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As long as Sansa could remember, she had always loved the fairy tales of chivalrous knights and beautiful maidens. Even now, Sansa still oft caught herself daydreaming of being the heroine in romances like Florian the Fool and his lady love Jonquil or Aemon the Dragonknight and his queen-sister Naerys. Sometimes, she even wished for a clever, handsome and brave wildling man who would come for her like Bael the Bard had come for his wife, an unnamed daughter of Winterfell.

However, the more Sansa loved those stories, the more disappointed she felt toward reality. Those lovely romantic tales belonged to a different age that had been long gone. Now, she lived in a time in which honor was dead and true chivalry was forever forgotten.

In Sansa’s own world, a strong and young and handsome Stark heir had betrayed his beautiful but proper and chastised Tully betroth to elope with an exotic Dornish seductress. Also, in her world, a supposedly kind, sensitive and unearthly dreamy Targaryen crown prince beloved by small folks and nobilities alike had kidnapped a Northern princess and allegedly raped her to death despite the fact that she had already been betrothed and he had been married with two children.

Today, Sansa’s little faith left in this reality had taken yet another full blow when King Robert Baratheon, first of his name, and his royal host arrived at the gate of Winterfell. The King was once the hero of the rebellion, who fought against the evil Rhaegar Targaryen to defend the honor of his fiancée, Lyanna Stark. The peerless warrior who started a war just for the sake of a woman and won the entire a kingdom but lost his lover forever, Sansa always though it was an ultimate tragic love story.

Now she realized something even more tragic than that. Robert Baratheon, the protagonist of countless of songs the bards sung throughout Westeros and tales her father oft told with great enthusiasm around dinner table, was in fact a fat old drunk brute with ever unsatisfied appetite for wine and whores in spite of his beautiful queen, Cercei Lannister, who, by all of Sansa’s account, seemed to despise him to her bone.

The king’s son, the current crown prince Joffrey Baratheon, though his look favored his mother’s side, appeared to be his father’s son, rude and arrogant. Worse, this smirky blonde haired piece of shit, as Jon had called him, would soon be Sansa’s betroth. There had been nothing official of yet, but Sansa knew too well the reason that the King had travelled for months to Winterfell. Lord Jon Arryn, the King’s Hand for years, had recently passed. King Robert wanted a new Hand in her father and a new bride for his son in Sansa. And what the king wanted, the king got it.

Actually, the king proposal could not have come at a more suitable time. In more than a year, Jon would have come of age and officially become the Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, assuming all of his birthright and duty. Her family would no longer have any business to remain at Winterfell.

Sansa’s Mother, Catelyn Tully Stark, must have enjoyed being the Lady Hand a lot, it would be a great upgrade from her current position. Although she had taken care of the young Lord of Winterfell as though he was her own son, she never forgave his father, Brandon Stark, for his past insult toward her. Not only the then young Brandon bedded Jon’s mother, Ashara Dayne, while they were still betrothed, his weird and questionable sense of honor compelled him to actually married the Dornish harlot thus raised their son, the result of their unholy liaison, from bastard to rightful heir of Winterfell.

Catelyn Tully had married Sansa’s Father, lord Eddard “Ned” Stark, at the beginning of the rebellion, believing that she was helping their cause and at the result her children would inherit Winterfell and the North. And although Ned Stark by all means had been a calm and able commander at war and a kind and effective ruler during peace time, his honor did not allow him to steal the birthright of the nephew that he only found out after the war. “Winterfell belonged to my brother, Brandon, and his rightful son, Jonnel.” Sansa’s Father oft reminded those who suggested he should take the lordship for himself.

Although Sansa’s Mother had come to love her Father and the North whole heartedly, her southron ambition did not easily fade out, especially since Mother always worried about the future of Robb, Bran and Rickon as well as her and Arya’s future. Having her husband being Hand of the King meant that her sons might become lords by their own in Crowslands or Riverlands and her daughters would be married to some high lords, and in Sansa’s case, the crown prince himself.

Ladies in Sansa’s situation oft had little choice. She could only hope that she would find a decent husband who would then love and care for her like her Father did her Mother. Growing up, Sansa always thought that she would marry Jon and become future Lady of Winterfell much to her dismay. Although Jon would be definitely fond of that idea and he was indeed a much more decent man than prince Joffrey, he was still far from Sansa’s perception of an ideal husband.

The young Lord of Winterfell was raised by his lord uncle, who acted as his guardian, his regent and the only father figure that he ever knew. Ned Stark considered his nephew one of his own and never treated him neither unfairly or more favorably compared to Robb. Yet Jonnel Stark was a true son of Brandon the Wild Wolf and every bit deserved the reputation of his namesake, the first Jonnel Stark, who was called One Eyed Wolf.

Even at young age, Jon had developed a fondness of drinking and had a strong tolerance for wine and ale. The small forks in Wintertown gave him the name the Thirsty Wolf to praise his drinking prowess and compare him to King Theon Stark, the Hungry Wolf. His Stark honor did kind of prevent Jon from outright whoring the way King Robert behaved but there was sometimes still rumor told by some brothel girls about the nights they were graced by their young Lord.

When the direwolf pups were found, Sansa chose the smallest, most gentle and best-behaved pup for herself and name her Lady. Jon, on the other hand, took the biggest and fiercest pup with dark hair and purple eyes just like himself. Within two moons, the pup grew bigger than any hunting dogs raised in Winterfell’s kernel. Jon proudly named him Berserk, a befitting name for a ferocious beast. Since then, Jon changed the traditional house Stark’s banner from the grey direwolf running on a snowwhite field to a black direwolf and used it as his personal sigil.        

Growing up among the children of Ned and Catelyn Stark, Jon always harbored a brotherly affection toward Robb, Bran and Rickon. As for Arya, he loved her like a sister that he never had and even pampered her sometimes. He oft showered her with unladylike gifts like small daggers, ridding breeches or hunting bows. On Arya’s ninth name day, Jon secretly commanded the Wintefell’s blacksmith to forge a real sword as a present for her which Arya carefully hid it under her bed.

But with Sansa, it was all different with Sansa. Jon never saw her as another sister of his. It took her awhile for Sansa to find out that all those knight and princess plays that they played when younger, in which Sansa always played the heroines and Jon the hero, weren’t as innocent as it first seemed. When Jon was twelve and Sansa was eight, he announced it front the Northern lords gathering at a harvest feast that he would only marry Sansa and no one else when lord Rickard Karstark subtly suggested a betrothal between him and Lady Alys Karstark. “We are Jonnel and Sansa Stark. We are meant together.” She still remembered his words that day.

Jon had been in loved with her since as long as Sansa could remember. Her effort to keep distant from him, avoiding calling him Jon but Lord Jonnel or Lord cousin instead, only fueled his desire for her. It wasn’t like Sansa didn’t have any feeling for him since she loved Jon as much as she loved Robb. However, she couldn’t even imagine how miserable her life would have become if she had been his wife.

Jon might appear to be extremely handsome and flamboyant, brilliant with swords and charismatic with words, to other but to her, he was loud, arrogant, reckless and impulsive. His father had been very impulsive too. This make him betrayed Sansa’s Mother and eventually led to his own death. Her Father would call it wolfblood. Uncle Brandon had it, Aunt Lyanna had it and now Jon had it as well.

Mother was lucky that uncle Brandon abandoned her soon enough that she now found her true love in Father. But if Sansa had ever married Jon, she would have had to endure him for life. What would stop him from having bastards and making her bear the shame of it? What would stop him from getting in troubles due to his uncontrollable drinking habit? What would stop him from getting himself killed leagues away from home the way his father did and leaving her alone with his children?

But Sansa supposed that it didn’t matter now since she would never marry Jonnel Stark. She would be wife to Joffrey Baratheon and become Queen of Seven Kingdoms. This somehow felt as if like a step down to Sansa. Jonnel Stark wasn’t perfect, he had never been and would never be, but at least he was no Joffrey.

Sansa suddenly regretted all the time she spent giving Jon a cold shoulder. If only she had returned his feeling, they might have been betrothed by now and she would never have to leave Wintefell. Here at least, she would feel safe.

Sansa knew she was a conflicting and contradicting girl. She loved songs and fairy tales but never believed that they would ever come true. She wanted to find the goodness in people and in life but doubted that she would never succeed in doing so. She had hated being Jonnel Stark’s wife but now she wished that she were.

But there was no point crying over spilled milk now. Sansa had to make the most of her current situation. She must wed Joffrey, must bed him and let him spill his seed into her womb, must bear him beautiful blond hair children and must become a queen that he never deserved.  

Her skin had to turn to porcelain, to ivory, to steel.

Chapter Text

Tonight was a strange night for Jon. He was too angry and restless to think properly but too sober to forget all of those things that troubled him. Arya had commented that he seemed to annoyed with anything these days. But in fact, there was only one thing that annoyed him. The King’s visit to Winterfell had disturbed his daily routine and threatened to take away everything from him.

Robert Baratheon used to be the hero of his childhood’s stories and the prospect of meeting him would have made him scream of happiness. Now, Jon cursed the day the King set foot on Winterfell soil. King Robert and those fancy Southron courtiers that followed him had come to Jon’s home, taken all the rooms in his castle, ravished all the food in his storage and swallowed all the ale in his cellar. Jon needed not to talk to maester Luwin or steward Vayon but he knew that just within a day he had become much poorer thanks to the King.

Not only that, the King also forced uncle Ned to accept the office of the Hand and bring his entirely family down South to King’s Landing. Each of them was an essential part of Jon’s life and he could not begin to image a life without them.

Uncle Ned was his Regent, his mentor and the only father that he ever knew. Once Jon was sixteen, his uncle would have to step down and let him fully assume his lordship. But Jon thought that his uncle Ned would remain by his side and serve as his most trusted advisor. The thought of ruling the North alone without his uncle’s support really terrified him. 

Aunt Catelyn never looked at Jon the way she looked at Robb, Brandon or Rickon, which was understandable given her unpleasant past with his father. However, she had dutifully taken care of Jon since he was still a little boy. She fed him food when he was weaning, nursed him when he was sick, made sure her attend his lessons with maester Luwin, tended to his wound when he trained too hard with Ser Rodrik and Ser Gerold and scolded him when he came home drunk with Robb and Theon from Wintertown. She was more of a mother to Jon than his real mother had ever been.

Robb Stark was his brother and his best friend. Since the day aunt Catelyn brought Robb to Winterfell, they had never been apart. They ate together, slept together, played together and trained together. They killed their first games together, witnessed their first execution together, drank their first tankards of ale together and fuck their first whores together. They even found the pups together. Robb should have been his Jon’s most loyal bannerman, guarding Moat Cailyn from Southron invaders or manning lands near the Wall to prevent wildlings’ attacks for him not to rot in the South.

Brandon, who was named after Jon’s father and many Brandons before him, but aunt Catelyn always insisted on calling him Bran instead. Brandon was a bright boy with a keen mind of a maester but a heart of an adventurous knight. Jon had promised to teach him Dornish sword work so that one day Brandon could become the best swordman in entire Seven Kingdoms and gain the honor of joining the Kingsguard.

Rickon was only little more than a babe and still clinging to his mother. But the little lad always did the most wild and bizarre things. Uncle Ned said that his wolfblood was even stronger than Jon’s. Jon was not convinced about that but he loved the him anyways. Jon thought that might be one day he would gather enough man for an expedition beyond the Wall, he hoped Rickon would be there to join him.

Arya was the dearest sister that Jon never had. Arya Underfoot, as the servants called her, was small like mouse but quick and clever like a fox. Poor Arya wanted the most impossible thing in the world. She wished to become a boy since she oft felt inferior in ladylike stuff next to his older sister. Yet Jon always knew how to cheer her up. Spending some time sparing with her, teaching her how to hunt with a bow or taking her on a ride out of the castle’ walls could make Arya forget all her sewing lessons with septa Mordane. Jon had prayed that he could dot on her and spoil her forever.

Among them, Jon believed the most important person to him had to be Sansa. Jon still remembered the day she was born, they rang the bell from sunrise to sunset. At four, Jon was not yet fully aware of his surrounding but he knew that must have been a special day.

When Jon and Robb visited aunt Catelyn’s chamber after her labor, she ignored Robb and press little baby Sansa into his arms. “Look Jonnel!” she said “her name is Sansa, Sansa Stark. Isn’t she lovely?” Jon wanted to tell her that Sansa was the most beautiful thing he had ever laid eyes upon but he was so emotional that he was all speechless. When Sansa’s small eyes opened and looked straight into his purple eyes, Jon felt his heart almost stopped as he was nearly drowned in that two deep blue little ponds.

On that very day, Robb and Jon had promised uncle Ned that they would protect Sansa with their very lives. However, while Robb would come to Sansa’s rescue the way his father rode to the Red Keep to ask for aunt Lyanna or the way uncle Ned battled against three veteran kingsguards to take her from the Tower of Joy, Jon would go to war for Sansa, crush every kings or princes who stole her from him and kill every last ones of their evil spawns, exactly the way King Robert Baratheon did.

Ironically, it was now King Robert himself who stole Sansa from Jon. He didn’t exactly do it for himself but he did so for his son all due to his bullshit obsession about a Stark – Baratheon union. The man never got over aunt Lyanna and Jon could total respect his undying love for a dead lady but he now he desired a Stark bride at the expense of Jon.

Jon didn’t know if he felt happy or sad that Prince Joffrey turned out to be smirky spoiled brat. Although he did have the handsome dreamy look of a knight in shining amour in stories that Sansa oft loved so much, his character was all rotten. Jon had no doubt that if the Prince had ever been fostered at Winterfell, uncle Ned himself would have beaten him shitless sometimes just to straighten his attitude.

Even Sansa seemed to agree with Jon about the Prince because she attempted to avoid Joffrey and only her lady’s courtesy that prevented Sansa from outright rejected some of Joffrey impolite advance toward her. It was expected from Sansa, who had been a lady at three, always proper and eager to please. Jon, despite being the Lord of Winterfell, could not give a shit about the Prince.

As the Crown Prince walked around Winterfell with his smirky face as if he owned the place, the residents were watching him with obvious distaste. Robb, to his credit, did try to be friendly with him and invited Joffrey to a sparring session. The Prince, clearly felling afraid and threatened by Robb, refused by saying that he didn’t like playing at war. Robb was really upset by the notion and became salty after that. But what did he expect from a piece of shit like Joffrey? Being nice to him only guaranteed unpleasantness and frustration. Jon would love nothing more than disarming Joffrey with some of his house Dayne techniques then teaching the Prince a lesson or two about Northern freestyle wrestling. But he supposed there was no glory in defeating a twelve-year-old green boy so he just ignored the whole episode between the Prince and Robb.

What Jon couldn’t ignore was how Joffrey walked Sansa through the aisle in the Great Hall and sat next to her at the table during the welcoming feast as if they were already betrothed. He even had the nerve the to smile at Sansa, touch her fiery auburn hair and comment on her grey and white dress which Sansa had made herself and which, to Jon, was absolutely stunning by the way. When Jon heard the Prince saying that Sansa would look more fashionable in a Southron dress, he felt a wave of bile in his stomach.

If Joffrey wanted some fancy Southron ladies, he should just get the hell out of Winterfell and back to his home in King’s Landing. Sansa didn’t deserve his insult for she had always been the prized maiden of Winterfell and the North. Jon knew that many Northern young men were secretly in love with her, from Smalljon Umber to Harrion Karstark, from Cley Cerwin to Daryn Hornwood, and even Domeric Bolton and Theon Greyjoy, all better men than Joffrey Baratheon. But it was Jon who deserved her the most since they were Jonnel and Sansa Stark and they were meant together.

The feast should have been a jolly affair and with King Robert’s company Jon should have drunk himself until he forgot the way to his own chamber. But he couldn’t touch a drop of his favorite ale. Joffrey was with Sansa the whole time and that irritated Jon. Robb, at least, was seated next to the beautiful Myrcella. Jon had to sit on the raised dais with the royal couple and his aunt and uncle. An honored privilege for the young Lord of Winterfell, they said. But in fact, the whole thing was rather awkward.

Those moments made Jon wished that he was never the Lord of Winterfell but only the bastard that he was born to be. As being commanded by uncle Ned, everyone seemed to avoid the fact the Jon was born a bastard and had remained a bastard for a few months after his birth until his father met his mother on his way to King’s Landing and officially married her. Uncle Ned would demand him to never repeat the word bastard and aunt Catelyn would remind him that he was the true Lord of Winterfell no matter he liked it or not but Jon would never forget his baseborn background.

Ser Gerold Dayne the Darkstar, who was former Master-at-arm at Starfall and currently the Lord of High Hermitage, had never failed to remind Jon of that. When Jon was ten, uncle Ned invited Ser Gerold to Wintefell to teach him house Dayne sword works so the he would never forget his heritage. While Ser Rodrik was firm but still considerate toward his young Lord, the Darkstar was extremely brutal in his lessons.

“You are of Snow and Sand, Jonnel” he oft said “Never forget who you are and never let anyone else tell you otherwise.” Jon ought to thanks him for his harsh treatment because he turned out to be the best swordman of his generation, at least among those whom he had dueled with so far. Jon had felt really sad when Ser Gerold had to leave for his new post at High Hermitage and wished that they would see each other again someday.

Suddenly, Jon missed his old mentor. He wished he were actually of Snow and Sand like the Darkstar said. He wished he were a Jonnel Snow or Jonnel Sand, whatever he didn’t care. He would have stolen Sansa away like Bael the Bard did. He could have brought her to Dorne, to his maternal house at Starfall or to Ser Gerold at High Hermitage, or across the Narrow Sea so that they could be free and alone.

Jon felt his heart heavy but his head empty. He wandered aimlessly around the castle in which he grew up but now seemed so unfamiliar. Before he even noticed, Jon stopped in front of a door. It was Sansa’s bed chamber.

Chapter Text

Jon stood silently in front of Sansa’s bed chamber, unsure of what to do next. He quickly checked along the corridor. There was no one to be found in sight although the sound of men talking, laughing and singing from the Great Hall was still clearly audible. Jon gently touched the door and with a little force pushed it slowly.

Jon felt a bit upset that Sansa had been so careless. Normally, Winterfell was always a peaceful place and there was almost no chance that some ill hearted individual would sneak into a lady’s chamber, or anyone’s chamber for that matter, at night. But today had been a hectic day and Winterfell was now filled with strangers. A lady, not to mention a beautiful maiden like Sansa, couldn’t be too cautious.

Sansa should have barred the door in the first place. However, a part of him actually felt glad that she didn’t. Jon remembered when they were younger, he used to come to her bed chamber all the time. When Winterfell was deep into its sleep, that was precious time for just him and Sansa. He loved to come to her, shared with her about his days and listened to her giggling to his stories. He oft couldn’t see her vividly in the dark but he could always spot her lovely blue eyes staring at him, beautiful like two sparkling sapphire gems.

Sansa never talked much because Jon was oft the one who did much of the talking. Perhaps it was her proper manner that compelled her to not express herself to freely. After all, a lady needed to always be courteous, she told him on some rare occasions. Sometimes, Jon believed that he hated that ladylike part of hers. He wished she could be more open with him since Jon would love to learn about her daily life and stories as well.

As they got older, Sansa became more and more hesitant to let Jon spend their nights in her chamber, oft reminding him to leave early or outright rejecting him his enter. Even if Jon was the thickest boy in the world, he could still recognize that Sansa was embarrassed about how improper the whole situation was. And to spare her the awkwardness, Jon instead chose to spend most of his nights with Robb and Theon, oft drinking to their heart content at some taverns in Wintertown and sometimes finding whores at brothels. But every now and then, Jon still visited Sansa’s since there was nothing he loved more than to be with her. Tonight was one of those nights.

After entering, Jon quietly closed the door and leaned his back against it as if he was afraid some ones would burst in at any moment. Inside her chamber, the chaotic sound from the Great Hall was no longer that loud but Sansa seemed to be still well awake. Within the darkness, Jon heard the sound of her body rubbing against the fur as she got up and lighted a candle on the nightstand next to her bed. Sansa squinted her eyes toward Jon’s direction to adjust to the brightness that suddenly filled the roomed.

“What’s the problem, Jon” she spoked as she recognized him. “You shouldn’t be here. It’s already late.”

“I have something to discuss with you, Sansa. Grave matter!” He tried to sound as calm as possible but in fact his heart was throbbing faster than usual. He was not sure if it was wise to talked to her about things that troubled him today.

Sansa let out a small sigh then moved her fur blanket away from herself. She set her feet on the floor, sitting uptight at the side of her bed, her hand on her lap. Sansa was so beautiful in her nightshift. She was only eleven but tall as a woman grown. Her figured hadn’t fully shown yet but her slender built always looked graceful. Her hair wasn’t braided now but left to fall freely against her shoulder and her back. Jon knew that aunt Catelyn had come to her earlier, as she did every night, to comb her hair until it became so shinny like a sunset sky.

“Well, my lord cousin. Please do tell me what burdens you” Sansa said very formally. “I don’t know if I am much help to you but I am sure a good early sleep will help both of us.”

“The whole thing about your betrothal to the Prince, it was crazy and foolish. You cannot go along with it, Sansa.” Jon quickly let the cat out of the bag, ignoring the fact that she wanted to chase him out.

“There is nothing official yet, Jon. But if it was, what do you suppose I can do?”

“There are plenty we can do, Sansa. I am the head of house Stark. You cannot be betrothed or married without my blessing. And I forbid the Prince and you betrothed to each other.” Jon felt a bit proud that he managed to come up with some reasons and the mention of him being the Lord of Winterfell somewhat made him more confident.

“Forgive me, Lord Stark” Jon hated it when she called him that. “But I think you got the order wrong. Shouldn’t you discuss this with the King and my lord Father first before talking to me?”

“I will talk to them. I just want to let you know that I will.” Jon answer unconvincingly.

“In that case, I will be waiting for hear more about this.” Sansa looked away from him and smiled sadly.

Jon couldn’t remain calm anymore. He walked across the room toward her bed. He kneeled in front of her, his hands reaching for hers. As he squeezed her tiny hands within his, he looked up to Sansa’s face, feeling desperate and helpless.

“We know it isn’t going to work if I go alone, Sansa. We need to show them we are a united front, you and me. Let’s go to them and tell them how much we loved each other, how much we belong each other and they just cannot take you away from me to marry you off like some cattle.” Jon tried to say between his breath, almost beggingly.

“Oh, poor Jon” Sansa averted her eyes to avoid his gaze then she inhaled deeply before continuing. “I don’t think it will be as you desire. What the King wants, the King will get ity. And there is nothing we can do to change that.”

“We can escape together. I can take you to Dorne, to my Mother’s home. They should welcome us. Or we can sail to Essos. We can build a small house and live together. I can take care of you. I can become a sellsword like the Wandering Wolf. You know how good I am with the sword.”

“And what will become of us, Jon?” Sansa now looked at him straight in the eyes. “King Robert will hunt us down for the rest of our day. We will be no better than the Beggar King and his sister. And what if we cannot endure such life of uncertainty? What if I become resentful of you because of that? We all know what happened to Lynesse Hightower and her husband. She left him to become a whore to some foreign prince.”

“It won’t happen to us.” Jon spoke softly, trying to be as much affirmative as he could. “We are Jonnel and Sansa Stark. We are meant for together.”

Upon hearing that, Sansa suddenly snapped at him.

“The One-Eyed Wolf was a usurper who took advantage of Northern misogyny to steal the birthright from his niece, poor Serena. Even then, he didn’t have the courtesy to marry her thus give her back half of her right but instead chose her younger and fairer sister. Jonnel and Sansa Stark were never meant together. The Gods saw that their sins were punished and their line never inherited Winterfell. So, you see, Jonnel. Just like them, we don’t belong to each other.”

It was hard to argue against those facts. For so long, Jon had been entertained with the idea that they were Jonnel and Sansa Stark reborn and thus it was fated that they would rule Wintefell together. As it turned out, the first Jonnel and Sansa were never an ideal couple. Their marriage was shadowed by politics and conspiracies because the One-Eyed Wolf needed to legitimate his lordship by uniting with his half-brother’s line, Rickon. There was no account that they were madly in love with each other. She wasn’t even his first wife. And eventually, as Sansa said, they had no issue and their line ended with them.

“I have loved you since I am a boy, Sansa. And I will never stop loving you.” Jon didn’t know where he was headed with that confession. Perhaps it didn’t mean anything, jus like Sansa and him. He felt as if his life-long belief was built upon a lie.

“If this means anything to you, Jon. You should know that I am deeply touched by your affection. But Jon, the love I bear you is the same love that I bear Robb. Even without Prince Joffrey, I doubt that there could be more between us.” Sansa replied him with some coldness in her voice.

“Joffrey, Joffrey is a smirky blonde haired piece of shit.” Jon suddenly angered when hearing that name. “And don’t you tell me that you have any feeling for him because I saw how you too were disgusted by him. I never claimed to be perfect, Sansa. But I, Jonnel Stark, is ten time worth that poor excuse of a prince.”

Sansa was all but silent but Jon could see that she somewhat agreed with him as he pressed on. Despite her direct rejection just now, Jon wasn’t the man to give up easily.

“What can I do, Sansa? What can we do? We cannot let this happen.”

Sansa suddenly stood up from her bed and pulled him up with him. Their hands were still intertwined with each other but she didn’t bother to remove them. Sansa looked straight at him and her face became very serious.

“There is one thing you can do. Please, Jon. For all the love you have for me. If I ask you to do this one thing, will you do it? For me?”

Jon was still surprised by her change but he knew at that moment he could refuse her nothing. Therefore, he quickly nodded.

“Anything for you, sweet girl. You just need to name it. You know I can even give my life for you, Sansa.”

“Mayhap it doesn’t need to come to that, Jon.” She was almost giggling but then she retained her seriousness. “Jon, you must ask my Father for Arya’s hand in marriage.”

Jon jumped back as fast as he could. Her hand was no longer in his. No matter what he tried, there was no way he could hide the pain in his face.

“What a cruel girl you are, Sansa Stark. You know fully well how much I love you and still you want to push you sister to me. Arya is like a sister to me too.”

Sansa didn’t response to his harsh word but she did appear to be guilty. Seeing her bowing her head in silent melt Jon’s heart and it was him now who felt guilty for accusing her of being cruel. However, the whole suggestion was still too absurd to ignore. Jon could only manage to divert their conversation to another direction.

“This is all not fair to us, Sansa. The adults think they are so wise and knowing but in fact, their arrangement makes no sense. I am fifteen and the Prince is twelve. You are eleven while Arya is nine. If there is any justice in this world, you should have been betrothed to me and Arya to him.”

Sansa shook her head at his words.

“You mentioned all the bad things you saw in Joffrey. Then you spoke of Arya as your sister. Tell me, Jon. Do you really want to give your sister to a man like that?”

Jon knew that she got him there. He had to think for a moment before answering her properly. Their conversation no longer seemed to be a bickering between a boy and a girl but was headed toward about a more grown up discussion about their very future.

“I don’t want him near neither you nor Arya. I want to protect both of you from men like him.”

“Wouldn’t it be nice if you can always do what you want, Jon? But don’t you see, it is better me than her. I have been raised to be a lady, I know how to behave properly and I can navigate the court. I can never do right by Joffrey but at least I will survive King’s Landing, I will survive the South. Arya can never be a lady like Mother wanted. She will be miserable if you take her away from the North and Winterfell. The court will swallow her up and destroy her.”

Sansa and Arya nearly never saw eye to eye in any matter but there was no doubt that the sisters shared a deep bond. They loved each other as much as Jon and Robb. Arya though of her sister as a perfect lady while Sansa accepted Arya’s woofblood and covered for her sometimes. Now, she was trying to do that once again. Jon gradually realized Sansa’s rationale behind her seemingly unreasonable request of him as he attentively listened to her continuing.

“Arya needs some one who understand her, accept her and love her for who she is. Even the Northern lords who didn’t regard highly of Southron formality still required certain conventional standards for their wives which Arya will hate to be bound to. You are the perfect one, the only one for her, Jon. If you ask Father now, you can spare her the pain of going to King’s Landing. Once Father and Mother leave, she will be of your responsibility. You can allow her to train fighting or do whatever she wishes. When she is one or two year older, you can send her to be fostered at Bear Island. Arya would love to be with those warrior ladies of house Mormont. And who knows? As you two grow up, you may find some affection other than siblings’ love in one another.”

Sansa’s reasons all sounded well and good. Too good that Jon believed she couldn’t have just thought of it on a whim. So that had been her plan all along. He had come to her chamber by his own impulsiveness without any thorough consider. Sansa, on the other hand, drafted out her plan carefully. Jon even wondered if Sansa knew that he would come that she didn’t bar her door. Between them now, Sansa seemed to be the real fifteen year old. Her maturity would make aunt Catelyn very proud.

“There is nothing and no one in this world would make me forget you, Sansa. I have loved you for eleven years and I will do so for the rest of my life.” Jon was still stubborn and refused to yield.

“Let’s not talk about future that far, Jon. Mother and Father never thought that they would fall in love with each other. Love aside, we have to do our duty. You are raised to be the Lord of Winterfell and you will be exactly that. I was raised to be a proper lady, a loving wife and caring mother. I am not sure I can be all of that but I will do better than Cercei Lannister. When I am queen, I will make people love me.”

Her talk of duty reminded Jon so much of aunt Catelyn. Sansa was no doubt half Tully and her Mother’s true daughter. As he walked back to his chamber, his cheek could still feel the sweetness of her goodnight kiss. He almost cried when he thought that might be the last time they could be this close. Jon once again wished that he was just the bastard of Winterfell.

He was of Snow and Sand. If he had remained a bastard, Sansa would have been the daughter of the Lord of Winterfell, the Northern lords would have fought each other to win her hand for their sons, she would have been betrothed by now, to Harrion or Domeric, anyone but Joffrey. And Jon the bastard would have stayed in Dorne, he would have never met and dreamt of Sansa Stark. That at least would have spared him all this heart break.

But in the end, they all must do their duty. Jon must be the Lord of Winterfell ahead of time since uncle Ned was leaving soon. And he now had another duty to fulfill, a duty with Sansa and Arya. That was the last thing Sansa had asked of him and he couldn’t afford to let them down. Although he didn’t love Arya any way more than Sansa loved Robb, he would go to uncle Ned and ask for Arya’s hand in marriage.

Chapter Text

Arya was training with Theon when the party of house Mormont arrived at the gate of Winterfell, led by Dacey Mormont herself. The heir to Bear Island had always been Arya’s favorite Mormont sister. Dacey was tall and beautiful but still strong and fearless just like a Visenya reborn. Although she was very elegant in a dress, Dacey oft abandoned her lady’s attires in favor of more practical ridding breeches, tunic and bear fur. Equally skillful in sword, spear and axe, Dacey Mormont was everything that Arya wished to become.

When they met in the courtyard, instead of curtsying like a proper lady, Dacey slightly gave Arya a bow which was typical of her. However, with that small gesture of politeness, the Mormont lady greeted Arya “Lady Stark.” This made Arya’s blood begin to boil for a moment before she spotted a naughty smile on Dacey’s face that Arya know she was just trying to tease her. Instead of falling in Dacey’s trap, Arya embraced her in a friendly hug.

It was true though within a few years, everyone would address her as such for Arya was now Jon’s betroth. As much as she hated it, Arya could do little since her parents had consented the betrothal and even the fat King Robert had given his blessing.

Arya still remembered when Jon first informed her of the news, she had rushed toward him, slammed her little body into his, continuously punched him fist after fist and kept shouting things like stupid and idiot. Jon attempted his best to calm her down, holding her arms tight so she could no longer hit him but then he had to suffered her angry kicks. It took awhile for Arya to stop and start listening to his explanation but it was only because she needed to catch a breath.

Upon hearing Jon said that it was originally Sansa’s idea, her rage was fired up again and she quickly resumed her assault toward him. Arya knew that Jon was madly in love with Sansa, and every time being near her sister, the Thirsty Wolf became little more than a harmless puppy wagging his tail to his mistress.

It came as no surprise to Arya that Sansa could make Jon do anything she wished. But she could never imagine her sister could do somethings that cruel. Growing up, they all believed that Jon and Sansa would marry each other eventually. Now since Sansa would marry to Prince Joffrey and become the Queen of Seven Kingdoms instead, she decided to push Jon to Arya like some of her hand-me-down dresses. This was entirely unfair for both Jon and Arya but Jon was just too stupid to realize that.

Before Jon was about to lose in their fist-fight which had been totally one-sided, Berserk and Nymeria jumped in between to separate them from each other. Jon quickly told Arya the rest of the story as if he was afraid that any delay would make it too late and she would kill him before he finished it.

Arya fell down onto her bed exhaustedly. Her head was filled with disbelief and confusion. She didn’t know if she should be grateful or angry at Sansa. Her sister’s genius plan had given Arya everything she wanted. She wouldn’t have to go south but stay at Winterfell instead, she would be allowed to train with Jon and Ser Rodrik once her parents were gone and she would be fostered at Bear Island with Dacey and her sisters. However, it also required Arya to pay the highest price. She would have to marry Jon, who had been the closest brother to her. The thought alone grossed her out so much that Arya wanted to vomit.

Sansa had always been their Mother’s daughter, mature, intelligent and had great political mind. Jon had been raised to be the Lord of Winterfell and maester Luwin always praised how smart he was. It was hard to question their wisdom in this matter especially since both Jon and Sansa had put so much thought in it. But Arya also knew that the adults made stupid mistake all the time, like uncle Brandon and aunt Lyanna. And Sansa and Jon were yet just a girl and a boy.

Arya would have argued with Jon but she knew he had made up his mind and was resolved to go through with it. She would have argued with her parents but it seemed they had more urgent issues to attend to. All shit had just broken loose in Winterfell around that time and she couldn’t afford to make the matter worse for everyone.

Lady Stark. Arya couldn’t imagine any title more dreadful than that. Some people had called her Mother lady Stark, but she always corrected them that she was just lady Catelyn. The last true lady Stark threw herself off a tower in Dorne and never lived long enough to see north of the Neck, not to mention Winterfell. The day Arya learnt of her betrothal, she too wanted to throw herself off a tower. But then she felt greatly guilty when she thought of poor little Bran, who was still unconscious after his fall.

Mother locked herself in Bran’s chamber and refused to leave him for even just a second. Arya heard that when Jon came to tell her about his proposal to Arya, her Mother had spilled the most poisonous words toward him and chased the Lord of Winterfell out as if he was some page boy. Although Mother still agreed to the betrothal in the end, no one dared to disturbed her again. Even when Father and the King left for King’s Landing. Even when Rickon cried until he lost his voice for her.

Then Mother’s self-exile suddenly came to an end on that fateful night when the library was burnt and an assassin came to attack her. Arya was very sad when all the books that Sansa loved so much became ashes. She cried a little when seeing Mother’s bleeding hands. The only positive thing in this situation was that Mother now had a whole new respect for the direwolves. Before she saw them as dangerous wild beast, now she considered them as protectors of house Stark since Bran’s unnamed direwolf had come for his and Mother’s rescue.

But then three days after that night, Mother disappeared without any explanation with Ser Rodrik following her. Despite all Arya’s effort to dug the truth out of Jon, he didn’t reveal any secret. Jon told her that Mother loved them very much and she was trying to protect their family. If before Arya was still unsure, now she was convinced that adults made mistakes all the time. Arya couldn’t understand how Mother could protect their family if she was not even with the family.

Winterfell had been a mess since Mother left. Bran was recovering quickly with his direwolf always by his side. But when he opened his eyes, it would not be Mother but old Nan being the first one he saw. Rickon had become whinier recently. He kept clinging toward either Jon or Arya, crying all day. Rickon’s mood also affected Shaggydog greatly. The direwolf mightn’t as fierce as Berserk but he lacked the proper control of his master. Shaggydog had begun to stop listening to Nymeria and only Berserk could scare him into submission.

Jon was obviously struggling with his new role as the Lord of Winterfell despite his previous practices and despite having full support from maester Luwin, steward Vayon Poole and guard captain Jory Cassel. He spent more time in his study, reading ledgers and coordinating letters with other Northern lords. He rode out to Wintertown more oft to settle trouble there. Jon didn’t even have time to train with her like his promise but left her for Theon instead.

When Jon announced with her that her foster at Bear Island would start earlier than planned and he had sent the raven for a Mormont party to come to retrieve her, Arya wasn’t sure if Jon was doing her a favor or he was attempting unburden himself by transfer her responsibility to the Mormonts.

Anyways, with half of the Starks gone, Winterfell never felt that emptied. Though she would miss Jon and Bran and Rickon greatly, Arya supposed it was a good thing that she was leaving all the sad memory behind and getting a new start at Bear Island. Her sister was now far south and it would be a long time until they met again. Dacey would be her sister now, so would Alysane, Lyra, Jorrelle and little Lyanna Mormont.

Her betrothal to Jon was still there and it would be difficult to escape it. However, Mother had been betrothed to uncle Brandon for nearly eight year and still they weren’t married. Perhaps many great changes would happen within a couple of years. Perhaps Sansa and Joffrey would hate each other’s guts and their marriage would never work out as well as Father’s “marriage” to the King. Perhaps they could all reunite at Winterfell one day and Jon and Sansa could be together like he had always dreamt. If Sansa had ever become the Lady of Winterfell, Arya would have gladly been her steward for the Gods knew she was much better at numbers than her sister.

The welcoming feast for Dacey Mormont and her men was more of a fancier-than-usual supper than an actually feast, especially when being compared to all the feasts that had been held previously to honor the King. However, Arya was glad that Jon had successfully pulled it off. That was his very first time of hosting a feast all by himself. The atmosphere was much friendlier and less pretentious than when the King was there. And the Mormont seemed to have a great time as well.         

After the feast, Arya withdrew to her chamber to prepare for her trunks. Jon entered without any announcement but she didn’t appear to be started. Berserk was trailing behind him but with his order both he and Nymeria soon left the chamber to give them so private moments alone.

“Is everything ready yet?” Jon asked just to start the conservation.

“There is not much. I can get it done in just a few minutes.”

“You mustn’t be careless. We don’t want to leave anything important behind, do we? Have you packed Needle with you yet?” Jon appeared to be more caring than usual. Normally, it was either Mother or Sansa who would have this kind of talk with her.

“There is no need for that. I will carry Needle with me all the time.” She said proudly and felt confident when Jon gave her a smile of approval. There was a sadness in his purple eyes though.

“Will you write me a letter when Bran wakes up and when Mother comes back?” she continued.

“I will. I promise.” Jon let out a small sigh. “I will miss you very much, Arya Underfoot. The next time I see you, you will be a true warrior all dressed in bear furs.”

“The next time I see you, your beard will be longer than Ser Rodrik’s.”

They both burst into a laughter together. And before Jon could see her teary eyes, Arya reached up to embrace him. Jon also kneel down and hugged her tightly. Arya tried to sound as calm as possible.

“Please take care of Bran and Rickon for me.” Jon didn’t answer but she could feel his slight nods. “And take care of Winterfell too, Lord Stark.”

“And you take care of yourself, Lady Stark.”

Chapter Text

Standing on the deck of Storm Dancer, Catelyn couldn’t hide her impatience. The wind had been against them the entire time and if it wasn’t thanks to the oars, the galley couldn’t have been on sail. Despite all that, it was still taking too long to reach King’s Landing. And Catelyn’s anxiety was just growing with time.

Turning her face away to the opposite direction to avoid the freezing wind, Catelyn lower her hood to better protect herself. Her hand suddenly felt the pain again. Even now, her two fingers still couldn’t close. But since it was for the Bran’s life, Catelyn supposed it was a reasonable price. Just like this hazardous journey, since it was for the good of her family, it would be all worthwhile.

It had been thirteen years since she first set foot in the North. During that time, the furthest south Catelyn had traveled was a visit to Moat Cailin. There was countless of time she had dreamt about the South and Riverrun, yearning to see her home again. Now away from the North, Catelyn never felt herself further from home. For all those years, Ned had been her shelter and her refuge. And wherever he and the children were, that place was home to Catelyn.

Catelyn still remembered the first time she saw Winterfell. She had traveled for more than a moon and the journey hadn’t been easy for a young mother with her one-year-old child. Yet as she was walking through the courtyard toward her husband, her head held high, her lips smiled brightly and she couldn’t help but feel great joy and pride in her heart. The babe in her arm was the future of house Stark, the heir to Winterfell after all. Only when she saw the child, whom Ned was carrying, dark hair, purple eyes with distinct Stark features, her happiness was shattered into pieces.

Brandon Stark was a thoughtless fool, eight year betrothed to the man at least helped Catelyn aware of that. Ned Stark, however, was an honorable fool, straight as an arrow, painfully selfless and always did the right things. Looking back, Catelyn never forgave herself for turning her heart into stone and resenting her husband a more than a year. Her husband was so easy to love and yet her stubbornness and indignation had truly hurt him.

She had hated Ned just because he brought home the rightful Lord of Winterfell and protected the boy’s birthright at his own expense. He had been too good for her, too good for everyone. Catelyn sometimes heard the rumor that Ned could have claimed the Iron Throne for himself and he might have been a better king than Robert Baratheon ever was. Catelyn believed that Ned deserved to be the Lord of Winterfell, or the King of Seven Kingdoms even, simply because he never wanted to become any of that.

When Catelyn first realized that she had fallen in love with Ned, she tried to accept her situation. Yet, although out of duty, she cared for Jonnel Stark as if he was her own son, it was hard for Catelyn to witness Robb growing up becoming a shadow to Brandon’s son, just like Ned had always been in his brother’s shadow. Every time she looked at the young Lord of Winterfell, he reminded her of what Robb could have become.

Her family’s stay at Winterfell was just a temporary arrangement in order to support Jonnel. Ned and she were only ruling the North in his name until he came of age. Jonnel Stark hadn’t only displaced Robb as heir, he had pushed her husband and all of their sons down the line of succession.

When Catelyn gave birth to her first daughter, the first child being born out of her and Ned’s love for each other and not of duty, Catelyn was determined that if Robb couldn’t inherit Winterfell, her daughter and her grandchildren would. If Catelyn herself could never become the Lady of Winterfell, her little girl would. Since that day, Catelyn had diligently worked toward that goal.

She insisted with Ned that their daughter should be named Sansa, thus letting the whole North know that she was the prime candidate to be the bride for their young Lord. She let young Jonnel hold little Sansa, gave them time to play with each other, seated them next to each other at the table, told them stories about knights and fair maidens and witnessed them playing reenactments of those stories with Jonnel being the hero and Sansa the maid.

For a time, Catelyn’s plan seemed to succeed since Jonnel was clearly taken with Sansa. Who could forget what the boy had told Lord Karstark straight to his face a few years ago? Ned had felt a little bit uncomfortable because he didn’t want his nephew acting rude to a loyal bannerman and also because he believed that the children were too young to even think about marriage. But for Catelyn, that was quite a triumphant moment to see her subtle manipulation had born fruit.

However, as Jonnel and Sansa grew into young man and lady, Catelyn started questioning the consequences of her actions. Jonnel had become more and more like his father, wild and untamed. He oft accompanied Robb and Theon Greyjoy to Wintertown, drinking and whoring whole night. Although Catelyn mostly blamed the Ironborn for badly influencing both her son and her good nephew, Jonnel’s reputation among the small forks made her believe that he was by no mean a naïve boy misled by others.

Sansa, on the other hand, had become increasingly melancholy. Although she possessed the traditional feminine graces of her milieu, with a talent in music, poetry, singing, dancing, embroidery, and other traditional feminine activities, the constant sadness in Sansa’s eyes told Catelyn that she was always unhappy with her life. Learning the art of subtlety from Catelyn, Sansa cleverly tried to isolate herself from both Jonnel and all other men who approached her with desire.

Reevaluating the entire situation, Catelyn came to conclusion that perhaps her sweet and vulnerable daughter wasn’t fit to marry a Northern man. A typical Northerner like Jonnel and his father before him was oft rough, carefree and unsophisticated. A man like Ned, her sensitive, caring and loving husband, could only be found once among tens of thousand and Catelyn was unwilling to bet her daughter’s future on such odd.

In contrast, Arya, her little she-wolf, could be a perfect match for Jonnel. Despite Catelyn’s effort to train her in ladylike manner, Arya was a daughter of Winterfell all through and through. She and Jonnel already shared many great interests like fighting, hunting and riding. If only they didn’t look so much like Brandon and Lyanna Stark reborn, Catelyn could totally see Jonnel and Arya ruling Winterfell together as Lord and Lady.

Although the ship had been sailed for years, Catelyn decided that she had to change its course. Her biggest hurdle was that Jonnel had been too head over heel for Sansa that he didn’t have interest in any other girls to be his wife. At the same time, Arya and he had developed an innocent siblings’ affection that it was very hard to make them see each other in a different light. What Catelyn needed was a force of nature that shook up their lives completely and therefore, King Robert’s arrival seemed like the Gods’ answer to her prayers.

Catelyn had been worried that after stepping down from his regency, Ned would become insignificant and abundant at Winterfell. But now he would be the King’s Hand, the second most powerful man in all Seven Kingdoms. She had been worried that Jonnel and Sansa would be miserable together. But now Sansa would be betrothed to a handsome and noble prince from the South, whose blood came from two of the greatest houses in Westeros and who surely had been educated in courtly manner. Only in her dream, Catelyn found herself in a better circumstance.

But as always in Catelyn’s life, things never came as she wished. The first issue that pulled her back to reality was that Prince Joffrey wasn’t as noble as he looked. Of that, she blamed Cercei Lannister for spoiling the boy. The Gods knew how difficult Ned and Catelyn had gone through when Jonnel and Robb were at that age. The Queen chose an easy path and never really educated her son but rather indulged him in whatever he wanted. Cercei was a bad mother and that was unfortunate for all of them. But Catelyn supposed that Sansa would have an easier time handling a pampered child than dealing with a wild wolf. And with Ned’s and her help, there was still chance they could change the Prince for better.

That was before the letter from Lysa came. If Catelyn didn’t like the Queen before, now there were more reasons to hate her. Lord Tywin Lannister was a brutal and ambitious man, of that Catelyn knew. What she couldn’t imagine was how far the Lannisters were willing to go to satisfy their thirst for power. The honorable Lord Arryn was their latest victim.

This discovery sent a chill down Catelyn’s spine and there was no doubt it scared her husband as well. For years, they had been used to their Northern lords who were oft rough and loud but mostly honest and harmless. If any of them did harbor any ambitions, they were rather transparent and easy to read. Such kind of machinations like what was going on in King’s Landing was unfamiliar to Ned and Catelyn.

Ned was about to back down and refused the King’s offer. Catelyn had to convince him that they couldn’t risk upsetting Robert, which would put them in another dangerous situation. Also, the King had presented them a great opportunity that would secure their future so it would be foolish to deny that. And now with the knowledge of Lord Arryn’s murder by Lannisters’ hands, they had the obligation to bring the culprits to justice.

Ned might be a little too naïve and honest to maneuver at the court but he was an honorable man beloved by the King himself, it would be hard to take down a man like that. As for Catelyn, she had learnt scheming from the best. Her father, Hoster Tully, was a master schemer himself and she had ruled Riverrun with him since she was eleven until she moved North with her husband. Provided that she would be quite out of practice after all those years, if both of them worked together, Catelyn believed that they could defeat all the Lannisters’ plots.

When Catelyn was bracing herself for the upcoming challenges in King’s Landing, the storm arrived right at her own door. Bran’s fall in a suspicious incident destroyed all of her plan and took away all her wit. She could do nothing other than staying by his side and praying the Mother to have mercy on her son. Catelyn totally forgot about her own husband and children who now had to leave Winterfell without her. Only Arya and little Rickon would still remain.

At some point during her stay with Bran, Jonnel had come and asked her for Arya’s hand. Catelyn didn’t know what caused such change of heart but the Jonnel seemed to have quite a thorough plan for her second daughter. If it was at another time, Catelyn would cry herself in joy and happiness, but with Bran lying on the bed, nothing seemed to matter to her. Out of grief, she had told the Lord of Winterfell that she wished it were him instead of Bran who suffered such fate, which she deeply regretted later on.

Catelyn would still be at Bran’s side if it wasn’t for that fateful night when the assassin sneak into their castle. Whenever she closed her eyes, Catelyn still heard his menacing voice. “It’s a mercy. He’s dead already.” She had fought for her son’s life and nearly lost it. Only the timely intervention of the direwolf that saved her and Bran. The direwolf was Bran’s protector and her son seemed to gain strength from it. The creature also gave Catelyn a renewed strength to do what was right for her family.

Shortly after the attack, Catelyn gathered Jonnel, maester Luwin and Ser Rodrik to the Lord’s study and briefed them with knowledges about the Lannisters’ conspiracy. She then told them that the misfortune that befell Bran was by no mean a coincidence but was engineered by the Lannisters to hide some secret that her son had happened to find out. Finally, Catelyn announced her plan to go to King’s Landing herself in disguise in order to inform Ned about their situation.

After some initial protests, they all resigned to let her travel South. Ser Rodrik volunteered to accompany Catelyn for her protection. Maester Luwin suggested that they went to White Harbor and boarded a galley to speed up their journey. Jonnel was extremely angry. He unsheathed his new sword and sworn to kill every last Lannisters. He quickly got reprimanded by both Catelyn and Ser Rodrik and appeared to be quite embarrassed because of that. Yet, it gave Catelyn a chill since Jonnel’s words reminded her of what Robert Baretheon said before he rebelled against the Targaryens. Perhaps if they handled it carefully and wisely, there would be no need for that this time.

And therefore, after everything that happened to them, Catelyn was forced to go South not as Lady Hand but instead she had to conceal her identity like some outlaws. King’s Landing, the Starks had conflicting memories about the capital. That was where the Old Man of the North Cregan Stark had shown off the North’s power to all Seven Kingdoms and carried out his justice in the old ways during the Hour of Wolf. Also, in King’s Landing, Brandon and his father, Lord Rickard Stark, had been murdered in the most gruesome manner by the Mad King.

Catelyn wasn’t sure what was awaiting her family in this snake pit but she supposed that she would find out soon enough. She was deep in he thought when the Tyroshi captain approached her. He gave a small bow and didn’t bother to hide his smug.

“Lady Catelyn, welcome to King’s Landing.”

Chapter Text

Sansa had thought that she would have plenty of time and chances to win Joffrey’s favor. Now she was aware that the Prince hated her and the Starks alike. Sansa didn’t know what had caused things to turn out so badly, but it was definitely not from her lack of effort. Sansa had tried her best to please Joffrey, acting feminine and proper, playing shy and meek, praising him for his handsome look and flattering when he boasted about his imagined talents. However, it was all in vain.

For a time, Sansa had blamed herself for not handle the incident at the Trident wisely enough. She had made herself believed that it was all her fault that caused the tension between them as well as the tension between her Father and the King. But now, Sansa started to believe that Joffrey’s spoiled characters had made him displeased everything and everyone. And that was beyond salvation.

Sansa still remembered that day when their host stopped at the inn at the crossroads, having left the Neck, and thus the North, behind for more than a sennight. Prince Joffrey, as being commanded by his mother, had come and asked Sansa to ride out with him to explore the countryside. Although Sansa would rather spend her time combing Lady’s hair, she had no choice but to leave her direwolf with the guards and follow the Prince.

Riverland was indeed a lovely country. There was no snow there yet, and that was a big difference compared to the North. However, as Autumn had come, all the trees’ leaves and grass had turned into red or orange. And as the sun was about to set, the entire scenery was covered in an auburn, almost like copper, color. That was her Mother’s homeland, the land that belonged to House Tully after all. Sansa had heard about this land countless of time in Mother’s stories but now she witnessed it with her own eyes.

As they rode side by side for hours, Sansa had to admit that it was rather a romantic occasion. If only Joffrey had been more sensitive and stopped bragging about how one day he would rule over all that lands with Sansa beside him. Sansa supposed Joffrey sincerely believed that by saying so he would endear himself to her and make her more infatuated with him. In fact, Sansa found that kind of self-satisfaction very distasteful.

Jon, Robb and Theon, when drinking with one another or with other young lords who visited Winterfell, also oft boasted about how good they were with their swords, their horses or even with their whores. However, while Jon, despite being the Lord of Winterfell, was still always challenged by other boys, no one here dared to challenge the Crown Prince Joffrey.

Joffrey had mistaken Sansa’s silence for approval, and as he got more comfortable, the Prince offered her some wine. Sansa oft saw the boys at Winterfell made fools of themselves when being drunk thus she had little love for drinking. Especially when being with Joffrey, Sansa would prefer her mind to stay sharp. She politely refused, stating that her Father wouldn’t approve of that.

Joffrey didn’t accept that reason and he insisted that his lady could do whatever he wanted. That was when Sansa first misread the Prince. She thought that keeping on refusing would show how obedient and proper she was as a daughter and a lady, and Joffrey would hold that as one of her praise-worthy virtue. However, the Prince hated when being refused because for his entirely life, people had always been doing whatever he bid. Joffrey quickly got upset and left Sansa alone by herself.

Sansa felt somewhat conflicted. She didn’t know if she should be glad that Joffrey was gone or worried that she had made him angry. With her head heavy, Sansa dismounted and walk across the riverbank. It was where she met Mycah. The boy was already in the water and he seemed to be collecting some rocks at the shallow parts of the river.

When being asked, Mycah told her that he was looking for rubies that fell from Rheagar’s amour. Sansa almost laughed at that. Everyone knew the story about how King Robert Baratheon smashed Prince Rheagar Targaryen’s chest with his famous war harmer during the Batter of the Trident. The blow was so deadly that it killed Rheagar immediately and as the Dragon Prince fell into the water, rubies also fell from his beautiful amour. Sansa thought that if there were really any rubies in the river, shouldn’t the flow had washed them away long ago and if not, shouldn’t some ones else had already found them.

Trying to hide her thoughts, Sansa simply gave Mycah some words of encouragement of which they boy was extremely grateful. He even took a beautiful flower in the middle of the water, then got up from the river and presented it to her. His gallant action surprised Sansa and she quickly curtsied to show her gratitude. Mycah was only a butcher’s son and he would most likely grow up to be a butcher himself. However, Sansa honestly hoped that his chivalrous heart would never turn into that of a butcher’s as well.

Before Sansa was even aware of him, Joffrey showed up out of thin air and gave them the most hateful look. He accused Mycah of not knowing his place and trying to seduce his lady. Waving his sword, Lion’s Tooth, at Mycah, the Prince questioned how a butcher’s son dared to dream of playing knight. Despite Mycah’s plead that he didn’t mean anything, Joffrey never seemed to heed the boy’s words. Placing the sharp point of his sword onto Mycah’s face, the Prince started cutting through his flesh.

When first seeing Mycah’s blood, Sansa made the second mistake of the day: she begged Joffrey to spare the boy. She should have known that Joffrey always had a sadistic need to hurt other people. He would have hurt Mycah, badly even, but then he would leave him be when he thought that he had already taught the boy a lesson. Sansa should have stayed out of it. She could have cleaned up the mess after Joffrey. She could have found a maester to attend Mycah’s wound. She could have given the boy some gold to compensate his problem. And it would have been as if nothing had happened.

After all, Sansa was mature enough to realize that the small forks suffered at the hands of nobilities all the time. What could a butcher’s son do against a King’s firstborn son? Mycah would have counted himself lucky to walk away with merely a scar on his face for angering the Crown Prince even though he didn’t mean to. And Sansa would have been happy for Mycah that he was able to keep his life. Yet, it was her who screwed up the whole thing.

Sansa begged Joffrey to leave with her, calling him My Prince and My Love. As she tried to sound as sweet as possible, Joffrey realized she actually cared for the boy and took pleasure from cutting him deeper. When Mycah started crying in pain, tears also rolled down from Sansa’s eyes uncontrollably. As if inflicting pain on Mycah wasn’t enough, Joffrey now pointed his sword at Sansa, commanding her to clean up her pretty face. As ridiculous as it might sound, the Prince accused Sansa of betraying him and falling in love with the butcher’s boy. When Sansa was still unsure of what to do next, another unexpected visitor appeared.

Despite being restrained and guarded earlier, Lady, burst out from nowhere. And very unlike her usual gentle nature, the direwolf now was filled with rage and killing instinct. Lady bit on Joffrey’s hand so hard that he screamed in agony and dropped his sword at once. As the Prince fell down onto the ground, he and the direwolf rolled over one another as if they were in a wrestling match. But surely, the golden Prince was no match for the Northern beast, even if it was only Lady.

It was now Joffrey turned to beg for his life as he cried and screamed out of his lungs. It took all of her strength for Sansa to separate Lady from the Prince. When she saw him lying whining in the mud, his beautiful clothes were all dirtied and his sword hand was bloodied with a wound so deep that it even showed his bones. For a moment, Sansa actually felt sorry for him not because he was the Prince and her betroth but because his wound was so gruesome that she believed no human being should suffer from that.

“My poor Prince,” Sansa softly said as she reached out to touch him, “look what happened to you.”

As if Sansa’s apologetic expression had restored Joffrey to his normal bratty self. The Prince rudely refused her gesture of goodwill. “Don’t touch me,” he shouted at Sansa “go fetch the maester, you stupid wench. I will have all of your heads on the spikes.”

Although Sansa was unwilling to leave Joffrey alone under his current condition, she quickly rushed back to the camp to find a maester for him. For a moment, some of her wit suddenly came back to her and Sansa decided that Lady needed to be gone. The presence of the direwolf would put all of them in a very difficult position that Sansa couldn’t even start to imagine.

Although it broke Sansa’s heart to see Lady still utterly unaware why her mistress was suddenly upset with her. Lady kept lingering at her, no matter what she did. In the end, Sansa had to throw stones at her to chase her away. Despite being as gentle as a pet dog, Lady was still a direwolf of the North. Sansa couldn’t hide her tears when thinking that now Lady would have to be alone in a foreign land.   

However, Sansa knew that direwolves were legendary creatures with great survival skills. And Lady always possessed more strength than she oft seemed. Lady would definitely survive the Riverland. And perhaps she would manage to find her way home, back to the North, so that one day, they could meet again in a more pleasant situation.

The decision to let go of Lady was definitely a wise one, but it didn’t save Sansa from all the commotion after that. After the maester had come for Joffrey, Sansa promptly turned herself to the Queen. Although Cercei Lannister was very angry that her son was badly hurt, Sansa’s meek behaviors seemed to please her and the Queen promised her that she would receive a fair judgement from the King.

When Sansa was brought in front of the King, her Father was already there and he too was angry that his daughter had been seized under unclear circumstances. Sansa had to hold his hand tightly to reassure him that she wasn’t harmed. Prince Joffrey had probably told his mother about the incident, perhaps portraying Sansa as a wanton and shameless girl. However, even the Queen had some sense to censor that version of the story and only reported to the King that Lady had gone mad and attacked the Prince for no particular reason.

When Queen Cercei requested that the direwolf needed to be put to death, the King quickly agreed so that he wouldn’t have to listen to her complain anymore. There was an obvious outrage among the Northmen since the direwolf was house Stark’s sigil. Both Father and Robb appeared to be greatly disturbed by the King’s inconsiderate decision. The only Stark who remained calm at that moment was surprisingly Sansa.

Anyone who hurt the Crown Prince that badly should receive severe punishment, death even. In this case, it was merely a wild creature which had already been considered as dangerous by many people within the royal host. Killing such beast was only reasonable. But Lady had been gone and no one could harm her now. Sansa did her best to hide the satisfaction that she had outsmarted the Queen. However, she soon realized that she had been mistaken again for underestimate Cercei’s ruthlessness.

The Queen simply suggested that there was another beast which was bigger, stronger and presumably much more lethal than the one that had attacked the Prince. Robb jumped right in front of Cercei, sheathing his sword and swearing that they would have to kill him first before they could touch his direwolf. That was foolish of him to behave that way, Sansa had to admit. But Sansa herself couldn’t do anything better since she also started crying and screaming in defense of Grey Wind.  

Men from both camps could no longer hold their breath and swords had all been out of their scabbards. The Northmen in black and grey leather amours and the royal guards who strangely were all in crimson red color of house Lannister were about to slaughter each other. It was King Robert and Lord Ned Stark, two most powerful men in Westeros, who stood in between them and attempted to stop this meaningless bloodshed. 

Father urged the King to once again reconsidered his judgement, but King Robert made clear that his decision was final. “Direwolves aren’t pets, Ned,” he told Father “give them some dogs to play with and they will all be happy.”

In his very last attempt to save Grey Wind, Father desperately asked the King if he was going to command the direwolf to be killed. King Robert just walked away without answering, obviously annoyed by her Father’s stubbornness.

When the Queen commanded Ser Illyn Payne to carry out the sentence, Robb stoically stopped him and insisted that he would do it himself. “Grey Wind was of the North. He deserved better than an executioner.” Robb coldly said.

After that night, Sansa never saw Grey Wind again. Mycah and his father also completely disappeared, perhaps being banished from the King’s service. But most painfully, she could no longer to bring herself to talk to Robb, even if it was just to give him an apology. For the rest of their journey, Robb spent all his time drowning himself in wine and sleeping with brothel girls. Fortunately, once they reached King’s Landing, Robb seemed to find a renewed strength and he started training intensively with Ser Barristan. However, Sansa didn’t know if that was a positive change since she overheard Robb telling her Father once that he wanted to become stronger so that no one could bully him or the Starks again.

The capital was a treacherous place and the strongest mightn’t always survive. In order to navigate such snake’s pit, one needed to balance the diplomatic relations between different houses and walk a thin line of being both ruthless and heartless but still appear to be sweet and innocent.

In some of her most vulnerable moments, Sansa had wished her Mother were there with her so that she could heed her advices. Mother had promised that Joffrey would be a good match for her and with time, he would come to love her just as she deserved. Mother had also promised that the Prince would soon grow up, become more mature and aware of his responsibility. And Mother promised that she would always be with Sansa and guide her when she was in need. As it turned out, none of that was true.

Catelyn hadn’t been herself since Bran’s tragedy and they had to left her behind when it was time to leave for King’s Landing. Sansa had never seen her Mother since but she wasn’t deaf to all the baffling rumor about her. Sansa couldn’t understand why there were several reports that her Mother was in Riverland, at the inn at the crossroads herself and Catelyn had assaulted and arrested Tyrion Lannister there for some unproved charges against house Stark.

It was very unlike Catelyn to behave that way, to leave her dying son behind in Winterfell, to travel South secretly like some sort of criminal and to treat another member of a great house, even if he was the Imp, with such disrespect. “Courtesy is a lady’s amour.” Her Mother had taught Sansa that. Catelyn’s actions were totally opposite of her teaching and her motive was all but comprehensible for Sansa.

The only thing obvious was that her Mother had put all of them in a much more dangerous situation at the court. The Lannisters weren’t to be crossed. The Queen and Joffrey had made Sansa well aware of that. Before they even had a chance to clear this mess, Jaime Lannister had ambushed her Father right on the street of the city.

The Kingslayer was the most dashing knight Sansa had ever seen but as his moniker suggested, he was a man without any honor. After injuring her Father’s leg and killing all house Stark’s guards, he then rode to the Riverland and raided the countryside in revenge for his brother. It was the King’s men that found Lord Ned Stark lying on the street and took him back to the Tower of the Hand to have his wound treated.

King Robert at least had some courtesy to visit his old friend in his sick bed. But one should never rely on the King to resolve complicated issues. The feud between house Stark and house Lannister suddenly escalating into a small civil war perhaps gave the King too much of a headache. Instead of acting like the Lord of Seven Kingdoms, King Robert opted to go hunting and simply ordered Father to take care of the problem by making peace with the Lannisters.

When her Father sat on the Iron Throne to hold court in the King’s stead, Sansa had hoped that her he had the wisdom to right what had been wrong. However, while Ned Stark was as honorable as ever, he lacked the mind for diplomacy. Upon hearing the petition from the Riverland’s lords, Father immediately order Lord Beric Dondarrion and his retinue to go arrest Ser Gregor Clegane, who was house Lannister’s most fearsome bannerman.

By that time Sansa knew war was inevitable and their time in King’s Landing would soon end. Just as her predicts, shortly after that, Father summoned both Robb and Sansa to his chamber and ordered them to leave for White Harbor as soon as possible. Robb couldn’t wait to return home and he rushed out of the chamber to arrange a ship for their passage.

Sansa wanted to ask what would become of her Father after they left and to tell him that they should all go together. However, Father’s solemn expression showed that he was under a tremendous amount of stress and the least Sansa could do to ease his burden was to dutifully obey him.

Sansa had been locking herself in her chamber ever since, waiting for Robb to come for her. She felt a chill running down her spine every time she imagined Joffrey’s wrath when he realized they had disappeared. Sansa overheard the commotion outside that the King had return from his hunt much earlier than everyone expected but she didn’t bother to find out what happened, afraid that Robb would come when she was gone.

At last, after over a night waiting, she heard Robb knocking on her door. He seemed more serious than usually but couldn’t hide the excitement on his face. Her brother gave her a smirk as he took Sansa’s hand. And before she knew, they were running through the Red Keep toward the direction of the Blackwater Bay.

Chapter Text

The life on Bear Island was full of hardship and misery. Although the seat of house Mormont wasn’t much further North compared to Last Hearth or Breakstone Hill, being in the middle of the Bay of Ice had isolated it with the rest of the Northern lands. It was told that King Rodrik Stark had won this island in a wrestling match against a driftwood king of house Greyjoy but Arya seriously doubted the reliability of that story since to her, there was little incentive for kings to fight for such land.

The severely cold weather in the Northern region opposite the Frozen Shore and the frequent storms from the Sunset Sea plaguing the Western part had rendered more than half of the island unfit for agriculture of any form. Only deep in the Gulf of Bearpaw where house Mormont had built their settlements, some scarce lands could be farmed and some small herds of cattle could be raised.

However, since most of the island was covered in either heavy forests, steep hills or grey stones, agriculture alone couldn’t feed its people. Bear Islander also had to rely on hunting and fishing. In Winterfell, hunting was nothing more than a game to entertain the lords and occasionally ladies. Here, hunting was the matter of survival. If you didn’t hunt, you didn’t eat.  

Arya’s first lesson on Bear Island was how to find food to feed herself on daily basis. At first, it didn’t seem like such a chore to her because she was always the best huntress in their hunting party. It took Dacey a sennight to notice that it was Nymeria who did most of the job. Since Dacey insisted that the direwolf had to stay home whenever they went out for a hunt, things had gotten much more difficult for Arya.

Nonetheless, Arya was determined to face any challenges and with every passing days, she grew more adept to the warrior’s way of life. As Arya was about to perfect her hunting skills, Dacey took her out sailing to look for fish. Surprisingly, despite its freezingly cold water, the Ice of Bay offered a considerable source of fish for Bear Islanders. According to Dacey, sometimes they could even catch a whale there.

Unfortunately, Bear Island had no true master of ship building. Therefore, they could only travel by small boats and fish near the coastline instead of venturing further off shore. As the matter of fact, since the time of Brandon the Burner, who had set fire to the entire mighty Northern fleet, the North had forfeited their maritime warfare.

The lack of power on water also crippled the North off potential trading and Arya believed Bear Island got the shortest end of the stick. Since Bear Islanders couldn’t sail far to other regions to trade, they had no choice but wait for foreign ships to come to their shore. However, Bear Island was extremely poor and its most viable resource was plumber which also existed in plenty around the North, merchants from other Kingdoms in Westeros were unlikely to travel that far just to get some logs of woods.

Worst of all, for every trading ship that arrived at the Gulf of Bearpaw, three others came without any mind to do business. They were raiding parties from Iron Islands. Despite, her hatred toward them, Arya had to admit that those good for nothing ironborns whose only talents were stealing from better people were very deadly on the sea. Their superior long boats oft sailed gradually along the shore for scouting, then quickly landed on the beach, attacked a village, killed all the men, raped the women and young girls and pillaged anything they could. After that, they would disappear as if they were never there.

Arya had questioned Lady Maege why such serious matter was never brought up to her father. “Surely, there must be something that they can do” she argued. After all, they held the heir of house Greyjoy at Winterfell as a hostage. What use was Theon, if they couldn’t prevent such atrocities to happen?

Lady Maege had patiently explained that those raiding parties didn’t come under official order of house Lord Greyjoy, though she had no doubt he was fully aware of that. Thus, the Lord Reaper could simply deny any of his responsibilities while house Stark wouldn’t want to escalate the matter further.

Instead of crying to their lord for help which would most likely never come, Bear Islanders rather took up arms and defend themselves from those barbarians. By that, at least, they could have fully control of their fate. “You see Arya” Lady Maege told her tenderly “there are matter that can never be resolved by diplomatic means, only blood and steel can decide them.”

Although Arya would never regret being here, her experiences on Bear Island had helped her reflect on her time at Winterfell in a completely different light. She felt like a spoiled little princess, no better than Prince Joffrey himself, who oft threw tantrum at her Mother for not allowing her to do what she wanted. In fact, Winterfell had provided her with a life of luxury that many people here couldn’t even dream of.

Arya used to admire the warrior ladies of house Mormont very much. However, now she realized that while they never lacked courage, they didn’t choose this life of hardship for themselves but were rather forced into it. Although they were by no mean disillusioned in their lives, Lyra and Jorelle had confessed to her that they would have no problem being daughters of Winterfell themselves.

After all the hunting, fishing and fighting lessons that she received here, Arya believed that the most valuable lessons that she had learnt from Bear Island was accepting and enduring. They didn’t wish for this life but they accepted it nonetheless. And while they didn’t entirely enjoy it, they endured it all the same.

With that way of thinking, the prospect of marrying Jon in a the next few years was no longer the end of the world for Arya. She suddenly felt ashamed of her rage toward him the day she heard the news. That was how the old Arya would have behaved. Arya now wasn’t only a wolf of Winterfell but also a proud Bear Islander, she would face her fate unwaveringly, she would accept it, endure it and make the best out of it.

But fate was always cruel indeed and the Gods had their ways to test their people in the strangest ways. After three moons since she arrived at Bear Island, things started taking turn for the worst. One morning, Arya saw many ravens arriving at maester Yohan’s cage. The old maester quickly gathered Lady Maege, Dacey and the rest of their household. They locked themselves in the study for half of the day. By noon, other ravens started flying off from Bear Island.

Within the next few days, the stream of ravens flying back and forth continued and everyone seemed to in grave urgency. “Dark wings, dark words” her Mother used to say. Though Lady Maege and Dacey were very close lipped, things gradually revealed themselves. House Mormon was to gather their men and prepare for war.

As first, Arya didn’t which war they were going to fight, she could only assume that Mance Ryder, the King Beyond the Wall, and his wildling force were now posing too big a threat that they could no longer ignore. Mance’s activities had been scouted for a couple of years and it was always the topic of discussion among the Nothern lords. And since the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch was former Lord Mormont, Bear Island had to be the first to reply their call.

The Gods knew how much Jon had waited for this moment. He was so eager to match North and fight Mance that he trained days and nights. And though her Father always said that it wouldn’t fare well to match North without obvious evidence, Jon just couldn’t stop thinking about it.

There used to be Brandon the Breaker who matched North to defeat the Night’s King, then Brandon the son of Bael who also matched North, fought and killed his own father and other Brandon, and other Brandon, and other Brandons. “There are always some Brandons. It gets real boring.” Jon said sarcastically “I will be the first Jonnel Stark who does so.”

Whatever the cause of the war was, Arya didn’t try to pry. Like any decent Bear Islanders, she obeyed the order and prepared for it. Lady Maege had sent the missives to house Ironsmith and Lightfoot, who located on the opposite side of the island and who had sworn fealty to house Mormont.

House Ironsmith had sent their reply, promising fifty and a hundred men strong while house Lightfoot reported they were gathering about two hundred warriors. Despite all of their boasting, Dacey had told Arya that they would be lucky if those two houses combined could muster more than two hundred men. House Mormont had to make up the bulk of Bear Island force. On different occasions, they could gather about four to five hundred soldiers but since Summer was about to end and many needed to stay at home to prepare for the longest Winter in their living history, Lady Maege and maester Yohan had set a realistic goal of about three hundred men.

In the midst of their preparation, Lady Maege called Arya to her chamber one night and she seemed more serious than normal. Before she had a chance to ask, Lady Maege quickly tell her the whole story she had been hiding. King Robert had died some time last moons and Joffrey now declared himself King. Her Father had been arrested for treasons against the new King and now was imprisoned in the dungeon of the Red Keep.

Everything sounded insane to her. Everyone in Westeros knew how honorable Lord Eddard Stark was. If he had spent his entire life protecting the birthright of his nephew since Jon was just a little babe, what madness had compelled him to conspire against a rightful King? No matter how rotten Joffrey was, he was still the son of her Father’s best friend and would soon become his goodson as well. Why would he want to steal the throne if his daughter was to be the queen? Anyone with some sense would see that.

“There must be some mistake. Father would never do that, not to Sansa. She is to be Joffrey’s wife.” Arya tried to reason with Lady Maege though she knew it was all for naught since she wasn’t the one that arrested her Father.

“I supposed there are more to this story, Arya. We don’t know everything yet. Ravens alone aren’t enough to give us a full picture. But from what I know, the new King seems to be influenced by his mother’s house. This is more of the work of house Lannister.” Lady Maege answered her still very patiently.

“Then what will happen to my sister?” Arya continued. “And to Robb? Will they be punished with my Father as well?”

“Your brother is with your Father in his cell. As for your sister, she is still in the Red Keep and was well taken care of as lady that befits her station. No matter how evil the Lannisters are, I doubt that they will harm such an innocent child.”

“Joffrey is a little shit, so is his mother, the Queen. They cannot treat house Stark like that. We have always been loyal to the King.” Arya said almost crying.

“I do agree with you, Arya. No Stark, Lord Eddard most of all, should be treated that way. And that is why I am going to tell you the next new. King Joffrey has sent a raven to summon Lord Stark to King’s Landing to pledge his loyalty. But knowing the Thirsty Wolf, he shall never accept such humiliation. Lord Stark has called his bannermen, Arya. And house Mormont is going to answer his call. We are matching South.”

Everything now made sense to Arya. They had been preparing for the war against the Joffrey. However, it still seemed unreal to her that Jon would go to war just after a few moons being the official Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. It was one thing to fight the King Beyond the Wall, it was another to rebel against the Iron Thrones. Although this wasn’t first time house Stark had matched South but never before they did so in retaliation against injustice done to them.

“Will Jon really want to go to war with Joffrey? This is rash, even for me. Father always says that he has wolfblood in him.” Arya suddenly paused as if she just realized something. It was so obvious that she was embarrassed not seeing it immediately. “Of course, he wants to. Jon never forgives Joffrey for stealing Sansa from him. He is going to take her back and he would gladly slaughter Joffrey while trying.”

Lady Maege shook her head and smiled at Arya sadly. “Well, for his sake and the sake of the North, I hope that Lord Stark had more reasons than that to start this war. He surely is young and quite impulsive but he isn’t a dimwit. And there are three Starks imprisoned in King’s Landing, Arya. Your sister isn’t the only one.”

Arya nodded approvingly then she hardened herself and told Lady Maege. “Then I am ready, Lady Maege. I haven’t trained much and I may not be the strongest but everyone knows how quick I am. I can fight well with you and house Mormont. Let me match under your banner.”

Upon hearing that, Lady Maege emerged from her seat and slowly walked toward Arya. She held Arya in her arms like she was one of her daughters and softly spoke to her.

“Arya, my little she-wolf. This is the main reason I want to talk to you. Lord Stark has entrusted your safety in me and I will honor his trust. We have decided it would be the best for you to stay at Bear Island in a mean time.”

Before Arya had a chance to rebutted, Lady Maege kept going. “Dacey, Lyra and Jorelle will follow me. Lyanna will have to stay home. Like the Starks, there must always a Mormont in Bear Island. But Lyanna is still but a child, she can hardly rule herself. You are like a daughter to me. Would you take care of Lyanna and Bear Island for me as its regent?”

Arya almost jumped at that suggestion and she quickly refused. “How am I better than Lyanna at ruling? You said it yourself, Lady Maege. Alysane isn’t going with you. She can be the regent. I would rather die fighting than staying here.”

“Alysane is still weak with her new babe. And she is married to the son of house Ironsmith. With her husband and good father both matching South, she will have responsibility toward their house as well. You are the best one for this job, Arya. You surely must know how much I trust you.”

“I beg the differ, my Lady. I fell like you don’t trust me can survive the battles. You are just trying to convince me to stay for my own safety. But what is my life against the fate of my family and the North. If I stay, maester Yohan will be the true regent anyways. I’m never good at ruling so please let me do what I am really good at.” Arya pleaded with her desperately.

Lady Maege touched her hair and petted her head lovingly the same way her Mother oft did. She then kissed Arya’s forehead and explained softly.

“You have mistaken me here, Arya. I didn’t want you to stay only for your own good but for the good of the North as well. You are my ward now but within a few years you will be my Lady Stark. One day, your husband will sit at the high table in Winterfell with you beside him. Every word you say and every matter you decide will be the laws of the North and we will have to obey. You don’t want to be a bad ruler, do you?”

Seeing that Arya was all silent, Lady Maege continued “You are a great warrior and I am very proud of that. But your education here wouldn’t be complete if I don’t train you to be a great lady.” When Arya was about to make a grimace, Lady Maege chuckled lightly “Of course by that I didn’t mean to be like your sister. But you should excel in managing your household. Maester Yohan told me that your have a flair with arithmetic. That is a good start. Let’s build on it, can’t we?”

“My Mother always wanted to teach me that but I never really listened.” Arya felt a bit guilty thinking about her Mother now and she also wondered where Lady Catelyn was when their family was amidst all this mess. She could only hope that her Mother was hale and well.

“I am sure Lady Catelyn will be glad to she that Bear Island can change you for the better. What do you say, Arya? Will you accept my proposal?”

Accepting and enduring, to Arya, were the two most admirable traits of Bear Islanders, not just strength or fearlessness. One could only be brave when he was afraid. The events in the next few moons would decide the fate of her family and the North. And whatever the fate led her to, Arya was willing to bear the burden.

She slowly turned to face Lady Maege, who was staring at her hopefully. Arya looked her straight in the eyes before nodding in agreement.

Chapter Text

Standing on the rampart with Berserk beside him, Jon was just trying to steal some moments alone for himself. All the endless meeting with maester Luwin, steward Vayon Poole and other Northern lords had really worn him out. Although maester Luwin had taught him long time ago that, in war, logistic was half of the victory and Jon wasn’t actually bad with keeping track of the ledgers, he would rather strategize battle plans or do the real fighting than prepare for food and provisions for his army.

Jon had never thought that being the Lord of Winterfell by his own would be this difficult and stressful. While he had dreamt of being the Lord for his entire life, now he hated it. Jon had thought that with uncle Ned stepping down from his regency, he could do whatever he wanted but instead now he was forced to make all decisions that he had absolutely no desire for.

Jon still memorized the list of things he had wished to accomplish when he became the Lord. And sometimes, he went through it, word by word, to remind himself of a much simpler time when he didn’t have to worry about anything but his silly dreams.

Jonnel Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, swear to commit all my time and effort, all my budget and manpower to fulfilled the following missions:

1. Ask for Sansa Stark’s hand in marriage.
2. Marry Sansa Stark.
3. Reconstruct Moat Cailin to its former glory.
4. Rebuild the Northern fleet to gain back water might and establish trades with other Kingdoms and Free Cities.
5. Call the bannermen, match North, crush Mance Rayder and force his wildlings to bend the knees once and for all.

However, this list also made Jon fell completely stupid since none of those things he wished for could become true now. The accursed King Robert Baratheon had messed up all of his plans. First, the King visited Winterfell and stole Sansa away from Jon. All his hope to marry her was shattered into pieces.

Then during his stay at Winterfell, the King had depleted the treasure so much that when he left, Winterfell had to bear a considerable deficit. And with the winter coming, most men had to tend to the harvest and prepare for winter supply that they couldn’t spare any time for other activities. Therefore, Jon now neither had the funding nor the labors to afford his ambitious projects for Moat Cailin and the fleet.

Finally, King Robert’s irresponsibility had led the Lannisters to seize all the power in King Landing’s. The Iron Throne was so corrupted that right after Robert’s death, his bitchy Queen and his rotten son immediately turned on house Stark, the King’s most loyal and valuable ally. And therefore, Jon had to call his bannermen not to go North as he always wanted but to match South to clear the mess that fat King Robert had left behind.

Jon still remembered the day he received the letter from Sansa. Every word she wrote seemed like an arrow piecing his heart.

Jonnel, my dear Lord Cousin. Our good king Robert is dead, killed from wounds he took in a boar hunt. My Father has been charged with treason. He conspired with Robert’s brothers against my beloved Joffrey and tried to steal his throne. The Lannisters are treating me very well and provide me with every comfort. I beg you: come to King’s Landing, swear fealty to King Joffrey and prevent any strife between the great houses of Lannister and Stark.   

“Sansa wrote this?” he asked maester Luwin in disbelief. Sansa had always been a pure and innocent girl, like the embodiment of the Maiden herself. Jon never imagined Sansa could do anything wrong that made him or anyone else angry. And thus, he was always soft on her and treated her as if she was his precious treasure. But at that moment, Jon just wanted to scold Sansa like a silly little girl she was.

“It was Lady Sansa’s writing but the Queen’s words. I wouldn’t be surprised if she was forced to write this letter under tremendous pressure and duress.” At least, the old maester still had the calmness to clarify things for Jon since he was about to lose his mind. Maester Luwin continued to press the matter. “What will be your decision, my lord?”

“Joffrey arrested my family and now he wants his ass kissed?”

“He is the King after all. Can we afford to disobey the King?” Theon offered some of his insight. However, his hysterical question only made Jon more upset.

“If his Grace summons me to King’s Landing then I will go.” Jon snapped at Theon. “But not alone. Maester Luwin, call the banners.”

“All of them, my Lord?” The maester cautiously asked but even he couldn’t hide the approval and pride on his face.

“They all swore to defend house Stark’s honor, didn’t they? Let’s see what their words are worth.”   

After maester Luwin had left, Jon’s entire body was still shaking in rage. With his smirk on his face, Theon asked Jon if he was afraid of the war. Jon didn’t bother to answer him since he couldn’t let Theon know that he was extremely afraid, not of the prospect of war though. What Jon was really afraid of was the fact that going to war didn’t scare him as much as he thought but instead it only filled him with excitement and anticipation.

That was more than one moons ago and his initial eagerness had since turned into frustration. The North was indeed a vast country, almost as large as the rest of the Seven Kingdoms combined. In order to gather enough men for an all-out war of such scale, it required time and great patience. But Jon was disappointed with how slowly they were proceeding. He was sick of those constant meetings and preparation. He just wanted to go out and hit someone.

Although there was always the training yard for Jon to blow off some of his steam, sparring with a bunch of green boys didn’t really help to ease his anxiety. Therefore, every now and then, Jon opted to be away from other people, hoping that would calm his mind, like today when he went to the rampart with Berserk. From up high, Jon could see the camp that had been set right outside of Winterfell’s wall to house the soldiers from his bannermen. Jon suddenly missed how, not so long ago, Winterfell was still a pretty peaceful castle free of all these commotions.

The shrieking sound of the horns broke the silence and brought Jon back to his reality. It was the signal to inform Winterfell that another bannerman was coming. From his position, Jon could clearly saw a new host was approaching the East Gate. The soldiers were dressed in pink and red and on the flags that they carried, there was a skinless corpse nailed to a wooden cross. House Bolton, had arrived at Winterfell.

When Jon was walking through the courtyard, Lord Bolton also galloped his horse through the main gate. The Leech Lord was wearing a black amour with the flayed man on his chest plate. The drops of blood from the flayed man were actually made of rubies and thus if one didn’t pay much attention of his sigil, he could be easily mistaken as Rheagar Targaryen reborn. Flanking the Lord of Dreadfort were men bearing the banners of house Whitehill, Overton and Waterman, houses that directly swore to house Bolton.

Upon seeing Jon, the Leech Lord quickly dismounted from his horse and walked toward him. When they were close, Lord Bolton bowed and gave Jon the respect he deserved as his liege lord. “My Lord Stark,” he spoke in his low and calm voice “Dreadfort has come for you.”

Jon slightly flicked his fingers to gesture him to stand up. Although Jon was tall for his age, Lord Bolton was still one head above him. For a moment, they looked at each other in silence. Jon’s purple eyes directed straight into his pale white eyes. Then they both burst into a laughter before Jon hugged him like a long-lost friend, not quite different from how King Robert had embraced his uncle Ned when he arrived at Winterfell.  

“What took you so long, Dom? I have expected that you would arrive sooner.” Jon gave him a small reproach then briefly informed him about their current situation. “Smalljon came three days ago with his father while Harion and Lord Karstark are still some days away. Lord Cerwin won’t be here when we leave Winterfell but he will be waiting for us on our way South. Cley is here though, to deliver his father’s missive. I haven’t heard much of Daryn yet but I suppose he will also join our force later.”

“Then that is good news, Jon. Our army is slowly taking shape.” Domeric replied as he seemed to be more relaxed than before.

“It is anything but good.” Jon scorned him. “We are seriously lacking in number. Winter is coming and all the houses can hardly spare any men. I should blame you as well, Dom. You are my most powerful bannerman. I have thought you could contribute four or at least three thousand seasoned warriors. Looking at your host now, I can hardly count five and twenty hundred. Not to mention most of them are all green boys.”

“Our exact number is eight and twenty hundred, my Lord.” Domeric seemed to be a little bit hurt by Jon’s harsh words just now. “And that is all the men that house Bolton can give. The bastard’s rebellion has wreaked havoc on my land. House Bolton is exhausted.”

“My uncle has offered help and I even volunteered to personally lead our men to your aid. But your father refused.” Jon quickly rebutted him.

“The bastard employed guerilla tactic, Jon. He hid in the woods and raided villages whenever it was convenient for him. His men were nothing more than a band of bandits and outlaws. It wasn’t the matter of fighting the bastard but how to lure him out and catch him off guard. What could the Stark men have done for us? Except from scaring my people and making them lose hope on their own lord. Although I hate to say it, my father, for once, has made a right decision.”

“Do tell me, Dom. What kind of right decision that led him to his death by the hands of his own bastard?” Jon snapped at him and since Domeric was all silent, he continued. “Your father should have kept his cock in its place. We would have been all better off.”

“Well, if our fathers had both kept their cocks in their places, we wouldn’t have this conversation today, would we?”

It seemed like his blade wasn’t the only thing that was sharp but his tongue as well. Although it was kind of insulting to compare Jon to the bastard of Dreadfort, Jon wasn’t really upset with Domeric. Robb and Theon always gave him too much respect but the Bolton never hesitated to trade words with him head on. Jon thought it was part of his charm. However, Jon couldn’t afford to allow his bannerman to fell too comfortable in front of his liege lord so he didn’t dignify that question with a proper answer but instead glared at Domeric. The Leech Lord soon attempted to change the topic of discussion.

“Do you have any news about Lady Sansa, Jon? Did the Lannisters mistreat her as well?” Clearly it wouldn’t be like Domeric if he wasn’t curious about Sansa.

“She seemed to be under no physical harm. Even the Lannister fiends couldn’t bring themselves to hurt her. But that aside, can Sansa really be fine when her father and brother are locked up deep in the dungeon? Can she be content when her family is scattered all over the places? I would say she is damaged as much as my uncle and Robb.”

Jon then looked at Domeric with a solemn face. “And that is why I am going to bring her back, Dom. I am going to take her away from Joffrey’s hands or die trying.”

“The North will stand behind you, Jon. All of our men would want to protect Lady Sansa’s honor, just like how we did Lady Lyanna. I have no doubt that they will gladly spill our blood for her.” Domeric reassured Jon in a confident voice.

“Then they will need to spill much more blood than they thought they would. You see. There are many green boys among our ranks who are more familiar with farming than fighting. I want the real Winter Wolves that would make both the Old Man and my uncle proud not this kind of pathetic army.” Jon confessed his lack of confidence on their men.

“The Old Man’s Winter Wolves also consisted of mostly youngsters who had never fought in battle before. It didn’t make them less fierce though. The Southron people were still scared of them shitless.” Domeric tried to find some positive angle.

“The Old Man’s titanic host was twice as big as ours and it took him more than one year to muster them. My uncle’s men might number around the same as what we have now but he also had many more veteran soldiers as well as more time to prepare his supply line. So, don’t compare us with their Winter Wolves, Dom. Because it isn’t even close.” Jon said cynically.  

“Surely there must be something that we can count on, Jon. I refuse to believe that you would lead us to war under such disadvantage.”

“This army needs something to booster its strength both physically and mentally. There is only one way for us. We must win the first battle against the Lannisters. Not the upper hand over some small skirmishes, but a real decisive resounding victory that everyone will talk about and the bards will make song out of it. And then they will dread us and know that we are the Winter Wolves.”

“That is a lovely picture, Jon. I suppose it is easier talked than done but you must have you own plans already. If you ever need anything from me, please remember that I am at your service.”

“Of course, I will need you by my side, Dom. But there is a small hurdle. The old lords won’t be happy to see you close to me. They have their own way of thinking and to them you are no better than a green boy yourself. They would have hated and feared your father but at least he would have commanded their respect. As for you, it doesn't matter that you have killed your bastard brother and quenched his rebellion, they just don’t give a shit about you.”

Domeric didn’t know how to response to that. He was probably aware of the opinion of the old lords about him and seemed to be self-conscious that he couldn’t gain their respect. However, Jon reached his arm around Domeric’s shoulder, pulled him close and whispered into his ear as if they were conspiring somethings.

“And to tell you the truth. They don’t give a shit about me also. They always love my uncle but think very little of me. You and I are going to change that, Dom. We are the two most powerful lords in the North. We cannot afford to let those old bastards take us lightly. Are you with me on this?”

“Aye, I am with you. Now and always, my Lord.”