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Chapter Text

Chapter 38 Clearing up misconceptions

Mathis Rowan

At least this is a distraction from finding a husband for my slut of a daughter...

Or at least that's what Mathis kept telling himself ever since he'd been tasked by Mace Tyrell to raid the Westerlands. This...'return' business was disturbing to the extreme. Magic was a dark thing and for it to be so wide spread, disturbed him greatly.

The changes wrought by it were even more so...some people barely resembled who he once knew. The news from across Westeros deified understanding. Each raven he received made his heart beat faster in trepidation of what new calamity was being declared.

Those first few weeks had been uncertain and off putting. Goldengrove had been relatively untouched. Only a few of the smallfolk had been affected and brave enough to speak up. Brave to the extreme considering that that they spoke of the Queen's treason. And Renly's. And Robb Stark's. And the Tullys'.

He paused, bravery or stupidity? He asked himself.

He nodded, Stupidity. Stupidity to accuse so many of the Lords of Great Houses of treason. That farmer spent the night in Goldengrove's dungeons for his admission. The raven from Highgarden confirming everything and adding Dragons to the mix had come the next day.

He shook his head, the Kingdoms were shattering as he sat there idle in his castle. Such strange and disturbing tidings. The news of Loras Tyrell's death had not been well received, that was one less possible suitor for his girl; and considering the boy's true proclivities, his girl's failing could have been easily overlooked with a favorable arrangement between them. The dornish managed such things, it should have been easier for him to arrange something similar...but alas it was not to be.

The Dornish and Dorne.

Even this far north, the dark rumors that were reaching him were startlingly bad. Civil war running rampant and the sands of Dorne running red with dornish blood. He snorted, the gods willing they'd finally manage to wipe themselves out and then they could go and claim their lands for themselves. The Seven Kingdoms would be better off without the Dornish.

But all this brought him back to the here and now. He sat in his tent, his battle plans laid out in front of him as he decided were the first real assault would take place. A quick and sudden strike would have been preferable, but the Lords of West had been uncharacteristically reluctant to engage in battle. Normally, just like their liege, they were not shy about protecting themselves...so why were they avoiding his forces?

The Old Lion would have met his first raid with overwhelming force, followed by sending the Mountain into the Reach to sow chaos and suffering where ever he rode.

And yet none of this had happened.

The Westerlands' patrols had gone out of their way to avoid any bloodshed. Even their smallfolk had been uncharacteristically cooperative. Most still fled, but those that couldn't, had been very forthcoming with minimal to no threats. All of which added up to...well he didn't know what it all added up to. The only thing he was sure of now was that the Tyrells were swearing fealty to the Targaryens again and Robert Baratheon had just lost the two most powerful and rich kingdoms without noticing.

Of course, that still left Robert with the Riverlands, Crownlands, Stormlands, the Vale and the North. The Tyrells would have to be clever about this, Robert still had the numerical superiority. Oh, there would be other Houses in the Crownlands and Stormlands who would side with the Targaryens. Darry would join from the Riverlands, this would be their one chance to regain all that they had lost in the Rebellion,but no one else there would join them. To say nothing of the North. The North Remembers, they would never support the Targaryens again. The Vale- perhaps some would, but again most likely none. It was all a prickly position to be in.

Perhaps he should rethink his loyalty to the Tyrells?

For now, Robert was in the stronger position...but if this Daenerys Targaryen had truly hatched dragons...then no matter how strong Robert was, he would never win against that.

So many possibilities, so many options and none of them that explained this return business.

He let out a disgusted noise, filled with his displeasure.

Focus on the Lannisters now, I'll let things settle more before deciding my next move.

This mental decision settled his humors some, as he turned back to the map of the Westerlands spread out in front of him on his table.

Perhaps a thrust at Cornfield and the Swyfts. Cornfield would a be a good staging area for further assaults into the Westerlands. The fact that Kevan Lannister's wife was also a Swyft by birth would add weight and urgency to their need to relieve the castle if attacked. There would also be many paths forward from there, but it would also leave them exposed to many avenues of counterattacks The position of the castle was both an advantage and a disadvantage.

Mayhaps, Crakehall would be a better? Somewhere more defensible. And also more famous. That would make a strong statement of power to the Lords of the West. Not to mention the humiliation having the Crakehalls defeated. He smiled ruefully. Yes, that would be a better option than Cornfield despite their close ties to the Lannisters. That was an act that Casterly Rock could not ignore. This would force their hand.

Finding Tyrion Lannister was another option, if a much more difficult one. If not out right unfeasible and impossible. He had been Daenerys's Hand, much to his surprise, but if they could install him as Lord of Westerlands, then with the combined might of the Reach and the Westerlands, things would be much more different...of course Tyrion would have to surrender his brother to appease the Tyrells but the Imp, for all his perversions, was a sensible fellow.

Mathis's musing was interrupted as one of his men entered his tent unannounced.

The man held a serious expression on his face as he bowed and genuflected, "My Lord, forgive the intrusion, but we have sighted Lannister banners-"

Mathis rose from his chair in alarm, "An attack?" he interrupted the man in concern.

The guard shook his head, "No my lord, the Lannister men approach under a flag of parley."

Mathis raised an eyebrow in surprise, as his alarm lessened and his confusion returned in force. Where they going to be reasonable? Since when were Lannisters reasonable when threatened?

He nodded, "Fine, gather the Lords. Let us meet them in force and see what they want."

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The Lords were assembled in a large tent to meet the Lannister emissary. A great gathering to intimidate the Lannister emissary. The Reach would not be denied. Lady Arwyn Oakheart of Old Oak, sat to his right, composed and suspicious while Lord Lorent Caswell of Bitterbridge sat at his left, his face impassive with the scowling, the red apple Fossoway of Cider Hall sitting as at his other side. These were the major lords- and Lady that had marched with him into the Westerlands.

The rest of the lords were minor ones, most sworn to one of those three or directly to Goldengrove. And all had been sent to avenge Loras Tyrell's tragic death. The might of the Reach was being mustered and this was only the vanguard, soon the Lannisters would pay in blood.

And afterwards...afterwards the real conflict would begin; to restore House Targaryen to it's rightful place- something which Mathis still had doubts about. So here they were, taking the first step towards this strange new future.

He sat in the midst of the Lords and Lady waiting for the Lannister emissary. His guards entered the tent first, ahead of the Lannisters. A pair of Redcloaks came in behind them. Then the Lannister emissary entered, his armour similar to his guards but even from where he sat he could see that it as of better quality than his men. He had the standard Lannister features the golden hair and green eyes along with the smug arrogance. The man walked in assured of his power and followed by two more Redcloaks.

The Lannister looked over the assembled Reach Lords and stepped forward and bowed, "My Lords," he eyed Lady Oakheart, "My Lady. I am Ser Daven Lannister. I believe there is much we need to speak of."

Mathis eyed Daven warily, so this was Stafford Lannister's son? Stafford was not the most competent of men, but it was said his son was a better man, "Welcome Ser Daven, I am Lord Mathis Rowan," he gestured to the assembled Lords, "I speak on behalf of the lords here, and my liege Mace Tyrell, Lord Paramount of the Reach. He is understandably wroth after recent events." He stood up and stared at Ser Daven with stony eyes. He stood there staring down Daven. His fellow lords joined him in trying to intimidate Daven.

Ser Daven smirked and nodded, his voice oozed arrogance, unmoved by the steely silence and glares of the amassed Lords and Lady, "That is understandable. It is good that you speak for your liege. I speak on behalf of the Lord Paramount of the Westerlands, Shield of Lannisport, Lord of Casterly Rock, and Warden of the West...Lord Tyrion Lannister."

And just like that the world was turned upside down.

Again.

The other Lords were murmuring around him as the implications of Ser Daven's unexpected revelation changed his carefully laid, almost finished, plans. He fought off a sigh at his wasted effort.

He cast quick glances at Lady Oakheart, who's face had gone blank, and Lord Caswell, who was too stunned to hide his true feelings. Not that he could blame either one, Tywin's sudden death would change things greatly. And it made his job immensely more easy.

Mathis cleared his throat, "Well then, you have my condolences for the loss of Lord Tywin, he was a...mighty Lord."

Daven nodded, "Ah, forgive me but Lord Tywin is not dead, he has been removed as Lord of Casterly Rock. He is Lord Tyrion's guest now."

Mathis started, Guest? Prisoner more like it. A coup in Casterly Rock and Tywin deposed, a prisoner in his own castle. If the Imp was sending emissaries in his name, then his position must be secure, though that begged the question of what happened with Ser Kevan? Probably caged like his brother. Mathis fought of the urge to laugh at the Old Lion caged like that. A degree of seriousness was expected of him...he would laugh later.

He cleared his throat again as the Lords' murmuring continued, even louder, "Indeed. So is Lord Tyrion aware of why we are here?" he asked getting right down to the matter at hand.

Daven cast an wary eye at the assembled lords and nodded, "He is aware. Ser Jaime is in Casterly Rock and has told him what happened in King's Landing."

The murmurs of the Lords took on an angry tone.

Mathis nodded gravely, "Then he is aware that debts must be paid for peace."

"We are both aware of Loras Tyrell's death...but I believe that you may be unaware of all the circumstances surrounding it," Daven replied dryly, "Ser Jaime had much to say about it-"

Lord Caswell scoffed and interrupted, "As if we'd believe anything that the Kingslayer has to say. He was always a treacherous knight. This is but more lies on his part." He glared at Daven

Daven met he glare unflinching, and continued as he wasn't interrupted, in a light even tone, "...As did Ser Barristan Selmy."

The Lords' murmuring took a confused edge.

Mathis blinked once, "Ser Barristan?" his eyes narrowed, "What does Ser Barristan have to do with this matter?" he asked the question that on all their minds.

Daven pulled out a letter from under his tabard, "I have a sighed letter from Ser Barristan Selmy attesting to what happened in King's Landing. After this return or awakening- whatever you're calling it, fighting broke out. During the fighting, Ser Loras, while outmanned and losing, chose to attack both Ser Jaime and Ser Barristan," he paused dramatically, "At the same time."

Silence met Daven's words and Mathis fought to keep the pained expression from his face. This felt like he kept walking into walls every time he opened his mouth to speak. Idiot boy, there are quicker ways to kill yourself than facing those two together, that don't try and drag the kingdoms to an unnecessary war. Whatever sense of justice for Loras Tyrell had dispersed with Daven's words, just as the smug Lannister knew it would...and now Mathis had even more questions than before. Why the in the Seven Hells would Ser Barristan join with the Lannisters?!

"...Lord Tyrion had Ser Barristan write out several copies attesting to the truth of this matter." Daven finished. The smug Lannister's smile was back.

After a while, Lady Oakheart sat forward in her chair and broke the silence, "And yet Ser Barristan is not here to swear to this?" she cut in testily, "I find this highly suspicious "

Daven's smug smile grew broader- and smugger, and Mathis felt a noose closing around them.

"You are correct Lady Oakheart, but he felt a pressing need to present him to the rightful King and swear his fealty to him," Daven stated with a knowing smile.

"Which rightful King?" she asked haughtily and cast an unreadable look around them, "There seems to be no shortage of Kings these days...and even whispers of a powerful Queen."

Daven nodded in agreement, "You mean Daenerys Targaryen. Yes, she is the King's Queen- though it is more complicated than that, from what I've been told. And yes, Lord Tyrion is her Hand."

The name reverberated around the tent causing trepidation in the expressions of the Lords, but Lady Oakheart was undaunted, "Who is this King?" she asked with narrowed eyes.

"Jon of the Houses Targaryen...and Stark. The last trueborn son of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and the Princess, Lyanna Stark."

This time Mathis couldn't keep the shock from his face, "Jon Targaryen? Of Houses Stark and Targaryen?!" he stammered in disbelief.

"Yes, though most of you would know him better as the Bastard of Winterfell; Jon Snow," Daven added with the flourish of someone who had just made the winning move in cyvasse.

The tent exploded with noise as the Lords began shouting and arguing with one another. As they, just like Mathis, suddenly realised that Robert had just now lost the Vale, the Riverlands and the fucking NORTH without a single battle being waged.

He stared at Ser Daven blinking rapidly, the enormity of Ned Stark's betrayal stunned him. Mathis had been preparing for war and yet suddenly there wasn't going to be one. The Reach along with the Westerlands, the Vale, the Riverlands and the North were declaring for the Targaryens. This wasn't numerical superiority...this was a decisive, unbeatable advantage. A Targaryen victory was a forgone conclusion now.

Just like that, the Targaryens had won back the Iron Throne while no one was looking...

Neither Dorne (if there was anyone still left alive there by the time their civil war was finished) nor the Stormlands could stand against the rest of the Kingdoms united. And those two would never stand together, the manner of Elia Martell's death and Robert's subsequent inaction made that a certainty.

The Lords were still going on strong when Mathis finally regained his wits, "Enough!" he roared out, silencing them. He turned to Daven, "It seems you have us at a great disadvantage. And even if we are now all sworn to the Targaryens, Mace Tyrell will want blood for his son's loss." And Olenna, he added silently. This wasn't the sort of thing that could be passed over quickly or easily, "But that will sorted out once I send word back to Highgarden...in the meantime, I offer bread and salt. It seems we have much to talk about." He gestured waiting servants forward.

Daven and his men accepted the offering graciously, as seats were brought for them.

They sat together for a while and spoke of several things, including the history of the last life and how disastrous the wars were for the Seven Kingdoms; which incidentally was the reason for the initial fighting in King's Landing. Namely, the fact that the distasteful rumors about Cersei and Jaime Lannister...and the children were true. And that the Lannisters, including Jaime were admitting the truth so easily and blatantly. That had a lot the people giving Daven hard hostile looks. The recognition and legitimization of the children as full Lannisters was a trifling footnote in comparison to that. But that was balanced when Daven explained the real reason that Jaime killed Aerys.

Mathis had been a Targaryen loyalist in the Rebellion, despite Aerys's known madness, and even he had broken out into a cold sweat at the perversity of Aerys's final command.

It was a while before most could speak after that little piece of information.

Which brought them back to sending word to Highgarden, because under the circumstances, he wasn't sure that raiding the Westerlands was- no he knew that it was the wrong choice here. The next step, whatever it was, was something he did not know or could take without word from his liege. It all depended on what Mace, or rather Olenna decided.

He held back his sigh, "You have given us much to consider," Mathis began, giving Lady Oakheart, Lord Fossoway and Lord Caswell long looks, "For the moment, I ask that you enjoy our hospitality- as guests, actual guests, till I get word back from Highgarden," he paused and let out a deep sigh, "I would greatly like to avoid any further missteps, in light of everything that changed."

"That is acceptable," Daven began, "But there is one more thing that you should know, Lord Tyrion believes that Highgarden should already know by now or have had some word about it from another party," Daven began, his smug look disappearing and being replaced with apprehension.

"And what is that?" questioned Lady Oakheart before he could ask.

"Lord Tyrion took part in the spell that caused all of this," Daven revealed gravely.

Again the Lords of the Reach were silent. Mathis sat up straighter, an explanation for the magic in the air was something that he had never imagined getting any time soon.

"...and you can thank Brandon Stark for this second chance," he stated, "As well the King and Queen. They all played a part in this."

Lord Fossoway spoke up, "It's good that we finally known, but-"

"Why?" Mathis was succinct and tense as he cut off Lord Fossoway.

Daven looked discomforted and even scared now, much to Mathis's own disquiet, "Simple. The army of the Dead is marching on the Wall. The Others came and it will be a second Long Night. They faced the Night King and lost. This is why they have done this."

And now, they were living in a nightmare. Because only nightmares were filled with such impossibilities.

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Robb Stark

The only thing they were waiting for now, was the first mustering of an initial force from the Umber lands to gather. Only a few short days of rest in the Last Hearth before they finally reached the Wall.

As the former King in the North, it was disturbing to Robb that he'd never visited the Wall. He'd spent the entirety of his reign in the south. Dealing with Southern problems and Southern Lords. It had been needed, but it still rankled with him, especially after the Ironborn attacked the North. Pulled in too many directions and few true options that led to anything other than defeat. Then the Red Wedding happened and it had no longer mattered.

He'd failed.

But now they were alive again and things were different. He'd been spending so much time just doubting and rethinking all of his past decisions. All his past interactions with the Northern and Southern Lords, trying to come up with better decisions that the ones he took. Not marrying immediately marrying the Frey girl at the Twins was very high on his list. It had been inevitable, but he'd still put it off, thinking that there was some way he could avoid it. He'd avoided it but in the wrong way.

Which led him to today, as he went to confront one more betrayal.

He walked restlessly towards were they were holding Smalljon Umber. The maester had only recently pronounced him well enough for travel. He'd be coming with them when they left the Last Hearth, so he could take the Black.

Smalljon Umber had been his friend, a confidant and someone he had trusted to protect his back in the thick of battle. He'd survived the Red Wedding, and had turned his back on all that he done, siding with the Boltons and giving Ramsay Rickon to be murdered.

He was in the dungeons now, the evening coldness seeped through the walls, making it colder than the rest of the castle. The guard on duty nodded at him once with respect as he passed him by without a word. The cells were all unoccupied, except for one.

At the end of corridor was a dimly lit cell, with one occupant. Smalljon was sitting with thin straw bed, his back pressed up against the wall, with a scowl on his face. He was staring off in the distance, not focusing on anything.

The sound of Robb's feet scuffing across the floor, made him look up. His scowl deepened as he saw Robb coming to stand by the bars of his cell.

"So the fucking King in the North has come to see the prisoner then," spat Smalljon snidely, without getting up.

Robb felt his anger rising, he was his friend once! The shed blood together!

"Nothing to say then, fool?" Smalljon continued in the same mocking, abusive tone, "Fool of a King that lost the godsdamned North, all for some southern cunt."

Robb's face darkened, "And yet, I'm not the one in a cell now."

Smalljon bared his teeth as his face flushed, but he didn't say anything. He just glared at Robb. Robb returned the glare and didn't say anything else. They stood there glaring angrily at each other. Silence dominating the space between them.

The silence seemed to go on forever, before Robb finally asked him, "Why?"

Smalljon's glare didn't abate, "Why what?" he demanded.

"You were my friend...why did you do it? Why did you betray us?"

"Betray you?" Smalljon snorted with derision, "Fuck all you damn Starks. You failed. You lost the damn North. You'd have us stand with Southerners-in the fucking South! While leaving good Northmen and woman to die at Ironborn hands. Then your fucking bastard brother wants us to join forces with fucking Wildlings against Northerners? Ramsay was a beast, but at least he was of the North!" he replied in a rage, his eyes wide with passionate emotion, "You were always with the fucking foreigners!"

Robb's was taken back by just how narrow minded and short sighted Smalljon sounded, "Didn't you listen to a thing I said then?" he retorted in outrage. "We couldn't stand alone. We still needed allies in the south. And what did you expect me to do? Try to take Moat Cailin from the south?! Something that's never been done in all history?!"

Smalljon didn't reply, he kept on staring balefully at Robb.

"And as for Ramsay, you would let a beast be Lord of the North? Jon and Sansa were putting the North to rights and they had good reason for joining with the Wildlings. Didn't you even stop to ask why they were joining with the Wildlings?!"

Smalljon was beyond any rational arguments, he rose from the bed and came to the bars of his cell, "There's no good reason to stand with the Wildlings. They're mindless beasts to be slain. And you speak too many damn words! Fuck you and all the damn Starks to the damned Seven Hells! The time comes, the Old Gods won't have you! You're no true northerner, your fucking mother saw to that!" he screamed at him, ignoring all of Robb's words.

Robb shook his head, he hadn't know him at all, "You're an idiot," he walked away, repeating to himself, "You know nothing." It was useless to try and reason with him. The Last Hearth and the North would be better off without the Smalljon's brand of shortsightedness.

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Much to his surprise, he found the Greatjon waiting for him as he left the dungeons of the Last Hearth.

Robb paused as he came face to face with the dominating Lord of the Last Hearth. They'd barely said anything to each other in his time around. The Greatjon had been too damn quiet for his tastes, and Robb had been too...embarrassed, to speak to the man that had named him King in the North. He was just a boy now, heir to Winterfell. He wasn't Greatjon's liege lord now...at least not yet, and hopefully, not for a long, long time before that happened again.

Their eyes met and the Greatjon nodded and gave him a wry smile, "Your Grace," he said in quiet voice.

Robb returned the wry smile, "Just my lord now- actually not even a Lord now, just heir of Winterfell."

Greatjon shook his ruefully, he snorted, "Aye, I know, damned strange all this, but I'm glad that Ned's back with us. He's a good man, didn't deserve that fate," now he sounded more like the boisterous lord he knew.

Robb gave a heartfelt nod back, "Can't disagree there."

Greatjon's momentary good cheer disappeared, "You talked to that fool of a boy?" he grunted tersely.

Robb frowned, "Aye," he began cautiously.

"Damned fool," he shook his head mournfully, "I raised a damn fool. That's what I did. Doesn't respect his oaths or the sacrifices of his ancestors. We swore an oath to you Starks and we take our oaths seriously here, we ain't fucking Freys," Greatjon finished in derision.

Robb's frown disappeared, whatever was going on with Greatjon he didn't seem to be holding a grudge or any animosity to Robb, "As Jon said, it's done and over with now. We have more important things to do than obsessing over what was."

"Aye, you can say that, doesn't mean it won't haunt me for the rest of my days," Greatjon shook his head, nearly despondent.

"All our mistakes will haunt us," Robb admitted humbly, "We all made mistakes," he paused and took a deep heartfelt sigh, "I shouldn't have married Talisa for one."

Greatjon let out a strangled grunt, "That wasn't a mistake, Robb. A fucking Frey as Queen in the North?! Fuck no! Better Lady Talisa than that," he retorted gruffly.

Robb blinked, taken aback, "What?"

"Aye, that woman of yours may have been more of Southerner than the Freys- and a foreigner to boot, but at least she wasn't a useless flighty woman. Now there was a woman that wasn't afraid to get her hands dirty, her hands were stained with the blood of the good Northern men that she saved. When was the last time a Southern Lady did that? Or a Southern Queen?!" He shook his head mournfully, "Aye mistakes were made...but not that, and not her. I was proud to call her our Queen!" Greatjon exclaimed emphatically.

"Uh..." Robb stared at him bewildered by the strength of the Greatjon's reaction, he was at a loss for how to react, Lord Karstark and a number of other Northerners and River Lords had expressed rather negative opinions of the marriage. He'd never heard the Greatjon's opinion in the first life.

The Greatjon wasn't finished, "...I know that obstinate fool Karstark didn't like her, but I did. And I wasn't the only one. She was a good woman," he finished adamantly.

Robb regained control of his stunned tongue, "I didn't know you felt that way about her," he manged to say in surprise.

He shrugged, "Aye I do...even if it doesn't matter anymore, she's not here anymore...anyway, come on Robb, it's time to eat," Greatjon said grabbing Robb around the shoulders in a gruff friendly manner and pulling him along, "Tomorrow, we leave for the Wall. Time enough to think more when we're on the road..."

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The meal was more subdued than was usual for the Last Hearth. Any meal that included the Greatjon should have been much more...louder, for one. And cruder for another. Most Northmen weren't know for their manners, especially the Umber men. The boisterous nature of the men of the Last Hearth was a staple of the North.

Except tonight.

The subdued nature of the meal was unnerving for Robb, he remembered the meals they'd had during the war. Even on the eve of battle, the men had been in high spirits.

Not tonight.

Jon sat at the head table on Greatjon's right, with father on the left. Robb himself was sitting on the other side of Jon. Lord Reed was father's other side while Ned Umber was propped up next to him with an absurd number of pillows under him to let him reach the table. Much further down the table, Lord Karstark, Harrion and Torrhen were sat together. Lord Karstark still had the same shocked expression on his face he'd had since they'd left the Karhold. The rest of the room was occupied by various lesser lords and sworn Umber men.

The men engaged short hushed talks, there was no great japing shared here, men that knew what was coming shared their dark stories with others that knew nothing of the true threat. The Last Hearth was among the closest, if not closest of the great strongholds of the North to the Wall. Everything that happened there was sure to spread here first. Just as it had the first time. Jon and Sansa had said that the Last Hearth had fallen first after Eastwatch. Some men had fallen here but most had been already been evacuated by the time the Night King crossed the Wall. Ned Umber and his men had been garrisoned in Winterfell at the time, consolidating the strength of the North.

Robb took a drink of his wine and turned back to his meal, a simple broth of meats and carrots. It was a bland and simple, if filling meal. The high table was also quiet. Occasionally, Father would make a small observation, and Greatjon would mumble a reply.

Father cast a speculative look down the table at Rickard Karstark, "Rickard has been very...quiet as we traveled." He stated evenly.

This made Greatjon act more like himself, "Aye, Rickard's deathly afraid of you now, Ned, all that shouting you did, made you look uncomfortably like Brandon," Greatjon explained as he guffawed, the shadow of his old self reasserting itself, "Brandon would have killed him without a second's hesitation for giving him lip like he gave you- never mind daring to stand with Boltons against you."

Father frowned, no one ever mentioned his Uncle Brandon lightly. Father then shifted uneasily in his chair, "Yes, well, Brandon was my brother, it's normal for there to be some similarities..."

Greatjon laughed, interrupting father, "Ned, more than half the lords of the North have said you only shared Brandon's looks and nothing else."

Father looked nonplussed before looking to Lord Reed, who gave him an amused look, "He's right and you know it Ned, you're the calm and collected one," Howland agreed with a light mirthful tone.

Father looked annoyed as Robb and Jon hid identical smiles in their cups as they watched father being needled. Eventually Father huffed and gave a Howland and Greatjon withering stares. In response both lords just laughed again.

"You Starks always have terrible barks and even sharper teeth," Howland teased with a wry smile, "Especially your she-wolves, no one was ever safe from your Lyanna when she was mad," he finished with a wistful sigh.

And now they were mentioning aunt Lyanna? Robb was surprised, but after the truth about Jon was revealed, he understood why Father never mentioned her. But now, the need to hide was no longer there, even though the torn expression on father's face showed Robb just how much it still affected him. The torn expression disappeared and was replaced with a small smile and a thoughtful look.

"Aye, she always did have sharp teeth...and Sansa inherited them from her," Father replied dryly.

Robb snorted, and Jon guffawed. They shared a fondly exasperated look, everyone had felt the new Sansa's teeth at one time or another now.

"No one is safe from her when she's mad now," Jon added with an amused smile.

Greatjon chuckled, "Maybe, but I've heard what your littlest she wolf did to the Freys. It was bloody well deserved. Brutal as fuck, but still well deserved," Greatjon stated with satisfaction and a little uneasiness.

Father was nodding along with the Greatjon at first as he raised his cup to his lips before then freezing with it on his lips. Robb stared at Greatjon in confusion, what was he talking about? He cast a glance at Jon, who seemed to have frozen where he was sitting, his face going blank.

Slowly father's cup came down and he placed it on the table giving Greatjon his complete attention, "My littlest she wolf? Did to the Freys?" he repeated in short and simple words, his tone empty.

The Greatjon answered idly, "Your Arya was fucking brutal Ned, that's what it was."

Father remained unreadable, his face as icy as winter itself now, "And what exactly did she do?" his tone reminded Robb too much of the times he'd seen father truly upset.

Robb cast a side look at Jon. Jon was staring into his cup, shoulders hunched as if trying to disappear. Lord Reed was looking back and forth between Jon and Father with concern.

Greatjon seemed oblivious to father's changing mood, "Taught that southern old bag of piss Walder Frey just what happens to those that break guest rights. Walder was just like that Andal king in the tale of the Rat Cook...Frey Pies." He laughed nastily.

Robb jerked and paled, not trusting his understanding of Greatjon's words.

Greatjon nodded at Robb, "She killed Black Walder and Lame Lothar. Used their flesh for her pies. Then the old piss bad had a nice big meal before she killed him. The next night she killed the rest of the Freys." he laughed again nastily.

Robb felt his stomach lurch in protest, even as his blood escaped from his face as he tried accept what Greatjon was saying.

Father's face was a sculpture of ice and stone now, "Which Freys did she kill?" he asked carefully.

"All of them," Greatjon stated as he took another satisfied gulp of his ale.

Robb blinked, all of them? Walder Frey was one the few men that could claim to have fielded an army from his own b ritches . And Arya- his little sister , Little Underfoot , had killed them all?! Even when they were loyal Robb hadn't been able to keep track of them all. He'd known the old surprisingly honorable heir Stevron. The nasty and vile Black Walder was unmistakable for anyone not to forget him. Perwyn had been surprising honorable, despite his weaselly appearance and his younger brother, Olyvar had been beyond helpful when Robb had needed the name of whichever other Frey had appeared in front of him.

A pang of anger and betrayal ran though him as he remembered Olyvar and Perwyn. Some betrayals hurt more than others. He cast those useless thoughts away as he turned back to the here and now.

It didn't matter anyway...apparently Arya had killed them all, much to his dumbfoundment and horror.

"They did tell you about Arya? Didn't they?" Howland started slowly, cutting in.

No they didn't, Robb thought unhappily as he turned to look at Jon, who was pale and blank faced as he met father's gaze.

Father turned and stared at Jon, ignoring everyone else. After a moment, Jon rose from his seat, not breaking his stare down with father.

Robb blinked and missed it.

Suddenly father was dragging Jon, by the scruff of his neck, out of the dining hall as if he was an errant child...

Robb got up in a hurry and went running after them as the Greatjon and Howland gaped in shock. Father was ahead of him, servants and men scattering out of his path as he continued to drag Jon behind him. They reached an empty corridor and father whorled Jon around to face him. Robb could see that Jon was shocked and dismayed at father's reaction though he also seemed defiant as father stared down at him, just as he when they were errant children.

Robb put himself half between the two afraid of his father's anger.

"You kept this from me? From us?" Father demanded angrily after a long moment of silence.

Jon was unfazed but father's ire, "Yes."

"Why?"

Jon gave him an incredulous look, "If we had told you all that happened that first night, what would you have done? And we didn't want to you keel over in shock...we lost once, we didn't want to lose you again."

Father looked away unhappy, "Tell me the rest. How could she do this? Who helped her kill them all?"

Jon was stone faced as he shook his head, "She was alone. She didn't need anyone's help...because she's a Faceless Man," he admitted with a deep mournful sigh.

"Arya is what?!" Father demanded, his eyes suddenly aflame with emotion.

Jon winced and sighed, "A Faceless Man."

The Faceless Men of Braavos were known the world over. And not in a good sense. Fear was what they traded in. Fear and Death. He tried to reconcile Arya's face and what they were known to have done...but he couldn't.

Arya was hotblooded, the wolf's blood was strong in her and the Faceless Men were said to be practical and calm. Things his little sister had never been.

It was impossible. It had to be.

Robb looked back at Jon. The same serious expression that Jon always wore was there staring back at them and it chilled Robb to his bones as he realised just how much their little sister had changed. Jon would never jape about something like this.

He cast a look at Father. He looked like he was going to cry. Not that he felt any better. His little sister was an unstoppable assassin. How the fuck was he supposed to feel about that?! In a flicker of motion the sad expression on father's face disappeared and was replaced with anger.

Father was glaring at Jon now, "Is there anything else you want to share with us?!" The want meaning, is there anything else you're hiding from me?!

Jon looked deep in thought before looking a little stricken, "Jorah Mormont."

Father's face darkened even more, "Jorah Mormont?" he repeated the name, the venom filling his tone putting Robb ill at ease, "what about him?" he spat angrily.

"He's Daenerys's most trusted and loyal adviser," Jon said bracing himself.

"Him?!" exclaimed Father angrily, "He's a slaver...and he was Robert's spy!"

Jon rallied and stood unflinching in the face of Father's anger as Robb remembered what Jorah's crimes had been. Selling a pair of poachers to Slavers, "I know what he has done and Daenerys knows what he has done. And apart from his lack of tact in picking women to fall in love with, he is an honorable man. He has regained the honor that he lost. He saved Daenerys many times and he helped her free tens of thousands- millions even, of Slaves in Slaver's Bay. Men and women that had no hope of ever being free, were freed by his hand. He will be welcomed back to the North- though he will not be reclaiming his place as Lord of Bear Island." He finished adamantly, staring down father's wrath.

Robb stared at the two with trepidation, as Jon and Father continued to stare at each other.

Father broke the stand off with a noisy sigh, "Every time, Jon. Every time I think I know what this new world holds...something else happens." His voice was unreadable. And Robb agree with him, "Howland said to me, you died and the world went on...and it did and you keep proving this to me every day."

Robb nodded in agreement, "Aye it did," he added cutting in between them, he laid a hand on his father's shoulder, "It's mad...but we're here together, father," he finished with a smile. They wouldn't part again, they'd be stronger together now, "Whatever comes we will deal with it."

Father looked at him and then looked to Jon, he grasped Robb's shoulder with one hand then grasped Jon's with the other hand, he gave them both long lingering looks, "Yes we are together. Both my sons are men now...neither of you are the men I expected you to become...but it doesn't matter. I...am proud of the men you have become."

Robb felt his throat closing, and he couldn't reply, he could only nod his head. Jon appeared to be just as choked up in that moment.

After a moment, Jon cleared his throat, "I think that we should get back to the meal, I'm sure everyone is wondering why the Lord of Winterfell dragged his King bodily away from his meal..."

Robb let out a loud laugh as father's face turned red, realizing just what he'd done.

"...but I will let it pass this time," Jon said mock seriously with a wide cheeky smile.

Father gave him a dry look, and retorted in a deadpan, "Thank you, your Grace for your understanding and mercy."

Jon laughed again and this time Robb joined him.