A/N: This is the first of my one-shots set in the same universe as my fics "Consign Me Not to Darkness" and "Our Choices Seal Our Fate". This will probably be the fluffiest of them all but c'mon, it's almost Christmas. I need some warm fuzzies to get me through the winter. If you have a hard time keeping all the kiddos straight, I have their names and ages at the end, but beware minor spoilers. (I think I finally understand what GRRM means when he says the ASOIAF characters are like his children, because I love each one of them so much. I feel like they're my kids, not Jonerys's, Gendrya's, Sanrion's or Braime's.)

Hope you enjoy and happy holidays!

I threw myself to the wolves,
only to learn of the tenderness in their howl,
and the loyalty in their blood.

– Isra Al-Thibeh

He was awoken not long after the sun rose by the feeling of a steady poking against his ribs.

"Mummy, Daddy..."

Tyrion groaned and turned his head, still half-asleep. "Hmm, Sansa. What time is it?" He covered his eyes with his arm, trying to keep the light out, but the arm was immediately pulled off his face by a pair of tiny hands.

"Mummy, Daddy, up!"

Tyrion opened his tired eyes and found the face of a grinning four-year-old looming over him. "It's my nameday!" Rickon proclaimed excitedly, his missing front tooth exposed when he smiled. He was bouncing up and down, shaking the entire bedframe.

"It is, sweetling, but it will still be your nameday in two more hours." Tyrion muttered to himself. Based on the dim light that was filtering in to the lord and lady's chambers at Winterfell, it could not be much past seven o'clock.

Beside him Sansa moved into a sitting position, her hair still mussed from sleep, and Rickon practically catapulted himself into her arms, wide awake. "That it is, my baby." She told Rickon.

Rickon scowled. "Mummy, I'm not a baby! I'm four!" He held up the appropriate number of fingers, just to show that he could.

"Yes, but you'll always be a baby to me." Sansa pressed a wet kiss to Rickon's cheek, causing him to squeal "eww, no Mummy", and Tyrion chuckled, rubbing his eyes.

Any remaining peace was interrupted when the door slammed open so hard it bounced off the wall. "Mother!" Catelyn whined, storming into the room. "Jo ruined the dress I was going to wear today!"

"I did not!" Seven-year-old Joanna said indignantly, following her elder sister into the bedroom, her arms crossed over her little chest, her red hair a tangled mess as per usual. She was the only one of the children to have Sansa's fiery tresses, but while Sansa's hair was always brushed and styled, Joanna's was constantly flying in ten different directions and she wouldn't sit still long enough for anyone to cut it. "Cat has so many other dresses anyway! Why can't she wear one of those?"

Eight-year-old Catelyn pouted dramatically, sitting down at the edge of the bed. With a sigh Tyrion reached out to stroke her hair, but Cat did not seem responsive towards his attempts to soothe her. Catelyn, though a Stark by name, had the Lannister looks. Save for her grey eyes, she bore an uncanny resemblance to Cersei as a young girl, with the same hair like beaten gold and snow white skin, but luckily she had little else in common with her dead aunt. Though sometimes difficult and frequently overdramatic, she was not intentionally cruel nor spiteful, and Tyrion knew she loved her brothers and sisters even if she complained about Joanna. Cat just had a flair for theatrics.

"It was my special dress, Father!" Catelyn insisted. "The one Mother made for me, with the wolf and the lion! Joanna ripped it!"

"I was just looking at it!" Joanna jumped onto the bed, wedged between Sansa and Rickon. "Catelyn ripped it, when she tried to take it back."

"I wanted to show the dress to Aunt Arya. What will I show her when I go downstairs now?"

"Arya is here already?" Sansa looked surprised. They had not expected the party from Storm's End to arrive until the late morning or early afternoon, what with the autumn snow scheduled to come through the North.

"They arrived in the night," Catelyn sighed. "But now Jocelyn is going to have a prettier dress than me. It's not fair! This is my brother's party."

"Cat, sweetling," Tyrion reassured his elder daughter. "Your mother will mend the dress for you. Why don't you wear the grey lace today instead, it looks lovely with your eyes." Catelyn could not help but smile at the compliment. "And Joanna – I'm sure your mother would be happy to stitch a wolf and a lion onto one of your tunics, if you would like? You would look beautiful in it." Tentatively, Joanna nodded. She did not like to wear dresses much, as they were inconvenient for all the running and sword-fighting she liked to do, but Tyrion had an inkling that sometimes she wished people would call her pretty like they did Catelyn. And in her own way Joanna was beautiful, so he had taken it upon himself to remind her as much as possible.

It was quite ironic to Tyrion that Cat and Jo always had the same types of arguments Sansa had with her sister when they were girls. Lady Baratheon said her two girls were the same. If there really were gods, they must've had a sense of humor.

The door opened again, but more quietly this time. "Mummy? Daddy?" Five-year-old Brandon toddled into the room, still in his nightclothes. He rubbed sleep from his eyes with little fists. "I heard yelling."

"We're all here, love." Sansa said, Joanna now under one of her arms and Rickon under the other. Tyrion reached his arm out to give Brandon a hand and pulled the boy up onto the bed. It was hard for him to get into the lofted bed on his stunted legs.

"Thank you, Father."

After Sansa's first three childbirths, Tyrion had foolishly begun to think that his affliction would not be passed onto any of his children. Brandon had been brought into the world after a three day long ordeal, and when he was finally pulled from his mother's womb it was immediately clear that he had inherited his father's dwarfism. Tyrion had been unable to look at his wife or newest child for days afterwards, instead locking himself in the library and drinking himself into a stupor as the feelings of guilt swirled around his brain. How could I have done this? He had wondered. How could I have been so selfish as to curse an innocent child to my fate? He'd hated himself for it.

It was only when Sansa – kind, smart, understanding Sansa – was finally able to get out of bed again that he was yanked from his despair. He could still recollect her barging into the locked library still in her nightgown and forcing the babe into his arms. "Look at your son, Tyrion." She'd said to him, with a distinguishable wolfishness in her tone. "You don't have to become your father, Tyrion, I won't let you." That had done it for him. If there was one thing he was definitely not going to be, it was Tywin Lannister.

Brandon had his struggles, but his family loved him. Five-years-old now, young Brandon had an inquisitive mind and a wise spirit beyond that of children twice his age. Brandon would never let someone tell him he couldn't do something, and he would practice a task over and over until he had mastered it. No matter how many times he fell down, he always got back up. He never pitied himself. His parents were exceptionally proud of him.

"Mother," Catelyn crooned. "Might we have lemon cakes for breakfast? Since it's Rickon's nameday, and Aunt Arya and Uncle Gendry are here."

Joanna's eyes lit up. "Oh yes please! Might we all have lemon cakes?" Despite their differences, lemon cakes were one thing the girls could agree on.

Brandon and Rickon joined in on the chorus of "please, please, please" and Sansa sighed. "All right, I will let the kitchens know. But you must all get dressed now and be on your very best behavior, all right? Your father and I will be down in a moment." The children all happily skipped off now that they had been appeased, and the door was shut behind them.

Sansa looked over at Tyrion. "We are in for a long day, aren't we?"

"Sister squabbling? Begging for lemon cakes? I wonder where they got that from."

His wife smacked him lightly with her pillow. "Has anyone ever told you that you've got a big mouth, Tyrion Lannister?"

"Many people. But you married me anyway, Lady Stark."

"That I did, my love. That I did…"

Tyrion dragged himself from the warm bed, and his bare feet were cold as they padded across the wood floor. He threw back the curtains and was surprised by the amount of snow he saw in the courtyard below. There had to be a good inch on the ground, and the rooftops were covered in hoarfrost. It was not snowing now, though, and the greyish sun was out, so hopefully the snow would begin to melt and the rest of their families would make it to Winterfell in time for Rickon's nameday celebrations.

The realm was in the first year of autumn. Winter was coming, but their grain stores were good, and they had hope. The winter of 305 AC had been bitter cold, and the first winter Tyrion spent as Lord of Winterfell had been fraught with illnesses and snowstorms, but five years later spring had sprung in the realm again, much earlier than anticipated. Crops had grown, children had been born, and the Seven Kingdoms celebrated five years of peaceful Targaryen rule. Now as autumn dawned, they could only hope that the cold season would be kind to them again.

As Tyrion looked out, a large snowball came flying up and splat against the window. Tyrion looked down and opened the window a crack. "What do you two think you're doing?"

Down in the courtyard, Ned and Barristan chuckled at having been caught. "Sorry Father!" The eldest Stark child called up. The firstborn of Sansa and Tyrion's children was now eleven years old and the heir to Winterfell. The Golden Wolf, as some called him. Tyrion had once thought that if he ever had a son, he hoped the boy would get his brains but Jaime's looks, and that was exactly what young Eddard had. He was a good boy…usually. "But this snow is perfect for snowballs!"

"Yeah, sorry Uncle Tyrion." Barristan added with a grin. "We were aiming for Cat's window."

Barristan was only Ned's cousin, but the two boys looked strikingly alike. Barristan looked just like his father, and Ned looked just like his uncle. They could've been brothers. Though Ned was two years younger, he was Barristan's height, and the two had been the best of friends since Barristan came to Winterfell as a ward two years previously, in accordance with the terms of Jaime's pardon. Tyrion and Sansa had been entrusted to make sure the Lannister heir became a good and wise leader, and to find a good Northern wife for him when it was time for him to wed. In the meantime, Barristan just enjoyed getting into adventures with his cousin.

"Go change out of your wet clothes," Tyrion called down to them. "Your aunt and uncle are here Ned, and Barristan your father and mother will be along shortly."

"Yes Father…"

"Yes Uncle Tyrion…"

The boys disappeared from sight and Tyrion, already exhausted, sat down on the edge of the bed and sighed, taking his face in his hands. "Fuck me."

Sansa hmphed. "It's a little early for that, my love."

Tyrion looked over at her and found Sansa smiling deviously at him, causing him to chuckle. "Well my love, you seemed to have a different opinion on that subject yesterday." The memory caused Sansa's cheeks to flush almost as red as her hair and Tyrion leaned over to kiss her on the lips, long and deep. "I love you."

"I love you too." Sansa broke the kiss and pulled back to look at him with glistening blue eyes. "I can't believe that Rickon is four years old. Where did my baby boy go?"

"He is still young yet, Sansa. You have many more years with the children before any of them may leave home."

"I know…" Sansa bit her lip. "You know, I am only three-and-thirty. We are both young yet. There could be more children…"

Tyrion laughed. "You might be young, my love, but I am not." At two-and-fifty Tyrion felt his youthful days were long behind him. Besides he was happy with the children he had, who consistently proved to be worth any squabbling or lost sleep, but Sansa had always dreamt of being a mother, before she even wanted to be a lady or a queen. She was effortlessly good at it, and all of Sansa's pregnancies had been so easy that her sister and sisters-in-law envied her. She hardly ever got sick and always regained her figure in a matter of months with relatively little effort. Being a mother came so naturally to her, Sansa probably would've had a dozen children if it were feasible.

"It is sad to think that there won't be any more babies in the family. Brienne won't have any more, Daenerys is unlikely to, and with Arya unwilling…Not to say that I'm not content, because I am, but it is sad to think that the family is done growing. Babies are always so sweet."

"It is simply a season of life that is over, my love. Give it another ten years and you may have grandchildren to spoil." Sansa looked melancholic and Tyrion leaned forward to gently kiss her, smiling reassuringly. "But just because there will be no more babies does not mean that we can't remember how it was we made them…"

Sansa let out a watery laugh and rolled her eyes. "It is always about one thing with you, isn't it Lannister?" But her hand came to rest on the back of his neck and he recognized that little smirk on her lips. "Well…I suppose we do have a few moments before the children barrel down our door…"

They kissed deeply and Sansa fell back, pulling Tyrion on top of her. His attraction to her never lessened. If anything the years only made her more desirable to him. Sansa wrapped her legs around his waist to pull him closer, but before it could progress any further they were interrupted by another snowball thumping against the window, and the distant sounds of boys' laughter.

"On second thought," Sansa said. "I think I am quite happy with five children."

"Mummy, I got you something!"

As Arya came down into the great hall of Winterfell for breakfast, she was met at the bottom of the stairs by her son, who was grinning up at her excitedly. "You did?"

Eight-year-old Durran looked exceptionally proud of himself. The middle of the Baratheon children, so like his father in appearance that Arya imagined if she had known Gendry when he was Durran's age he would not have looked much different, Durran was a kind and well-meaning yet also rambunctious and overactive boy. He had a curious mind and a thirst to experience the world not unlike his mother as a child – Arya and her only son had always enjoyed a particularly close relationship, even at an age when most boys began to abhor such things he still lavished affection upon his mother. Now he pulled one of his small hands out from behind his back and placed his gift for Arya in her outstretched palm.

Arya looked down and raised an eyebrow at the collection of dead leaves covered in dirt, one of which had a worm crawling across it. Perhaps another lady would've screamed after being presented with insects by her child, but Arya laughed and looked at Durran. "Thank you sweetling. Wash your hands before breakfasting, won't you?"

Durran ran off again and Arya went outside to place the worm back on the ground before rejoining her son in the great hall. The room smelled like tea and lemon, and Durran was now sitting to happily eat his breakfast. Eleven-year-old Jocelyn was focused moreso on braiding her cousin Catelyn's golden hair into a woven side braid than eating, even though lemon cakes were possibly her favorite food. Catelyn, though usually talkative, was content and quiet as she listened eagerly to Jocelyn's explanations on how to complete the hairstyle. Just as Jocelyn idolized her cousin Rhaella, Catelyn idolized Jocelyn, and in turn Cat's younger cousin Arianne looked up to her.

Arya spotted her husband at the head of the table, his head bent down as he responded to a letter, and Arya held a finger over her lips, indicating her children should not say anything. Jocelyn and Durran both stifled giggles. Arya walked up behind Gendry and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, kissing him on the cheek. "All these years of practice, and your handwriting still looks like chicken scratch."

Her husband spun around to look at her with playful annoyance. "Well not everyone had maesters and septas to teach them how to hold a quill proper, m'lady."

"Properly." Arya responded with a cheeky grin, before kissing him again. "Good morning."

"Good morning. The letter is for Mya anyway. She has years of practice in discerning my handwriting."

Arya smiled and sat down between her husband and son, Jocelyn and Catelyn at the opposite end of the table. Mya was happily settled at Harvest Hall with her husband Arstan Selmy and two children, while Bella was married to Borros Dondarrion and had three of her own. Gendry's half-sisters were always a welcome presence. Smiling to herself, Arya impulsively reached out to push some of Gendry's dark hair back. Somewhere along the lines the boy she'd fallen in love with had turned into a strong and capable man. Tall and broad with a coat of dark stubble from not shaving for several days, everyone who had known his father said that Gendry was the image of Robert Baratheon in his youth. Arya thought the dead king never could've been half the lord, husband or father his son was.

"All done." Jocelyn proclaimed, tugging on Catelyn's now finished braid. The heiress to Storm's End had her father's look, with her thick mop of black hair and bright blue eyes, but her mother's petite size. Sometimes Arya didn't know how she'd played a part in making Joss though. Her daughter was kind-hearted and loving, a girly girl who enjoyed dresses and music and dancing. From her very first breath, she was so good. There was not a mean bone in Jocelyn's body, and yet there was a strength to her that showed she was not easily intimidated.

"I think I can do it." Catelyn told Jocelyn. "Auntie Arya, can I practice on your hair? I promise I'll do it nice!"

No longer the cropped boyish cut of her youth, Arya's brown tresses were now long enough to go past her shoulders when free flowing, but it was almost always pulled back in some way as Arya found it a nuisance otherwise. "Sure, Cat." Arya was in the midst of pouring her tea when she noticed something. She looked around the table. "Where's Argella?"

Gendry looked up from his letter writing, smudging his ink. "I thought she was with you."

"I thought she was with you." The couple looked at each other with wide eyes and Arya cursed in her mind. "Where is she?" Unlike Jocelyn, there could be no doubt that Argella was Arya Stark's daughter. Even though she was only three, the baby of the family, Argella had a fiercely independent spirit and if you took your eyes off her for one minute, she would wander off in search of some adventure.

Both Arya and Gendry rose from their seats. "She couldn't have gotten far. How fast can a three year old run – "

Arya gave her husband a look. "Gendry, when I was three, to escape my septa I climbed to the highest tree in the godswood and my parents didn't find me until I came home because I was hungry."

"Well, we'll look there first. If you could ask Sansa – "

But before Arya and Gendry could panic any further, there was the sound of little feet padding on the floor. "Morning Mummy! Morning Daddy!" Arya and Gendry both turned just as Argella practically skipped into the great hall, mud all over the knees of her breeches, her black hair messy as a bird's nest. In her hands was a collection of evergreen branches and winter jasmine, as well as a single winter rose from Winterfell's green house. "I picked these for you, Daddy."

Arya and Gendry both sank back in their seats with audible sighs. "Uhh – thank you, sweetling. Come here. Did you go outside without your cloak? You'll freeze."

Argella toddled over and lifted herself into Gendry's lap. "Can I have a lemon cake?" Gendry nodded and wiped her hands off before allowing Argella to indulge in the treat. Arya's heart softened. She was reminded of when she'd been a little girl with messy hair and dirty knees, traipsing through the mud to pick her father flowers. Argella reached up to tuck the winter rose behind Gendry's ear. "Pretty, Daddy."

Arya chuckled at the sight of her husband with a rose in his hair. "Brings out your eyes." Gendry rolled his eyes and kissed the top of Ella's head.

The rest of breakfast passed with relative unexcitement. Gradually Arya's other niece and nephews filtered in, greeting their aunt, uncle and cousins with hellos and hugs. It was a full half an hour later before Sansa and Tyrion arrived. "Hello sister, goodbrother. We weren't expecting you until this afternoon…"

Tyrion paused, looking at Gendry. "Has Lord Baratheon been crowned the queen of love and beauty?"

Gendry scowled. "Shut up." Arya laughed and nearly choked on her tea.

"Mother," Catelyn asked Sansa. "Can I do your hair? Jocelyn's shown me how. I bet I could do it nicely. See, I did Auntie Arya's…"

"Yes, I see." Sansa answered. "I don't think your aunt's hair has ever looked better…" Now it was Arya's turn to scowl and Gendry's to laugh at her.

Just as everyone was settled around the table, Catelyn standing up on the bench to brush her mother's hair, a squire burst into the great hall, his cheeks flushed from cold, his eyes full of surprise. Arya noticed him first. "Is something the matter?"

The lad only looked at Sansa. "Lady Stark, I think there's something that requires your attention eminently…"

Sansa pulled her fur tighter around her as she stepped out into the chilly morning. Her half completed hair blew around her face, getting in her eyes. As she followed the squire into the courtyard she wondered what horrible sight might be awaiting her. A body? A declaration of war? A White Walker? She shuddered, but not from the weather. After these thirteen years there were still nights she woke up screaming from nightmares of the War for the Dawn, Joffrey, Ramsay…Sometimes she dreamt that she was back in the captivity of the reanimated Cersei, waiting for Tyrion to come save her, only in these dreams he never did and she died in agony on the cold floor of the throne room.

A group of her men were standing with their backs to her, crowded around something, and when the squire announced the Lady of Winterfell they parted like the sea. Sansa stopped and gasped, causing Arya to accidentally collide into her back.

On the ground was a basket teeming with puppies. Some were grey, black, or tawny brown. They were old enough that their eyes had opened as they squirmed and whined, trying to wriggle free from the basket. Dennis, one of the Winterfell guards, picked up a black, gold-eyed pup that was trying to escape. "Wolves?" Ned said with excitement, brushing past his mother to accept the pup from Dennis.

Catelyn's eyes went wide with glee. "Puppies!" She declared, grabbing Sansa's hand.

Sansa swallowed. "Not puppies, sweetling. Direwolves." She would recognize these creatures anywhere. "Where did you find them?" She asked Dennis. She had not seen a direwolf pup in years. Not since…

"Found them this morning, m'lady, when Alyn and I were out walking in the woods. No signs of their mother. She must've died, or abandoned them. We have no idea where they came from…"

"There's so many of them," Ned said, cradling his pup against his chest as he looked into the basket. "Barristan, come give me a hand." The Stark and Baratheon children began to squeal and chatter excitedly, crowding around as Ned and Barristan passed out the baby wolves until everyone had one.

"It's not possible." Arya said in disbelief.

"Evidently it is possible." Tyrion said. "However strange, they're here…"

"Where did they come from?"

Sansa looked at her sister. "You don't think…Nymeria…?"

Arya shrugged, a faraway look in her eye. "I don't know. I stopped having the wolf dreams a long time ago, so I didn't think she was alive anymore. But when I saw her last, she had a pack with her. They could be related to her somehow…"

"How many are there?"

"Four males and four females, m'lady." Alyn told her. "A large litter."

"That's one for each of the cousins!" Joanna said. Each one of the children was now holding a wolf, cooing and cuddling them. "Can't we keep them, Mother?"

"Yes, can't we?" Jocelyn chimes in, stroking a tawny pup. "We'll show the little ones how to care for them!"

"And we'll feed them ourselves!" Durran added. "We can give them bottles!"

"Oh please Mother, please Father!" Cat was practically begging, her lower lip jutted out. "Please, please, please!"

All eight of the children looked at their respective parents with wide eyes and choruses of "please". Arya and Gendry exchanged a shrug, and then Arya turned to her sister. "You're the Lady of Winterfell, and they were found on your lands. It is your decision what we do with them."

Sansa sighed, her gaze lingering on each of the pups as she contemplated silently. Eight pairs of eyes, grey and green and blue, were looking at her in hope. She remembered when she once had a pup whom she loved with all her heart. Biting her lip, Sansa looked at Tyrion. "What do you think, my lord?"

"I think, my lady, that you seem to have already made up your mind." He glanced at the children. "You can keep them."

The children whooped with delight, and there were many cries of "Thank you Father, thank you Mother!" or "Thank you Uncle Tyrion, thank you Aunt Sansa!" All of the little ones began to jabber at what names they are going to give their new pets, but then little Rickon – who had been unusually silent – spoke up. "What about the last pup?"

Sansa could see Tyrion look around, his lips moving as he did a mental count of the pups. "What do you mean, little wolf? There are eight, one for each of you."

Rickon shook his head. "No Father, there are nine. Look!"

Sure enough, inside the basket one lone pup was still inside. It was the only white pup and that was why no one had seen it before, its fur the same color as the blanket lining the basket. The little thing's eyes were closed and it was whimpering. Tyrion lifted it up by the fur on the back of its neck. Sansa saw she was a girl.

"Barristan could have it," Tyrion offered, but the boy shook his head.

"A kind offer, Uncle Tyrion, but I'm not a Stark. It's not right for me to have it."

Sansa looked at Arya. "Perhaps this is a sign you should have a fourth child after all." Her sister scoffed.

"Fuck no." Realizing what she'd said, she looked at Gendry apologetically. "Sorry. It's only that three childbirths were enough for me."

"Daddy," Argella asked, nuzzling her direwolf as she looked up at Gendry. "What does 'fuck' mean?"

Gendry gave his wife a look, then took his youngest by the hand. "It was a bad word, Ella, your mum shouldn't have said it. Now come along, we'll go to the kitchens for some milk for your pups."

The children skipped off to the kitchens, happily chatting about what they planned to do with their new pets, but Sansa hung back, as did Tyrion. The little white wolf was now burrowing into his doublet, as if searching for a mother's milk. "You could keep her for yourself, you know."

"No," Sansa said instinctively. "I can't." Her eyes met Tyrion's. "I already had a direwolf." Lady had been more than her wolf. She'd been a part of herself. Even after all these years, she still missed her sometimes. She could not replace her.

With a sad smile, she reached out to stroke the little white wolf's fur. The pup mewled and opened her eyes. They were pale as frost.

"Oh pup. What are we going to do with you?"

"Six maids there were in a spring-fed pool, they're of noble blood – "

With a groan, nine-year-old Jason's gloved hands reached up to cover his ears. "Arianne, stop singing! I'm sick of it!"

His little sister only smiled crookedly, exposing the gap between her two front teeth, and continued to sing quite loudly and off-key. In truth, she was not a very good singer, but Arianne had never let that stop her before. "One Fool, but great, on the shore, he'd seen that flower full of love. "She'll be in my garden" – he'd sworn…"

Before Arianne could finish the first verse, Jason jumped down from his black colt and picked up a handful of snow. He tried to form a ball and chucked it towards his sister, but he did not pack it tightly enough and snow spun in several different directions. Most of it missed Arianne and smashed against Jaime's chest. "Oh, seven hells…"

Jason turned white at his mistake, and as Jaime brushed the snow off of him, he swore he heard his wife holding back laughter. "Sorry, Father." Jason said bashfully.

"You've interrupted me!" Arianne said. "Now I'll have to start over – "

"I'm sick of "Six Maids in a Pool"! It's a stupid, girly song. Florian and Jonquil are so boring – "

"It's romantic." Arianne protested. At six years old, she enjoyed the romantic tales of old like most girls, but that was not to say she did not equally admire warrior queens and sword-wielding princesses. "If you want I could sing "The Rains of Castamere" instead – "

Jaime resisted the urge to grimace. "I think that's enough for one day, Annie."

From the front of the saddle, Arianne looked up at her father with her blue eyes, so much like her mother's. Out of all the children, Arianne was the one who resembled Brienne the closest, with straw-colored hair, large blue eyes, and a smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks, but something about the way she looked at him reminded Jaime of another woman. Her sister, Myrcella. "But Daddy, it's our song. I know all the words, see? And who are you, the proud lord said, that I must bow so low? Only a cat of a different coat, that's all the truth I know – "

"I know you do, Annie, and I would love to hear you sing it sometime, but not today. We are almost at Winterfell besides."

That seemed to please Arianne enough. "It's been so long since we've seen Barristan, Daddy! Do you think he'll even remember us?"

Brienne shook her head. She rode along down the path at Jaime's left hand side, Jason's pony and Galladon's horse in between them. "Your brother saw you six months ago, Arianne, he's not forgotten you. How could he?"

When he turned eleven Barristan had been sent to Winterfell to foster with Tyrion and Sansa, in accordance with the terms set in Jaime's pardon at the end of the wars. Two years ago he'd left Casterly Rock to go north and though it was difficult having his eldest child so far from home, they still saw each other a few times a year, and they wrote often. It was only temporary, after all, and Jaime knew all the family secretly looked forward to the day that Barristan would return home for good.

"And I can't wait to see Brandon, either!" Arianne added. She was only a few months older than her cousin and he had always been a favorite of hers.

"Father, when can I have a horse like Gal's?" Jason asked. "I am tired of this pony."

"You still have much to learn before you can have a horse of your own, Jase." Brienne told her youngest son gently.

"But Gal had a horse when he was ten, and I'll be ten on my next nameday – "

"Well, not everyone can be as good as me." Galladon said cheekily, smiling at his brother. Though only eleven, he was already as tall as most fourteen or fifteen year old boys, and he'd been playing with swords since he could walk. Jaime knew that Jason was slightly jealous. Barristan was the heir to Casterly Rock, and Galladon would inherit Tarth after Brienne, while Jason did not get anything. He was still tall and strong for a boy his age, but not as tall or strong as his older brothers, his hair more like flax than gold, his eyes a murky mix between blue and green. Right now all Jason ever did was compare himself to Barristan or Galladon, but Jaime suspected that when he grew up it would make no matter. Once he learned to believe in himself, Jason would be just as good.

"Can I get a pony soon, Mummy?" Arianne asked Brienne. "I bet if I had I pony I could run circles around Jase, and I'd probably get a horse before him too!" Another thing Jason did not have was his sister's confidence. For a young girl Arianne was tough and never balked from a challenge. She couldn't when she had three older brothers.

Jason scowled. "Would not – "

"Would to – "

"Would not – "

"That's enough," Jaime said, and both the children shut their mouths. "Why don't you two walk for a bit? We have only a mile left, if that. It'll do you good."

Arianne jumped down out of the saddle before he could help and she kicked up some snow when she landed. Her crimson dress had a pair of breeches underneath – Arianne liked to dress ladylike, but she also didn't like to have her movements limited. "I bet I can make a better snowball than you, Jase!"

Jason frowned. "I bet not!"

Any animosity was soon forgotten as the two children ran off to play, both eager to soon see their big brother. As Jason and Arianne raced ahead, Jaime could faintly hear that they were now both singing. "In a coat of gold or a coat of red, a lion still has claws, and mine are long and sharp, my lord, as long and sharp as yours – " He could not be angry at them. They were summer children. They still did not understand what those words meant.

Brienne nodded to Galladon. "Would you mind walking your brother's pony the rest of the way?" Galladon nodded and followed his mother's orders without complaint, climbing off his horse's back so that he could lead Jason's pony with one hand and his own horse with the other. He pulled two apples out of the saddle bag to feed them both and walked ahead, while his parents hung back.

Jaime's horse nearly lost its footing over a rock and he cursed under his breath. "Didn't see that there?" Brienne asked him teasingly.

"I saw it, it's just – " Jaime grappled for an excuse, but none came quick enough.

"Admit it," His wife said. "You need a pair of spectacles."

"My sight is fine. You worry too much, wench." He would not admit to Brienne that he in fact hadn't seen the rock, and that the evergreens ahead looked more like dark green blobs than trees. He was six-and-fifty years old. He was getting old. He resisted the urge to shudder, the metal of his golden hand feeling particularly cold against his skin in this weather, even with gloves on. Sometimes when he saw the young men-at-arms sparring in the Casterly Rock courtyard, or tried to chase after his rambunctious children, he was reminded of how old he was.

He'd never expected to grow old.

"Left." Brienne's voice called out, and Jaime swerved just in time to avoid hitting a branch. He shot his wife a look.

"Pure luck is what that was."

Brienne shook her head at him. "There is no shame in age, Jaime. It happens to all of us. Just please get some spectacles. It would be quite embarrassing if you made a widow of me after all these years because you rode your horse into a ditch."

Jaime scoffed. "Perhaps you are old, wench, but I am most certainly not. And if you've forgotten that, then perhaps I'll need to beat you in the training yard this afternoon to remind you."

"Fine by me, but I shall not go easy on you, husband."

"Nor do I need you to, wife."

Brienne laughed quietly, but then she reached out and touched Jaime's hand, squeezing gently through their gloves. Jaime looked up at her, and her weary blue eyes said everything. No more words needed to be exchanged. They rode in silence for a while longer, her hand remaining firmly on top of his.

Finally the gates to Winterfell were close enough ahead that even Jaime could make them out clearly. He could see the outlines of two blonde-haired boys standing in the courtyard and Jason and Arianne ran to embrace one of them. Barristan. Had the boy gotten even taller these past six months? But then there was something that puzzled him. He saw a little boy – most likely Rickon – come outside and a large pack of small animals accompanying him, running in circles by his feet. Jaime stopped his horse to stare at them and Brienne did the same when she saw he was no longer moving. "What are those?" She asked. "Dogs?"

Jaime squinted, and shook his head. "No." He answered. "Wolves."

When they finally reached the gates, Galladon had already handed his horse and Jason's pony off to a groom so that he too could embrace his brother. Arianne and Jason were both practically jumping on Barristan as they barraged him with updates on every little thing they'd done in the past six months. "Barristan! I learned how to count to a thousand, want to hear?" "Barristan! Mother says I'm getting better at my swordplay. I bet I could beat you!" Jaime wasn't sure if it was the addition of Galladon or Arianne and Jason's constant poking and prodding, but soon the four Lannister siblings had fallen down onto the ground, Barristan flat on his back with his brothers and sister on top of him as they rolled about.

"Seven hells!" Barristan laughed. "Not at all once, huh?" He tickled both Jason and Arianne, who laughed. Galladon got up first and then offered his older brother a hand, Barristan now with snow halfway down his back. Jason and Arianne both bounced up without injury, red-faced and giggling.

"Hello nuncle," Young Ned Stark said to Jaime. "Long time no see."

"Hello Ned. And this must be the nameday boy, huh Rickon?"

Barristan brushed the snow off of himself as best as he could and then went to greet his parents. "Good to see you, Father." Jaime hugged him a beat longer than he usually would, and then it was Brienne's turn to squeeze him tight. "I missed you, Mother."

"Look at you," She said, cupping his cheeks, and Jaime swore she sounded emotional. "You'll be as tall as your father soon, now won't you?"

"I think Gal might beat me there," Barristan said, smiling at his brother. "What are they feeding you down at Casterly Rock?"

"We've been at Tarth for the past three months, actually." Galladon said. "Our grandfather sends his love, and his annoyance that you do not write to him more."

Only now did Brienne release Barristan from her hold and he grinned up at her. Even though Brienne had not given birth to him, she was the only mother Barristan had ever known. Ever since he was four years old he had called Brienne "Mother". Throughout his childhood Jaime had watched Barristan, fearing that he would see a hint of madness, an evil glint in the eyes, a sign of the unnaturalness of his birth. But nothing came. Barristan was kind and strong and brave. He had his faults too of course, being at times impulsive or headstrong, but at his core he had all of Brienne's goodness, and none of Cersei's cruelty. Jaime did not think it was possible for any father to be prouder of his son than he was of Barristan. He would become a great man. A greater man that Jaime himself could ever be, he hoped.

"Uncle Jaime! Aunt Brienne!" Rickon said. "Did you see my nameday present?" There were four wolf pups by Rickon's feet. One was a smoky grey, biting Rickon's shoelaces. Another was all-black, with intelligent, golden eyes, and two were tawny, one with yellow eyes and another with green.

"Wolf pups?" Jaime said.

"No," Ned corrected. "Direwolf pups." The sigil of House Stark.

"They are so cute!" Arianne crooned, bending down to pet one of the tawny pups. "Are they all yours, Rickon?"

"This one is mine," said Rickon, pointing to the pup by his feet. The wolf gave up on Rickon's shoelaces and ran over to the Lannisters. He first circled the children, sniffing them, then came to Jaime, trying to jump up on his legs but being too short to do so. "That one is Catelyn's – " He pointed to the green-eyed pup. "Her name is Princess. And that one is Dawn, she's Jocelyn's. The black is Ned's. All the cousins have one."

"Can't we have wolves?" Jason asked eagerly, holding out his hand for Princess to lick. "We're your cousins too!"

"We're not Starks." Galladon told his brother.

Arianne frowned. "But Joss and Durran and Ella aren't Starks, and they have wolves!"

"But their mother is a Stark," Brienne corrected gently. "You're Lannisters, and I'm a Tarth."

Galladon scratched Ned's wolf behind the ears. "What did you name them?"

Ned lifted the black wolf up by the fur on the back of its neck. "This is Ranger, after the men in the old Night's Watch, like Uncle Jon told me about. What did you name yours Rickon?"

"Fang!" Rickon said excitedly. "Because he's fierce and scary!"

Jaime looked down at the small wolf by his feet, who had given up trying to jump on him and was now chasing its own tail. "Yes," He told his nephew with a smile. "He will surely instill fear in other men's hearts."

"I know he doesn't look like much now, Uncle Jaime," Ned said. "But he'll be big as a pony when he's grown, and as fierce as any Lannister lion."

Arianne's eyes lit up and she grabbed Jaime's sleeve. "Daddy, since our cousins can have pet wolves, could we have a pet lion?" Jason immediately nodded. This seemed to be one thing he and his little sister could agree upon.

Jaime laughed before he could stop himself. "It does not work like that, sweetling." Brienne answered for him as they all walked towards the kitchens, Barristan now tucked under Brienne's arm, while Galladon walked ahead with Ned and Jason and Arianne clutched their father. "Lions do not make good pets."

"And direwolves are not pets!" Rickon protested. "They're beasts! Fang here will rip your face off!" Little Fang let out a high-pitched yap in agreement, nipping at his master's heels.

"Well if direwolves are not pets and lions are not pets," Arianne said. "I don't see why we can't have one. Jason and I will feed him and clean up after him!"

"Yes, we promise we would!"

"The answer is no," Jaime sighed, and Arianne looked up at him with big blue eyes. Damn it. That girl was his weakness. How could he look at the only daughter that remained to him and not give her everything she desired? "…To the lions. But maybe some kittens would be more suitable?"

Arianne's face was split by a grin and Jason thanked him profusely. Even Galladon looked excited by the prospect of a pet cat. When Jaime looked at Brienne she was staring at him, eyebrow raised. He shrugged and mouthed "What was I supposed to do?"

Inside the kitchens, a fire was roaring and the scene was chaotic as children ran in every which way. The adults were showing the children how to feed their direwolf pups by dipping cloths into milk, and a servant trying to do her daily chores nearly spilled a tray of buns when Catelyn raced past her. "Princess!" She scooped the pup off the ground and the pup whined as she was pressed against her mistress's bosom. "You boys haven't been getting her dirty, have you?"

"Hello to you too, coz." Galladon said sarcastically.

"Catelyn," Sansa Stark gently reprimanded her daughter. "Say hello to your aunt and uncle."

"Sorry. Hello Uncle Jaime, Aunt Brienne." Cat quickly spun around when she realized that a reddish wolf and a black one had begun to bite on the train of her dress. "Joanna! Argella!" Princess began to growl protectively when she saw that Catelyn was distressed.

Joanna whistled. "Visenya! Black Aly! Come!"

Arianne and Jason went off in search of Brandon and they found him sitting in front of the fireplace with Tyrion, a tiny wolf cradled against his chest. Jaime kneeled down and saw that the direwolf pup was a silvery grey and when its eyes half-opened, they were a shimmering gold. Jaime loved all of Tyrion's children, but he'd always had a special place in his heart for Brandon. Brandon was the one who reminded him the most of his little brother.

"Does your wolf have a name too Brandon?" Jason asked excitedly.

"Not yet," Brandon said. "It has to be the perfect one…"

"Perhaps we can help you come up with one." Arianne said. "Shadow? Thunder?"

"Grey?" Jason suggested, but Arianne wrinkled her nose in displeasure.

"That won't do. Perhaps you could name him after a lord or a king who you admire? What do you think Brandon?"

"I don't know," The boy said. "I want him to have just the right name." The wolf burrowed closer against Brandon's chest and opened his mouth wide with a yawn, before closing his eyes.

"I'm sure you'll think of something," Tyrion assured his son. "It will come to you. And in the mean time I know he already loves you, whatever his name is."

Brandon's blue eyes came to focus on Jaime. "What do you think, uncle?"

"I'm not so good at naming wolves, I'm afraid." Jaime told him. "My lord father never was a fan of animals, so we were not allowed any besides horses. Though our lord grandfather did once keep lions in cages below Casterly Rock…" When they were children he and Cersei used to go down to look at them. She always dared him to touch one, but Jaime never did. Cersei would laugh at him then and say he was not as brave as she thought. Perhaps I should be Father's heir instead, she would taunt. Because I'm tougher than you! Now Jaime pushed the thought away, banishing the memories of his cruel sister to the back of his mind.

"Wait!" Jason said. "So your grandfather was allowed to have lions, but we can't?"

"If you ever become Lord of Casterly Rock, Jason," Tyrion replied drily. "Then you can have all the lions you want."

But meanwhile, Brandon's eyes lit up. "I think I've got it," He said. "Grey Lion. What do you think?"

"Hmm. I like it." Arianne said decisively, before leaning down to press a kiss between Grey Lion's eyes. "It's a good name." Brandon's smile only grew wider at her assent.

"It is indeed." Tyrion agreed, patting his son's shoulder, and Jaime nodded in agreement.

"I know he might be small now," Brandon said. "But he will grow up to be so great, and fierce, and bold, and do so many things that no one ever thought he could do. I'm sure of it."

Jaime smiled down at his nephew. The same, he thought, could be said of Brandon himself. "As will you, nephew. As will you."

"Haha Robb, I bet you can't catch me!"

Jon stepped out of the Red Keep to the sight of two dragons circling overhead, one with primarily scarlet scales but jet black on her claws, chest and belly, the other sparkling silver with icy blue markings. Even from the ground he could hear the sounds of Rhaella and Robb laughing. The dragons had only recently become large enough for the twins to ride, and it was now one of their favorite things.

"Rhaella! Robb! We're going to be late!"

Daenerys and Missandei were currently circling the perimeter of the courtyard as they walked and talked. Thirteen years later, the queen and her Mistress of Laws were still the closest of friends. There was rarely one without the other, and Missandei was the person Daenerys trusted most, save for Jon. Daenerys's purple eyes lit up when she saw him approach. "My love."

They greeted each other with a kiss. At six-and-thirty, Jon still thought his wife was the most beautiful woman in any room she walked into. Her silver hair now had a few flecks grey from age, and her hips were fuller, her breasts larger from the children she'd borne, but if anything the years they'd spent together made Jon love her more. "Ready to go, love? Missandei, are you sure you're staying behind? Sansa has assured me you and Mollander are very welcome."

"I thank you, Your Grace, but I have work to be done. I will see you when you return." Thirteen years on Missandei remained at the Red Keep. She displayed no interest in moving away from her queen. She'd received many offers of marriage, but turned them all down: from a minor lord from the Reach, from a Lysene merchant come to King's Landing for trade, from Lord Velaryon's handsome cousin who was about her age. Once a magister from Pentos had come to see Jon and Daenerys on a diplomatic trip, and after one look at Missandei he professed his undying love and proposed on the spot. (Of course, he'd already blown through three wives and had a harem of mistresses and prostitutes.) Some genuinely fell for her intelligence and beauty, while others hoped that a marriage to the Mistress of Laws would gain them influence at court. Regardless of their intentions Missandei had refused them all, saying that Grey Worm's death had left a hole in her heart no other man could fill. That was not to say she was not happy in her own way though. She served faithfully on the council, the children loved her, and Missandei had even taken in a ward of her own. A few years after the war, she'd come across a street urchin and taken a special interest in him once she realized he was Naathi, like her. The child's parents had fled to Westeros before he was born to escape slavery in Essos, but sickness had carried them both off. Young Mollander came to live at court and soon he was recognized as if he were Lady Missandei's own son. It was nice for Robb to have another boy his age to play with, since he had no brothers and Sam and Gilly's sons lived far away at Highgarden.

Up above Rhaella was now flying in circles around Robb, playfully taunting him, but Jon saw no signs of his third child. "Where is Rhaenys?" He asked Daenerys.

"Sitting with Ghost. Can you see that she's packed? Missandei and I are going to saddle Drogon."

Sure enough Jon found his seven-year-old daughter sitting on the floor, Ghost's head resting in her lap as she scratched behind his ears. The elderly direwolf's head perked up as his master approached, but he shut his eyes and went back to sleep when Jon lowered himself to sit besides Rhaenys. "Your mother wants to know that you are all packed."

"Yes Father."

"Are you excited to go to Winterfell again?"

"Yes Father." Despite her assent, Rhaenys seemed relatively unenthused at the prospect. Jon and Daenerys's youngest child had always been a bit different. While her siblings had the silver hair and purple eyes of House Targaryen, Rhaenys had the grey eyes of the North, and a tangle of dark curly hair that tumbled almost to her waist. She was small, even more petite than her mother or sister, and her personality had always been solemn. As a babe she'd rarely cried. Rhaenys was quiet, reflective, and her smiles were rare. Sometimes when she looked at him with those Stark eyes, Jon got the eerie feeling that his baby girl was somehow staring deep into his soul.

And then there was the matter that she had no dragon.

Rhaenys's pristine white egg had placed in her cradle with her when she was a baby, as was done with all Targaryen children, but she'd never displayed the same interest in her egg as her siblings did. Whereas Rhaella and Robb slept with their eggs in their arms every night until they hatched the day of their fifth nameday, Rhaenys banished her egg to the opposite side of her cradle. When the egg still had not hatched by Rhaenys's sixth nameday, Jon and Daenerys had the egg placed over hot coals to see if that would hatch it. Indeed something did come from Rhaenys's egg shortly thereafter. Jon had been in another room when it happened, and the sound of Rhaella's shrill scream sent him running to Rhaenys's bedchamber. The creature writhing on the floor was not a healthy dragon hatchling, but a blind, wingless wyrm, white like a maggot, letting out a horrible screeching noise like Jon had never heard before as it gnashed its small, sharp teeth. Before the abomination could move any closer towards Rhaenys, Jon beheaded it with Longclaw in a single stroke. Rhaella had half-fainted into her brother's arms at the sight. Meanwhile six-and-a-half-year-old Rhaenys remained seated on the floor, perfectly calm, staring blankly at the beheaded creature.

"I knew it." She said, so low Jon could barely hear her, and just like that she got up and left the room.

That was over a year ago. The twins' dragons were now big enough for them to ride, and Jon and Daenerys were desperate to find another egg for Rhaenys. They did not want their youngest child to ever feel left out. But as much as they hoped that Drogon and Rhaegal might produce another cache of eggs, there was nothing, and the twins' dragons showed no signs of mating any time soon.

Daenerys returned alone on Drogon, Rhaegal close behind. "Robb! Rhaella! Time to go!" The twins landed, Rhaella on her red-and-black Nightflyer, Robb on his slender Frostbyte.

"Mother," Rhaella said. "Can't Robb and I ride to Winterfell ourselves?"

"I don't know. You have not taken Nightflyer and Frostbyte out of the city yet…"

"We've ridden around the keep for weeks," Robb protested. "We need to spread our wings sometime, and besides Mother, we've done the ride to Winterfell with you and Father on Drogon and Rhaegal many times. We know the way."

"Please, Mother." Rhaella said. "Robb and I are begging you."

Dany looked conflicted. Jon and Daenerys had spent many nights sitting up, wondering how they should handle this now that the twins could ride while Rhaenys had no dragon of their own. They did not want Rhaenys to feel excluded, but Daenerys also feared that Robb and Rhaella may come to resent their sister if they couldn't do things because of her. "I know you had a wonderful relationship with your siblings," She'd said to him once. "But I didn't. Viserys was cruel to me, and though he was my brother, it was hard to love him. I want our children to love each other. Rhaella and Robb have been close from the first moment, and I want Rhaenys to be included, but not at their expense."

Before any more could be said, Rhaenys stood up. "I'll ride with Daddy."

"Are you certain?" Rhaenys nodded, and Daenerys sighed. "Well, all right then." The twins both grinned and Rhaella practically squealed, tugging on Robb's arm.

"I'll race you!"

Robb laughed. "I'm going to beat you this time."

"I'd like to see you try!"

The two took off running to Nightflyer and Frostbyte, causing Daenerys to sigh and head for Drogon. But Jon hesitated, bending down to scratch Ghost's chin. The old wolf would be staying behind – he was probably at the end of his life after these many years, and not as energetic as before, but still a loyal friend. "Does it hurt your feelings?" Jon asked Rhaenys. "That your brother and sister can ride and you can't? You can tell me the truth."

Rhaenys only rubbed Ghost's head in farewell and did not answer Jon. "We should go," She said, profoundly serious. "There's a surprise for us at Winterfell."

Jon frowned, not understanding her meaning. "What kind of surprise?"

Rhaenys smiled knowingly. "You'll see." She said, before brushing past her father nonchalantly, humming quietly to herself. Jon watched in confusion as she skipped off towards Rhaegal. What did she mean by that? Jon loved his daughter with all his heart, but sometimes he felt that he did not entirely understand her, like there was a part of Rhaenys that was kept hidden even from him, the person who was supposed to know her best.

The entire ride to Winterfell Jon spent in silent contemplation over Rhaenys's words. His little daughter sat in front of him on Rhaegal's back and Jon stared at the back of her curly head, wondering as to her meaning. Daenerys and the twins landed in the courtyard first, and Rhaella and Robb looked proud as all their cousins and friends came running out to see their dragons. By the time Jon landed Rhaegal, all the little Starks, Baratheons and Lannisters were gathering around in hopes of getting to pet the dragons, while Daenerys rewarded Drogon with a treat and a pat on the nose.

"Robb," Catelyn said, batting her eyelashes at him. "Can we go for a ride with you?"

"Yeah," Jocelyn added. "We bet you're a great flyer!" Robb's two little cousins had always had a bit of an innocent crush on him, and whenever they saw him they were desperate for his attention.

"I think I have room for one of you."

"Me!" Catelyn said, earning her an annoyed look from Jocelyn.

"I should go with Robb, I'm older – "

"But Robb likes me better – "

"Well aren't you the most popular man in the castle, hey Robb?" Rhaella teased, earning her a playful shove from her twin.

But what Jon noticed were the collection of tiny wolves jumping around the children's heels. Before he could ask, Rickon ran up to him, followed by his sisters. "There's my nephew! We have your present in Aunt Dany's saddle."

Rickon's eyes went wide. "Is it a dragon? A sword?"

"You'll have to look and see." Rickon raced off excitedly for his present, while Jon moved to hug his sisters. "Hello Arya, Sansa." Only when he hugged Sansa, he felt something wriggling between them, and when he pulled back he saw a small white direwolf pup, curled in her arms.

The question must've been written on Jon's face because Sansa answered without his having to say anything. "We found them this morning. Their mother is gone, so the children have adopted them."

"Doesn't seem like that long ago that was us."

Sansa smiled wistfully. "It seems so long ago and like yesterday at the same time. Only this little girl still needs someone…"

Suddenly Jon, Sansa and Arya's heads all snapped up at the same time. "Sansa," Arya mumbled. "What about…" She nodded over at Rhaenys, quietly clinging to Jon's legs. Jon suspected that they'd all had the same idea.

Sansa knelt down before her niece and the tiny wolf mewled in her embrace. "Rhaenys," She said gently. "You know how your father has Ghost, right?" The little girl nodded. "Well, we were wondering…if you'd like to have a wolf too. She'd be all your own, and you wouldn't have to share her with anyone, not even Rhaella and Robb. Would you like that?"

Rhaenys was smiling, but Jon did not think she looked all that surprised. She only nodded in reply.

"Would you like to hold her?"

The wolf was gently passed from Sansa to Rhaenys. Rhaenys held her as gently as if she were a baby, and rubbed the direwolf's belly with a single finger. The wolf looked up at Rhaenys, yawned, and then closed her eyes to go to sleep. Rhaenys grinned. "Thank you, Aunt Sansa."

The adults smiled at each other, pleased. When Jon turned his head he saw that Daenerys was watching the exchange from afar, a smile on her face as well. "Well then," Sansa said, standing up. "Supper should be ready. Let's all get inside out of the cold." As the others headed for Winterfell Jon remained standing there with Rhaenys, Rhaenys entranced by her new pet, rubbing the wolf's belly as she slept.

"Well this is a surprise, Rhaenys. What do you say? Do you love her?"

"Yes." Rhaenys looked up at Jon with a blank expression in her grey eyes, and spoke loud enough so that only he could hear. "Uncle Bran sent them to us. He told me."

The words, quite literally, sent a chill down Jon's spine. Of all the things Rhaenys might have said, he was not expecting that. He knew children often told half-truths or outright fabrications, but where would Rhaenys have gotten that from? And it was startling when he remembered that Rhaenys had told him there was a surprise at Winterfell…almost like she knew…"Sweetling," Jon began. "Your uncle is dead. He's been dead since before you were born. You know that."

But Rhaenys did not seem fazed by his words. "I've seen him."

"How?"

"In my dreams. I know it was him. He looks like me." Rhaenys smiled. "He still watches you and Auntie Arya and Auntie Sansa all the time. He told me he does. He's dead, but he's not gone." While Jon stared at her in jaw-slacked surprise, Rhaenys only turned to nuzzle her direwolf pup. "Oh, she's so cute…"

Jon did not know what to say. He had spent countless hours mourning for his brother, resigned himself to the fact that he was gone. But suddenly, he remembered a memory that he had not thought about for quite some time. A day thirteen years ago, with Sansa and Arya in the godswood at Winterfell, when he saw a raven that seemed to be watching them…But there was no way Rhaenys could know that. He'd never told her.

Death would always have its mysteries, but Jon himself had been to the darkness. He knew there were no seven heavens, no castles in the sky, but perhaps the dead lived on in their own ways. Perhaps they never truly left this world. Perhaps they lived on as a whisper in the wind, as the leaves rustling on trees, as the shadows on the wall. Perhaps they were always there, watching.

Jon gulped and forced him to smile down at Rhaenys, gently brushing back her hair. "What are you going to name your pup, sweetling?"

Rhaenys's face was lit up by a grin and she looked up at Jon, eyes bright. "Snow," She said definitively. "Her name is Snow."

Small Starks: Ned (11) and his direwolf Ranger, Catelyn (9) and her direwolf Princess, Joanna (8) and her direwolf Visenya, Brandon (6) and his direwolf Grey Lion, Rickon (4) and his direwolf Fang
Baby Baratheons: Jocelyn (11, almost 12) and her direwolf Dawn, Durran (8) and his direwolf Storm Cloud, Argella (3) and her direwolf Black Aly
Little Lannisters: Barristan (13), Galladon (11), Jason (9), Arianne (6)
Targlings: Rhaella (12) and her dragon Nightflyer, Robb (12) and his dragon Frostbyte, Rhaenys (7) and her direwolf Snow