Sansa half asked half stated in quiet surprise.
Arya raised a brow. "Really? Did you at least remember Jon's letter this time?"
"Good to see you too Arya." Daisy felt the dread fading, easily replaced by relief. Her worries were stupid. "No letter, but I did bring you a surprise."
Arya stilled. "Daisy."
"Arya." She could see the realization dawning across Arya's face. Yeah, she hadn't been wrong about the Starks. Daisy smiled faintly, her head tilting to the side. "Should be just behind me."
Arya's eyes widened, and then she was off the chest she'd been sitting on. "He's here?"
Daisy stepped out of the way so that she wasn't between Arya and the door.
It was like light dawning how Arya's face lit up, and then she was gone, straight out the door in a rush.
Daisy smiled as the door hit the wall, Arya had ripped it open so hard. She looked back at Sansa, who had just reached her. "Hey." Her voice was far quieter.
"You brought Jon?" Sansa's hand found hers, her face was concerned.
She nodded, her free hand reaching up, catching the side of Sansa's face. Her thumb ran across Sansa's cheekbone as Daisy leaned her forehead against hers. "Yeah, I brought him back."
Sansa pulled back slightly. "What happened?" There was a furrow in her brow.
Daisy opened her mouth but…she'd been right earlier. It was Jon who needed to tell them. But her wife would not appreciate going into this blind. "He found out who his mother was."
"Was?" Sansa's face went from slightly concerned to just sad. "She's dead then?"
Daisy gave a slight nod. "In childbirth. It's…he needed you guys."
"Thank you." Sansa kissed her cheek softly. Her open hand pressed over Daisy's heart. And then she slipped away for her brother.
Daisy leaned down scooping up Joramun before the puppy could chase after Sansa. "Come on buddy, we're staying out of the way for this one." She scratched at the unhappy wolf's ears. But her shoulders were loose. It was going to be ok.
////
Arya barely registered her feet hitting the ground as she tore down four doors and to Bran's room. She half-skidded through the open door and into the warm light of the chamber. Her eyes immediately found the man who had an arm thrown around Rickon's shoulders as he looked at Bran full of sorrow and affection. Bran's face was not quite as blank as always. It was a miracle that there was actually a ghost of emotion there.
But she had no eyes for Bran. Every fiber of her being was focused on the man. He was so painfully a Stark. The dark hair, painfully familiar grey eyes, and features painfully similar to their father's. Jon. He'd aged, the hard years written across his face, the scar breaking up his features down one side of his face. And it was him. Her brother she'd loved best. The one who had understood her.
The pain of it was excruciating in its sharpness. Seeing him, his face, and knowing that he could see her as well. Arya was frozen, the sudden desire to flee lest he see her and the desire to fling herself into his arms. But she'd remained frozen for that second too long, recognition spread across his face.
"Arya." His tone was breathless, pure joy nearly washing the sorrow from him. Almost.
She let out a sob half trapped in her throat. And then she threw herself into his arms. Burying her nose into the woolen jerkin he was wearing. She couldn't help the tears stinging her eyes as she cried into his shoulder and his warm arms wrapped around her. It was a terrible safeness and rightness.
Her soul felt cracked, salt and lemon in an open wound. She was a child again, hugging the brother she loved best, safe and whole. But she was also the monster soaked in blood that felt nearly nothing. If she was a good person she'd pull back, tell her brother that she wasn't the little girl he loved. Had not been that girl for years. Bloody, bloody years. Arya wasn't a good or honorable person. Instead, her fingers dug into the fabric of his jerkin, her hands fisted to better hang on.
Jon's arms squeezed, refusing to set her back down as he exhaled like a man who'd held his breath too long. "I've missed you." His voice was thick, his beard tickling at her ear.
She squeezed her eyes even more tightly shut. "Missed you too, idiot." She managed to choke out.
His responding laugh was miserable. "Aye, I'm an idiot."
"You smell like roses." Arya desperately wished she wasn't crying, but the pain was too keen. Or maybe it was relief? She didn't know and didn't care.
Jon gently set her feet back on the ground, though his arms barely loosened in the least. "Wish I'd been home for you."
Arya wanted to cling, to refuse to release her hold on Jon. But he was…he was sad. She pulled back, wiping angrily at her eyes with one hand, her other hand refusing to release her grip on him. Her eyes focused on his face. "Well, Sansa's not that bad now."
"Not trying to stab her with spoons then?" Jon's smile was so unbearably affectionate and unbearably sorrowful. It wasn't his usual brooding.
Arya didn't bother feeling bad for her antagonizing of Sansa as children. They'd both been quite cruel to one another. It was the past. Instead, her eyes narrowed. Concern bubbling under the sharpness of seeing Jon again. "No, she'd stab back now." Her teeth showed as she forced herself to smile. "Wouldn't have thought you'd be the politician."
Jon grimaced. "Nor would I."
Her eyes narrowed. "You look like I'm about to disappear?"
"I thought you were dead." His voice cracked.
She stepped back into him, letting herself gently press against his front, his arms wrapping around her again. Her eyes closed softly this time, her nose pressed against his chest. "Less than you were." But not wholly alive either.
He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "I came back."
She looked at him, meeting his eyes that were so similar to her own. Both grey, perhaps not the same shade of it, but grey all the same. The only ones among their family without Tully blue eyes. "Did you?"
"The important bits." He didn't argue all of him was back though.
Arya wondered which of them had come back with less of themselves intact? She was nearly certain it was her who had sacrificed most. But then they were still Starks where it mattered. In their bones. But looking at him the wrongness about him was still there. "You're sad."
"It's not important." Jon looked miserable at the question though.
Sansa's voice was clear from the doorway. "You are a worse liar than I, and I'm terrible at it. Perhaps try that again without the falsehood brother."
"Sansa!" Jon took two strides, taking their sister in his arms.
It was funny, she'd not quite believed even upon hearing it that Sansa loved Jon the same as any of the rest of them. Had known she must, or nearly so, to have legitimized him, to name him Hand, to speak of him with affection. But it was real seeing them embrace, and a small part of her was smug that he did not cry for Sansa as he had for her. But she flicked the thought away, it was stupid.
Sansa pulled away from Jon. "Now, why is your mother's name enough to reduce you to this, and leave Daisy refusing to say anything?"
Jon flinched. "I-"
"It is not his mother's name that upsets him," Bran spoke by the fire. He looked at Jon. "I was to tell you. But Daisy has changed things. I believe the rest is not for me to say." He frowned.
Jon turned to Bran. "You know?"
"That your father is not our father. Yes. I know." Bran's gaze was aware and alert in a way it so rarely was.
But…Arya's face scrunched in confusion. "What do you mean not our father? He's our brother."
"Ah." Sansa said like that made sense. "Uncle Brandon then?"
Jon gaped, his eyes wide and mouth opening and closing like a village idiot.
"What do you mean Uncle Brandon?" Arya demanded. "He's our brother!"
"Of course he is." Sansa waved away. "But I had a great deal of time to think in King's Landing, one of its few redeeming attributes as a prison." She sighed, looking at Jon with something like sorrow. "Father's reluctance to name your mother, even for peace of mind for mother, was always odd. Uncle Brandon certainly had a reputation, one no doubt Lady Dustin would be happy to speak of."
Arya scoffed. "That's ridiculous, father never lied to us."
"To protect our family he would. Or did he not admit to treason to save us?" Sansa's tone was sharp, her eyes a brand on Arya. Her attention returned to Jon. "It doesn't matter, it never mattered. Father called you his. The rest is inconsequential."
Jon actually made a slightly croaky noise. "But-"
"But nothing." Sansa looked behind her into the hall. "Would you stop lurking out there Daisy, and close the door behind you? This had probably best a private conversation."
"Daisy!" Rickon chirped hopping over to the door and hauling their sister's lover into the room. The door closed without anyone touching it. He frowned looking at them all. "I agree with Sansa. I don't know what exactly is happening, but if Jon's our cousin? then what? He's our brother. Right?"
Arya crossed her arms. She didn't like the expression on Daisy's face. It was stunned and pained like Jon's. She was waiting for something. Arya had a suspicion something still wasn't right. Still. "Stark's a Stark."
"Rhaegal took me as rider." Jon finally managed. He swallowed thickly. "My father wasn't Uncle Brandon." Jon was pale and looked fairly sick. "Lyanna Stark was my mother."
Sansa made a pained noise. It took a second for Arya to realize what that meant. Dragon, Lyanna, miserable Jon.
Her mouth opened. "Fuck me."
"What? I don't…I don't understand?" Rickon's head swiveled between them all. Well except for Bran who'd turned his attention to the fire.
Sansa spoke slowly. "If Lyanna was your mother, then Rhaegar was your father." Her eyes were wide. "It is no wonder father lied."
"That's all you can say?" Jon managed to get out. He was looking at Sansa like he'd never seen her before.
Sansa stared at them like they were all idiots. "Robert Baratheon would have Jon killed, possibly all of us as well for hiding him. Rhaenys and Aegon were slaughtered, they had to cover the bodies to hide the mutilation when they placed them before Robert. Years later and Robert still snubbed every man, woman, or child who chose to side with the Targaryens. You think father's friendship would have saved us?"
"You're saying father lied to protect Jon." Arya considered their family's history.
Sansa nodded. "Safe, bastard of a beloved and honorable living father. It's a better life than a royal bastard from a fallen house gotten on a beloved mother."
"By rape." Jon spat out. "Rhaegar took her he…his blood is in my veins."
Arya stepped to him and slapped him flat across the face. "You're my brother. Fuck Rhaegar, your father is my father. He raised you, kept you. Fuck the rest."
Rickon grabbed Jon's arm, a snarl on his face. "We're pack."
"Sansa? Tell him he's being an idiot." Arya refused to look away from Jon's stunned face. She was also not thinking about the fact tears were falling down his cheeks.
Sansa let out a sigh. "You're being an idiot. "
And Jon let out a pained sob and then his arms were crushing her and Rickon to him. Arya grumbled but didn't try to wiggle free. She did crack an eye open to glare at Bran though.
Bran had the good sense for once in his life to say something useful. "You are who you always have been." Which…well it was better than nothing.