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Chapter Text

Bethany Blackwood was twelve years old, on the edge of thirteen, and rapidly approaching adulthood. This meant a lot to her father, she would be wed and become a mother, and it meant things to her too. 

A little scared, with a brave look on her face, she took a look at Raventree Hall, the place she’d never left in all her life, and climbed into the carriage opposite her father. Dressed in dark green with her hair in a braid under her grey cloak, she hoped she looked older than her twelve short years, a woman of sophistication like her mother once was - or at least something close - because that was the only way to make her family proud.

She was pretty, despite her nerves, with hair that shone auburn in the light and brown in the shadows. Her dark eyes were set on a pale face that still had the roundness of childhood, a faint smattering of freckles across her nose and soft lips that were tinted pink from the cold.

Sitting carefully, her father smiled at her reassuringly, 

“Don’t worry, Little Beth, we’ll be alright.’ 

Beth frowned slightly, travelling to the very recently reclaimed Winterfell was hardly a good idea. Her own brother, Hoster, was Jaime Lannister’s hostage to keep her father in line, and a visit to the Starks wouldn’t keep him safe. Beth had begged her father not to go through with the trip, and her father normally indulged her wishes, but here she was, in a carriage pulling away from her home. 

In the other carriage travelled Edmund - whom they called Ben - and Alyn, her brothers who were four and two years older than her respectively. She liked them both greatly, in fact, she liked all her brothers. In general, that’s what she did, she liked people. Maybe it made her stupid, she asked herself a million times a day. Edmund just said it made her good, a good person, she didn’t know. 

She must have been making a face, because her father grinned at her, 

“Deep in thought?” He asked, teasing. 

“What if he doesn’t like me? I’ll have put Hos in danger for no reason.” Her voice was quiet, but there was a panic in it that she tried to suppress. 

“Beth-” He began,

“They say he’s serious and brave and a good fighter. He’d going to think I’m stupid and worthless.” She interrupted, “Sorry.”

“Beth, Jon Snow is going to love you. And if he doesn’t, you’ll come straight home and we’ll find someone worthy of you.” 

Beth glanced down, her father said that so calmly, but she could only imagine the shame of being rejected by the King in the North. Her cheeks flushed red, making her whole head hot, and her father smiled kindly, 

“If we get there and he’s awful, I’ll never mention the proposed betrothal, instead work on forming a strong alliance and try to get Ben or Alyn as his squire.”

Beth nodded silently, her eyes darting to the fields out the window as she imagined what Winterfell and the Starks would look like. A castle covered in snow, a Weirwood tree with red leaves and underneath it Sansa Stark, said to be the most beautiful woman in all of Westeros. 

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Sansa Stark couldn’t be bothered to deal with guests. They’d just reclaimed Winterfell, Jon and her, and she had an endless list of jobs to do from hiring new maids to calculating the harvest yields. House Blackwood, from a whole different kingdom, was arriving and she dreaded the very thought. They were good friends of the Starks, at least historically, and on the few occasions she’d met Lord Blackwood she’d found no issue with him, in fact, she respected him a great deal, but hosting him and his children was a whole other matter. 

His daughter, Bethany, was said to be sweet and gentle. That was good, Sansa thought as she walked to Jon’s solar for the millionth time that week. He summoned her a lot, she didn’t mind, although his condescending tone wore down her patience. She tried her hardest to love Jon, to make up for all those years before, but sometimes she snapped at him and thought things she regretted. Thankfully, she never said them, however feeling them felt just as evil. 

Knocking on the door, she opened it without him asking and they smiled at each other. 

“Sansa, you came.” 

“Of course.” Sansa replies, glancing away.

“You didn’t last time.” He reminds her pointedly, making her frown.

“I was busy, I can’t be at your beck and call all the time, Jon.” Trying to control her tone, she changed the focus, “Lord Blackwood will arrive later today, with his children.” 

“Yes, I am told he plans to saddle them onto me.” Jon muttered, unimpressed. Sansa sighed, Jon seemed to be eternally self-centered.

“He wants a good marriage for his daughter, I suspect, and any man would want his son to squire for you.”

“When Bran returns, he will be my squire.” Jon spoke firmly, looking directly at Sansa.

“Jon, be sensible.” She pleaded to no effect, “Just make an effort with them, Lord Blackwood’s second son died at the Red Wedding.”

“Our brother died at the Red Wedding.”

“Jon.” Finally, he pushed her over the edge, “Try, at least.” She snapped, turning and marching out the room. 

Jon was insistent on their siblings returning, and although Sansa prayed for it each day, she knew the chances were slim. Arya went missing at their father’s execution, over five years ago in a completely different lifetime, and Bran fled Theon Greyjoy, disappearing into the North with their youngest brother who returned only to be killed by Ramsey, Bran still missing. Sansa wished with every bone in her body they would one day come home, but she had to be realistic; Arya was strong and tough, but she was also a highborn girl who was little more than a child. Her accent alone would have been enough to get her murdered, despite her efforts to hide it. Sansa smiled at the thought of Arya, when they were still safe in Winterfell, trying to shake off their mother’s accent and adopt Jon’s northern growl. Sometimes, she would just sit and cry about how much she missed her family. In the Godswood, when the snow fell and she was all alone. When the thought of her mother and father, Robb, Arya, Bran and Rickon, got too much, when she couldn’t take it anymore, she would just cry until there didn’t seem to be any tears left. 

Now was not one of those times, she’d just heard the commotion coming from the courtyard and could only presume the Blackwood train was arriving. Too early than she’d have liked, Jon wasn’t in the right mood and she hadn’t checked the guest chambers over, although she knew they would be fine. 

Making her way down to the courtyard, she spotted Jan engaged deeply in conversation with Ser Davos. She wanted to speak to them, but Littlefinger cornered her before she could get there.

“Lord Baelish.” She nodded, greeting him curtly. 

“Lady Sansa, may I-” Sansa cut him off,

“My lord, I am about to receive guests. I would be grateful if you save your schemes.” She tells him, trying to sound firm, and walks past, leaving him with his mouth slightly open. 

Jon stands next to her, grunting some kind of apology and glancing at her. She raised one eyebrow in the way she knew irritated him, the way she knew made her look like her mother. It was a cruel act, but a powerful one, 

“Sansa, I’m sorry.” 

“Thank you.”

“And now we put on the front.” She sighed, smiling slightly. 

“What’s that then?” He asked, grinning. 

“That we know exactly what we’re doing.” 

They both laughed quietly, careful not to draw attention. It was true and they both knew it. The Starks were miles away from a plan. There was winter arriving, Cersei, Daenerys with her dragons and just keeping favour of the North. 

Life was getting harder and harder, although that barely seemed possible; Sansa supposed a marriage and royal baby would boost morale for the North, a strong son to present as the heir to the North. The arriving Blackwoods were their best shot, she thought as the carriages drew into Winterfell. 

Out of the first one climbed a man. He was tall and thin, with a hooked nose and dark eyes that looked down on those around him. Black hair was cropped close to his head and his pursed lips were surrounded by a greying beard, he was clearly forming a judgement on his daughter’s potential castle. Sansa worried for a moment, imagining a female version of him to climb out the carriage and she could only think of the court's harsh comments.

Instead, a pretty girl ascended the steps. Young, younger than Sansa had expected, with auburn hair hanging loosely over her shoulders, the top braided off her face. She glanced around nervously with a look Sansa recognised. Meeting her eyes, Sansa smiled and the girl smiled back, her attention quickly being pulled away by the other carriage door opening. 

Two boys, both in the middling section between boys and men, climbed out. The girl grinned openly at both of them, while the boys moved closer to her, the eldest looking Jon up and down with the other smiling uncertainly at the northerners. All three followed their father forward as Jon greeted them all, 

“Lord Blackwood, welcome to Winterfell.” He smiled kindly as Lord Blackwood bowed his head, 

“Thank you, your grace.” He smiled to Jon in return, “May I introduce my children? These are my fourth and fifth sons, Edmund and Alyn, and my daughter, Bethany.” The boys bowed, exchanging a slight glace, and Bethany curtsied with her eyes momentarily lowered to the ground before they darted back to Jon and Sansa, still full of anxiousness. Sansa wished she could hug her and tell her that everything was going to be alright, or at least say something. But Jon and Lord Blackwood were talking so all she could do was reassuringly smile to her and keep her attention on the girl. 

The group eventually began to move inside and Sansa seized her chance to talk to Bethany, 

“Hello, I’m Sansa.” She said, trying to be friendly. Bethany looked up at her, confused, but didn’t say anything and Sansa continued, “I imagine Winterfell’s quite a bit bigger than your home, but you’ll soon find your way around, I can show you around if you’d like.”

“Thank you, my lady.”

“We’ve got a sept, built for my mother, if you want to pray. I can show you that too.” Sansa suggested, making Bethany frown, 

“We follow the old gods.” She replied, not rudely at all, just plainly and Sansa cursed in her head. How could she be so stupid? She’d tried to be welcoming and instead been openly ignorant. The girl noticed her pause, “It’s alright, we’re southern so most people would assume we follow the Seven.” She smiled to Sansa in the kind way Sansa had tried to do earlier, “A walk around Winterfell would be nice, especially after being in the carriage for so long.” 

Sansa nodded and looked around for Jon. He was still speaking with Lord Blackwood as they entered the great hall so she sped up her pace to meet them, 

“Lord Blackwood, Jon, I was thinking I should take Lady Bethany for a walk around Winterfell if you approve.” 

Lord Blackwood smiled, proud of his daughter being included by a Stark, and Jon nodded. Sansa went back to Bethany, 

“I’ll show you around then take you to the guest chambers. We can take lunch in my solar afterwards, and if you need anything to wear we can look for some of my old dresses, although I’ll admit they might be outdated and dusty.” Drawing in a breath, Sansa grinned, she never realised how much she missed having someone to look after. Cautiously, she placed a gloved hand on Bethany’s shoulder and the girl smiled shyly, not saying anything. “Come on then.” She began to walk and breathed a slight sigh of relief when Bethany followed her, looking up at Sansa in admiration. 

“Yes my lady.” She said softly, but wholeheartedly, and Sansa took her arm gently, smiling to her. 

Chapter Text

Beth had been in Winterfell for a few days and Jon Snow had yet to look her in the eyes. Watching him spar with Ben, she noticed the way he fought with no mercy, but good sportsmanship. He knocked Ben backwards, sending his black hair into the mud with a satisfying thud, and Beth giggled quietly. 

Ben looked up and glared at her slightly, while Alyn clapped from the sidelines, grinning to Jon, 

“Well done, your grace, I’ve been trying to do that for years.” He called as Jon smiled modestly, 

“He puts up a good fight, a natural swordsman.” He replied, his voice sincere and honest, making Ben blush red standing up, 

“Thank you, your grace.”

“Who trained you, your father?” Jon asked, helping to wipe the dirt off Ben’s jacket. Ben nodded, 

“Yes, and our master-at-arms Ser Addam Chambers.” 

“And you?” He glanced at Alyn, “The same?” Both boys nodded. Jon silently placed his sword back in its sheath, “Bring your father and Lady Sansa to my solar, please.” He said in a mix between asking and commanding, with Ben and Alyn immediately running off to follow his orders. 

Jon uncomfortably looked at the floor for a few moments then drew his attention to Beth, standing in a ladylike fashion behind a wooden fence. 

“Bethany.” He called, walking over to her as she curtsied to him, “Have you ever trained?” Beth shook her head and frowned in a quizzical manner, 

“No, your grace.” 

“Have you ever tried?” 

“No, your grace.” Beth answered again, unsure of what to say. It wasn’t exactly surprising that she’d never sparred with a sword. That wasn’t something high-born ladies often did, and it was never something she’d hankered after like a few others. Sansa had told her about Arya Stark’s longing for a sword in passing, but Beth had never held the same urge for violence. 

“Come here.” Instructed Jon, a kind and supportive look on his face as he held out a small wooden sword taken from the pile. He picked on for himself, not full size either, and positioned it in his hand. “Follow what I do.” 

With the sword carefully gripped in her hand, Beth adjusted her positioning until she mirrored him completely and he nodded in approval. Slowly, he began to move, gliding the sword through the air in cautious and calculated strokes. She followed, finding the movements coming naturally to her, and feeling a rush of adrenaline as they hit their wooden swords together. They continued for several minutes, although Beth quickly lost track of time, until she felt her arm tense up and ache. It dropped, despite her efforts, and Jon smiled, 

“We’ll stop, I wouldn’t want your arm to fall off.” 

“And I believe you summoned my father and your sister.” Beth added confidently, raising an eyebrow. Jon swore then blushed, 

“Sorry for that my lady.” He apologised, but Beth laughed, 

“I have four elder brothers, your grace, I’ve heard it all before.”  

“If I didn’t know better, I would have said that lords don’t swear around their sisters.” He commented, grinning. “Now, we need to go.” Mindlessly wielding a wooden sword, he marched to the door as Beth stayed standing in the yard. Jon looked to her, “Are you coming?” 

“I didn’t know I was invited.” Beth quipped back, sliding the sword into a box of them, 

“Well you are.” Replied Jon, pursing his lips awkwardly. With mud on the hem of her dress and a hand red from holding the sword, Beth doubted her place in the king’s solar alongside her father and Sansa. However, she wasn’t stupid enough to refuse him, moving to walk beside him. 

They made their way to Jon’s solar, making polite yet engaged conversation on the way. For some reason, maybe from all the things she’d heard, Beth expected Jon to be dry and miserable, but he was funnier than he’d been given credit for. It was clever humour, sarcastic and occasionally critical, the kind Beth had always presumed she would never understand. Some part of Beth didn’t want the walk to end, and they both paused slightly outside the door to his solar. 

“After you, my lady.” Jon said with a friendly smile on his face. Panicking for a moment, Beth searched through her mind for the courtesies. Does she accept his offer? It’s such a small thing, who walks in first, but he was the king. Jon glanced at her with a raised eyebrow, “You twist the handle.” 

Beth managed to throw him a quick look before she opened the door to her father - Tytos, brothers and Sansa. They all bowed their heads to Jon as they stood, while he nodded calmly to them. 

“Lord Blackwood, sister, good morning.” His voice was steady and serious, a different tone to the joking one he had just used with Beth. Sansa and Tytos both replied with the usual courtesies as she sat down next to Sansa who’s eyes jumped down to the dirt on her dress before returning to Jon. 

“As you may be aware, for the past few days I’ve been sparring with your sons, Lord Blackwood.” Jon told the room, “And they’re both good.” Smiling with pride, Beth’s father glanced at the two boys then back to Jon, 

“Thank you, your grace.” 

“Currently, I do not have a squire training under me. My lord. how old is Edmund?” 

“He’s just passed his sixteenth nameday, your grace.”

“A man grown? Good.” Jon said, pausing. He looked between Beth, Ben and Tytos, clearly thinking through a plan in his head. Glancing to Sansa and her father, Beth felt a slight nervousness in her stomach, like it was full of butterflies hitting against the edges. She ran her fingers on the callouses that had formed on her hands, skin moving away from her flesh, as she made a note in her head to wear gloves next time, if there was a next time. 

“I should like Edmund as my squire.” Announced Jon after a tense silence. He carefully moved his gaze to Beth, “And I would also like to invite Bethany to stay in Winterfell.” Feeling her family's eyes on her, Beth only nodded and let Jon continue, “If she accepts, she could become my sister’s companion, since I believe they get along well.” He glanced at Sansa for certainty and she nodded, smiling to Beth. 

Beth’s father grinned openly, “Lovely, I promise you, your grace, they’ll both be diligent and worthy additions to your household.” He said to Jon firmly, nodding his head. Beth frowned and glanced around, 

“I can’t stay, I’m sorry.” She said, her voice timid and quiet. 

“Why not?” Questioned Jon, an eyebrow raising.

“My brother Hos, the Lannisters have him, Jaime Lannister.” She explained, trying to keep her words clear and steady, “They’ll kill him, they’ll hurt him. The queen, Cersei - the Queen in the South, she’ll hurt him.” Beth went to say more, she didn’t think she would be able to stop her train of thought. Horrid images danced through her mind. She’d never seen the Red Keep or King’s Landing, but she could picture her brother - tall, thin and ungainly - stumbling through the throne room, being beaten by the Queen’s Guard. 

Her hands were shaking at the thought, fidgeting unconsciously with her dress, and were only stopped by the weight of her father’s hand on top of them.

“Beth, Jaime Lannister left King’s Landing yesterday evening. We received a raven this morning.”

“With Hos?” Asked Beth sharply, “Definitely with Hos?”

“They’re aren’t many other seven foot tall men who bore people about books, Beth.” Ben quipped, teasing his sister, “Yes, with Hos, Jaime said so himself.” 

“Can I see the letter?” Beth requested, “Please?” She looked hopefully at her father, who produced a piece of parchment from his pocket. Thanking him, she took it and began to read aloud.

Dear Winterfell and its guests, 

I am making my way North after a disagreement with my sister, Queen Cersei Lannister. 

I do not travel alone, instead bringing with me a small party. I have three squires, Josmyn Peckledon, Garrett Paege and Lewys Piper. I am fond of all the boys and hope we will find shelter in Winterfell. I also bring Lady Alysanne Bulwer, a girl of twelve years with little living family and a kind, although wilful, disposition. We call her Alys. Further, I bring Lord Blackwood’s son, Hoster. The rumors say Lord Blackwood is in Winterfell, he will reunite with his son soon. 

Lord Tarly has sided with Cersei and is planning to attack Highgarden with Bronn. They have 10,000 men and will easily overcome the Tyrell forces. I have warned Olenna to leave, she will not listen. 

My little brother has been made the Dragon Queen’s hand and they have arrived in Dragonstone. I implore you not to underestimate this woman. Euron Greyjoy has allied himself with my sister and is betrothed to her. I no longer trust my sister.

I, Ser Jaime of House Lannister, pledge myself to the King in the North, Jon Snow.

Ser Jaime Lannister

She drew in a breath then let it out again, composing her thoughts as she looked for a reaction, although they had all read the letter. 

“Do you trust him?” 

“No.” They all answered in union, although some more decisively than others. Sansa was firm, as was Ben. Alyn and Jon were hesitant, but Tytos was mournful. 

“I wish I could Beth. However I cannot tell if he’s a decent man underneath it all.” 

“Will he come to Winterfell?” She asked, eyes widening. 

“I believe so.” Sansa replied, giving Beth more hope, “He seems desperate, abandoned by his own family.” 

“If he brings back Hos and the others safely, he can be dealt with then.” Mused Beth, anxiously glancing at Jon, “Can’t he, your grace?” Jon smiled weakly, 

“He can, if he’s guilty of a crime.” 

“Of course.” She agreed, “Being born a Lannister isn’t a crime. He did besiege Ravenstree however, which is a crime.”

“What would you have me do with him then, Little Beth?” Jon asked, laughing kindly, “Cut off his head, lock him in the tower?”

“Have a talk with him, then take his sword until he needs it. Actually, he’ll need his sword to train his squires.” She replied, “Don’t let him leave Winterfell without someone trusted and make him give back Hos.” 

“That’s very mild Beth.” Commented Alyn, “Do you know what this man’s done?” His tone wasn’t rude or condesencing, but Beth still felt overwhelmingly stupid. They call him the Man Without Honour, and she was ready to forgive him. Glancing around, her eyes skimmed past Sansa, who looked vaguely irritated and landed on Jon, who looked at Beth in admiration, 

“Beth’s better than the rest of us, Gods know we could do with a few more people like her.” He announced to the group strongly and proudly. Beth looked back to Sansa, slightly worried for her reaction, but she just smiled, 

“Our moral compass, put to better use here than in the South.” And that put an end to the conversation. 

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Jon Snow looked around the courtyard. His new squire, Edmund, or Ben, and his brother Alyn, had just left, both covered in mud, sweat and snow. They’d been in Winterfell for a few weeks now, waiting for the arrival of Jaime Lannister and their elder brother. He began to scrap the mud off of the blunted swords and training dummies when he saw Sansa and Beth walk into the courtyard from the corner of his eye with Raya Hornwood and a frowning Lyanna Mormont. Catching his eye, Beth smiled to Jon and he noticed Raya both raise an eyebrow at them. She whispered something into Beth’s ear, making Beth frown and leave the group. 

“Your grace.” She said, curtseying. 

“My lady.” He replied, a smile crawling unconsciously onto his face, “I wasn’t aware you spoke to Lady Mormont.” 

“I do, she’s nice. Serious, intelligent and sorely devoted to Bear Island, but nice all the same.” 

“Loyal too.” Jon added, waving his hand to Sansa who stood a few meters away. Beth simply nodded, turning to look at Sansa, and Jon remembered the sword in his hand. Quickly, he picked up another one and glanced at Beth, “Would you like to train with metal swords? Blunted still, I’m not getting myself killed by a girl who’s just past her thirteenth nameday.” Beth nodded, looking around, 

“Here?” Her eyes darted to Sansa’s now turned back, “I haven’t exactly told Lady Sansa yet.” She admitted, pursing her lips.

“The Godswood, we won’t be interrupted.” Replied Jon, placing his hand on Beth’s arm and leading her away.

They walked fairly quickly, although stopping a few times as people called for Jon. As they got closer to the Godswood, he let his shoulders relax slightly and took the serious look off his face. Beth glanced up and grinned at him, 

“You went from king to this in seconds.”

“And what’s this?” Jon asked, anticipating her response.

“Someone a lot more relaxed.” She replied, her voice happy but her face concerned. “Do you need a break?” 

“I’m king, Beth, I can’t take a break.” He said, sounding more exasperated than he meant, “Sorry.” 

“It’s fine.” Beth said simply, grabbing one of the swords from his hands as they passed into the Godswood. She brandished it, managing to keep it steady despite the weight, and Jon raised his eyebrows, 

“Good.” 

That was all that needed to be said. They silently fought and trained as the sun crept below the walls of Winterfell, leaving them in the shadows. After a few hours, they both collapsed down into the snow, lying still, gazing up at the branches and stars above. Jon closed his eyes for a moment, trying to savour the moment as much as he could. He was at peace here, only a couple minutes walk from his troubles, the war, politics and the dead, but with the cold snow below him, the dark and endless sky above him, where the only thing he could hear was Beth’s gentle breathing, he was happy. 

Still, something bugged him, “What did Raya Hornwood want?” 

“When?” Beth replied, turning her head to him and sitting up. 

“When I met you in the yard.” 

“She asked me ‘would our house be Stark or Snow?’” Beth answered with an unfaltering honesty, “She was teasing.” 

Jon glanced away from Beth, letting his eyes wander to the old weirwood tree. It had seen generation after generation of Stark live and die. Beth followed his gaze, and from the corner of his eye, Jon could see her face soften. 

“We buried my brother Lucas under the dead weirwood tree at Raventree. I loved Lucas. He was good, he was young, seventeen. Sansa’s age now.” Beth said, her voice calm and stable, “That was nearly three years ago now, when we buried him, two years after he died. We all cried at the funeral, even though it had been so long. I miss him. He was killed in the Red Wedding, with your brother Robb, killed by Hosteen Frey. They say Hosteen’s twice the size of normal men. Lucas was thin, he would have crushed him easily. I hope it was quick, painless, Lucas didn’t deserve pain. No one does, but Lucas especially not.” Beth paused not much else to say and Jon felt a tear of sympathy. To have a brother, a best friend, die was bad enough. But to die in another man’s war, for someone else’s cause, must sting so deeply. She could hate me . Jon thought. She has every right to hate me. Jon felt a weight in his stomach. The weight of innocent deaths. Of lost brothers. Of people who will never come home. Of the people who are nothing more than memories and a grave under the weirwood tree.

“Lucas Stark.” 

Jon looked back to Beth, 

“We would call our son Lucas Stark.” 

Beth shook her head gently, “Maybe.” 

“Maybe?” Jon asked, making Beth smile slightly, 

“I always wanted to call my firstborn son Edrick.” She told him, a sweet and innocent look on her face. “Like the one who ruled for nearly one hundred years. I saw his statue in the crypts when I went with Lady Sansa.” Jon looked at her and smiled, although Beth then looked anxious, “Unless my husband wanted something else.” Jon shook his head, 

“I like Edrick.” 

“Not Eddard?”

“Eddard’s in there, and so is Rickon.” Jon said, smiling at her reassuringly, “Our little Edrick Stark will one day run around these trees.” 

“The heir to Winterfell, the North?” Beth said, half-asking, half-telling. 

“Prince Edrick.” Jon confirmed. 

Jon made the announcement to court that night, and he doubted anyone was quite as proud and happy as Tytos Blackwood.

Chapter Text

“I want every northern maester to scour their records for any mention of dragonglass.” Jon announced, with a calm power over the room, “Dragonglass kills whitewalkers, it’s more powerful to us now than gold.” He continued, eyes scanning the room of northern lords. Beth stood at the back, beside her father, as he spoke. Just the mention of whitewalkers sent fear through her body. Jon had described them, not vividly, but not hiding anything either. Just honest and true. Beth was terrified. “We need to find it, we need to mine it, we need to make weapons from it.” Jon glanced slightly at Beth as he paused and she forced a look of coolness on her face. 

“Everyone, age ten to sixteen, will drill daily with spears, pikes, bow and arrow.” Jon announced, a protective passion in his voice he didn’t bother to hide. Beth felt her father glance down at her, he didn’t know about her training, about how Jon Snow had given her better tuition than most high-born sons get. 

“It’s about time we taught these boys of summer how to fight.” Lord Robett Glover quipped, an arrogant tone to his voice. I bet Ben’s a hundred times better than you, Beth thought, I bet even I could beat you. The crowd murmured in agreement, although Beth noticed Lyanna Mormont glare at him slightly, along with a few younger lords. Jon looked down, 

“Not just the boys.”

Brienne of Tarth turned her head, along with every lord in the room. Tytos placed a hand on Beth’s shoulder, protective. 

“We can’t defend the North if only half the population is fighting.” Jon’s clear voice had faded to a northern mumble, and Beth felt a twist of worry for him in her stomach. Robert Glover stood slowly, tension filling the room, 

“You expect me to put a spear in my granddaughter's hand.” He enunciated, each word clear and precise like a knife. Beth watched as Lyanna Mormont’s face turned to anger, her rising to her feet, still two heads shorter than Robett. 

“I don’t plan on knitting by the fire while men fight for me.” Said Lyanna, eyes locked on Robett, “I may be small, Lord Glover, and I might be a girl, but I am every bit as much a northern as you.” 

“Indeed you are, my lady, and no one was-”

“And I don’t need permission to defend the North.” She interrupted, with a fierceness that Beth had never possessed herself, “We will begin training every man, woman, boy and girl on Bear Island.” Lyanna announced, throwing a cutting look to Robett. There was a general mumbling, mostly in agreement with the girl who Beth now respected more than anyone. 

Beth could barely take her eyes off Lyanna as Jon made a deal with Tormund, although she exchanged a quick glance with Sansa, and Jon moved on to discussing Last Hearth and Karhold. A wave of fear rushed over Ned Umber and Alys Karstark, ten and sixteen years old. Yohn Royce stood up, a booming voice flooding the stone hall

“The Umbers and the Karstarks betrayed the North, their castles should be torn down without a stone left standing.” 

Beth’s head could only see one thing, the ruins of Raventree. She closed her eyes for a moment, remembering it was still safe, still standing. And opened them to see Jon Snow looking to her, she shook her head slightly, eyes wide. 

“The castles committed no crimes.” Sansa interjected, serious and firm, “And we need every fortress we have for the war to come. We should give Last Hearth and Karhold to new families, families who supported us against Ramsey.” There was a murmur of ayes from the lords, but both Beth and Lyanna kept their eyes fixed on Jon, Lyanna’s filled with discontent and Beth silently pleading for mercy to be given. Jon’s eyes went to the floor again, 

“The Umbers and the Karstarks fought beside the Starks for centuries, they’ve kept faith for generation after generation.”

“And they broke faith.’ Interrupted Sansa, her cold eyes meeting Jon’s, 

“I’m not going to strip these families of their ancestral homes because of the crimes of a few reckless sons-” 

“So there’s no punishment for treason, and no reward for loyalty.” Sansa interjected again. Beth could see the anger growing slowly on Jon, not immediate, not hot, just a loss of patience. The room was silent. 

“The punishment for treason is death.” Jon replied, slow and serious, glaring down at Sansa, “Smalljon Umber died on the field of battle, Harald Karstark died on the field of battle.”

“They died fighting for Ramsey.” Sansa’s word echoed through the hall. Beth had no idea what Ramsey had done to her, but the pain in Sansa’s voice was clear. “Give the castles to the family of the men who died fighting for you.”

The northern lords banged on the tables, and Beth noticed a sick looking smile twist onto petyr Baelish’s face. People murmured, as they did before, and Jon bit his lip, glancing to Beth, 

“When I was Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, I executed men who’d betrayed me. I executed men who refused to follow orders. My father always said the man who passes the sentence should swing the sword and I have tried to live by those words. But I will not punish a son for his father’s sins and I will not take a family home away from a family it has belonged to for centuries. That is my decision, and my decision is final.” 

Every man, woman and child was looking directly to Jon. He held their attention, his voice strong and decisive. King Jon, Beth reminded herself, This is why he is King Jon. Sansa Stark glared up at her brother in utter disgust, she’d just been overruled, almost ignored, in front of the northern lords. The trueborn daughter of Ned Stark overruled by a bastard. 

“Ned Umber.’ Jon called, summoning a boy with light brown hair and a small frame, “Alys Karstark.” A girl rose, trembling as the lords looked at her. Her hair was as red as Sansa’s, although her face was closer to Jon’s. She was tall, too, but looked like nothing compared to the northern lords, covered in heavy furs with their deep-set scowls. They both held their heads tall, backs straight, however Beth could see from behind that they were shaking with every breath. Sansa Stark stared at them, glanced at Beth then lowered her eyes, lips pursed angrily and gloved hands carefully folded over her lap. Jon held a serious, but kind, look on his face, “For centuries our families have fought side-by-side on the battlefield. I ask you to pledge your loyalty, once again, to House Stark.” Jon explained slowly, calmly, clearly aware his audience were little more than children. “To serve as our bannermen and come to our aid whenever called upon.” Alys and Ned both drew their swords, kneeling to Jon and lowering their heads. Beth noticed Lyanna run her eyes over the room, catching Beth’s before turning back to Jon. “Stand.” He commanded, and the two rose, breathing heavy sighs of relief, “Yesterday’s wars don’t matter anymore. The North needs to band together. All the living North. Will you stand beside me, Ned and Alys, now and always?”

“Now and always.” The two repeated, followed by the northern lords. Jon smiled to Beth, who couldn’t keep the smile off her face, and Sansa lowered her eyes to the floor. 

-------------

Jon felt the anger course through him. He was slow to anger, that was true, but as the northern lords left the Great Hall it burned more than he realised, fueled by the redhead Stark sat next to him. He gestured for Beth to join him, then swung Sansa by her shoulder as she stood up. 

“What the fuck was that?” He whispered, careful not to let anyone here. 

“Jon.” She began, glancing at Beth, Jon interrupted, 

“Don’t. Not here. Both of you, follow me.” Beth held back, and Jon turned to her, “Come on then.” 

“Your Grace, I shouldn’t impose.” She said, Sansa’s eyes on her skin. 

“If you are to be a Stark, you talk with the Starks.” He told her, firmly, “Leaving family out of conversations is what gets them killed.” Finished Jon, walking out of the hall. He prayed they would both follow him, letting himself relax slightly as he heard both of their footsteps. Beth let out a small laugh, which she quickly muffled, and Jon smiled. He was sure that Sansa had made a joke about him, but he didn’t mind. At least they weren’t at each other's throats. 

Sansa stood directly opposite Jon as they stopped on a walkway overlooking fields of snow, Beth behind her as if Sansa was protecting her. She spoke first, 

“I am your sister-’

“You are my sister, however I am king now-”

“Are you going to start wearing a crown?”

“When you question me, you undermine me.”

“So we can’t question you-?”

“Of course you can-”

“-Joffrey never let anyone question him, do you think he was a good king?” Sansa spat out, and Jon saw Beth’s face turn from an uncomfortable sacredness to anger, 

“Jon’s nothing like Joffrey!” She exclaimed, raising her voice louder than Jon had ever heard it, and from the look on Beth’s face, louder than she had too. 

“That’s not what I meant.” Defended Sansa, to Beth’s frowning face. 

“That’s what you heavily implied.” Beth replied, simply. Sansa turned away from her to face Jon again, 

“The northern lords respect you, you’re a good king, but-” Sansa started, stopped by Jon’s laugh as he began to walk, purposely placing himself beside Beth, 

“What did Father say? Everything before the word ‘but’ is horseshit.” 

“Never said that to me.” Sansa replied, a strain in her voice. 

“He would never swear in front of his girls.” 

“He was trying to protect us.” Said Sansa, sliding between Jon and Beth, “But Father can’t protect me and neither can you, so stop trying.” She told him, smiling again and nudging him in the side. 

“I’ll stop when you stop undermining me.” Jon said calmly. Sansa opened her mouth to speak, “I know I need to be smarter than Father, smarter than Robb. But how’s that going to happen, by listening to you?” He told her, wishing the conversation would stop. 

“Would that be so hard?” She replied, slowing down as footsteps approached behind them. They all turned, Sansa stepping forward, and Beth nudged Jon’s arm, 

“Sorry, Your Grace.” She muttered, “I just-” 

“You were protecting the pack, never be sorry for that.”

“But Lady Sansa-” Began Beth, fear across her face. 

“I’ll deal with Sansa. She’ll love you again in seconds, she understands.” Jon reassured Beth, and he hoped to the Gods that Sansa wouldn’t hold anything against her. He patted Beth on the shoulder, his rough hand stroking her snow-covered hair, “Go on then, I’ll find you later.” 

Maester Wolkan had placed a rolled note in Sansa’s hand, which she held carefully, 

“Cersei.” Was all she said as she handed it over. Gods. Thought Jon, Not now.

Cersei of House Lannister, First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, summons the rebel and bastard Jon Snow to King’s Landing to bend the knee to the rightful Queen or suffer the fate of all traitors.

He read it carefully, aloud, with Sansa peering over his shoulder. They exchanged a look of horror, 

“We’ve been so consumed with the North, we’ve forgotten about the enemy to the South.”

“I’ve seen the Night King, you’d been consumed if you had too.” 

“And I’ve seen Cersei.” Sansa replied plainly, making Jon sigh, 

“It’s not the same.”

“There’s a wall between us and the Night King.”

“And a thousand miles between us and Cersei. Plus winter is coming, she can’t fight this far North now.”

“She’ll stop at nothing Jon, you know that.”

“Right, Sansa, she’ll march the Red Cloaks up here in the snow?” Jon said, laughing. 

“No, she’ll poison you, have someone slit your throat, she’ll do anything, she’s killed everyone in her way.”

“She hasn’t killed you. Although you seem to admire her.” 

“I learnt from her.” Sansa answered cooly, “That’s how it worked down there, you learnt or you died.” She reached out to take Jon’s hand, “Please, trust me. We can’t lose you now.” 

“We?” Jon asked, looking his sister in the eye and wishing he could understand her more. Sansa smiled, 

“Beth and I, your brave betrothed who seems to be full of surprises.” Sansa’s smile widened, as did Jon’s, as they remembered Beth’s protective tone. 

“She adores you, you know?” Jon said, happy the conversation had taken a turn, “It’s all Lady Sansa this, Lady Sansa that, I’m surprised she doesn’t run after you every minute of the day.” This made Sansa smile, clearly taken with the girl too, 

“I noticed you started training with her.” 

“I thought she hadn’t told you?” Jon asked, 

“She hasn’t, but I’m not an idiot. I highly doubt the calluses on her hands come from stitching.” Laughed Sansa, glancing along the walkway, “Here she comes now.” 

Beth came running to them, skirts clutched in her hands and braid bouncing on her back, 

“You grace, my lady, there’s two children at the gates.” 

“Children?” Jon asked, perplexed, “Where’s their mother?” 

“I don’t know your grace, I was told to fetch you.” 

“Of course.” Jon said, still slightly hesitant, and Sansa sighed, 

“We’ll leave the king here dithering, Beth come with me.” Sansa instructed calmly, glancing at Jon, who was struggling to think clearly. What do you do when two children arrive at the gates? He asked himself, Take them in? Send for their parents? Find an orphanage? With no idea, he let Sansa and Beth leave him. They’ll know what to do. He told himself, Practical Sansa, kind Beth, both of them friendly when they want. When they want, that was the real thing, Jon thought, close to laughing because Sansa could be incredibly disagreeable when she wanted to be and Beth had a stubborn streak through her. 

--------------

Sansa followed Beth to the gates, where two children were standing with a maid and some guards holding onto them roughly. 

“Let them go.” She commanded, walking over, “They’re little more than babies, not ruthless criminals.” The guards both obeyed quickly and Sansa bent down to them, Beth glancing to the maid, 

“Have hot water, food and fresh linens brought to the empty guest chamber, thank you.” The maid bobbed a curtsey and ran off, leaving Sansa and Beth alone with the children. 

They were dressed in blue dresses, ripped and patched in places with a coating of mud, especially around their knees and feet, presumably from falling over. Cloaks made from sacks hung around their shoulders and both their hair was hanging limply around their pale faces. Sansa took on of their hands gently into her own, the coldness of it hurting her skin, 

“What’s your name?” She asked, smiling kindly, “I’m Sansa.” The girl gave no response and Sansa glanced to the other one, 

“Stark.” Was all she said, her voice hoarse. Sansa smiled and nodded, 

“My name’s Sansa Stark.” She wasn’t sure what to do, her years of lessons had never prepared for this, “Shall we go inside?” She asked them, and the silent one nodded to her. 

Sansa picked her up. The girl weighed next to nothing and Beth easily carried the second one, speaking gently to her although not receiving many answers. They took them to the guest chambers, where there was already hot water, and began to undress both girls. 

They complied easily enough, although the quiet one clung onto her dress, nearly crying until Sansa coaxed her into the bath with it lying within sight. Beth was better at washing them, and ended up cleaning them both while Sansa searched for clean dresses in a store cupboard along the same hallway. 

“We’ll have to give them both names.” Beth said as Sansa returned, ‘They don’t seem to know their own.” She looked at both of the girls, then back to Sansa, “You had a Septa growing up, didn’t you? What was her name?” 

“Septa Mordane.” Sansa replied, then gestured to the louder girl, “So this is Mordane. Did you have a Septa?” 

“My governess was called Annara.”

“Annara it is.”

“Mordane and Annara, what do we do with them?” Beth asked, lifting Mordane out the bath and wrapping her in a towel. Sansa tried to think, the day was wearing on, she couldn’t find somewhere for them to stay this late in the day, with the sun setting quicker each day. 

“They stay here, I’ll sleep in with them tonight. I’ll sleep on the seat.” She told Beth, gesturing to the brown, cushioned chair by the bed.

“You shouldn’t, I’ll stay with them.” 

“Beth, you sleep in your bed, it’s only next door.” 

“You’re the Lady of Winterfell, you can’t sleep on a chair.” Beth insisted, dressing both girls as she spoke. Sansa shook her head, 

“I’m Lady of Winterfell so you should follow my commands.” Sansa replied, jokingly. 

“Are you going to start wearing a crown?” Teased Beth, playfully. She lifted both the girls onto a seat and handed them some bread while Sansa watched. Beth was good with them, that was obvious, but surely they couldn’t stay here. Sansa knew Beth would want to keep them in Winterfell, however Beth was only thirteen, too young to look after them properly. And besides, once she flowered she would be queen with her own children, meaning she couldn’t spend her time running around after a couple orphans. 

The night passed with relative ease. Mordane and Annara ate after a careful introduction to the food and slept through the night until well after the sun rose. Sansa was happy with this, only realising the issue when Beth came in, 

“They’ve been asleep this whole time. Gods, they’ll have wet the bed!” She exclaimed, rushing to pull back the sheets. As expected, Beth was right and Sansa cursed to herself, how could she be so stupid? Quickly sending for some maids to bring fresh sheets and hot water, Sansa lifted Annara off the bed and Beth did the same to Mordane. “Dane hasn’t wet the bed.” She commented, surprised, as she placed the girl on a chamber pot, “Clever girl.” 

Sansa sighed as she held Annara uncomfortable, the girl's nightdress sopping wet. Annara was quiet, looking at Sansa with blue eyes similar to her own. Sansa tried to imagine how Annara’s mother would be feeling. Distraught, surely? Her own child, so young and helpless, was away from her. Sansa knew there was poverty and hardship in the North, but she couldn’t imagine a mother giving up their own child. 

“Beth,” She said, looking over to her, “Where do you think they come from?” 

“The North, my lady.” Beth answered plainly, “Maybe someone moving to Wintertown for the winter.” 

“How many…?” Began Sansa, fear overcame her. They were so innocent, and the condition they came to Sansa in was appalling. Beth glanced at her, worry in her eyes, 

“There’s about eight hundred thousand in the North, or that’s what Maester Wolkan thinks anyway. Ten thousand as highborns, and that’s relatively generous. At least one hundred thousand are destitute or close to it. I asked Jon about it, to see if we could do something, but there’s more important things right now.” 

“How many in Winter town?” Sansa asked, a desperation in her voice, 

“Five thousand normally, maybe less, fifteen thousand during winter.”

“How many children?” 

“I would guess one thousand under ten.” Beth answered, “Some of them receive food from the castle, and then some of their parents are too proud to bring them.” 

Sansa stood in shock. She knew about poverty in the North, about the challenges and about the importance of every single grain, but it had never hit her just how many people lived like this, her people. The fine fabric of her dress seemed to claw at her skin as the thoughts couldn’t escape her mind.

“We’re going to do something.” She told Beth, firmly. “My people, our people, can’t live like this.” 

Annara smiled as if she understood exactly what Sansa was saying. Her eyes lit up and she shook her legs in approval, making Sansa laugh, tears still balancing in her eyes. She was going to make a difference, she was going to be the lady who helped the North, who helped the children of Winter Town. And she was going to do it while raising her new little girls. 

Chapter Text

Arya Stark sighed in relief as she saw the Inn at the Crossroads, she was cold, hungry and tired. The image of the Freys dying was still stained in her mind, along with Kitty Freys horrified face, the North remembers , she had told her, And winter came for House Frey. 

Winter was coming for everyone, she reminded herself as she rode closer to the inn. The cold air had frozen her skin until it was stiff and numb, despite her northern blood pumping underneath. She’d grown used to the warmth of Braavos, but now she was nearly home, so close to home she could almost see the Stark banner. 

No, she could see the Stark banner. A grey direwolf on a white background, flying in the wind. Starks in the South , she thought, Starks die in the South . But Jon would never come South, or Sansa. She didn’t even know who else was alive. All she knew was that she wanted to go home, but she had business first. Cersei was still alive, ruling over Westeros, and Arya was determined to kill her. 

As Arya dismounted her horse, tying it up nearby the inn, she noticed a boy with bright green eyes and black hair staring at her. She glared back at him, but he only walked closer. Nearly seven feet tall, he towered over Arya, however he wasn’t threatening in the least, 

“Good afternoon.” He said, with a faint riverlands accent, “How are you?”

“Good, and you?” Arya asked, trying to sound as disinterested as she could. 

“The same, tired of travelling though. Where are you going?” 

“King’s Landing, what about you?” 

“The North.” He replied, making Arya snap her head up. 

“The North?” 

“That’s right, we’re travelling under the Stark banners, see.” He said, pointed to the banner hanging beside some horses. Arya smiled at the sight of it, 

“You northern then?” She asked, 

“Nope. I come from the Riverlands, but I just go where I’m told.”

“Fair enough. Isn’t it dangerous to travel under Stark banners, with the Boltons and everything?”

“Maybe, I imagine the North's still full of conflict, that’s just what Ser said to do.” 

“You're with a knight then?” Questioned Arya, raising an eyebrow.

“That’s right.” He answered, glancing at his horses.

“I should go inside, nice meeting you.” 

“You too, and it’s Hos by the way.” He replied, nodding his head. 

“Arya.” She told him, knowing better than to say her house name, even if he was travelling under the banners. They smiled at each other before he turned away to the horses and she went inside.

Quickly finding a table in the corner, she cast her eyes around the room. There were a few lone travellers, some groups of men and a curious group in the opposite corner. She could see the face of a girl, maybe thirteen years old, with brown curls and dark eyes. Beside the girl was three men, all young and dressed in good clothes, clearly high-borns. There was another man, older than the rest, facing away from Arya with blond hair. She watched them all for a few moments, occasionally catching the eye of the girl, who smiled kindly to her. Her thoughts, however, were distracted by a familiar voice, 

“Arry!” It called, 

“Hello Hot Pie.” She replied, glancing to the food he was carrying, “Who’s that for?” He gestured to a table with two men on it, and Arya grabbed the pie, “D’you mind?” Hot Pie shook his head, sitting down opposite her as Arya began to cut open the pie. “It’s good.” She told him, nodding her head in approval.

“You think so? The secret’s to brown the butter, takes time so most don’t bother.” 

“I didn’t do that.” Arya replied stiffly.

“You’ve made pies?” 

“A couple.” Answered Arya, her voice purposefully vague as she ate more of the pie. Hot Pie asked her about Brienne, whom Arya had met years before, and about what happened to her, although she didn’t reply.

“Where you headed?” Hot Pie asked after a silence. 

“King’s Landing, heard Cersei’s queen now.” 

“I heard she blew up the Great Sept, that must have been something to see, boom!” He demonstrated slightly with his hands, “Can’t believe someone would do that.” 

“Cersei would.” Arya replied plainly.

“I’d have thought you’d go to Winterfell.” 

“The Bolton’s have it.”

“Nah, the Bolton’s are dead.”

“What?” Arya asked, looking up.

“Jon Snow had a Wildling army, beat them at the Battle of the Bastards and now he’s King in the North.” Hot Pie explained to Arya’s disbelieving face, “It’s all true, he’s your brother, right?” 

“Yes.” Arya muttered, “Jon’s my brother.”

“That’s why that group’s going to Winterfell too, under the Stark banner.” Hot Pie added, pointing to them. Arya looked again, noticing Hos with them. 

“Who’s the knight?” 

“The knight? That’s Ser Jaime Lannister, he’s left his sister and pledged himself to your brother, or so they say.” Hot Pie told her as if it was village gossip. 

While Jaime didn’t hear his name being mentioned, some of the other men did, because they turned to look at Hot Pie and Arya, Hos stood up, 

“Arya, do you know this man?” He asked, protectively, Arya nodded, “Good, I couldn’t imagine my little sister travelling alone on this road, can’t trust some folk.” 

“Arya?” Jaime said, frowning, “Gods, your Arya Stark, aren’t you? They say you’re long dead.” Arya shook her head, 

“Not me, I’m not no Stark.” She forced the lowest born accent she could, trying to sound more like someone from Flea Bottom than a lady from a great house.  

“Who are you then?” Jaime persisted.

“Arya, just Arya.” 

“Really, not many ‘Just Aryas’ would have a sword like that.” Jaime commented, “Custom made?” Arya glanced at Jaime, then Hot Pie and back to the men and girl with Jaime. Taking her chance, she grabbed her small bag from the seat and darted past the tables. As she reached the door, she felt Jaime’s hand grab her shoulder, “Not so fast. If you’re who you say you are, I apologise, and if you’re Arya Stark, as I suspect, I am not having to tell Jon Snow I met you and let you leave alone, probably to get yourself killed.” 

“Get off me!” Arya shouted, trying to pull away, but Jaime gripped onto her, 

“Not a chance. You’re coming with us to Winterfell, I presume you have a horse?” He asked and Arya nodded, “Good, Hos do you know which one?” Hos gave Jaime a sharp nod, “Tie it to mine, we wouldn’t want the little lady to wander off.” Jaime led Arya over to their table and placed another pie in front of her, “Eat.” He commanded, “It’s a long ride to Winterfell, we leave again tomorrow morning.” 

Jaime disappeared, leaving Arya alone with the three younger men and the girl. 

“I’m Alysanne Bulwer.” She introduced herself, smiling politely, “This is Lewys Piper, Josmyn Peckledon and Garrett Paege.” Each of them smiled in turn; Lewys was the youngest, short and slightly fat with wild red hair. Josmyn looked the oldest, Arya guessed around twenty or so, a thin man with brown hair, bright blue eyes and a well-trimmed beard. Garrett had wavy brown hair to his chin and freckles across his face, he looked Arya up and down, 

“Are you Arya Stark then?” He asked confidently, Arya didn’t answer and Alysanne glared at him, 

“Why would she tell you? Idiot.” 

“I was just asking.” Garrett replied, “I figure she is.” 

“Well obviously.” Drawled Josmyn, rolling his eyes, “A lowborn would never get that kind of sword.” 

“Peck, she’s right there.” Alysanne scolded, looking to Arya, “Sorry.” Arya smiled at her, 

“It’s alright, I’ve had worse company.” She told her. A lot worse, Arya thought to herself, The Hound never made a great conversation partner, and most people wanted me dead anyway. Alysanne seemed nice, definitely in control of all of them, despite clearly being the youngest. Arya noticed Hos looking at her sword,

“Is it Braavosi?” He asked, “Water dancing?” Arya nodded and Hos smiled, “I studied them while we were in King’s Landing.”

“Shame you spend all that time studying and are still a fucking awful fighter.” Josmyn sneered, to Alysanne’s frown, “You fight then, are you any good? Any kills?” Josmyn fired at Arya. 

“One or two.” Arya answered bluntly. 

“At least you weren’t the one who orchestrated that whole House Frey incident, wiped out nearly all of them, said Winter came for House Frey, must have been a right sadist.” Garrett said, sighing. 

“How d’you know?” Lewys teased him, “For all we know it was her.” Josmyn scoffed, 

“A lady like her couldn’t do that. She’s barely five foot tall, look at her.” 

“It had to have been a man, anyway, no woman has the stomach.” Garrett added. Alysanne glanced at Arya, who smiled insinuatingly. Alysanna raised an eyebrow, 

“Arya and I are going for a breath of fresh air, alone.” She told the table, standing and taking Arya’s arm. 

Alysanne led her outside, grinning, 

“You did it, didn’t you?” She asked, “You got revenge on the Freys?” Arya nodded, overcome by the girl's excitement. She didn’t have much experience with girls her own age, purposefully ignoring them as a child and being on the run from everyone for the past few years. “That’s good, they were awful from what I heard.” 

“They killed my brother, his wife and my mother.” Arya said quietly, “That’s why I was going to kill Cersei.” She confessed, to Alysanne’s smile.

“I used to live in King’s Landing, I was a companion to Queen Margaery. It was sheer luck that I wasn’t killed in the Sept, Cersei did that.” She told Arya, “That woman deserves to die. I asked Jaime to do it - after what she did to Margaery - but he couldn’t do it, it is his sister after all.”

“I suppose.” Arya replied, “And now you’re going North?”

“Jaime pledged himself to Jon Snow. He seems honourable, Jon, and it was either him or that Dragon Queen, but Jaime wasn’t sure how he’d be received.”

“Don’t you want to go home?” Arya asked, curious. 

“It’s too dangerous, we’d have to travel through the Reach and Jaime won’t let me go alone.” She explained, “And besides, Cersei would probably siege the castle before long.” Her face fell a little bit, clearly remembering her home, then she smiled at Arya, “Still, you must be excited to see your family again.”

“Yes, I am.” Arya replied, unable to fight the grin off her face. Jon, her brother, with his dark hair and dark eyes, the other misfit in Winterfell. Then Sansa, pretty and perfect Sansa Stark. Arya had hated her as a child, despising her ladylike mannerisms and skills, but now all she wanted was to see her again, see both of them inside the walls of Winterfell. 

------------

They left early the next morning, and Hos noticed the air was colder than it was the day before. Winter was here. Travelling the whole day, the only noise being Josmyn Peckledon, Peck, and Garrett bickering and teasing until Jaime threatened them both and they stopped. Hos didn’t like Peck, he was confident, bold and ignorant. Years ago, at the Battle of Blackwood, he was promised a knighthood when he came of age, but at eighteen he was still a squire. Hos thought this would be something he’d keep quiet, however he spent half the ride that day bragging about his accomplishment, presumably to Arya, who nodded politely. 

Hos rode behind Arya and Jaime, who were side-by-side, next to Peck for most of the day. Eventually, he managed to slip next to Lew, someone Hos considered much better company. Lew was funny, cracking jokes and telling stories with little truth behind them. As the sun was setting and both of them grew tired, they slowed until they were at the back of the group, 

“What do you think of Arya?” Lew asked, whispering childishly. 

“What about her?” Hos replied, confused. 

“She’s pretty.” Confessed Lew, smiling, and Hos rolled his eyes, 

“She’s a Stark.” Hos told him bluntly. Lew came from a good house, but Arya was the daughter of Ned Stark and the heir to Winterfell, if her sister were to pass. 

“Isn’t your sister betrothed to the King in the North? You’re not from a great house either.” Lew snapped back, making Hos frown, it wasn’t often he was outsmarted by Lewys Piper. 

“Yes, but we were once kings. And we’ve been loyal to the Starks.” He told Lew, “Besides your house, because she might not care about that, I don’t think you’re her type.” 

“Yeah, how much are you willing to bet?” Lew challenged. Hos raised an eyebrow, 

“If you get Arya Stark to like you back, I’ll personally buy you a new horse. A courser, for war and tourneys.” Hos offered, looking down to the horse Lew was riding, “I figure poor Smokey here’s getting on a bit.” 

“I’ll take that.” Lew agreed, grinning then patting Smokey, “She’s not even mine, took her from the stables in King’s Landing. Thought it served those red cloak bastards right.” He laughed slightly, looking to Hos, “Gods I’m glad to leave there, and we’re going to your family.” 

“We are.” Hos answered nervously. He was excited to see them again, Gods knew he missed Beth, Ben and Alyn more than anything. But his father had given him away over his little sister. He understood why, Beth was pretty and clearly a good match for marriage, she was set to marry Jon Snow after all, however it still stung a bit that his father had valued her over him. 

“We’ll make camp here.” Jaime called from the front of the group, dismounting, “Hos, take shorty here with you and fetch some wood.” Hos jumped from his horse, passing the reins to Lew, and nodded to Arya, 

“Come on.” They walked in silence until they reached the trees, where they couldn’t be heard by the others. “Sorry about Jaime, he can be less than endearing at times.” 

“It’s alright.” Arya grunted. 

“He’s not awful really, the youngest ever member of the Kingsguard.”

“But he killed his king.” Snapped Arya, “Hardly honourable.” 

“That’s because-” His began, stopping himself, “Well, he had the right reasons.” Arya looked at him curiously, but didn't ask further and Hos shifted the conversation. “I’d have thought that a princess would wear dresses.” 

“Princess?”

“Your brother’s the king.” Hos explained as if he was talking to a child. Arya punched him in the arm, making him wince as he laughed. 

“I know that.” She replied, marching forward ahead of Hos, who grinned to himself. She’d get on well with Ben , he thought, They’re both very disagreeable. Hos had never gotten on too well with his brother, three years his junior. Ben was a talented swordsman, better looking than Hos and generally more manly. He was proud and determined too, with a sharp tongue, him and Hos had spent weeks and weeks of their childhood trading clever insults in their game. Hos always liked that game, the aim was to give the most insults in front of their parents or tutors without being noticed, whether that be with wordplay or obscure references to history. They often got their knuckles rapped for it, or sent to work in the yard for a day. 

Hos bent down to pick up wood, feeling in the dark for some which wasn’t too damp, when he heard a growl above his head. Trying not to scream, he looked up to see the jaw of a wolf, baring its teeth. 

“Arya!” He hissed, glancing over. She was surrounded by them too, the wolves getting closer and closer to her. One approached her, emerging from the trees. It was far bigger than the rest, towering over Arya, and Hos grimaced. He knew what it was, a direwolf. Surely not, he told himself, Not here, in the South. Arya seemed to step closer, and Hos saw her mouth moving, “Ayra!” He called, again, saying a silent prayer that she wasn’t about to be killed, “Arya!” His throat was dry from fear. 

He watched in shock as Arya reached out her hand to stroke the direwolf, 

“Come with me.” He heard, “I’m finally going home.” Arya said something else, unintelligible to Hos and turned around, the wolf following her. Hos stared at her as the rest of the pack retreated, “This is Nymeria.” She casually introduced, “Nymeria, this is Hos.” 

“That’s a direwolf.” Hos stuttered, 

“Well done.” She replied, raising an eyebrow, “She won’t hurt you.” Arya paused, “Well, she might if you’re stupid.” Hos laughed nervously, 

“Have you got wood?” He held out his arms to take it and Arya placed a few logs into them, “Good, that’ll do for now.” Avoiding eye contact with the wolf, he turned to walk back. The tension in his shoulders nearly hurt, cramps forming in his back, and he heard Arya laugh, 

“She’s not going to pounce on you.” She told him. Hos grunted a reply, pursing his lips in fear. 

“Have you seen the size of that thing? I have every right to be scared.” They walked forward for a few steps and Hos felt something grip around his waist. Jumping, he screamed out and swung around, hitting his elbow into whatever was behind him. 

“Fuck off.” Arya called, “It’s just a joke, and you scream like a girl.” Hos felt his heart pounding in his chest, 

“You terrified me, little bastard.” He told her as they emerged to the clearing, seeing the group again.

Jaime looked them up and down,

“Who’s scream was that?” 

“Bet it was Hos.” Teased Peck, “He’s always-” His voice trailed off as Nymeria stepped out of the trees. First time he’s been speechless , Hos thought, smiling to himself. Arya glared at him, them glanced to Hos, 

“It was my scream, I thought I saw someone in the trees.” She said, confidently. Hos mouthed a thank you to her and she continued, “This is Nymeria, my direwolf.” 

‘They killed your direwolf, years ago.” Jaime muttered, “At the crossroads, when it attacked Joff.”

“They killed Lady, Sansa’s wolf, I sent Nymeria away after she bit Joffrey.” Arya explained to the group, who were all glancing tentatively between Arya and Nymeria. It was Lew who broke the silence, a tremble in his voice, 

“She’s incredible.” He stuttered, edging forward with his eyes fixed on Nymeria. “Everyone says they're all gone.” Hos shook his head, 

“There’s Nymeria, and Jon Snow has a direwolf too. People reckon there's more North of The Wall.” He explained and Arya nodded in approval. “She won’t hurt us.” He added, raising an eyebrow to the nervous group. Trying to give of a confident air, he pretended he hadn't just screamed at Arya touching him and quivered at the sight of Nymeria, “Now, can we get a fire started? It’s bloody freezing.” 

-----------

“Jon, there’s a raven for you.” Beth said, holding it out as she entered Jon’s solar. He was sat at his desk, scribbling and reading in equal parts, he looked up, 

“Read it for me, please.”

“Queen Daenerys Targaryen, first of her name, invites you to Dragonstone.

My Queen commands the combined forces of the Dorne and the Reach, an Ironborn fleet, legions of Unsullied, a Dothraki horde and three dragons.

The Seven Kingdoms will bleed so long as Cersei sits on the Iron Throne. Join us.

Together we can end her tyranny.

I appeal to you, one bastard to another, for all dwarves are bastards in their father's eyes.

Tyrion Lannister, Hand of the Queen”

She read aloud, her voice shaking slightly, “Dorne, the Reach, the Ironborn, Unsullied, Dothraki and three dragons. Jon, they could destroy the Seven Kingdoms in days.” 

“I know.” He sighed, “I just hope this woman has some empathy, otherwise there will be no Westeros.” 

“Surely she wouldn’t? Surely she wouldn’t hurt innocent people?” Beth questioned, placing the letter on Jon’s desk. Jon smiled at her, 

“Not everyone’s as gentle as you Beth. We just have to pray to the Gods that she's a kind person.” 

“Shall I fetch Lady Sansa and Ser Davos?” She asked as Jon looked back to the letter, “I know Sansa’s with the girls.” Jon shook his head, 

“Send maids to do it, you can stay here.” He told her, looking up and smiling, “I haven’t seen you much recently.”

“You’ve been busy with Ben and Alyn, and dealing with a never ending number of discontented lords.” She said, laughing. Jon closed the book her was writing in and leaned back in his chair, relaxing, 

“And you’ve been caring for Dane and Annie, even though it was made very clear they were Sansa’s responsibility.” 

“I’m Sansa’s handmaid.” Beth interjected and Jon continued, 

“You’ve also been making some waves in the court. I’ve heard that yourself and Lyanna Mormont make quite the pair, quite an out-spoken pair at times.” 

“That’s because the lords aren’t used to being refused.” Beth explained, “Just because I won’t allow them to draw their swords at every occasion, Robett Glover was moments away from decapitating Larence Snow, in the middle of the Great hall!” 

“Old lords.” Jon said, laughing. 

“Men.” Corrected Beth, frowning to him. “I was thinking, do you know Alysanne Targaryen?” 

“Not personally.” Jon joked, making Beth sigh, “Sorry, continue.”

“Alysanne established a women’s court. She heard the stories and cases of women across Westeros, then convinced her husband to make laws in relation to them. When we marry, and I become the Queen, I would like to reestablish them in the North.” She finished, trying to stop her hands from shaking. Jon didn’t say anything for a moment, and Beth was terrified he was going to laugh at her, but then he nodded. 

“That’s a very wise idea, you have my full support.” He told her, placing his hands on her’s, “You’re going to be an amazing queen, you know that, don’t you?” Beth couldn’t answer before Sansa and Davos entered, carrying another letter. 

“From Sam.” Sansa explains, placing it into Jon’s hand, who quickly passed it to Beth. She opened it, careful of the eyes on her. Scanning it, she summeriased, 

“Dragonglass in Dragonstone.” 

“I have to go.” Jon announced, to Sansa’s protest, “I’ve already been invited by Tyrion.”

“How can you trust him?” She demanded, “Will you tell the lords?” Jon ignored her, averting his eyes to the floor, and Davos coughed slightly, 

“Lady Bethany, if you would allow me to ask a blunt question.” 

“Yes, Ser Davos.”

“Have you bled yet?” He asked, and all eyes shifted to Beth. She stared directly into Sansa’s, trying to avoid Jon’s gaze. 

“Yes, my lord. A week ago.”

She felt the blood rush to her cheeks. She wanted to marry Jon, and felt bad about not telling him, but she had no idea how. Her father knew, although he had promised to wait until she told Jon, and Beth had rather hoped the news would spread through the servants and get to him that way.

“May I suggest that you two wed, then one of you travels to Dragonstone and the other remains here to rule.” Davos proposed, looking between the two parties. Jon frowned, 

“Sansa can rule, there’s no rush for us to be wed.” 

“I was meaning that the Lady goes, your grace.” Added Davos, “The Dragon Queen is said to be kind, and if that reputation is slightly true, she will never hurt Lady Bethany.” Beth felt her whole body tense up, she looked to Jon then back to Davos. 

“What will the lords say?” She asked and Davos shrugged, 

“I don’t know, my lady, we could find out soon enough.”

Beth was moments away from grabbing Sansa’s hand as they walked to the Great Hall. Fear ran through her. Thinking of the future was like looking into dirty water, she couldn’t see anything. Every single day the Night King moved closer, and now she didn’t even know if she was staying in Winterfell. 

Jon presented the information to the lords, pacing up and down the hall as he spoke. Beth watched their faces carefully, confusion, distrust and anger flashed across them. She looked to Littlefinger, too, standing in the corner. Beth couldn’t read him properly, but she hated the way she looked at Sansa. Jon’s speech was growing more and more impassioned as he announced the plans, his voice firm. 

“I shall wed Lady Bethany tomorrow, making her Queen in the North. The next morning, her and Ser Davos shall depart for Whiteharbor.”

“Have you forgotten what happened to our grandfather. The Mad King roasted him alive.” Sansa objected, anger in her voice, “Daenerys is here to reclaim the Seven Kingdoms, the North is one of those kingdoms. It’s a trap.”

“I don’t believe Tyrion would do that, you know him, he’s a good man.” Jon replied to her, then turned to the room, “If any of us want to survive this winter, we need the dragonglass and we need a larger army. Daenerys is our only hope.” He glanced at Beth, and Yohn Royce rose, 

“Your grace, I must agree with Lady Sansa.” He told Jon, a reassuring calm in his voice, “A Targeryn cannot be trusted, nor can a Lannister.” The lords cheered, and Robett Glover spoke firmly in agreement. Beth glanced over to Lyanna, who was standing, 

“We need the King and Queen of the North in the North.” She declared to the room, her eyes jumping between Beth and Jon. Beth could see Jon breaking inside. He wanted to protect the North, he would do anything for the North, and here he was being slated for it. She had to say something. 

“Jon never wanted to be king.” She said stepping forward, “But you crowned him your king and swore to follow him. You trusted in him, in his judgement and in his decisions. Every man and woman in the room knows full well that Jon will do anything for the North. The Army of the Dead is coming and we need support, we cannot defeat them on our own. It’s a risk, but a risk we have to take if we want to see the North, and Westeros, survive for years to come. For our children, for our grandchildren and for all those who will come after us, we must protect the North.” 

Beth felt every single eye on her. Blood pounded through her body, her heart beating in her chest, she caught Jon’s eye with her own and saw him smile to her. Her own father sat at the back of the hall, her brothers beside him, and she could see the pride on their faces. Queen in the North . I’m not that, not yet, Beth thought, But I think I’m ready. Lyanna smiled at her, and the lords sat in a stunned silence. Only Sansa spoke, 

“Send someone else, we can’t put either of you in danger.” 

“We want Daenerys on our side and she is a queen, only a king or queen can convince her.” Jon replied, sighing, and Robett Glover frowned, 

“And yet you send a child.” He called, and a forced laughter rippled around him. Lyanna glared, 

“She's a far better person than you’ll ever be, Lord Glover.” She spat as Jon tried to ignore the conflict and Beth sent a pleading glance to Lyanna. A few more lewd comments were thrown across the room and Beth noticed tension rise in Jon’s shoulders, 

“Enough!” He yelled, the room freezing. “If you cannot respect the woman I am about to wed, I suggest you leave.” Not a single person moved, “Good.” 

------------

Jon was walking through the yard when he first heard the shouts,

“Jaime Lannister!” They called, “Jaime Lannister’s arrived.” 

He ran to the gate, Sansa and Beth both emerging from the keep, skirts clutching in their hands to stop them tripping, 

“Hos!” He heard Beth say excitedly, “Hos is going to be here.” 

They lined up in a jumbled mess in front of the gate, Beth darting between her father, her brothers and Jon, while Sansa held her breath. 

Jaime rose in first, someone who Jon presumed was Hoster Blackwood by his side. Beth ran to Hos, landing in his arms as their family approached from behind. More riders rode in, a girl with brown curls - Must be Alys -, three men - Josmyn, Lewys and Garrett - then a woman, being followed by a familiar direwolf. 

“Arya!” Jon shouted, charging over, “Arya!” He picked her up, tears streaming down his cheeks. Every piece of his body was shaking, “Arya.” He said again, softer this time, “You’re home.” Arya nodded and glanced behind her. There was another man, covered in furs and snow, layed in a cart. Sansa rushed beside Jon, who was still embracing Arya, and stared directly at the man, 

“Bran.” She muttered

“Hello Sansa.” He said, calmly, as Sansa wrapped her arms around him. 

“Bran!” Jon chuckled, unable to contain his joy, “Bran!” He glanced at the woman beside Bran, who looked increasingly uncomfortable. Jon smiled at her, “You brought him home.” She nodded, ‘How can we ever repay you? I don’t even know your name.” 

“Meera Reed.” She said, her voice shaking. Jon reached out his hand and shook hers profusely, 

“Thank you, Meera Reed, thank you.” 

All four of them hugged and cried until Jon didn’t think he had any tears left in him. The Starks were home. 

It was only when they were alone together in the Godswood that Jon told Arya and Bran of his wedding planned for the next evening. Arya had frowned, although staying silent, and bran had congratulated him, 

“I’ve seen her, she seems dedicated to the North and to you.” Bran had said, then he grinned, “And you seem to like her back.” Jon smiled at Bran’s teasing. He didn’t quite get Bran’s powers, even after his explanations, but Bran was his brother and that was what mattered. 

“Can we trust her?” Arya asked, each word carefully enunciated. Jon nodded, 

“Yes.” 

That was the end of that discussion. Jon wasn’t sure whether Arya was just tired, or she had changed, or maybe she really did trust Jon that much, but she didn’t put up any arguments. In fact, when Jon mentioned Beth’s sword training and her natural talent for it, she practically beamed in excitement. 

Jon wished more than anything that he could spend the rest of the day with Sansa, Arya and Bran, but there were more pressing issues. Beth had organised chambers for the guests, helped to introduce Alysanne Bulwer to the group of ladies Beth had become friends and sorted out all the squires with food. Sansa prepared chambers for Arya and Bran, making accommodations for Bran’s condition, sent out ravens to families about their members' safe arrival and tempered the lord’s anger at Jaime Lannister’s arrival. 

But only Jon could deal with Jaime. 

He wanted Sansa or Beth by his side, Ser Davos or Ben Blackwood to defend him, but he had to face Jaime alone. 

Come on Jon , he thought, This man wants your mercy, you have the upper hand . He reached a trembling hand to Jaime’s door and entered into the chamber.

Chapter Text

“You stand here today accused of the attempted murder of Brandon Stark, accused of murdering Jory Cassel, accused of attacking Lord Eddard Stark, accused of orchastrating the Siege of Raventree Hall and accused of murdering your king, Aerys II Targaryen, while serving as his Kingsguard.” Jon announced from his position in the middle of the high table. Beth sat on one side, mentally noting the reaction of each lord and lady in the room. Next to her was Ser Davos, a protective hand placed close to Beth’s on the table, and beside him was Bran Stark, face still and expressionless. On the other side of Jon was Sansa and Arya, both sat with backs straight and expressions of steel. “How do you plead?” Jon questioned, practically spitting at the man. They’d found an impressive list of crimes, and Beth knew they were missing many more, but she had no idea how Jaime would react. 

“Guilty.” He mumbled, “I plead guilty.” 

Jon looked down at Beth and laughed in disbelief, “Ha! That was easy.” 

“It was.” Muttered Beth, glancing across the row, “Why, Ser Jaime? Why confess to your crimes?” 

“I’ve done a lot of bad things in my life, my lady, there’s no point denying them.” 

“But you want to change?” She questioned, “There’s no point confessing if you're going to do it all over again.” 

“I do, my lady.” Jaime said, drawing in a breath, “I’ve led a less than honourable life, I freely admit that, but I beg for forgiveness and mercy.” 

“Unless we kill you here and now.” Beth stated, eyes drifting away from Jaime, “Forgiveness won’t do much then.” 

“I thought you were kind, and that you would give a kind ruling.” Jaime told her, raising an eyebrow. 

“Would it be kind to let you walk around, unpunished, when people lay dead?” She questioned, and Jaime stayed silent, “Thank you for your opinion on me, Ser Jaime, but I do not intend to pass my own ruling, that is up to the court. Who, may I add, are generally more bloodthirsty than myself.”

Jaime glanced around the room, turning backwards to see the lords were close to snarling at him. He looked back to Beth, who had sat down and was already talking quietly to Jon. 

She felt her whole body shake. Speaking in front of the lords still scared her close to death, although she refused to be meek and quiet. Instead, when she spoke to them, she became a queen, brave and bold, ferocious and fierce. She knew she was developing a reputation around the North too. Firm on the lords, quick witted and decisive. I’m not really any of those, she thought as she looked out to the lords. Inside, she was scared all the time, more timid than they ever realised and much less intelligent than she came across. Every decision was composed through deep thought, her mind whirling at a pace she’d never felt before. When she shared this with Jon, he laughed and told her that it was a good thing, the way decisions were supposed to be made, but she dreaded each one. People knew her as gentle though, and kind, like Jaime had said. She took pity on the poor, refused each violent proposal and sent lords away like naughty children whenever they dared to draw a sword.

“We promote mercy in this court.” Jon told Jaime, “However we also promote justice. Bran has asked for no punishment to be inflicted for your crimes against him, and that is granted.”

“Thank you, my lord.” Jaime said, smiling at Bran. 

“The things we do for love.” He replied, curiously, and Jon continued, 

“For your crimes against Jory Cassel, his only remaining kin Lady Beth Cassel has again asked for no punishment on hearing about your loss of a hand, especially in the circumstances you lost it.” 

“For your crimes against Lord Eddard Stark, Lady Sansa Stark commands that during your time at Winterfell, you assist in training the smallfolk for the war to come.” He said, glancing to Sansa in conformation, 

“He might as well do something useful while he’s here.” She added, her tone cold. 

“For the crimes against Raventree Hall and House Blackwood, you are commanded to officially free Hoster Blackwood to his father and you are commanded to give up your sword, which was originally the Stark ancestral weapon.” Jon announced. Arya stood up and took the sword from the guard who had confiscated it. She laid it on the table, slightly unsure of herself, and Jon continued, 

“For your crimes against Aerys Targaryen, it was planned that we strip you of your knighthood. However, Hoster Blackwood - of all people - has informed us you had the right intentions, and this had been confirmed by your squires.” Jon told Jaime, a hint of confusion in his voice, “You got lucky, although the natural consequences of your actions seem to be enough.” 

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

Beth let out a sigh of relief after the trial. As the lords filed out, Jon turned to her and kissed her on the cheek, 

“It’s today.” He whispered into her ear, and they smiled at each other. Beth noticed Arya standing behind Jon, watching uncomfortably, 

“Arya, yes?” 

“What should I do with the sword?” She asked, then pulled a face, “And please don’t say after your wed that you’ll be kissing in front of me.”

“Ayra!” Scolded Sansa, but Beth and Jon both laughed, then Jon glanced to Beth, 

“We could give it to Beth.” 

“The sword?” Beth asked, shocked, even though it was obvious that’s what he meant. 

“Yes.” 

“Surely Arya should have it, she’s a much better swordswoman than me.” 

“Ayra’s got a sword.” Jon explained, “And you need to be armed well when you go to Dragonstone, to scare the Targaryen and all.” 

“It’s valyrian steel…” Beth trailed off as the sword was placed in her hands, and Jon nodded, “But Arya doesn’t have any.” She protested, although keeping her grip on the sword. 

“She could have this.” Suggested Bran, holding out a dagger.

“Bran, where?” Was all Jon could say, picking it up, “This is... Wow, Bran.” He examined it carefully before handing it to Arya, who looked at it in a similar way. 

“Littlefinger gave it to me.” Bran explained, “It was meant to kill me once, but it’s wasted on me.” A hint of glee appeared in his eyes, excited to make a joke of his condition, “I’ve never seen a crippled warrior.” 

“Bran.” Sansa said, disapprovingly, then narrowed her eyes, “Littlefinger never gives away anything for free.” 

“I don’t like him.” Beth commented, lowering her voice, “And I like nearly everyone.” She glanced up at Sansa, “I know you two are - close.” Pausing uncertainty before finishing her sentence, she felt all their eyes on her, “But there’s something about him.” 

“He wants to marry me.” Sansa stated bluntly, “And become king of the Seven Kingdoms.” 

“Not a chance!” Jon exclaimed, “Sansa, I’ll refuse permission. You’re not marrying that creep.” 

“I don’t want to, idiot.” Sansa replied, shaking her head, “He loved my mother.”

“That’s worse.” Beth commented, pursing her lips, “He hasn’t done anything to you, has he?” She asked, concerned. Sansa shook her head, 

“He kissed me once, years ago, before he killed Aunt Lysa.” 

“He kissed you?” Jon nearly shouted, startling a poor maid who was crossing through the hall. 

“He killed Aunt Lysa?” Ayra’s voice matched Jon’s. Sansa nodded to both of them, 

“I don’t want to talk about it.” She said, firmly, “Anyway, we have a wedding tonight.” She changed the subject, her voice excited, “Ayra, with me. Beth’s dress needs finishing.” 

“I’ll help.” Beth offered, knowing Sansa’s reaction, 

“No, you do other things. It’s a surprise.” She said, smiling and Beth rolled her eyes. She knew that Sansa and some other ladies, with the notable exception of Lyanna Mormont, had been working hard at the dress, refusing her offers to help. She felt guilty, having people work so hard for her, but she also lacked the time, preparing for her departure.

Sansa and Arya slipped out the room, already whispering to each other. According to Jon, they’d been less than friendly as children, but Beth didn’t think they’d left each other's side since Arya arrived. Bran was strange, far stranger than anyone Beth had ever met. He had powers that Beth hadn’t realised really existed. A greenseer, he knew more than anyone in Westeros; more than Hos, more than Varys and his spies, more than all the maesters in the Citadel put together. He knew about Beth, things most people didn’t. He knew how she cried when her brothers, Lucas and Robert, died, he knew how she snuck cake from the kitchens for Dane and Annie, he knew how she sparred in the Godswood with Jon, he knew how Beth looked forward to seeing Lyanna Mormont each day. He knew everything.

Beth liked Bran, despite his knowledge. He was funny when he wanted to be, dreadfully stoic at other times. Only a year or so older than Beth, she watched in amusement as some of the ladies tried to flirt with him, the bold Eddara Tallhart especially, full of charm and gall. Bran seemed to like it, laughing at her jokes and complimenting her dark hair, although she saw how Sansa and Arya both frowned protectivally. 

Stood alone with Jon, Bran and Davos, Beth looked at Jon pointedly, hoping he would dismiss the two of them. He did, and Beth grinned. They kissed, both blushing as they pulled away, 

“Are you excited?” Jon asked, 

“To become your wife, yes, to become queen, less so.” She said, smiling. 

“Ruling is a thankless task.” Replied Jon, “Although it’s better not to do it alone.” Beth lent into Jon, head resting on his shoulder, 

“Gods, I love you.” She told him. Jon took her face in her hands, 

“I love you too.” He said, as they began to kiss again. 

--------------

Sansa was finishing the embroidery on Beth’s dress, black ravens and red weirwood leaves, when Beth entered the room. Everyone looked to her except Raya Hornwood, who rushed up to her, 

“Beth! It’s today, then you’ll be queen!” She said, quickly and excitedly. “And your dress is lovely, look at it.” She gestured her arm to Sansa and Wynafryd Manderly, the lady Sansa had purposefully chosen to help her complete the dress. Sansa smiled at Beth, then glanced down to her work. 

It was good, very good, in fact, especially given the time constraints. Cream fabric, with a hint of pink, and detailed embroidery. Very much to Beth’s taste , Sansa thought as the woman in question sat down with Raya and Alys Karstark, engaged in friendly conversation. Simple, or at least not extravagant. At first Beth had refused a new dress entirely, citing the war to come and the depleting funds of the North, but Sansa had insisted that the Queen in the North marries in a new dress. 

“It’s a shame you have to go alone.” Sansa heard Alys tell Beth, “Especially as a new wife.”

“Jon needs to stay here. I’d like him to come, of course, but we both have duties.” 

“Who’s coming with you then?” Raya asked, as all three Blackwood brothers and Jaime’s squires all slipped into the room. 

“Myself, Ser Davos, Larence Snow and a few servants.” Beth listed, “The North can’t spare anyone else.” 

“And I’m coming.” Hoster announced, and Sansa noticed a smile grow on Beth’s face, “I’ve just discussed it with Father and Ser Davos.” A few of the ladies looked at him peculiarly, “I’m Hoster Blackwood, Hos.” He introduced himself, “I arrived with Ser Jaime.” 

“You need a female companion.” Raya interjected, “I’ll come.” 

“I can’t ask that of you.”

“I’m not asking, I’m telling. You’re not queen yet Little Beth.” She said, firmly, and Sansa had to stifle her laugh, although Arya and Wylla Manderly didn’t manage to do the same. 

“I’ll come too.” Alysanne Bulwer announced, the same tone as Raya. 

“My lady, you're the Head of your House, I can’t ask that of you.” 

“From what I’ve been told, the Tyrells pledged themselves to House Targaryen. As a vassal of House Tyrell, I am pledged to House Targaryen, and as they are likely victors of the coming war, it seems wise to build good relations with them.” 

“I- Fine.” Beth said, “We leave tomorrow morning. Prepare your things and I’ll inform Ser Davos.”

“He already knows I’m coming.” Raya said, simply, and Beth frowned at her. “I told him as soon as Jon announced it, I wasn’t going to let you go alone.” 

“How did you know I’d let you come?” Beth asked, teasing slightly, 

“Well, how could you refuse your favourite member of the whole court?” Raya laughed sarcastically. Beth hit her in the arm, and Raya hit back until they were engaged in a mock fight, Raya brandishing a knitting needle as a sword and Beth doing the same. With the room watching, the fake sparred, racing across the room and jumping over furniture, Raya hurtling into poor Garrett Paege, smacking his face with her blonde braid. “Sorry!” She called, darting past him to Beth. She caught the future queen in her arms, tackling her onto the padded chair which Beth Cassel had quickly vacated. Both of them laughed until Sansa didn’t think they had any air left in them. It wasn’t proper in the slightest, especially in front of the squires and Hos, but everyone just smiled, amused, and Sansa sent Arya and Wylla a warning look to stop them doing the same thing.

Sansa noticed a small frown appear on Lyanna’s face. Lyanna and Beth were good friends, spending hours pouring over maps and numbers together, but Beth was clearly the most popular lady in the castle. Sansa knew about Beth’s chosen group of the intelligent and fierce Lyanna, the fun and careless Raya and headstrong Alys Karstark, it was a good mix, each of them complimenting each other's personalities and Sansa was sure they would aid Beth once she became queen. She hoped Lyanna wasn’t jealous of Raya, although it seemed out of character. As she thought this, Sansa stopped herself. Lyanna’s thirteen , a voice reminded her, her being jealous is only natural. Glancing at Beth and Raya, then back to Lyanna who was speaking, with her serious look, to Alys, Sansa planned to talk to Beth about it. 

The other ladies in Winterfell were Eddara Tallhart and Beth Cassel, both the head of their house, and Wylla Manderly, the outspoken grandaughter of Wyman Manderly. Sansa was close to Beth Cassel, the pair having grown up together, although they both had lost their childish naivety in favour of a harsher approach to life. Eddara Tallhart was confident, nearly at her fifteenth nameday, with a natural charisma and pretty looks that Sansa was sure had charmed Bran. Wylla Manderly was painfully similar to Arya; rebellious, brave and unladylike, her hair was dyed green and she always had a determined look in her eye. 

Sansa liked all of them to an extent, although with more reservations than Beth’s unending acceptance. Besides Beth Cassel, whom Sansa found herself getting on very well with, Sansa had to admit that Lyanna was her favourite. Her boldness and protectiveness of her people was something Sansa envied, and the young girl's sense of duty was seemingly unparalleled by any lord or lady, perhaps with the exception of Jon and Beth. 

---------------

Bran knew who Jon’s parents were. I have to tell him , he thought as he sat under the weirwood tree, I have to tell him before he marries. He had a letter in his hand, from Samwell Tarly, a man he’d never met but found himself conversing with. Bran knew Sam was Jon’s closest friend, which was precisely why he’d confided in him. But Sam had responded with something unexpected, something Bran never even thought to find out. 

Jon’s mother was Lyanna Stark, his father was Rhaegar Targaryen and they were married. 

When he first read those words, Bran didn’t believe it. He’d nearly thrown the paper into the snow. They couldn’t have been married, it was a lie, surely. But he’d read further, and Sam had all the evidence. The High Septon annulling Rhaegar’s first marriage, the record of Lyanna and Rhaegar’s own one and the dates all lining up perfectly. He checked himself, visiting the marriage and revisiting that fateful day at the Tower of Joy. Aegon Targaryen, Lyanna had named Jon, and Bran had to tell him the truth. 

“You wanted to see me?” Jon asked, walking into the Godswood. He looked happy, smiling plastered onto his face and hand resting lightly on his sword, Bran could tell he’d been sparring. 

“Yes, I have something to tell you.” Bran replied, nervously. In his head, he’d worked out what he wanted to say, but now he could barely find the words to speak. 

“What about?” Questioned Jon, sensing Bran’s tone. 

“Your mother, and your father.” Bran said quickly, trying not to look away, 

“Our father.” Jon corrected pointedly, and Bran shook his head, 

“Your father, Rhaegar Targaeryen.” 

“No.” Jon said as Bran placed Sam’s letter in his hand, “I- No.” 

“Jon, your father was Rhaegar and your mother was Lyanna Stark and they loved each other deeply.” 

“No.” Jon said, firmer this time, “No, Bran, no.” 

“I’ve seen it, they married in secret. Father took you from Lyanna at the Tower of Joy, she named you Aegon.” Bran explained, although Jon was pacing the Godswood, “Jon, listen to me.” 

Jon barely looked up and Bran didn’t say anything else, just watched his big brother carefully, 

“I have to tell Beth. We have to tell Sansa and Arya too. We have to tell everyone.” 

“Jon, you don’t have to.”

“Yes I do, Bran. I can’t lie to the North, and I can’t lie to our family.” 

Bran was beside Jon everytime he told people. With him as he told Sansa and Arya, who both adamantly stated that Jon will always be their brother. With him as he told Beth, who paused for a second before hugging him and telling him it didn’t matter. With him as he told the northern lords, proclaiming honesty above all else. The northern lords struggled with it the most, Bran found. They fidgeted and sighed and quickly began to eat their ill fated comments about Targaryens. It was Lyanna Stark who first declared Jon her king, followed quickly by Alys Karstark and Tytos Blackwood. 

When they told Sansa and Arya, it was the first time either of them realised something that came with Jon’s newfound parentage. The Iron Throne. Reading over Sam’s letter, Bran noticed that he had also said the same thing, but neither Bran nor Jon had read that far down, and they gave all the credit to Sansa.

“I can’t sit on the Iron Throne.” 

“Why?” Sansa questioned, “You’re good at ruling the North.”

“I know the North, I care about the North. I’m King in the North because it means I can protect the North and because people want me to be king.” 

“Are you sure?” Sansa asked, “It’s your birthright.” 

“And the North is Bran’s.” Added Arya, slightly annoyed at Sansa. Jon nodded, 

“Let them fight over the South. I am a Stark and I will rule our home.”

-------------

Hos held his breath as Beth walked into the Godswood. Her hair was carefully done, the front plaited and pinned together at the back with a pin studded with stones that matched the embroidery on her dress. The maiden cloak was decorated with their sigil, black ravens around a white tree on a scarlet background. Beth looked beautiful, truly beautiful, and Hos felt himself swell with pride, and glancing at Ben and Alyn, knew they felt the same. 

Tytos held her arm as they walked, he whispered something into her ear and they both smiled to each other. Beth caught Hos’s eye as she passed him, he nodded slightly and she continued to the weirwood tree where Jon stood. There was snow across the ground, balanced carefully on some branches, but the sky was clear and the woods lit by moonlight, making Beth’s hair shine red and the metal on Jon’s clothes glint silver. 

The old gods ceremony was short; they exchanged vows then Jon carefully removed Beth’s cloak, passing it to Tytos who stood beside the couple, and wrapped Beth in his own, grey with a white direwolf across the back. The pair turned from the Godswood to face the crowd, holding hands and both grinning in a way that made Hos feel incredibly happy for them. They love each other , he thought, That doesn’t happen often enough . 

“The King and Queen in the North!” Shouted a lord, Hos wasn’t sure which, and the rest of the crowd joined in, raising their swords into the air, 

“King and Queen in the North! King and Queen in the North!” They repeated to the starry sky. Beth smiled at her brothers and Hos grinned back as Ben nudged him, 

“That’s our little sister.” He told him, nearly laughing with happiness and pride, “Our Beth’s the Queen in the North.”

Jon picked up Beth, as was customary, and carried her to the keep with the crowd following behind them. Alys Bulwer darted her way to Hos, 

“She looked beautiful, and so happy too!” She exclaimed, her voice hard to hear above the noise. Alys wrapped her arms around him from the side and Hos hugged her back, 

“Peck’s staring.” He laughed, 

“Let him stare.” Replied Alys, “Today’s a happy day.” Hos smiled at her. He liked Alys, not in a romantic way, just in a sisterly way. While he was with Jaime, she was almost like a substitute for Beth, despite their differing personalities, and he enjoyed spending time with her.

Hos was guided to one side of the high table by servants. He sat between Tytos and Ben, feeling uncomfortably exposed as people stared up at them. 

“Old Tytos has done well, hasn’t he?” One person said, their voice drifting to Hos’s ears, “I wonder what his plans for his sons are?” 

Hos often wondered that too. His father was a kind man, never the type to push his sons into unsuited positions. Hos had considered becoming a Maester, but the idea of serving one family for the rest of his life didn’t satisfy him. I’d like to travel Westeros, he thought as he ate, See Dorne, Oldtown and the Wall. Maybe he’d do that, go up and down the Seven Kingdoms, learning everything that interested him. 

He supposed that for his other brothers it was a bit easier. Brynden would be Lord of Raventree Hall, a position he was heavily suited to with his calm manner and quick mind. Ben and Alyn would both become knights, or something similar, they could fight for Jon and Beth as part of the northern cavalry. Still Brynden had the evermounting pressure of marrying and producing heirs and approaching his twenty-fourth nameday, Hos knew that Brynden needed a wife soon. However, today wasn’t the day to dwell on such matters, Hos glanced past his father to Beth, 

“Congratulations, my sister.” He said, grinning at her, 

“Thank you.” She replied, her face matching his, “It’s just a shame we have to leave tomorrow.” 

“We could wait a day.” Suggested Hos, but Beth shook her head, 

“We can’t.” 

Hos turned away, pride pounding through his body. Beth was going to make the best queen that anyone this side of the Narrow Sea has ever seen. 

------------------

Jon Stark held his wife’s hand underneath the table. She was talking to the lords and ladies in front of them with an enthusiasm Jon wished he could fake. She was just so much better than everyone else. Kind and gentle, but not stupid and too lenient on anyone. Just treating each lord, lady, squire and servant with merciful authority that made her both loved and respected, and she was Jon’s wife. 

King Jon and Queen Bethany of House Stark were their official titles. The name Targaryen hung over their marriage like a dark cloud. Beth barely mentioned it since she was told, and when she did it was to insist it didn’t matter in the slightest. But Jon could feel it inside of him. It was stupid, he knew, but it was like he could feel the fire in his veins. He felt it when he fought in the yard, when the lords angered him and when Sansa and Arya drove him close to madness. He never showed it, he would never dare, but it brewed in him. 

Still, today was his wedding day and there were other things to think about. His beautiful wife, the never-ending chain of congratulations and a pile of gifts that had been presented to the couple. Most of them were small things, not that Jon or Beth wanted anything and had said as much. They were given fabric and furs, including a deep green that Jon knew would look perfect on Beth. They received books too; tales of the North, histories and knowledge about far-away places. 

The strangest gift was given to them last, once most of the room was drunk and the other few trying to keep them in line. It was a box, old and square in shape with leather straps across it. There were carvings on the sides, stylised images of fire and dragons. Targaryen, he thought Beth spoke with the gifter. Glancing up, he saw the man. He was dressed in a long black cloak, covering his whole body, with a hood over his head. Round his neck were dark red jewels, forged in silver that caught the candlelight. The man reached to the box with thin pale hands that appeared to have cracks across them. He opened it, revealing four eggs. Dragon eggs. 

Jon didn’t know how he knew, he’d never seen anything like a dragon egg before, but he could just tell. Unconsciously, he gripped Beth’s hand tighter, and she looked to him as the man shut the box again and a servant removed it to the side of the room. 

“Dragons.” He whispered to her, careful not to let anyone else hear, “Dragon eggs.” He expected Beth to dispute him, maybe even laugh and tell him it was impossible, but she just stared at him with a deadly serious look in her eyes. 

“It doesn’t matter to me, you know that, and it barely matters to half of the Northerners, but you are Aegon Targaryen.” She said, “You have dragon’s blood, Jon, as much as you have wolf’s blood.” 

“Will they hatch?” He asked, after taking in what she was saying. Beth grinned, 

“That’d be fun, wouldn’t it?” She glanced over to Arya for a second, “Wait, has Arya told you?”

“Told me what?”

“She thinks Nymeria’s pregnant.” 

“With Ghost’s?” Asked Jon, finding the thought strange despite them being animals. 

“Apparently not, which is probably for the best.” Beth said, grinning, “Arya would freak, Nymeria’s her in wolf form, and Ghost is you, she’d take it as you impregnating her.” Jon laughed slightly, glancing down and pushing the remnants of food on his plate.

“Dragons and direwolves.” Jon contemplated, “They’d wreck havoc around Winterfell.” 

“They would, can you imagine it?” 

“The dragons would chase the wolves, which could grow as big as Nymeria, mind, being encouraged by Arya I would imagine.” He said, picturing it in his head, “And if some of our own are anything like her, I doubt Winterfell would stay standing for much longer.” He added, feeling a warmth in his heart as Beth smiled at the mention of their future children.

By the time Beth and Jon had reached their chambers, alone, they were both very done with the wedding and the feast. They’d wanted to leave earlier, slip off to the privacy of their own chambers and do what newly-married couples did, but there was courtesy and polite conversation to be held with whoever approached them. Jon was reluctant to pull Beth away, considering she was leaving the next morning, however when she whispered in his ear for them to leave, he was over the moon. 

They entered the chambers together, closing the door on lords, ladies and curious glances. Beth kissed him, taking Jon by surprise slightly. 

“I love you.” He muttered as they separated. Neither of them were entirely confident in their actions. The memory of Ygritte was still in his mind, as much as he wished it away in the moment, but Beth was nothing like the wildling woman. Her skin was soft, Jon noticed as he untied the back of her dress, and pale too. Freckles lightly dotted her arms, remnants of a past summer, and her copper hair fell over her shoulders in soft waves. Jon ran his fingers over her body as she undid his shirt. She was perfect, Jon decided as they moved closer to the bed. Yes, she was perfect.