A/N: The final chapter is here and it's a doozy: 37 pages in Microsoft Word! Oh boy. I hope you guys enjoy this one.

I have a sequel to this fic in the works, so this chapter should wrap up the current storylines and give you an idea of what's to come. In the sequel I want to do things slightly differently from how I think the show is going to do them, and I want to include some plots and characters that the show has abandoned. I'm hoping to roll out the first chapter of the sequel in early March, so keep your eyes out if that's something you might be interested in reading. Thanks so much and enjoy this last chapter!

Daenerys

The dream was one of the most vivid she had ever had.

She was sitting in a garden somewhere, a place she did not recognize. Daenerys stood up and looked around, taking in the trees and flowers in full bloom: dragon's breath, goldencups, and smokeberry vines. She looked behind her and saw pale red stone towers in the distance. The Red Keep. She realized. A thought came to her then and, startled, she reached down to touch her stomach, finding it flat and empty under the silken fabric of her dress. She wasn't pregnant anymore. For a moment terror seized her heart and Daenerys feared that it had happened again, that she had lost her and Jon's baby as she'd lost her Rhaego, when suddenly –

"Mummy!"

Daenerys looked up. A little girl was skipping towards her, carrying roses in her small hands as she wove them into a crown. The roses were not blue like winter roses, but such a pale pink they were almost white – spring roses. The girl reached Daenerys now and smiled, exposing a missing front tooth. She looked about five years old, with bouncing, silver-blonde curls and purple eyes that were a shade darker than Daenerys's own. "Mummy? Are you listening?"

She's talking to me. Daenerys realized. I'm Mummy. "What is it, sweetling?" She said once she could find her voice. She could still scarcely believe what she was seeing.

Her daughter extended the now completed flower crown towards her. "I made this for you, Mummy!"

Daenerys smiled and knelt down, allowing the girl to nestle the crown of flowers in her hair. "Thank you."

From somewhere off in the distance, there were the shrieks of joyous laughter and the little girl grinned, grabbing Daenerys's hand. "Come, Mummy! Come see!"

They weaved through the sweet-smelling garden, past green trees and blooming shrubs, towards a small wooded area surrounded by alders, elms, and black cottonwood trees. The sounds of laughter and playful screams were getting louder. Daenerys followed the little girl, her daughter skipping along happily and humming as she dragged Daenerys along behind her. They burst past the trees and into a clearing, where a great oak tree covered in vines grew, the Blackwater Rush just beyond. There was a man who looked to be in his mid to late-twenties, dressed in grey and red with dark hair that curled about his ears. Jon. Daenerys realized. He looked a few years older and he had a few more scars than he did now, but he was happy and smiling, and there was no doubt in Daenerys's mind that this was her beloved. She watched in confusion as Jon jumped back, waving a wooden sword. Jon has no use of a practice sword. She thought, confused, but then she heard a peal of laughter that hadn't come from Jon.

The little boy giggled as he waved about his own practice sword. Like his sister, he looked to be about five years old, and he had her same silver curls and dark purple eyes, but despite his coloring his face looked like Jon's. Speaking of Jon, he dropped his sword in order to scoop the boy into his arms and their son laughed harder. "Daddy, you're cheating! Put me down, put me down!"

"And who's going to stop me, huh?" Jon said, spinning the boy around and planting kisses on his cheek as their son laughed and squirmed.

Their daughter broke away from Daenerys now. "Me, Daddy!" She ran towards her father and brother and grabbed onto Jon's legs, the children teaming up to knock him on the ground. Daenerys knew very well that if Jon were really trying, he could've easily stayed aloft, but instead he feigned defeat and the three of them collapsed onto the grass, rolling about and laughing. The sight was so beautiful and so heartwarming, Daenerys felt like she might start weeping. This is the life I'm to have, with my husband and my beautiful children...oh gods, how did I ever get so lucky?

The dream ended as soon as it began and Daenerys bolted upright in bed, her breathing heavy as she got her bearings. She looked around and saw that she was in Winterfell again, in bed in her and Jon's chambers, covered by a fur as a fire blazed in the hearth. The memories came back to her in a rush, of the battle and how she'd fallen from Drogon's back. Panicked, she touched her stomach and found the soft swell was still there, proof of the life she still carried. Daenerys exhaled in relief.

Immediately, Maester Wolkan rushed to her bedside. "Your Grace," He breathed. "I am so glad to see you are awake."

"How long was I asleep?"

"Three days, off and on. You would stir every once in a while, open your eyes and murmur in your sleep, but you now seem to have your wits about you. That is a good sign..."

The hand against her belly pressed closer. "My children...are my children all right?"

"Your dragons are healing well, Your Grace. There was a rip in Drogon's wing but it has been stitched, and in time we'll see if he will be able to fly again."

Daenerys shook her head, remembering her dream. "That is not what I meant."

"The baby, then? I cannot be certain, but in my opinion it seems that all is well. You have not bled or had any labor pains, and it does not seem like you landed on your stomach. At this point, I think the chance of a miscarriage is very low. You should consider yourself lucky, Your Grace – it seems your baby is perfectly healthy."

"Twins." Daenerys blurted out. It was the first time she'd said it out loud. "I'm having twins."

The maester gave her a queer look. "Well, I suppose it is possible, Your Grace. Your rough morning sickness could be an indication of a twin pregnancy, but you are only two and a half moonturns along, so at this point it is impossible to ascertain – "

"I do not think, I know." Daenerys cut him off. I saw them. She wanted to say, but she knew Wolkan would not believe her. My daughter carrying a crown of roses, my son laughing with his wooden sword...They were my children, my children with Jon, I know what I saw.

This time the man did not question her. "Well, there is something to be said about a mother's intuition. Congratulations again, Your Grace. Should I send for His Grace?"

"Please." Wolkan left the room and Daenerys moved into a sitting position, pulling her tangled, blood caked hair out of her face. She saw now that her left wrists was bandaged – it must've broken her fall – but that was not her primary concern. With her good hand, she rubbed her stomach. Be strong, my little ones. She silently willed the babes in her womb. You need to stay in there for seven more moonturns before you can come out and meet us. You are the blood of wolves and dragons, you can be brave...

It was only a few minutes later that the door burst open. It was Ghost who got to her first, the direwolf catapulting himself onto the bed in a blur of white fur, and Daenerys laughed as he began to lick every inch of her face. "Oh Ghost, I am so happy to see you too..."

"Ghost, down!" The wolf obeyed immediately at the sound of his master's voice, moving to lie at the foot of the bed, his head resting on his paws. Daenerys smiled when she saw Jon walk into the room and she opened her mouth to greet him, but before she could speak her husband had crossed the room in two strides to reach her and kissed her with three days' worth of pent up passions. "Oh Daenerys, thank the gods..."

They kissed once, twice, three times before pulling away and Daenerys touched his shoulder, seeing that one of his arms was in a sling. "My love, you are hurt."

"I dislocated my shoulder." Jon said, brushing off her concern like it was nothing. He tenderly cupped her face. "Dany, I was so worried about you. I..." His voice broke. "I feared I was going to lose you. Both of you."

Daenerys cut him off with a light kiss. "I am sorry I frightened you. Luckily we are all safe..." At her words, she saw his face falter. "What's wrong?"

Jon hesitated. "Perhaps I should not tell you any of this until you have fully recovered – "

She would hear none of that. "Jon. I am your wife and queen. Tell me, please."

She saw him take a deep breath. "There were...some losses." Jon began tentatively. "Brienne's squire Podrick Payne fell in the battle. The Hound did as well, but Beric Dondarrion revived him with something called the last kiss, at the expense of his own life. Gendry took a serious injury and has not yet woken up – he is still alive, but we do not know if he will ever regain consciousness. And then...I'm sorry Daenerys, but Grey Worm..."

He did not need to finish the sentence. Tears sprung to Dany's eyes immediately. She had begun to think that the leader of her Unsullied was invincible, with all the things that he had survived, but all men must die. Daenerys wished she had been with him in those moments, to have said goodbye and properly thanked him for all he'd done for her. "Has Missandei been informed?" She did not even want to think about how devastated her friend must've been.

"Yes. She took it as well as could be expected. She wants to have a funeral for him, and I've agreed."

"Tell her I will attend."

Jon nodded. "I expected you'd say as much."

Daenerys paused, wiping the tears from her eyes. "Who else? Who else died in battle?"

"Dany, there were thousands of them, we don't even know how many. People you didn't even know…"

She cut him off gently. "I will hear all the names." They were her people, even if she hadn't met some of them. They died for her, for Westeros, and she would remember them.

It took Jon almost an hour to tell her all the names he knew – he promised to find the rest out for her, even if he had to ask every living soul at Winterfell. The least I can do is commit their names to my memory. Daenerys thought to herself. To remember their sacrifice, even if no one else will…

Reaching the end of the list, Jon hesitated. "There's one more…Dany, Bran's gone."

A chill washed over Daenerys at his words. "Bran?" She repeated and Jon nodded in confirmation. She could see that he was trying not to burst into tears and instinctively she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him closer. Immediately Jon burrowed into her embrace and she heard him emit a soft sob against her shoulder. "Oh Jon, I am so sorry. I know how much you loved him..."

She heard him gasp for breath as he attempted to regain his composure. "He..." Jon choked out. "He told Sansa and Arya, before he died...he told them to tell me that it was worth it. That I was worth it."

Daenerys kissed the top of his head and ran her hand up and down his back, trying to comfort her husband as best as she could while he sniffled into the skin of her neck. "He loved you, you know. And he knew you loved him. He loved you too Jon, I could see it."

A few moments later, Jon finished crying and he sat up again, but Daenerys did not let go of his hand. "I'm sorry." He said. "I told myself not to cry..."

"Don't apologize." Dany insisted immediately. "I'm your wife, Jon. I never want you to hold back your feelings around me."

He nodded. "And I hope you know how grateful I am that you're all right, truly. You and my sisters and the child, you're all right..."

Daenerys paused, biting her lip. She wondered if she should tell me about the dream she had, or if he would simply brush it off as a foolish fever hallucination. "Actually, there's something I ought to tell you about that..."

Jon looked at her confusedly. "What?"

"It's nothing bad." Daenerys added quickly, not wanting to worry him any further. "While I was asleep, I had a dream – I dreamt that we had twins. A girl and a boy. I know it sounds crazy..."

But her husband cut her off with a gentle kiss on the lips. "It's not crazy." He said, brushing her hair out of her face. "You are no ordinary woman, Daenerys Stormborn, remember? Your dreams come true."

Daenerys didn't know if she'd ever loved anyone or anything as much as she loved Jon Snow in that instant.

"So, what were they like?" Jon asked, looking eager. "Our daughter and our son?"

Daenerys could feel herself grinning just at the thought. Our daughter and our son, I love the sound of that. "They were about four or five, I think. The girl looked like me – "

"Thank the gods." Jon interjected, causing Daenerys to roll her eyes.

" – the boy had my coloring too, but your face I think. You were teaching him swordplay, and our daughter was picking flowers to make me a crown of roses. It was springtime again. Oh Jon, it was wonderful. We all looked so happy."

Her husband smiled and kissed her forehead. "We will be happy. I love you, Dany." Her heart filling with love for him, Daenerys embraced him again as Jon pressed a series of delicate kisses on her face, then her neck, and finally her lips.

Even if things were bleak right now, spring was coming. And there was not a doubt in her mind that they were going to have so much happiness...

Sansa

Ghost lay sprawled out on the floor in front of the fire, his head resting on his front legs, and she bent down to gently scratch the sleeping direwolf behind the ears. In the great hall, most of the smallfolk had been cleared out now that it was safe to return to their homes, but some had stayed behind and were now crammed into every space they could find, wanting to watch her meeting with the lords.

Everyone was there: Lyanna Mormont, Alys Karstark, Wyman Manderly, Cley Cerwyn, Eddara Tallhart. With Robett Glover slain in the battle, his teenage son Gawen was the new Lord of Deepwood Motte. The Hornwoods were dead, leaving only the late lord's bastard snow, Larence Snow. "My lords," Sansa said. "My ladies, we had a great victory three days ago and have reclaimed the North, from the Night King and his army which wished us harm. However, despite our accomplishments, there is still much to be done."

"My lady," said Wyman Manderly. "Allow me to speak for all of us when I say that we mourn the loss of your brother Lord Brandon with you." Others nodded or vocalized their agreement.

"Thank you, Lord Manderly." Sansa said. She had already wept over Bran for countless nights, and now it was time to be strong. The loss of a brother was an ache that would never truly heal, but she would endure it, as she had endured much pain before in her life. She could not be porcelain when she needed to be steel. "My brother made the ultimate sacrifice for the North. We now must move forward and keep his sacrifice in our hearts from this day on, so that it may not have been in vain."

The lords nodded. There were some murmurings of "here, here".

"Gawen Glover," Sansa said. "Larence Snow, would you come forth?"

The two men – though in truth neither was more than eighteen – came forward and unsheathed their swords, kneeling before her. "Lady Stark." Gawen Glover said, as Larence Snow said "My lady."

"I am deeply sorry for the losses of your family," Sansa said. "But take solace in the fact that they died bravely. It is my hope that you both shall continue your fathers' noble service to the North as the new heads of your houses."

Larence Snow bent his head. "You are a kind and generous lady, Lady Stark."

"We swear to serve you as your faithful and loyal bannermen." Gawen Glover added. "Now and always, my lady."

"I know you both will." She said. "May your minds be strong, and your hearts be true." Satisfied, the two lords retook their places and Sansa proceeded to the next matter of business. "Tormund Giantsbane." The Free Folk man came forward and some of the Northerners gave him sideways glances. They were still wary of the wildlings – it seemed even a battle for the future of humanity could not undo many years of animosity. "I thank the Free Folk clans for your loyal service to my brother, King Jon. Now that the war against the Night King is done, I understand that some of your men and women may wish to return to your homes beyond the Wall. Anyone who wants to go shall be allowed, and no one will stop them."

"The Free Folk have no true homes," Tormund responded. "For years we have travelled beyond the Wall, never staying in one place in fear of the Walkers. Now that threat is gone. I cannot speak for all of us, but I can say there is nothing beyond the Wall that I am aching to return to."

"In that case, let me present another option. I know the ways of the Free Folk are very different from ours, however I believe there is a compromise to be made. I wish to give you the Dreadfort." The castle had remained untouched since she'd killed Ramsay, no Boltons remaining on this earth, and Sansa certainly did not want her dead husband's seat. If she never had to return there, she would be a happy woman. "You may all do with it as you like: make it your home, knock it down and build a new, it matters not to me. The land is yours. In return, I ask that the Free Folk shall swear themselves to House Stark, to give us your aid in battle when called upon. In accordance with your customs, you may however choose your own leader. I hear that the Free Folk have elected you to lead them, Tormund Giantsbane?"

"Aye," Tormund said. "That is correct."

"Very well. Tormund Giantsbane, I shall name you Lord of the Dreadfort and Protector of the Free Folk. In the event of your death, the Free Folk shall choose a new leader to succeed you, instead of the titles being hereditary. That is, if you accept my terms."

Tormund cracked a grin. "I will pledge my weapons to you and your brother, red-haired lady. You are a lucky one – kissed by fire, as am I."

Sansa could not help but smile too. "Next order of business," She said as the Free Folk man rejoined his people. "I am sure you all have heard that we lost Lord Yohn Royce in the battle as well." The man had been a pain in her neck with his constant dissent towards the Targaryens, but he had helped them win the Battle of the Bastards, and he'd held more sway over the lords of the Vale than anyone else. He'd been a valuable ally. "We honor his noble sacrifice. However, there is also the issue about what will happen to the Knights of the Vale, as Lord Royce was their commander. I intend to send a letter to my cousin Robin Arryn, Lord of the Eyrie, asking for the Knights of the Vale to remain with our cause when King Jon and Queen Daenerys march south to reclaim the Iron Throne." Sansa had not seen Robin in almost two years. He would be sixteen now, ruling the Vale on his own now that Petyr Baelish was dead and he was legally a man. Sansa could only hope that his temperament had improved away from the influence of his late mother or Littlefinger – or, if not, that she would be able to persuade him.

"With all due respect, my lady," Cley Cerwyn piped up. "Why should we concern ourselves with the Iron Throne? Let Cersei Lannister have the damned thing if she wants. Lannister, Targaryen, Baratheon – who sits the Iron Throne is no matter to us. We have defeated the Night King, let us return to our homes and stay out of southern politics. Too many lives have already been lost."

"Better yet," said Lyessa Flint, the Lady of Widow's Watch. "Let the North be a free and independent kingdom. We already had two Kings in the North, why not a Queen?"

Chatter broke out throughout the hall. Some were agreeing with Lady Flint, while others voiced their disapproval. "My lords, my ladies!" Sansa proclaimed. She raised her voice and everyone halted, turning back to look at her. "Look at yourselves! A year ago, all of you gathered here and named my brother Jon your king. He is still your king now, and his wife your lawful queen. Should we abandon Jon now because we fear going to war again? The mere suggestion is shameful. We named Jon our king and he shall be our king, our only king, from this day until the day he dies. I will not let you put a crown on my head just because you are feeling cowardly. What would you do if one day you tired of me? Try to make my sister Arya your new queen? Here in the North we are supposed to honor our vows."

The men and women throughout the room who had been calling for her to be Queen in the North moments ago could not meet her eyes now, looking down in shame.

"As for the Iron Throne," Sansa continued. "Cersei Lannister is not fit to be Queen of Westeros. I know her, my lords and my ladies, better than anyone else here. She is selfish, spiteful – and smart. She must be disposed, for the safety of the North and all the realm. Cersei will never support our interests, but King Jon and Queen Daenerys shall. They've already proven that by leading us to victory against the Night King. The North is my home, and I will always act in its best interests – and that includes defending the North against Cersei."

There was a long pause, and then slowly Lyanna Mormont stood up. "Lady Stark is right." She said. "We pledged our swords to Jon Snow, for perpetuity. His and Her Grace have done nothing but help and protect us. That's what a ruler should do. As for Cersei Lannister, she conspired to throw our late lord Ned Stark in prison and then stood idly by as he was executed. Who are we if we let such crimes go unpunished?"

The other Northerners nodded in agreement and mumbled amongst themselves.

Now, Lyanna turned towards Sansa. "You are Ned Stark's eldest living child. You are the rightful heir of House Stark, and until the end of my days I shall follow you." She drew her dragonglass sword from its sheath. "The Lady of Winterfell and Wardeness of the North!"

Almost immediately, Wyman Manderly stepped forward. "I served Ned Stark for many years, and now I intend to serve his daughter. Sansa Stark protected the North when the Long Night was upon us, took all men and women great or small into her home, and saw them fed and clothed. She is as kind as she is strong. She is the Red Wolf." He knelt before her, drawing his sword. "To the Lady of Winterfell and the Wardeness of the North!"

All around the room, men and women drew their swords, their axes, or their spears, and fell to their knees.

"The Lady of Winterfell!"

"The Wardeness of the North!"

"To Sansa Stark, the Red Wolf!"

Arya

"Should we say a few words for the poor dead cunt?"

Arya shrugged a single shoulder as the Hound continued to dig a hole deep enough for a body, his shovel finally bypassing the snow and hitting hard earth. At Arya's feet, the body of Beric Dondarrion laid still, with no hopes for a resurrection. "I don't know the funeral rites for followers of R'hllor."

The Hound grunted as he tossed dirt to the side. "Well, how about this then: to Beric Dondarrion. An old, fire-loving cunt who took seven tries to finally die." He paused, and he looked almost thoughtful. "And, you know…thanks."

Silently, Arya looked down at the dead man's face. Once, the thought of his face had filled her with a murderous rage, and now she felt nothing. They'd all been on her list, Beric and Thoros and Melisandre too, and once there was nothing she wanted more than to see them dead. Now, though, she pitied them – the Red Woman not so much, but Beric and Thoros had helped Jon and Beric died to save Sandor. Maybe they had been trying to do right in the world after all, as misguided as they were.

Once the hole was deep enough, the Hound grabbed Beric's body by the head and Arya took his feet. Unceremoniously, they dumped him in and Arya crossed his arms over his chest, his grave just one of the thousands littering the battlefield. Maybe they could at least give him a marker, something to let those who would pass by in the future know who he was and what he died for.

They walked back towards Winterfell together, the Hound's shovel dragging across the ground. "So," Arya asked. "What are you going to do now?"

"What do you think?" the Hound said gruffly. "I'm going to kill my fucking brother, and then I'm going to find an inn or a brothel, drink enough ale to make me forget my name, and eat all the damn chickens in King's Landing."

The laughter burst out of Arya before she could remind herself that Gendry still might die, and Bran was dead, and she shouldn't be laughing. "Sounds like a plan."

The Hound looked at her out of the corner of his eye. "We could go on the road again. With that sword and dagger of yours, imagine how many Lannister guards you could take down."

"Maybe. I'll do whatever Jon asks of me."

"Maybe?" the Hound repeated. "What happened to wanting to kill the fucking queen?"

"Well she deserves to die. Preferably slowly." Instinctively, Arya fingered Needle's hilt, still attached at her hip. "Do you think we'll feel better after she's dead?"

"I always feel a little less shitty when there's one less crazy bitch in the world, so yes."

"That's not what I meant. I meant do you think we'll feel…at peace?"

The Hound shrugged. "Is there such a thing as peace for killers?" His last word caused Arya to stop walking, and it took the Hound several feet to realize she'd fallen behind. "Come on now girl, the sun's going down. You planning on staying out here and playing with your wolf friends when they come to eat the unclaimed bodies?"

"I'm being serious!" She groaned in frustration, and the Hound said nothing, his mouth twisted into a wry knot. "I don't like killing people, you know? I wanted vengeance, sure, and I feel this…this…this sick sort of satisfaction when I take out someone who deserves it. But I don't want to kill for the sake of killing. I killed people so I could get back here and now that I am back here…I just want to be happy again. I watched Bran lose who he was. I don't want that to happen to me too. I don't want to become heartless."

The Hound stared at her silently for a moment. "You're in love with the fucking smith, aren't you?"

He closed the distance between them and Arya turned her head away, forcing a scoff. "What? Of course not…"

"Look at me, wolf bitch." When she didn't listen, he grabbed her roughly by the chin and forcefully pointed her face in his direction. "If you were heartless, you would've stayed in Braavos slitting people's throats for money. Instead, you came back here. Came back to your brothers, came back to your sister, and your precious smith too. You don't want to kill people anymore? Then fine, do whatever you fucking want. You want to go run off into the wilderness and live in trees and hunt squirrels? Fine. You want to compete in tourneys and fight jousts and beat up men twice your size? Fine. You want to become a perfumed lady with your pretty dresses and your handsome knights in songs? Well, that would be frankly disappointing, but your choice all the same."

Arya snorted. "If I ever start wearing dresses and fawning over handsome knights, then you have my permission to stick a knife through my eye."

"Good. Would be a shame to see you put down your sword after all the work you've done."

"Are you saying I'm a good swordswoman?"

"I'm just saying it would have been a bloody waste of time, is all."

"If you say so."

They continued side by side, the only sound the snow crunching under their boots and the shovel dragging across the ground, until the Hound cleared his throat. "When your lover boy wakes up, you better let him know that if he ever does anything to hurt you, I won't feel bad about killing him."

Arya smirked. "No need. If he breaks my heart, I'll break his limbs."

She saw a smile cross the Hound's face. "Good girl."

Grey smoke rose from Winterfell's chimney and curled in the air as they approached the castle. Outside the gates it still smelt like death, like burning flesh and blood stained snow. In the courtyard, Brienne was waiting for them. "Where have you two been?"

The Hound threw the shovel down on the ground. "Seven fucking hells. Can't two people bury a body in peace around here?"

Brienne rolled her eyes, but then turned to Arya. "My lady, I was sent to find you."

"If it is my brother and sister tell them I need a minute to – " Before she could finish, Lady Brienne cut her off.

"It's about Gendry. He's awake."

Gendry

He was sitting up in bed, a handmaid changing the bandages on his chest, when Arya burst into his sickroom like a raging storm. "You stupid, bull-headed bastard!"

The young handmaid's eyes widened – she was a stranger to Arya's outbursts – and she looked so frightened her hands began to shake. "Will you excuse us for a moment, please?" Gendry asked her, undeterred. The girl did not need to be told twice.

Once they were alone, Gendry turned to look at Arya, whose grey eyes were filled with fury. "Now," Gendry said. "Why am I a stupid, bull-headed bastard this time?"

"Because I didn't ask you to save my life!"

He laughed before he could stop himself, causing Arya to glare. "Seven hells! Most people would say 'thank you' when someone takes an ice spear in the chest for them, instead I get yelled at!"

Arya crossed her arms and huffed indignantly, but he could see her eyes soften, ever so slightly. "Well I didn't need you to do that. I was doing fine on my own."

"Really? It sure seemed like you did." His wound started to throb again and he paused to rub it. "I'm sorry, if that makes you feel better."

Arya shook her head. She couldn't look at him, staring down at her boots. "I just…I can't believe you thought it was a smart idea to jump on top of a White Walker for me! What kind of idiot does something like that? You could've died, Gendry. You could've died and it would've been my fault!"

Oh. He silently realized. So that's what this is really about… "Arya, look at me." When she didn't listen, he repeated it, firmer this time. "Arya, look at me!" There was no more anger in her grey eyes, only shame, and something which looked a lot like fear. "It wouldn't have been your fault. It was my choice, okay? Mine and mine alone…" Gendry trailed off and paused for a moment, unsure of how to broach this subject. He laughed softly to himself. "And I knew I had to come back. A certain someone told me she'd chase me throughout all the seven hells if I died without her permission."

As soon as the words came out, he saw Arya's face drain of color. "You heard me?"

"Every word." As he laid unconscious, surrounded by the blurry haze of pain, it was the sound of Arya's voice cutting through that darkness which had given him something to hold onto, something worth living for. Even as his body felt like giving up, his mind had told him he need to fight one more time, because somewhere out there was a beautiful, stubborn, fearless girl who loved him back. "Arya I…I love you too."

He saw what he swore were tears fill her grey eyes. "You do?" He'd never heard her voice sound so small.

Gendry nodded. "I think I've loved you since before I knew what that word meant."

For a long moment Arya just stood there staring at him, and Gendry couldn't tell if she was about to start weeping or flee the room. That nervousness and insecurity creeped back up again. Perhaps she's finally realized that this was a mistake. He worried. That she was caught up in the emotions of the moment, that she just didn't want to die a maid, and really she deserves someone better than a bloody lowborn, stupid bastard…

He gulped. "Arya? Are you…do you need me to call a maester back in here or…?"

Before he could finish, Arya caught him off guard when she plopped down on the bed and threw her arms around his torso, burrowing her face into his chest. "Shut up."

He shut up.

For several moments they laid there without speaking, her head on the right side of his chest so she did not touch his wound, and impulsively he ran his fingers through her dark hair. He had not been this close to her since the forge and he inhaled her scent, holding Arya as close to him as he possibly could. He wanted to grab her face and kiss her, but for the moment he just held her, enjoying the feeling of having her in his arms again.

Arya's voice cut into his thoughts. "Gendry," She spoke his name soft and slow. "Have you ever thought about asking to be legitimized?"

The question surprised him. He supposed it should've crossed his mind, but in truth it never had. Since he met Jon and Daenerys, he was too focused on the war, on making weapons, on making sure Arya survived even if he could not. He never thought about the life he would have if he made it out of this war alive. "I'd be a shit lord. All I'm good for is swinging a hammer and making swords, that's all…"

Abruptly, Arya sat up and slapped him on his good shoulder. "You really are so stupid. Gendry, you would make a good lord!"

"Arya, I'm lowborn. I can't even read or write, how can I rule?"

She rolled her eyes at him. "A man can learn to read and write, just ask Ser Davos. But what a man cannot learn is how to be a good person like you are. There are plenty of highborn men who don't have a heart half as big as yours. That's not something a man can learn, Gendry. It's something he has to be born with. It's something you were born with."

He thought for a moment about what she said. Gendry knew what it was like to be a commoner, to live not knowing where you would sleep tonight or when you would eat your next meal. If I were lord of the Stormlands, I could take care of them. I wouldn't let my people starve while I drink and eat and whore. I could do right by them.

Another thought came to him. "What about us?"

"What do you mean?"

"If I were legitimized, I would have to go to Storm's End. I would be there and you would be here. We'd never see each other." Maybe it was selfish of him, but he did not want to be apart from Arya. He'd already almost lost her so many times, and they'd only just found each other again. Her place was here, and he would do anything to stay with her. A lordship, a castle, he didn't need any of it. He just wanted Arya.

Speaking of Arya, she gave him a pointed look, like there was something obvious he was missing. "But if you were a lord," She said slowly. "You could ask Jon and Daenerys for permission to take a wife."

A wife? He was almost angry at her for even suggesting such a thing. Does she really think so low of me, that she believes some noble perfumed lady could make me forget her? No, Arya had his heart, and no other woman could ever make him happy. "Arya, I don't want a wife! I won't leave you, not now, not ever. I…I can stay here and work as the smith for Winterfell! I'll make you all the swords you want, and I'll serve you sister when she becomes Wardeness of the North, I'll…" He tried to get up, but Arya shoved him back down, and he was still too weak to fight her off. She straddled his lap and her face was dangerously close to his. Gods, he wanted to kiss her…

"You're not listening to me! You could ask Jon and Daenerys to take a wife. And after all you've done, they'll surely let you have any woman you want. Including one of the she-wolves of Winterfell."

"But why would I marry Sans–" Arya raised an eyebrow at him and Gendry cut himself off mid-sentence as the realization hit him like a smack in the face. "Oh."

Any annoyance in Arya's eyes was gone now as she looked at him. "I'm not going to start cross-stitching or calling you 'my lord'. But when I thought I lost you, Gendry, I felt as if I was the one who got stabbed. For so long, vengeance has kept me alive, kept me going when I felt I had nothing else to live for, and yes there is still Cersei to deal with but…" She shook her head, a look of fierce determination in her eyes. "Revenge isn't the most important thing in the world. I want a life with my family. I want a life with you. And I know that the future is uncertain, so I want us to be together in every way we can be. From this day, until the end of our days. I love you, stupid. I'm in love with you, I always have been."

His chest hurt, but not because of his injury. "You would really be my wife?"

"Yes – and I want you to be my husband." She was smiling at him. Arya's smiles were rare, and beautiful. I will spend the rest of my life trying to make her smile like that. "So what do you say, Gendry Baratheon? Will you marry me?"

Arya could not even pause to take a breath before Gendry's hand curled around the back of her neck, pulling her down on top of him to kiss her deeply. "Yes. With all of my heart, Arya Stark, yes."

Jaime

"Where the fuck are we going?"

"Patience," Jaime chided Bronn as they rode slowly up the crest of a hill. They could not move at their usual pace since Bronn's arm was still in a sling and Tyrion was not as proficient at riding. "Is that any way to talk to the men who are giving you your payment?"

Bronn scoffed. "You know, I thought Lannisters paid their debts. You've been promising me for years that you'll give me twice what Cersei offered me, and have I seen any of it? No. If I were charging interest, I'd say you owe me three wives and three castles by now."

Jaime and Tyrion exchanged a conspiratorial look. "Three I cannot do," Tyrion said. "But two? Certainly."

Bronn looked confused. "What?"

They reached the top of the hill, and Jaime nodded to the sight laid out in front of them. "Take a look."

In front of them laid the mossy banks of the Green Fork and two stone castles, one on each side. Each castle had high curtain walls, deep moats, and a barbican and portcullis. Near the eastern castle there was even an apple orchard and a cornfield. Now that the old occupants were dead, Jaime thought it would make a nice castle for a jumped-up lord. "Come on," He said, spurring his horse. "Let's go meet your bride."

Inside the Twins's great hall, the Frey girls were all lined up to receive them. After all of their male relatives had been slaughtered, they'd been living in the castle alone for several months. Jaime could see Bronn eyeing the girls with uncertainty – most of the women were not attractive, Jaime silently agreed. One of the late Lord Walder's daughters had so many pimples on her face that you could barely see her skin, and another had such a large belly that she looked pregnant (she wasn't). Though Shirei Frey, Lord Walder's youngest, had grown into a fine young maiden with thick dark hair and a shy smile, and the intended women that Jaime and Tyrion had selected together would certainly prove good enough for Bronn.

Two young women, about Sansa Stark's age or slightly older, stepped forward. They were identical, red-headed twins, and though pimply in youth their complexion had cleared up. They were both tall and thin too, albeit small-breasted. Though not great beauties, they were certainly the best offer that an upstart sellsword like Bronn was ever going to get.

"Allow me to introduce Serra – " The first girl curtsied. "And Sarra Frey." The second girl reciprocated the gesture. "Granddaughters of the late Lord Walder. Ladies, this is Ser Bronn of the Blackwater."

"My lord." The two girls said in unison, both of them kissing Bronn's hand. Sarra leaned over to her sister and loudly whispered: "He's handsomer than I expected." Serra blushed and Jaime saw that Bronn's hesitation had begun to wane at their compliment.

"My ladies," He said. "It is a pleasure to meet you. You are both very fine." Serra blushed harder and Sarra grinned wickedly.

"One of them is to be your wife," Tyrion told Bronn. "You can pick whichever you choose. As for the other…well, I suppose she'll be sent somewhere far off to broker peace with a knight of a great house. The Reach, or Dorne maybe. Yes, Dorne could be beneficial…"

At his words, the two sisters went pale and exchanged a look. "My…my lord," Serra Frey said timidly to Bronn. "Is there…well, is there no way you could take us both?"

Bronn looked at Tyrion with wide, eager eyes, as if he could not believe what he was hearing, and Jaime had to resist the urge to laugh. Bronn looked like a little boy who had a sweet dangled in his face.

"We do not want to be apart, my lord." Sarra added. "My sister and I do everything together – even sleeping." She raised one of her reddish eyebrows and her sister gave her a look at the less than subtle innuendo.

Bronn looked ready to accept, but Tyrion sucked in a breath. "Well, I don't know…according to the laws of the land, a man can only have one true wife. You wouldn't have Ser Bronn break the law, would you?" He feigned reluctance, but Jaime knew that this had secretly been his plan all along. The rumors of Serra and Sarra Frey's…inclinations were well known.

"Oh, no one has to know!" Serra insisted. "No one except us here! Sarra and I are identical, if you only take one of us in public at a time…well, how could anyone know the difference?"

Bronn looked more excited than Jaime had seen him in a long time, but he forced himself to shrug and feign indifference. "Well, if you two insist…" Jaime rolled his eyes as the Frey twins began to pepper Bronn's hand with kisses, and he excused himself from the room. He had other matters of business to attend to.

He found her upstairs in the nursery, sitting in a rocking chair and humming softly to the boy in her lap in an attempt to get him down for a nap. The child looked about four years old now and he had a full head of reddish brown hair. "Lady Tully."

Roslin Tully looked up and the color drained from her face. "Ser Jaime." She jumped to her feet and pulled the boy against her chest, holding him as tightly as she could.

She thinks I'm going to take him from her. Jaime realized. She thinks I mean her harm. He supposed he could not blame her for that, so he maintained a respectable distance. "Your son is handsome as his father. What's his name?"

The young woman gulped. "I've called him Axel, ser. After the first Lord of Riverrun, whose father was also named Edmure…" She trailed off. "Is my husband dead?"

Jaime shook his head. "No, dear lady, he is very much alive at Riverrun. I could take you to him, if you'd like."

The boy looked up at his mother. "Are we going to see Father, Mummy?"

Lady Roslin hesitated, kissing the top of her son's head. "Is this some kind of trick?"

"My lady, I know you have every reason to doubt me, but I assure you this is no trick. I'm not fighting for my sister anymore. Jon and Daenerys Targaryen are the rightful rulers of Westeros, and soon we'll be marching south to displace Cersei – when we do, we'll take Riverrun back and your husband will no longer be a prisoner in his own home. The castle will be reinstated to him, as well as his title."

He could see that Roslin's resolve was beginning to waver, but her brown eyes flitted to her son. "What's the catch?" She asked Jaime.

"No catch, Lady Tully. All your husband has to do is agree to fight for our side in the war to come." He extended his arm to her. "The servants have been instructed to pack your things. You'll come with me and my brother back to Winterfell, and then eventually on to Riverrun. Once we've freed Lord Tully, you'll stay safely at the castle with your boy while we go on to King's Landing. Is that agreeable to you?"

Two hours later they rode back to Winterfell without Bronn, but with Roslin Tully and her son.

Davos

He was sitting in his bedchamber in front of the fireplace when the king knocked on his door. "Ser Davos," Jon said. "Do you mind if I speak with you for a moment?"

Davos sat up straighter in his chair. "Of course, Your Grace." He noticed that when Jon entered the room, he did not sit down, indicating this would be a short conversation. "Is everything all right? How is Her Grace?"

"Quite all right." Jon said, but Davos suspected there was more to the story. "She's awake and moving about again, though I told her to take it easy for a few days. She's very stubborn, so I don't know if she'll listen to me."

Davos chuckled. "You have a very strong-willed wife, Your Grace."

Jon cracked a smile. "Indeed. Gendry is awake too, I've heard. Have you gone to see him?"

"Only for a moment. I wanted to let him rest, and regardless Lady Arya was there to keep him company…" Gendry had rarely taken his eyes off of Arya during his entire conversation with Davos, and Davos had never seen Lady Arya smile so much, so he had not wanted to intrude. He was glad that the two of them seemed to have taken his advice. The way they look at each other, it reminds me of when Marya and I were that age…The thought of his wife made him feel sad and lonely all over again.

"You see, Ser Davos," Jon said, causing the older man to snap out of his reverie. "Daenerys and I were talking recently about what will happen once we retake King's Landing, and who it is that we will want by our side when we do. Both Queen Daenerys and I agreed that we trust and respect you, and want you to have a place in our new Westeros. Ser Davos, I…" Jon paused. "I hope you know how thankful I am to have had you by my side for these past few years. I would, quite literally, not be alive without you. I've…well, I've come to look up to you, and you've been like a father to me."

At this, Davos could not help but smile. He truly had come to love Jon Snow, not only as a lord loved his king, but as a father loved a son. The young man meant a lot to Davos, and words could not describe how proud he was of him. "It was my honor, Your Grace. All of it."

"That being said," Jon continued. "Daenerys and I would like to offer you a position on our small council. We would name you Master of Ships – that is, if you accept."

The offer was generous and Davos knew it would be an honor to serve the king and queen in such a way. It was strange and exciting to think that a man who had been born in the slums of King's Landing and made his reputation as a smuggler could now become a councilor to the Targaryen king and queen, one of their trusted advisors. But still, Davos had his reservations. "You honor me, Your Grace." He said. "But I must confess…I am an old man, Your Grace, who has already been away from his family for far too long. I fear that I have neglected my responsibilities as a father and a husband. While it would be an honor to serve you, I feel that after this war is over I must go home."

Jon looked at him and smiled knowingly. "I understand completely, Ser Davos. Which is why that if you accept my offer, you would not be required to live at court. We would only ask that you come to King's Landing twice a year for council meetings – though, of course, you and your family would be welcome at court any time you like."

It was a kind and fair offer. "Well then," Davos said. "I wholeheartedly accept, Your Grace."

Jon beamed and shook his hand. "I am glad to hear it. I hope you don't mind that I have a gift for my new Master of Ships – I was hoping it would arrive before the battle, but it was delayed."

Davos's brow furrowed. A gift? What kind of gift? "Your Grace, you did not need to – "

"Father!"

Davos stopped talking. He had not heard those voices in seven years. He turned and saw that the two young men standing in the open doorway were very different from the eight and five year old boys he had left behind at Cape Wrath, but he would recognize those eyes and those smiles anywhere. "Stannis? Steffon?"

Davos could not get to his feet fast enough as his two sons ran towards him, practically catapulting themselves at their father. Tears sprang to Davos's eyes immediately as he hugged them. "Look at you two, you've gotten so big…"

"We missed you, Father."

Davos looked up again and saw that Devan was now standing in the doorway. Now a strapping young man of eighteen, his brown hair was longer and thicker than when Davos's saw him last, and his peach fuzz had even begun to turn into a proper beard.

And, next to him, was Marya.

Her once brown hair was shot with white and pulled in a tight bun, her round face lined with wrinkles around her mouth and eyes, but she was smiling at him with that same old smile, and Davos thought his wife was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his life.

He turned to Jon, intending to thank him, but the king only nodded at Davos and quietly slipped out of the room to give the newly reunited family their privacy.

The door shut behind Jon and Davos reluctantly pulled away from Stannis and Steffon to embrace Devan and Marya. "How did you get here?" He asked, his brain still trying to process that this was really happening, that his family was really here. "You hadn't been answering my letters…"

"We didn't answer your letters," Marya explained. "Because we weren't at Cape Wrath to receive them. The king had already written to us – such a kind man, he wanted us to come to Winterfell because he thought you had been missing us. Unfortunately the snow in the south made it a longer journey than we had anticipated."

"That doesn't matter," Davos said immediately. "All that matters is that you're here now."

"Are you really a king's councilor, Father?" Steffon asked excitedly. "And is it true that the queen has dragons?"

Davos chuckled. "Yes and yes. I think the queen might even let you see her dragons, if you'd like." Steffon looked elated at the prospect.

Marya leaned over and gently kissed Davos on the lips. It was the first time they had kissed in far too long, and it filled his body with a pleasant warmth. "I'm still cross with you," She whispered. "But I am glad to see you again. I missed you a great deal."

Davos kissed her again. "I know and I understand. But I am just so happy that we are together again." His wife nodded and smiled.

They would have time to talk later.

They had all the time in the world.

Tyrion

The fire crackled as the serving girl added another log to the hearth. "That will be all for tonight," Tyrion told her, leaning back in his chair. The girl nodded and wished him goodnight before quietly slipping out of the warm, dark room.

He took a sip of hot spiced wine and watched the flames dance in the hearth. It was a cold night, but luckily he had the fire to keep him warm. The cloak Sansa had made for him was draped across his lap, acting like a blanket in this instance. He traced his finger up and down the red lion she'd stitched on the leather straps, the lion standing rampant. I am Lannister, Tyrion thought drily. Hear me roar…

There was a time when he had wanted to become the head of his house, but now the thought of returning to Casterly Rock made him feel a sudden rush of loneliness. Tyrion Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock, Shield of Lannisport, Warden of the West…The thought of the titles sounded so wrong now. He was proud of his noble lineage, but the halls of Casterly Rock had always been cold and unforgiving to him. There were no memories of his time there to inspire warm feelings in his heart. Jaime had been the only thing from his childhood that was good, the rest had been a nightmare…

His thoughts were interrupted by a soft rapping at the door. "Come in!" He called, expecting it to be the servant coming to check up on him.

"I hope I am not bothering you, my lord."

Tyrion immediately sat up straighter at the sound of Sansa's voice, and when he turned he saw her standing hesitantly in the open doorway. "Not at all, my lady. Come in if you'd like, have a seat." Sansa closed the door behind her and came inside, sitting down in the chair adjacent to Tyrion's. "Warm yourself by the fire." He told her, while pouring her a flagon of hot wine.

"Thank you." She said, taking the cup in both hands and raising it to her lips. "It shall be a long and cold winter, I think."

"Aye, it seems that way. Well, if the Wardeness of the North ever gets tired of snow, she is more than welcome down south."

Sansa smiled slightly. "Thank you, my lord. I suppose you'll be returning to Casterly Rock after the war is done. What is it like? I've never been there."

Tyrion grimaced and took another sip of wine. "It's…big." He began vaguely. "Carved out of a great stone rock, looming high above the cliffs and the sea. It is three times the height of the Wall – or well, the part of the Wall that the Night King did not melt down a large section of. Years of Lannister treasures are inside, from golden armor to rare gilded books. 'Grand' is the best word to describe it."

"It sounds lovely." Sansa said genuinely. "Perhaps someday I may see it for myself."

"Yes indeed…" He trailed off. Winterfell was cold and damp and plainly decorated, and outside your windows at night you could hear the harsh northern winds and the howling of wolves. Yet this place, possessing not even half of Casterly Rock's jewels and splendor, had begun to feel more like a home to him than anywhere else he'd ever lived. At Winterfell, he'd made amends with his brother. He'd served his queen and his king here. People here were kind to him and treated him with respect. And Winterfell had Sansa, with her thoughtful nature and kind smiles and incredible intelligence. If he went to Casterly Rock, he would not be able to talk her every day. At Casterly Rock he would be alone and that wasn't what home was to him – not anymore. "I don't think I can be Lord of Casterly Rock."

Though he had been pondering this thought for quite a while, it was the first time the words had tumbled from his lips, and he saw Sansa nearly choke on her wine as her blue eyes went wide from shock. "What do you mean? Tyrion, Casterly Rock belongs to you. You should take it."

"It doesn't belong to me, it never has…"

Sansa put down her flagon and her eyes were overcome by steely determination. "If you're doubting yourself because of your father," She said. "Forget about him. He was cruel and unfair. You may be half the size of other men, but you have twice as much intelligence as them, and twice as much heart. I say you could become the greatest Lord of Casterly Rock there ever was."

Oh, and how good she is for thinking that. "You are too kind, sweet lady. But it is not that I think I don't deserve Casterly Rock, it's that I don't want it."

"Don't want it?" Sansa repeated. "Why not? It's your right."

Tyrion was silent for a long moment. How could he even begin to tell her this? "My lady, Winterfell has become more of a home to me in these past two weeks than Casterly Rock ever was in almost forty years."

Sansa blushed as red as her hair, and then turned away – but Tyrion saw the corners of her lips turn up into a smile. "I see…well, what do you propose to do about the Westerlands then?"

"I'll give them to Jaime."

Sansa laughed, but when she saw that Tyrion was serious the laughter died. "Truly?"

"Truly."

"But Ser Jaime is pledged to the Kingsguard. He can hold no lands, take no wife, father no children."

"Well, he's already fathered a child – four of them, in fact." Tyrion said, thinking of dead Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen, and the child currently nestled in Cersei's womb. "And Tommen dismissed Jaime from the Kingsguard. Anyway, surely Daenerys doesn't want the Kingslayer in charge of protecting her…"

Sansa was silent for a long moment. "Well, I suppose if Jon and Daenerys show that they're willing to be merciful to those who once served Cersei, perhaps more of the Westerners will abandon her cause. But I don't know if they will ever agree…"

"This is what I want, and I hope Daenerys trusts me enough by now to respect my wishes…" He paused. "And I was hoping that you would put a good word in for Jaime. I know Jon values your opinion, and he will listen to what you have to say."

Sansa hesitated, taking another sip of wine. "I'll talk to him," She promised. "Though I cannot guarantee he will do as I ask…"

"That is all I want." Tyrion assured her. "Thank you."

The fire crackled, and in the low glow he could see an uncertain look cross Sansa's face. "What will you do then?" She asked. "After the war? If you will not go back to Casterly Rock…"

"I'll stay in King's Landing I suppose, as I am the Hand. I always dreamed of starting a vineyard, so perhaps I'll ask the king and queen to plant some grapes."

"I wonder if you could grow grapes in the North," Sansa mused. "We do not have the climate for it, but we do have a greenhouse. I bet you could plant a few vines among the other crops, though they may not blossom every year…"

And why do you care if I could grow grapes in the North or not, Lady Stark? Tyrion wanted to ask, but he did not.

Sansa glanced at him. "Perhaps I could come to visit you in King's Landing."

Tyrion was genuinely surprised by that. After all she had suffered in that city, he would not have blamed her if she never wished to return. "You would really come back?"

"Of course. It would be worth it, to spend time with you…" She shook her head and looked away. "And Jon and Daenerys want me to be on the small council – Mistress of Coin. I'd have to come to the city two or three times a year anyway."

He chuckled. "Mistress of Coin? Don't they know you are terrible with figures?"

Sansa laughed sweetly. "Yes my lord, when I was younger I did not have the patience for learning sums. But while I may be a slow learner, I learn. I know quite a few things now that I did not know when I was a naïve child."

"Yes Lady Stark, I daresay you do."

The fire was reflecting in Sansa's blue eyes. "Perhaps you could visit me at Winterfell too," She proposed. "Grow some grapes, make me some wine. I'd very much enjoy your company."

His body was filled with a warmth that did not come from the fire. "Yes," Tyrion said. "I think I'd like that." Sansa smiled at him and reached over to gently squeeze his hand in her own.

And they sat there for quite a while longer, staring at the fire, her hand placed gently on top of his.

Theon

"How are you planning to eat that carrot without a tongue?"

From across the table, Yara looked up and glared at him, before flinging the aforementioned vegetable across the table. It hit Theon square in the face and he wiped it off his cheek.

"Very nice."

Yara smirked to herself and cut up another carrot into many tiny pieces, before putting one in her mouth. She had to move it back and forth a few times before she could swallow.

They continued supper in silence for several moments and Theon leaned back in his chair, taking another sip of wine. "You know," He said, his voice softening. "I didn't think I could do it – shoot a bow and arrow with my other hand, I mean. But you knew I could, didn't you?"

Yara smiled sheepishly in response.

Reluctantly, Theon smiled too. "Thank you. I don't think I ever said this to you, but…I don't know how I would've gotten through any of this without you."

No more carrots were thrown at him that night.

The plates had been cleared just as there was a knock at the door. "Come in!" Theon called, sitting up, and Maester Wolkan stuck his head in.

"Pardon me, Your Graces – but Prince Theon, there is someone here to see you."

Theon furrowed his brow, wondering who it was that could possibly want to speak to him. "Who?"

"A boy, I do not know his name. He's come all the way from Oldtown."

Now Theon was even more confused. "Why does he want to see me?"

"I'm not entirely sure, but he says he has an urgent letter for you. Should I send him in?"

Theon looked to Yara, who only shrugged, seeming as perplexed as he was. "Yes." He told Wolkan. "I'll speak to him."

Wolkan left the room and when the door opened again, a boy stepped in. He was clearly lowborn from his crude woolen tunic and ill-fitting breeches, and he was young. Theon guessed he was probably about five or six years of age. The boy bowed his head. "Your Graces."

Theon waved his hand dismissively. "No need for that. Why have you come so far from home, boy?"

"I have no home, Your Grace." The boy said. His face was pale and round, with full cheeks and a soft chin, complemented by blue-green eyes. He was tall for his age and skinny, with a full head of brown curls that fell across his forehead. "My mother has gone to be with the gods."

So he is alone in this world. "I'm sorry for your loss. But I still don't understand – why come here? Why not stay in Oldtown, find training at the Citadel perhaps?" Theon looked the boy up and down from his mess of curls to his worn shoes. Something about him was familiar, but he could not put his finger on it. "What's your name, boy?"

"Asher Flowers, Your Grace. I should have no family name in truth, but my mother called me Flowers. I do not know why, only noble bastards have those names, and I am lowborn. My grandfather was a captain, but he threw my mother out when he found out she was pregnant. So then she worked in a tavern, until the redspots. I healed, but…" The boy paused for a moment, surely thinking of his dead mother, before looking up at Theon again. "She told me to take what little coin we had, Your Grace, and buy passage on a ship so I could find Theon of House Greyjoy." He reached into his tunic and pulled out a scroll. "She had the maester write this before she died and told me to give it to you – but I can't read, so I don't know what it says."

Theon took the scroll warily. "What would a captain's daughter from the Reach want with a prince of the Iron Islands?" As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Yara's hand began squeezing his shoulder. Until now she had been staring at the boy but now she looked at Theon with wide, desperate eyes. "What is it?" He asked her.

Yara grabbed his hand and frantically began to trace a sentence on his palm. It took a few tries for Theon to understand the message because of how fast she was scribbling it.

HE LOOKS LIKE YOU

Theon frowned. "What do you mean he – ?" He cut himself off mid-sentence and suddenly it was like all the breath had left his lungs. No. He thought to himself. It's not possible. It's not…But he couldn't get the image out of his mind, remembering the girl he'd laid with six years ago, when he was going back to the Iron Islands. Her curly hair, her childlike smile, her plump, trusting face…

He unfurled the letter.

You told me there is great honor in raising a king's bastard. For five years I've done my best, but I'm dying now. I heard you were in the North, and I hope you can watch over him. You're his last chance. I know there is some good in you.

When Theon looked up again, he felt as if he'd been dumped in ice water. He gulped, his throat dry. "Tell me, boy – Asher…do you remember the name of your grandfather's ship?"

The boy thought for a long moment. "I only saw it once, from the harbor. Mother pointed to it and said: 'I met your father on that ship.' It was a long name and I could not say it, something with an 'M'…"

"The Myraham?"

Asher's immediately eyes lit up and he grinned. He has his mother's smile, Theon thought. But those eyes? Gods, those eyes are mine. "That's it! Your Grace, how did you know?"

Suddenly, Theon felt as if he could weep. He looked over at Yara and saw that her eyes had filled with tears, and she wiped at them with her sleeve. Part of him still couldn't believe it, but in his heart he knew it to be true. This was something he never thought possible. But it's not only possible, He thought. It's happened. It's real.

Asher was staring at them both confusedly now, surely wondering why the Queen and Prince of the Iron Islands looked like they were about to cry like little girls. "Your Graces? Is everything all right?"

Yes, He wanted to say. Yes, everything is perfect. For the first time in a long time, Theon smiled. He stood up and crossed the room to kneel before Asher, taking his hand. "My boy," He said gently. "There's something very important I need to tell you."

Brienne

The courtyard was lined with corpses.

They had been placed down in the snow, at least ten rows of fifty bodies a piece, and then there were the others who had already been buried or were waiting to be identified. There were so many bodies that they didn't even know what to do with them all. "I suppose we'll have to send ravens to the families." Lady Sansa had said. "If they want their loved ones' bodies, they are free to come claim them. As for those who didn't have families…well, we better start digging."

All of Winterfell's servants had been ordered to begin constructing a graveyard. They did not have enough time to make any kinds of headstones or markers, and many of the fallen could not even be identified. A mass grave, Brienne thought with sadness as she walked among the dead. She looked down at their frozen faces, thinking about how she didn't even know the names of many of these men, women and even children.

As she approached the body she'd specifically sought out to visit, she found that someone was already there, a red-haired girl hunched over with the hood of her cloak pulled tightly around her face. Brienne thought she heard sniffling and she cleared her throat in order to make her presence known. "My lady?"

Alys Karstark looked up and wiped her eyes with her sleeve. "Lady Brienne. I'm so sorry, I do not know why I am crying…"

Brienne pulled a handkerchief from the pocket of her cloak and handed it to the teenage girl. "You do not need to apologize."

Alys nodded and blew her nose. "We did not know each other for a very long time but…he was such a nice person. So kind to me. I…" Her voice broke. "What will happen to him now?"

"His family has said that they will bury him." The current Lord Payne had only been a distant cousin of Pod's, but he'd responded to Lady Sansa's letter saying he wanted the body buried in the Westerlands. "He will get to go home again."

Alys Karstark nodded and ran a hand gently down Podrick's cheek. The skin was drained of color, but his face otherwise unmarred. The freezing cold was keeping the bodies well-preserved. "He almost looks like he is sleeping…" Alys said, and Brienne had to swallow to prevent herself from crying. "I liked him." Alys confessed quietly. "As…as more than a friend. I should've told him. I should've told him how I felt."

Now the tears rushed to Brienne's eyes uninhibited. "I think he knew."

They both stared silently at the body for a moment before Lady Alys rose to her feet. She smiled feebly at Brienne. "I am glad he had you, my lady, in his final moments. I'm sure that brought him peace."

Brienne nodded. "I hope so."

Alys walked back inside the castle, but Brienne wanted to stay for a moment longer. She looked down at Podrick's body, snowflakes stuck in his mussed hair, his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes closed. She had been the one who shut them, after he'd breathed his last.

She did not know how long she had been standing there when a voice cut into her thoughts. "What are you thinking about?"

She did not look up at the sound of Jaime's voice but could hear the snow crunching under his boots as he walked towards her. "How tired I am of people dying in my arms." There was the sound of Jaime chuckling under his breath and Brienne looked at him, eyes flashing angrily. "What? Do you have some joke about Renly?"

Jaime shook his head. He was close enough that she could reach out and touch him if she wanted. His face was scruffy from several days of not shaving, he was dressed all in blacks and greys, and he was not smiling now. "No. I just thought…about how I always wanted to die in the arms of the woman I love."

"I thought you were done with Cersei."

A pause. "Cersei is not who I'm thinking of."

Their eyes met and Brienne felt a flare of hope against her better judgment. Now it was her turn to laugh. "You can't keep doing this."

Jaime's brows creased in confusion. "Doing what?"

"Saying things like that!" Jaime laughed, but Brienne turned to face him and crossed her arms over her chest. "It's not funny! You can't keep just…playing with my feelings! Giving me hope that maybe, someday you could – "

She was cut off when Jaime closed the distance between them and kissed her on the lips.

For a moment she could not believe he had just done that and once her shock had worn off, she realized – embarrassingly – that she didn't know what she was doing. Where were her hands supposed to go? Should she open her mouth or keep it closed? Should her eyes be open or not?

And still, despite her nerves, the kiss was over all too soon. Jaime pulled back and smiled at her. Almost instantly, she wanted to kiss him again."Sorry," Jaime said. "I've been wanting to do that for quite a while."

Brienne opened her mouth, then closed it. She probably looked like a fish gaping at him like that. "I…I…gods…"

Jaime's smile morphed into a grin. "Have I made you speechless, wench?"

Their moment was interrupted by the appearance of a young squire, shy-looking and pink-cheeked, and Jaime backed away from her so that there was once again a respectable distance between them. "Pardon me, my lady, ser," The squire said. "But do you know where I might find Lady Stark? I have a message for her, and I've looked everywhere."

Brienne took a deep breath to regain her composure. "She should be in the great hall with the lords. What kind of message is this?"

The squire hesitated, his nervous eyes flitting from Brienne to Jaime and back again. "It's a message from King's Landing, my lady. The queen is dead."

Immediately, Brienne froze. The queen dead? She looked at Jaime and that smirk was gone. His expression did not betray any of his emotions, his jaw set, his eyes on the ground. "Queen Cersei?" He asked.

"Yes, ser."

"How did she…?" Jaime's voice broke, and Brienne didn't know if she should hug him or take his hand or do something to comfort him. She held no love for Cersei Lannister, but she knew that this had to be a complicated issue for Jaime. "How did she die?"

"Childbirth."

Immediately Jaime's head snapped up as if a fire had been lit under him. "What of the baby?"

Brienne looked at the squire, anxious for his response. The child was still half-Jaime, and anything that was half-Jaime she could not hate. It's not the child's fault who it's mother was. Jaime deserves to be a father to one of his children, at least.

The squire only shrugged. "I do not know, ser. It was not mentioned in the reports I've heard."

Jaime turned away, his good hand covering his mouth, and Brienne nodded stiffly at the squire. "Thank you." The boy left, continuing on his search to find Lady Sansa, and tentatively Brienne approached Jaime, touching his shoulder. "Jaime…"

"It's nothing." He said a little too quickly, and even though she could not see his face, she could hear that his voice was thick with emotion. "The child is probably dead too. I was foolish to hope, but…"

He was trying to be strong, but Brienne was having none of it. She wrapped her arms around his hunched shoulders and pulled him into her. "You can cry." She said to him. "I won't judge you. If I were you, I'd probably cry too."

Hesitatingly, Jaime turned into her embrace and burrowed his face into her shoulder, his body quivering against her chest.

There was something so intimate about it, holding someone as they cried. Not in a sexual way, but emotionally. I don't think I've ever seen him cry. Brienne realized, but now Jaime let her hold him as his emotions flowed freely. There was no mask, no barriers. He wasn't the Kingslayer with her, or a knight of the Kingsguard, or a son of Casterly Rock. He was just Jaime.

"I'm not crying for her." Jaime said once he'd gotten ahold of himself. "Not really. But Myrcella and Tommen…they were such good children, and I failed them as a father. I thought that this time maybe I could…" He pulled away from her and shook his head. "It's stupid, I know."

"It's not stupid." Brienne insisted immediately.

"Yes, it is. I should've known, I should've known that I would never get a chance…"

"Jaime." Impulsively she took his hand in both of hers and Jaime looked up at her, green eyes rimmed with red. "Cersei may be dead, but…there's a chance that the baby could still be alive. You're the father, you deserve a chance to raise it."

Jaime hesitated. "Even if the child is still alive, how am I to get to it? I doubt the king and queen trust me enough to let me ride to King's Landing on my own, and never would Qyburn and the Mountain welcome me into the Red Keep to take away their last chance of controlling the Iron Throne. If the child still lives Qyburn will surely crown it and try to rule the Seven Kingdoms as regent."

But in Brienne's mind she was already mulling over their options. "The king and queen will need to take the city." She said, thinking aloud. "And if I were to accompany you, to search for the child…well, the two of us together would stand a better chance, would we not?"

Jaime didn't say anything for a long moment and Brienne wondered if she had somehow overstepped, but then he sighed and shook his head ever so slightly. "Brienne," He spoke her name barely above a whisper. "You don't have to do this…"

"I want to." Brienne insisted. "And you've saved my life quite a few times. I think I owe you a favor."

Jaime laughed quietly. "No you don't. You've saved me in more ways than one."

In the midst of the cold courtyard, surrounded by so much death and destruction, for a moment she forgot about everything but Jaime's green eyes pointed at her and how it had felt when he kissed her. For the first time in days, she smiled.

What felt like many years ago now, she had promised a grieving mother to return her daughters to her. Now she was going to bring Jaime's child to him, if that was the last thing she ever did.

Brienne of Tarth did not break her promises.

Samwell

The battle was over and a part of him still couldn't believe that he had survived. Sam wanted to pinch himself as he unfurled a piece of parchment, pressing quill to paper. He was going to write to his mother to tell her what had happened – he knew she was probably still grieving Father and Dickon, but he hoped word that he was safe would bring her some semblance of relief. When I went to the Wall, Sam thought. I didn't think I'd ever see her again. But now the Night King was dead, and if they could just defeat Cersei Lannister then he could return to his mother and sister at Horn Hill. As Lord of Horn Hill. Just thinking it felt strange to him…

He had only gotten down a few words when the door opened and Gilly stuck her head into their chambers. "Sam, what are you doing?"

"Just writing to Mother." He noticed that she didn't have Little Sam with her, which was odd. Usually the boy was always on her hip or toddling after her. "What's going on?"

"Queen Daenerys is awake. She wants to speak with you. With both of us."

As they walked to Daenerys's solar, Sam felt nervous. Maybe she had changed her mind. Maybe she's finally realized that I'm not fit to be lord of anything…He should've known better than to hope he'd be able to return home.

When they walked inside, Sam was surprised to see that the queen was sitting down, laughing and bouncing Little Sam on her knee. The boy laughed raucously as Daenerys kissed his cheek. She was wrapping up a conversation with the smith – the dark-haired one who Jon had brought back from the south – who was unable to contain his grin. Evidently whatever they'd discussed had gone in his favor. "Sorry, we're almost finished." He said when he saw Sam and Gilly, quickly getting up from the table. "Thank you again, Your Grace. You have no idea how much this means to me. And to Arya."

Daenerys smiled. "No need to thank me, cousin. You've earned it." Sam didn't know what exactly was going on, but he supposed it was neither here nor there to him and he'd never been the nosy type.

When they were alone, Queen Daenerys stood up, lifting Little Sam into her arms. "Such a handsome boy." She said to Gilly. "How old is he?"

Gilly cleared her throat. "Four, Your Grace." She looked as nervous as Sam felt.

The queen, however, looked perfectly at ease. "I'm sure you're both very proud of him." She smiled and held Little Sam with one arm so she could place a hand over her belly. "I hope that my children and yours can grow to become friends. I know how much Sam's friendship has meant to Jon over the years, and yours as well my lady."

Gilly blushed. "I'm no lady, Your Grace."

Daenerys smiled slyly, like she knew something they didn't, and looked from one of them to the other. "Yes, that's exactly what I brought you here to discuss…" She placed Little Sam down on the floor and he immediately raced to Gilly as fast as he could on his chubby little legs. Gilly scooped him up and kissed his head, while Queen Daenerys looked at Sam. "I'm not naming you Lord of Horn Hill."

Her words hit him like a punch in the gut and Sam tried to hide the disappointment rushing through him at that moment. "Oh." He said. It sounded pathetic. "I see…"

Gilly, however, didn't take this news so lightly. "But that's not fair!" She objected strongly. "That's his family home! If anyone should have it, it should be Sam!"

He could feel his face start to grow hot and Sam side-eyed Daenerys, only to find that she was eerily calm. "Gilly – "

Now she turned to him, eyes blazing. "Don't 'Gilly' me, Samwell Tarly! You are…an amazing man. The greatest man I've ever known. And if she can't see that, then that's her loss."

Queen Daenerys, however, was smiling. "You love him quite a lot, don't you?"

Gilly hesitated, then nodded her head. "Yes, Your Grace. I love him and our son more than anything."

Sam could've kissed her in that instant, and if the queen wasn't there watching them, he would've.

The queen turned to Sam again. She's still smiling, why is she smiling? "I'm not naming you Lord of Horn Hill," She repeated. "Because I'm giving you Highgarden."

Sam's breath got stuck in his chest and he knew his face was probably turning every shade of pink. "Wh…what?"

"House Tyrell is extinct, thanks to Cersei Lannister. House Tarly has been one of the Reach's greatest houses for centuries, so it makes perfect sense to name the rightful head of House Tarly as the new Lord Paramount. I also happen to like you a great deal, Samwell Tarly, as does my husband."

Sam opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again. He knew he was probably gawking at Daenerys like an idiot, but he didn't care. Gilly smiled at him and squeezed his arm. "Your Grace…I don't know what to say…"

"Just say you accept."

Sam grinned. "Oh…yes! Yes, I accept!"

"Wonderful," Daenerys Targaryen said. "I'm happy to hear it. There is one more thing though…" She glanced at Gilly. "You'll need a wife and an heir."

In that moment, Sam thought his heart might burst from his sheer joy. I could marry Gilly. He thought. And Little Sam could legally become my son. It was more than he had ever dared to hope for. He took Gilly's hand and pulled her towards him, feeling like he was going to cry. Her eyes were already filled with tears. "Gilly…" He didn't know what to say, so he just decided to speak from the heart. "I know a lot of words, but I don't think any of them can properly describe how much I love you. You and Little Sam mean everything to me. So…would you…that is, if you want to…would you make me the happiest man in all the land, and agree to be my wife?"

Gilly's eyes were glistening with unshed tears, and she laughed breathlessly. "Can I say something silly? Well…it sort of feels like we're already married."

"It's not silly." Sam had fallen in love with her the first time he saw her. He hadn't even known that was possible before her. In his heart, he already loved her as much as any man could love his wife, and he loved Little Sam as much as any man could love his own son. They were already his family, and this was just a formality. "So that's a…?"

"Yes. Yes Sam, I love you and I'll marry you."

This time he kissed her, not caring who saw.

The door opened again and Jorah Mormont walked in, a familiar sword in his hands. "Seems I'm just in time." He said, handing Heartsbane off to the queen. "Thought you might be needing this."

The Mother of Dragons smiled and lifted the sword. There was one more thing to do. "Kneel, Samwell Tarly."

Grinning, Sam kissed Gilly one more time, kissed Little Sam on the top of his head, and then knelt before the queen. Daenerys Targaryen tapped him on one shoulder with Heartsbane's blade, then the other. "I, Queen Daenerys of House Targaryen, First of My Name, hereby name you, Samwell of House Tarly, Lord of Highgarden, Defender of the Marches, High Marshal of the Reach, Lord Paramount of the Mander, and Warden of the South, for now and forever, the titles to be passed onto your firstborn child after you, and to his heirs after him. May your rule be long and prosperous. Arise now, Samwell Tarly, Lord of Highgarden and Warden of the South."

Jon

The godswood was quiet after dark.

Even after all the chaos of the last three days, he felt at peace here. The godswood was a place that had been special to the man who raised him, had been special to all of the Starks, and Jon suddenly wondered how many afternoons and evenings his mother had spent here as a girl.

He sat under the white branches and red leaves of the weirwood tree and placed Longclaw across his knee to clean it, the melancholy face carved into the tree's trunk seeming to watch over him. Sitting in comfortable silence, he methodically polished the steel. Lightbringer, The red priests and priestesses were calling it. The Red Sword of Heroes. When he passed Lady Kinvara in the courtyard that morning, she had bowed to him and called him 'Azor Ahai'. They were talking about him like he was some sort of god. "R'hllor's chosen one," They whispered as he walked by. "The son of fire who walks among the mortals." Jon let them say what he liked, though he did not feel like a god. He'd done what needed to be done to save his people, and had paid the price in blood. Not only Melisandre's, but the blood of all the men and women who had lost their lives in the battle.

His mind wandered to Bran, not for the first time in these past three days. A memory came to Jon from many years ago, from when Bran was no more than five or six. Lady Catelyn had told him to stop climbing Winterfell's walls and Bran had reluctantly agreed, but it was scarcely a fortnight later that Jon and Robb awoke in the middle of the night to find Bran had snuck out to go climbing while they were asleep. Their father instructed Bran to go to the godswood for some silent contemplation, only when they went to retrieve him later they found the boy asleep in top of the godswood's highest sentinel tree. Lord Eddard had carried him back home, careful not to wake him.

Jon snapped out of his reverie when he heard Sansa and Arya approach. "We were starting to wonder where you ran off to." Sansa said.

"Just needed to get away from it all for a while." He placed Longclaw on the ground and walked over to his sisters, both of them silently staring up at the tree.

Later they would need to discuss Bran, about what they had lost. They would need to plan how they were going to survive the rest of the winter and make the march south to take the Iron Throne back from Cersei. But right now Jon was content to simply be standing in the godswood with his sisters, in comfortable silence.

Arya shifted nervously from one foot to the other. She looked unusually fidgety, and Sansa smiled at her teasingly. "You're up to something, aren't you?"

"What? I don't know what you're talking about."

Sansa raised an eyebrow in disbelief.

"Fine." Arya sighed. "I suppose I should tell you…" She paused, biting down on her lip. "Gendry is talking with Daenerys right now. Asking to be legitimized."

"Is that what you're worried about?" Jon asked. "Dany will say yes." The thought had crossed his mind before and surely Daenerys had thought about it too. There were many lords in the Stormlands who had yet to declare their allegiance, and if they could show them that Robert Baratheon's only living son was aligned with them, that may make the Storm Lords sympathetic to their cause. It also helped that Jon and Daenerys both liked Gendry and wanted to repay him for his help in the war effort.

"Well, when he's done with Daenerys, he's going to ask you both for something too: permission to take a wife."

"Oh." Jon said. "Well, Tyrion was just saying we need to make political matches. Daenerys will probably have a better idea about who to marry him to. I guess a woman from the Stormlands to curry favor. The Penroses were always loyal to Robert, and Daenerys could probably form an alliance with the Selmys due to her past with Ser Barristan. I think Lord Arstan Selmy has a maiden cousin…"

"Jon," Arya cut him off. "When I said 'you both', I meant you and Sansa. Do you get what I'm saying?"

"So he wants a Northern bride? That's fair. Lyanna Mormont or Alys Karstark won't work, since they have their own keeps, but maybe one of the Manderlys. Or the Pooles? The Mazins?"

"He already has a bride in mind!" Arya groaned in frustration. She glanced from Jon to Sansa, suddenly nervous again. "He's going to ask you for your permission to marry me."

Jon heard Sansa's sharp intake of breath and his own jaw physically dropped open. "Permission to…what?"

"Well, not permission really." Arya said. "I don't like the concept that a woman needs her family's permission to marry who she wants. But Gendry insisted on getting a blessing, at least, before we wed – " She was cut off when Sansa hugged her, the strength of her unexpected embrace nearly enough to knock Arya over.

"Arya, this is wonderful! I didn't think you'd ever – "

"Hey!" Arya grumbled, her voice muffled since she was currently being crushed into Sansa's bosom.

"This is so exciting." Sansa continued to gush. "Jon, we'll have to invite Gendry to sup with us tomorrow! I need to get to know him. I mean, I do know him, but only a little, and if he's to be my goodbrother – " Before Jon could respond in the affirmative, she had already turned her attention back to Arya, brushing back their sister's hair and touching her face, which made Arya look uncomfortable. "Arya, you're going to be Lady Baratheon! You'll have to tell us everything. How did he ask you? When are you going to get married? What are you going to wear at the ceremony? Oh, I think some grey lace would look absolutely exquisite. I'll make your maiden cloak of course – "

Arya squirmed out of Sansa's grip. "First of all, do not ever call me 'Lady Baratheon' again. Yes, that'll be my title, but I don't want any of my family or friends calling me that, especially not the two of you. Secondly, I asked him. Thirdly, I am absolutely not wearing a dress. If you try to make me, I'll find Gendry and we'll elope without you."

Sansa ignored her complaints, her lower lip quivering as if at any moment she might burst into tears of joy. "Oh Arya," She sighed. "I'm so unbelievably happy for you."

Tentatively, Arya smiled. "Thank you, Sansa. But I'm still not wearing a dress."

Sansa let out a watery laugh. "Well, I have time to try and convince you."

Now, Arya turned her attention to him. "Jon, you've been awfully quiet." She was biting her lip and Jon could tell that secretly she was aching for his approval even if she wouldn't admit it.

He shook his head, feeling like he might cry himself. Sometimes he forgot that Arya, his beloved baby sister, was a woman grown now who was fully capable of protecting herself. He had to let her go out into the world, but at least Storm's End and King's Landing weren't so far away. And he knew that Gendry was a good man who would love his sister and treat her honorably – he would not part with Arya for anything less. "I'm very happy for you, little sister. It's just hard for me to accept that you're all grown up."

Arya grinned and broke away from Sansa to embrace him. "Does that mean you approve?"

"Yes, I approve. Though I might make Gendry work a little for my blessing…" Arya laughed into his chest. He liked Gendry and everything, but he wasn't going to part with Arya easily and he needed to make it very clear how his sister deserved to be treated.

A thought occurring to him, Jon pulled back so he could look at Arya. "How did this come about anyway? I knew the two of you liked each other, but you've only just met two weeks ago…"

Arya and Sansa stared at him for a long moment, and then they both burst out laughing. "Oh Jon," Sansa said. "You really can be clueless sometimes."

Jon's grey eyes flitted from one of them to the other. "What am I missing here?" He asked, which only made Sansa and Arya laugh harder.

They were still laughing and Jon was still confused when there was the sound of footsteps approaching them. "Pardon me, Your Grace," The squire said, bowing his head. "Lady Stark, Lady Arya. But I have urgent news from King's Landing. The queen is dead."

Sansa and Arya's laughter immediately died. Jon stared at the squire, dumbfounded, and when he glanced at his sisters he saw they were both doing the same. "Which queen?" Arya blurted out, even though truly they all knew well and good which queen the boy meant.

"Queen Cersei." He said, turning to Jon. "You can read it for yourself, my king. It's all here in the raven scroll."

Jon took the rolled up parchment and unfurled it. He was in so much shock that it took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust enough for him to read. The message was brief and written in sloppy, panicked handwriting. It was from one of Varys's informants, a maidservant in service to Cersei at the Red Keep, but as the Spider was dead it seemed his little birds would be chirping to them from now on. "What he says is true," Jon told Sansa and Arya. "Cersei Lannister died three days ago, due to childbirth complications. The letter says nothing of her child's fate." Though silently Jon suspected the child was probably dead too. He felt a sudden, unexpected pang of sadness for Jaime Lannister, one father to another.

Sansa walked over to Jon and snatched the letter from his hands. "Let me see that." She said, and Jon did not protest. Silence hung between them for several long moments, even after the messenger left them. Sansa was reading frantically and Arya was speechless, something she rarely was. Cersei dead? Jon could scarcely believe it.

Sansa's blue eyes were wide as they scanned over the letter's contents once, twice, three times. "She's dead." She breathed, turning to Arya, and then suddenly she was laughing. Her face broke out into a gleeful smile and she accidentally crumpled the parchment in her hands as she brought them up to cover her face.

"What's wrong with you?" Arya said as Sansa continued to laugh hysterically. "Have you lost your wits?" But her sister only took her hands, and Arya began to laugh too as Sansa spun her around. The two of them were now jumping and giggling like little maidens.

"You're crazy," Jon said. "Both of you." But he could not help but laugh too as Arya hugged him and Sansa practically squealed with glee.

"Oh Jon, this is wonderful! Don't you see?" Arya said. "Cersei is dead, the kingdoms are yours!"

"Mine and Daenerys's." Jon corrected, but he smiled all the same. They would still have to march south, but with Cersei gone that meant they had a chance of taking Westeros without bloodshed, which would save thousands of lives. That was, in his mind, something to celebrate indeed. He wondered if Dany knew and thought that if by some chance she didn't, she would be overjoyed when he told her. They desperately needed a piece of good news after these past three days…

Jon had never dreamt of being a king. He craved no crowns or jewels, and he had never wanted to sit the Iron Throne. Let the thing be burnt, He thought silently. The Iron Throne represents the way things were, not the way things are going to be. He and Daenerys should each have their own chairs, side by side. They were going to be equals, to build a Westeros that was free and just. And then someday our son or our daughter will continue our legacy after we're gone. Yes, in that moment Jon Snow thought that being a king would not be so bad at all. Not when it meant he could create a Westeros where his family could be safe, and where the people could finally know peace.

Sansa now wrapped her arm around Arya and pulled her into her side, leading her back in the direction of the castle. "Now that we don't have to worry about Cersei any longer," Sansa was saying. "We can focus on more important things: like the dress for your wedding."

Jon could not see Arya's face, but regardless he knew she was rolling her eyes. "Seven hells Sansa, how many times do I have to tell you? I'm not wearing a wedding dress!"

But Sansa would not take no for an answer. "I can make you one you'll like, trust me! Perhaps grey trimmed with white – or white trimmed with grey? With a high neck, and a long train…"

"A train? Sansa, are you out of your mind?"

As his sisters continued to argue over raiment, Jon picked Longclaw off the ground and sheathed it at his waist. He was about to turn and follow the girls back to Winterfell when something caught his eye.

A black bird was perched at the top of the heart tree. No, Jon silently corrected himself. Not just any black bird. A raven. Jon's grey eyes met the raven's black ones, and he swore that the bird knew who he was. And Jon thought that perhaps, he knew who the bird was too…

The sight was enough to make him smile, and a low laugh emerged from his lips. He watched the raven fly away, then he turned and increased his pace to catch up with his sisters. Sansa and Arya's squabble over wedding clothes had now dissolved into laughter and playful jibes. And as they walked inside the castle, Jon let the familiar warmth of Winterfell envelop him and welcome him home.