Sansa's voice brought him back from his thoughts, finally calling the meeting to an end, for which Davos was grateful. He went to the Great Hall to take his early meal, as he usually did, but only for necessity. The truth was that Davos had been unable to enjoy the taste of anything since he came back from the dead. He didn't know if it was normal and couldn't tell anyone about it. Especially since the only two people he knew had lived the same experience would probably hate him should they know the truth.
The Great Hall was full of laughter and music when he entered it. The Freefolk and the Northmen wanted to honor their fallen in a boisterous way while those from the South drank in relative silence. A previous discussion with some Lords of the West and the Vale made it clear that they looked forward to leaving this place and never coming back. While at the same time some of them worried for their King that he wouldn't be able to rule given the way he behaved.
The Queen rose to her feet, her movement commanding solemnity and silence around her. She gave a look to Rickon and Sansa, who both nodded, and then started her speech.
"Tonight, we get together to celebrate the lives of those we've lost, as well as thank those who've bravely fought with us. King Baelon, as well as King Rickon, both want to reward those who have bled at their side, and I too want to participate in fashion. Ser Daven Lannister, Ser Bronn of the Blackwater, Lord Howland Reed, Ser Patrek Mallister, Lord Edric Dayne, step forward."
Murmurs rang into the crowd as the persons called came before the High Table.
"Ser Daven, my goodsister Lady Sansa has told me much of the War of the Five Kings and the everlasting enmity between House Stark and House Lannister. Some crimes cannot be forgiven, but they are crimes that had been ordered by men since long dead. They say the North Remembers, but while most of it applies to the wrongs done to them, they can recognize the good deeds that men do as well. You and your men came to our aid, and while I know I may have ordered you to do so, I know too that we all owe you and your men a lot for the help that you were willing to send afterward."
" 'Tis nothing but what should be done, Your Grace."
"Indeed, and we all are thankful for that, hence why, with the agreement of my husband, we decided to gift you this." Daenerys nodded to Jorah who handed her the sheathed sword which she then passed to Ser Daven who unsheathed it a moment later.
"This… This is a Valyrian Sword?"
"Our greatsword Ice was reforged in two and given to the Lannisters during the War of the Five Kings," Sansa explained. "Ser Jaime gifted his to Ser Brienne of Tarth and took the one that had been gifted to Joffrey when he died. Both Ser Jaime and Ser Brienne have lost their lives in this battle and we've been given our heirloom back. However, while my brother, King Rickon, had accepted to take back Ser Brienne's sword."
"My husband thinks that Ser Jaime's should be gifted to you, Ser Daven. A true knight of House Lannister." the Queen added, smiling, while Baelon seemed to shrink into his seat at the mention of the dead.
"I… I would never…"
"We would request, however, given the former name of this blade, that it be given another one, less… reminding of the past."
"I… Thank you, Your Graces. Lady Sansa. King Rickon." Ser Daven blubbered, still in shock.
"May this blade become the symbol of a new beginning, for the North and the South. A mending of the rifts between House Stark and House Lannister who both bled together for the Dawn to rise."
"It will, Your Grace. I swear it by the Old Gods and the New." Daven said, still somewhat in shock at the gift he'd been given.
More gifts had been distributed, some that had been discussed before the war, such as the sharing out of the Twins. The lands and castle north of the Green Fork belonged now to the Reeds and the ones in the south to the Mallisters. None of the rewards however were more surprising to Davos than the castle Ser Bronn had received.
Somehow Castle Darry was to be his, by a decree from the Queen stating that he would become a Lord of the Riverlands and take a name of his choosing. An idea that seemed to please both him, his lover, and some Riverlords, Though Davos noticed Tyrion leaving in a hurry when the new Lord jested about the Crown being the ones giving him what was owed by the Lannisters.
"Was it your doing?" he heard Bronn ask the lady Tyene as he came back to his seat.
"I owed you this, for saving my sister's life," she answered almost shyly.
"You more than thanked me for that with that wicked tongue of yours."
"Mayhaps, mayhaps. Let's say that you owe me now!" Tyrene said with a wicked wink of her eye and a wanton expression on her face.
"That I do." Bronn chuckled, making Davos shake his head and smile.
There were more toasts made and men and women honored and Davos felt the need to leave the Great Hall sooner rather than later. Rising to his feet, he moved slowly enough so he could be seen yet quick enough to move through the crowd of people who were rising to cheer at each announcement. So concentrated was he in doing so that he never even noticed the girl when she moved to join him.
"I sense your uneasiness, my Lord," Missandei said, catching him off guard. "Do you want to go for a walk with me?"
He nodded, not knowing why he did so. Missandei's return had been a balm to his wounded heart. Seeing her interact happily with her lover since they had reunited had made him think of the good of being alive. He would be able to see Marya and his children soon, and as he welcomed the thought, the guilt he felt battled with it in his heart. They walked into the yard, past the point where he had fallen and Davos shivered as he remembered his fate. As they got past the smithy, his heart tightened as he thought about Gendry, who was presumed dead as he never made it back to the keep. Mayhaps it was a mercy for the lad, given how close he was to Arya, that he didn't get to outlive her.
"May I ask you a question?" she started.
"Of course, my Lady."
"Has something happened between you and the King?"
Davos tensed and shook his head.
"King Baelon is… deeply affected by the aftermath of the war -"
"The Queen has told me and Lady Wylla about the King's condition. I understand that losing his favorite sister and most of his friends may have taken a toll on King Baelon, which saddens me greatly on his behalf. However, I saw how you purposefully evade him and I wondered if something more happened between the two of you."
"I… I can't stand seeing him broken." Because of me, he wanted to add but shook his head instead after the thought crossed his mind.
"This doesn't sound like you."
"Pardon?"
"I have not known you for a long time, my Lord Davos, but I watched you closely ever since I arrived with my Queen in this cold and unwelcome place." Missandei started, her soft smile melting the frown away from Davos' face. "You have always been close to the Starks, closer even when it seems they struggled with their own conflicting emotions. Now, you cannot even stay near young Rickon. I feel like there is more to it than giving them time to mourn their sister."
"You are definitely very observant, my Lady."
"Just Missandei, my Lord. You've always been good to me and I hope I can return the favor. Do you want to talk about it?"
"I don't know if I can. Not that I can't trust you, I know I can. It's just -"
"What you say will stay between us," Missandei stated firmly.
"You won't be able to talk to the Queen about it," Davos said, not knowing why he felt the sudden urge to confess to a stranger, but the opportunity of getting it off his chest was something he didn't know he craved so.
"I swear it on… The Old Gods… and the New? Is that the correct saying?" Missandei asked and her sudden shyness got over Davos' last reserves.
He told her it all. How he'd died, like Rickon, like Baelon, and how like both of them the Red Woman, the person he despised the most, had revived him. Although this time with the exception that she didn't live long after whatever ritual she'd performed. He showed her the wound and told her about Melisandre's last words. Davos expressed his discomfort, his guilt knowing that he'd prevented Arya Stark from getting a chance to live, and how scared he was that all the Starks would blame him for it.
Not once did Missandei stop him, for which he was grateful, even if saw her frown deepen from time to time. When he was done, he was mentally drained and realized he was crying.
"I think you should talk to Rickon Stark." was all she said in the end.
"How? How can I face him, knowing I…"
"You are lost. You've been brought back from the dead and you are scared and lost. It is perfectly understandable to be so, but you need help to get over your fears. Do you truly think Rickon Stark would trade your life for his sister?"
"Arya was their favorite and -"
"You fear they would hate you, even when you weren't the one making the decision. The Red Woman decided to save you. She said you had things to do. If she was to save Arya Stark, she would have done so instead of you." Missandei said, shaking his beliefs to the core.
"She wasn't supposed to die."
"I know. Bran Stark's actions cost Arya Stark her life. But the Red Woman knew of her fate, didn't she? I heard her more than once stating this fact."
"Aye, she claimed she did."
"What if she always knew she would die saving you, Ser Davos? Have you thought of the possibility?"
Missandei's words made his internal turmoil pause. He remembered Melisandre's words.
"They will need you both in the years to come."
"I don't understand…..this makes no fucking sense. I was dead and now… You were young and now…"
"My time is done, Ser Davos."
Could it be? Would she know her fate would be to die to save his life?
"Valar Morghulis, Lord Davos. All men must die. It was the Red Woman's time. I am glad it was not yours yet, and I am sure others are too, even those you don't think would be." Missandei smiled gently, putting a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Since you are not dead, it means you have to do the other part of the saying."
"Which is?"
"Valar Dohaeris. All men must serve," she answered, nodding as she walked away to leave him with his thoughts.
Never had he imagined that Melisandre's death would be related to his own. The mere thought of it seemed ridiculous, yet it was known that the witch didn't shy away from whatever duty she thought she had. Many times had he been close to death, yet Melisandre had reassured him it was not his time. He never understood why she had strangely saved his life when he'd freed Gendry to prevent him from being sacrificed. Nor why she never feared him ending her life when he wanted to do so many times.
Did she truly know? Then if so, why hadn't she saved herself?
They will need you both in the years to come.
Anger bloomed in Davos' heart. He already felt miserable owing her his life, she who he despised so much and wanted to see dead for the crimes she had committed. If this was true, if Melisandre knew that she was supposed to die saving his life, then he didn't know how to feel about it.
He was about to go back to the Great Hall when he spotted Rickon walking outside.
"Trying to sneak away, lad?" he joked, feeling the need to lighten the mood.
"Celebrations are no fun when you are not allowed to drink."
"You're too young to get drunk," he said chidingly.
"So I've been told, but I feel I deserve at least a mug of ale."
"Just one mug?" Davos asked and Rickon nodded with something akin to excitement. "Then come. I have some in my room."
Whether Missandei's words got to him more than he had thought, or the proximity to the King in the North did, he ended up telling him what burdened him for so many days while the boy was drinking his ale. Rickon stared at him with disbelief before putting his mug away and walking toward Davos, making the latter feel nervous about his reaction.
"Do you feel different? From before I mean." Rickon asked.
"I feel… conflicted. I do not know what to think. Why did she decide I was worth bringing back, why her God decided to bring me back? Why me and not -"
"Why you and not another?" the boy finished at the same time and Davos nodded, feeling his heart beat wildly. "I remember feeling the same. I didn't know why they brought me back and not father, or Robb. I had to be Lord of Winterfell, then King in the North, and have all these responsibilities when I should have been dead. I remember what Jon told me then. You were the one who convinced him to go on with his life. Do you recall what you told him?"
Davos nodded, his throat tightening under the weight of the emotions he felt.
"You go on. You fight for as long as you can. You clean up as much of the shit as you can."
"I don't know how to do that. I thought I did, but… I failed."
"Good. Now go fail again."
"A wise man once told me that life was unfair but we fuckers have been given another chance at it," Rickon said, smiling fondly and making Davos do the same as he guessed who he was speaking about. "We've been through a lot, all of us. Don't think too much and enjoy this second chance, Davos. You deserve it."
Rickon's words lifted part of the guilt weighing on Davos' heart. The old man's last reserve fell down and he began sobbing, cursing himself for letting a boy see how broken he was and finding solace in the little taps on his shoulder. Rickon Stark should be the one to be consoled, as he had seen far too much at his age and had gotten to do things Davos himself wouldn't have been able to do. He allowed himself this little moment of weakness, secretly swearing that he would follow Rickon's advice. He might not be able to erase his guilt fully, nor the conflicting emotions inside of him, but he would try his best to repay what he owed.
After all, he would be needed for the years to come.
Winterfell 304 AC.
Lyanna Mormont.
Grief was something she was used to, ever since the Red Wedding. She had promised herself to close her heart to it once she had shared all the tears she could upon hearing of her mother and sister's death. Lyanna had stilled herself, following in her mother's example, as the woman was of the North and death was part of their daily lives. Especially because of the many threats that surrounded Bear Island. The only emotions Lyanna had allowed herself to show were anger and disdain. Using them to rebuke and set anyone and everyone, who dared to try and manipulate her due to her age, straight in the process.
She had bonded with Rickon Stark due to this. The simmering anger they both felt at the world being a shitty place was a shared experience. Yet seeing him now, as broken as his older brother, all sparks of anger and hatred burning under his grief and sorrow, made her angrier on his behalf because it stirred the same emotions in her.
They were of the North, both Baelon and Rickon, and she understood they needed time to mourn Arya. Lyanna herself would miss her truly, for the Lady's principles were much the same as hers.
Protect your family, your loved ones, and your people, at all costs.
The Starks had waited for all the Lords and Ladies of the North willing to pay their respects to Arya before putting her in her tomb. They had held a private ceremony, with only Benjen, Rickon, Sansa, Baelon, and Daenerys Targaryen present. It was a surprise to some that someone other than a Stark would be allowed in the crypts during the ceremony, but not to Lyanna. She knew that Daenerys Targaryen had grown to enjoy Arya's company and the fact that Arya had considered her as part of the pack had touched the queen greatly.
Rickon was barely holding on. He had talked to a few of the Lords, but he was clearly not the same and it was not only because of Arya's death.
Bran Stark's fate weighed on his mind and seemed to at times almost bring him to the verge of madness.
"I can hear him still," Rickon said when they were sparring to unwind their building emotions.
"We all do, Rickon. He yells most of the time that same word and as disturbing as it is, it is what he deserves, you said so yourself."
"No, you do not understand. I can hear him. I can understand what he says, and I just want him to stop, but I can't. My powers… I can't control them anymore." he said to her shock.
"What do you mean?" Lyanna asked worriedly, more for Rickon's own sake than out of any fear for herself or others.
"When I went into his mind and shut him inside, he became as… As a familiar to me. And I cannot get rid of him because I'm too weak to control it. I tried. I tried again and again, for the last few days. I can't stop his fucking pleas and his begging or his denials, even though he was the one to ruin our family."
"Want me to kill him?" she asked only half in jest.
"No. That's what he wants. He wants to stop suffering, and I want him to experience pain for every single hour of whatever is left of his fucking miserable life."
"What about you? What will you do?" she asked more softly.
"If my sanity is the price to pay for doing something forbidden, then I will have to accept it," Rickon said firmly, but Lyanna could feel his unease.
"I can knock him out from time to time if you want to have some quiet inside your head."
"I would appreciate that greatly," Rickon said, the first glimpse of the smile she had missed, now reappearing on his face.
She didn't get the time to act, as Princess Sarella soon came up with a suggestion that her friend took on board immediately. Dreamwine was then added to Bran's meals so he would stay in a lethargic state. The Princess had offered to send them some Sweetsleep after she'd arrived back in Dorne. Sarella informed them both that Bran could get used to the Dreamwine. The suggestion was one that Rickon agreed to gratefully.
Everyone was unnerved by the former Three-Eyed Raven as they were by what had happened while they were fighting for their lives. The tale of what he did to his own sister had spread into their ranks and nobody felt any sympathy for the boy at all.
The Lords and Ladies of the North had been summoned to the Godswood a few days later, much to Lyanna's unease. So much had happened there in so little time that she didn't feel comfortable around that place anymore. Especially knowing how it affected Rickon, who was trying helplessly to get his powers back.
" I guess the Old Gods really only needed me to stop Bran from creating more chaos. They aren't answering my prayers and I… I can't feel them as I did before."
" You're exhausted, Rickon. You're pushing yourself too hard." she retorted harshly.
" I need to… I have to shake Jon out of his grief." Rickon insisted. "I've seen what happens if he doesn't. He… I cannot, I will not let Bran win and take him from me too."
Her friend's distress echoed in Lyanna, his need to do something for his brother matching her own need in regard to him. It reminded her of a time when Rickon was struggling with Baelon's absence and being the King in the North, and the way he'd relied upon her and the council members to help him through it. She wasn't as close to him as she was at that moment, yet she had felt the same desire to help him.
" You're trying too much. Just be yourself. Talk to your brother as you used to."
" I…"
" You've closed yourself to him, to Sansa, because you feel you should be strong for them. They don't need you to be strong. They don't want you to solve their problems. They don't need King Rickon. They need you. The real you."
She saw his facade crumble and it pained her greatly.
" I failed them, Lyanna. I failed my family," he whispered as tears fell on his cheeks, making her move toward him instantly.
She tightened her grip around his hips as she felt his body ease up against her and let him cry on her shoulder.
" You can't control everything. You could not foresee what would happen and nobody blames you except for yourself. Stop this. She wouldn't like you to feel bad because of her. She would want you to live and do what you do best. Protect your people."
" Thank you, Lyanna," he said when he stopped crying. "I hadn't realized how much I needed this. Thank you for always making sense of things for me."
" That's what I'm here for, Your Grace." she scoffed and frowned when he gave her a sad smile. "What?"
" This. I'm going to miss this. You calling me Your Grace." he sighed as she startled. "I will talk to the Lord and Ladies and tell them of my decision to step down as King of the North. I will bend the knee to him, but I won't force them to do the same."
" I don't… I don't get it. How?"
" You will soon, I promise."
As she stood next to a nervous Talia Forrester, she watched with bated breath her friend standing in front of the Godswood, ready to speak.
"You must be wondering why I asked you to meet with me here rather than in the Great Hall…"
"Actually, we were wondering what took you so long, Your Grace." Barbrey Dustin retorted, smirking. "You're about to bend the knee to the dragons, are you not?"
"I will bend the knee to my brother, King Baelon Targaryen, and swear fealty to my goodsister Queen Daenerys because they have fought for our survival. In our time of greatest need. They were who gathered the resources and men to help us and Baelon himself was the one to end our biggest foe."
"This, I will not deny, Your Grace. I was all for bending the knee to him when I heard of his victory against the Night King. But your brother has not been himself ever since…"
"For good reasons." Lyanna couldn't help adding.
"Begging your pardon, The Rickon, but The Baelon is barely holding on." Brandon Norrey said.
"Aren't we all?" she butted in once more, feeling annoyed at her peers.
"I understand your concerns, and this is why I alone will bend the knee to him," Rickon said to gasps. "I know that neither King Baelon nor Queen Daenerys wishes the North any harm. If anything, they would accept it as being its own realm. I will stand beside and with my family, and if the North thinks they still need their independence, then we will give you leave to choose a new King or Queen of the North."
"You… You would abandon us?" Talia asked weakly.
"My House remains of the North and Winterfell is our home, Lady Forrester. I will however only pledge myself and not demand it of anyone else." Rickon answered.
"So you mean to leave with them? That is what you mean. Have you talked to Lady Sansa about this?" Lyanna said in turn, making the murmurs of the crowd grow.
"Should you wish to follow my sister, you will find in her a true Lady of the North, working hard for her people and -"
"You'll leave her alone… when she has lost so much?" Lyanna cut him off harshly.
"I do not mean to stay away from her or my home for long. She is my pack, you are too, but my brother needs me more at this moment. It would not be fair to the North, to you, nor to him to choose-"
"How is it fair when you're clearly admitting to choosing him over us!" Lyanna shouted angrily.
"HE IS MY BROTHER, LYANNA!"
"AND SANSA IS YOUR SISTER! WE ARE YOUR FRIENDS! YOU ALSO HAVE A DUTY TOWARD US. HOW DARE YOU DO THIS TO US?"
'To me'
Lyanna realized that her anger had gotten the best of her and turned away, not wanting to show how betrayed she felt at that moment. She'd believed him when he'd said they were a pack and so she'd opened up to him. The fact that he was willing to discard her after all she did for him, after all they shared together, broke her heart and filled her with as much anger as it did hurt.
"I am not fit to be your king. I have never been. My purpose was to unite you all for the War and I wasn't even able to do so. You did. You, Lord Manderly, Lady Dustin, the Northern council, and the Free Folk. You needed someone to rally behind and for a time, I was the one you chose. But I am not the same. Not anymore. I cannot be a good King when my loyalties are split between my people and my brother. I am a child of the North and I will always be. I could order you to bend the knee as my last act as King in the North, but I will not. I respect you all too much to force you to make a decision. This is why I came here to make a vow to all of you."
"A vow?" Barbrey Dustin repeated, confusion clearly visible on her face.
"Should you bend the knee to my brother and he finds himself not the person I believe him to be, the one that will care for the North's interests and remember where he comes from, the one that will come to our aid in time of need. Then I, Rickon of House Stark, solemnly vow to you and the Old Gods, in front of the Heart Tree, that I will stand with the North."
"Against your own brother?" Barbrey insisted.
"You know what I'm capable of. Whether you believe me or not is up to you at this point."
"You truly think this is the right choice? That the Baelon will get better?" Artos Flint asked.
"The future's not set in stone, but the Old Gods have shown me what path I shall take to ensure it. More than anything, this is why I have to step down. I can only be who I am meant to be by being myself. Not a king, not a Lord, but a servant of the Old Gods and one who needs to protect his pack."
"You've done a lot of things people here would not be able to comprehend, all by the Old Gods' will. You've rid us of a foe who would have brought the Seven Kingdoms to its ruin, and I am not speaking of the Night King." Howland Reed stated after a moment. "If you believe this is the way to make the North prosper, then I trust your judgment. I would have pledged myself and my House to Lyanna's son anyway, but now I do so with peace and certainty in my heart."
"I thank you, Lord Reed. For everything. If it weren't for you and Meera, I…"
"There's no need for any thanks, Rickon. We are all but servants of the Old Gods." Howland said and his daughter nodded.
"Both you and Baelon Targaryen have earned my trust, too. If you swear that you will protect the North, then I will follow your lead." Wyman Manderly declared.
"I will always protect the North, wherever I am, my Lord," Rickon swore and Lyanna could not take it anymore.
As one by one, the Lords and Ladies of the North vowed to bend the knee to the new King of the Seven Kingdoms, setting Rickon free from his duty towards them, she felt overwhelmed by her grief and soon moved to walk away from the scene and towards the First Tower. She wanted to be alone to vent her frustrations, but the direwolf behind her seemed to have other ideas.
"I suppose he asked you to follow me?" she grumbled, annoyed as Nymeria seemed to nod. "Seven hells! Why won't he let me be? He's getting what he wants, what more does he need from me?"
The grey wolf came close to her and surprised her by forcing her to nestle against her.
"I don't want to… I don't need to…" Lyanna's protests were muffled into Nymeria's fur and the situation looked so ridiculous that she began to laugh.
She laughed and laughed until she could do so no more. She laughed at life, at where she stood, feeling hurt by a boy she thought was her friend, her family, leaving her again. Jorah too she knew would be joining the Targaryens when they left. She was doomed to be alone, to stay alone, and soon her tears were falling and she was sobbing against a direwolf's fur.
How long did she stay like that, Lyanna didn't know or care. She hadn't realized that she needed to let out her feelings this way until given the opportunity. So while she internally cursed Rickon Stark for making her appear weak, she was also thankful that he knew her enough to send Nymeria to comfort her.
"If you tell him… If you say anything to him, I swear to the Old Gods I'll find a way to hurt you. All big and menacing you may look, but believe me, I am fiercer than you." Lyanna threatened when she stopped sobbing, earning an eye roll and a playful shove from the wolf in return.
The interaction made her smile, reminding her of what Arya Stark would have done, and she shook her head annoyed at herself while thinking about what she had said to Rickon.
"I was truly selfish, wasn't I? He said he felt staying near Bran would make him go crazy, and when he finds a way to leave, I just yell at him. I just… It hurts to let go of my only friend." she finally admitted.
"It hurts to leave you too, but I do not plan on being away for long." Rickon's voice rang out from behind her, making her jump in fright.
She hid her head in Nymeria's fur, unwilling to look at him.
"I'm sorry, Lyanna. Truly I am. I wanted to tell you before everyone else because you're my most trusted friend, but -"
"But you didn't."
"I didn't. I need to do this, and call me craven if you want, but I was afraid you would try to make me change my mind on this."
"As if someone could get through that thick head or yours," she mumbled.
"You can. Only you," he said, making her shiver. "But this is the right choice for me."
"How can you be so sure?"
"I went to Bran this morning after I made up my mind. I wanted to confront him and tell him what I would do."
"What did he say? Did he curse you like the last time or did he beg you to stay?"
"None of this. He just said 'Hodor'." Rickon answered and she could hear the relief in his voice. "For the first time since Arya's death, I could not hear him in my mind."
Lyanna's heart broke completely at those words. It was clearly a sign that her friend was getting better, yet she couldn't find in her heart the strength to rejoice for him. Not when he was leaving her.
"I didn't lie in the Godswood. Winterfell is my home, the North is my home and I will not stay away for long."
"What am I to do when you'll be away gallivanting in the South?" she said as he sat next to her.
"Gallivanting? Do you truly not know me?" Rickon chuckled, annoying her to the point of hitting him. "You go back to Bear Island, you rule your land and protect your people as always, and you keep an eye on Sansa from time to time? Please? She'll probably yell at me as you did in the Godswood and I would feel better knowing that she has someone she can count on."
She contemplated the idea of calling him out for making her do his bidding as usual and wondered how he managed to do so every time. Looking at his blue eyes she tried to deny him, wanting to do so with all of her might.
"I'll try my best. Damn you." she finally said, caving once again and cursing herself for doing so.
Lyanna had been named as an emissary for the Northern Lords, and all of them had decided to kneel to the dragons after Rickon's speech. Sansa, who had also been notified of their decision, had wanted them to kneel in the Godswood as a show of goodwill, so Lyanna was back at the place she disliked so much, for more reasons now than she previously did.
Whereas Daenerys Targaryen looked as regal as she used to, if not more, Baelon didn't seem to have rested much since the end of the war. She hesitated for a moment on what she should do, for she was the only one who hadn't openly pledged her allegiance to the Targaryens yet.
"You've requested an audience, goodbrother?" Daenerys asked, her soft smile showing how fond she was of Rickon.
"Aye, I did. The Lords of the North and myself have talked. Or should I say I exposed my point of view about our position in the Seven Kingdoms and told them what I have decided."
"What have you decided?"
Rickon took a deep breath and went on to kneel before his brother while Sansa did the same.
"I will step down as King in the North and pledge myself to my brother King Baelon, First of his Name, King of the First Men, and his wife Queen Daenerys, Queen of the Andals and the Rhoynar."
"House Stark swears to the King and Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, Protectors of the Realm, for perpetuity," Sansa added.
"You don't have to do this, Rickon, Sansa…" Baelon said, his voice emotionless.
"You're our brother and we will stand with you. We stand with our pack, now and always." Rickon insisted.
"What about the Lords of the North?" Daenerys asked, looking straight at her.
"We acknowledge your role in the War of the Dawn, both of you, and follow the lead of our former king in the North. We only have one request." Lyanna answered, struggling to keep a neutral face.
"What is it?"
"The North has found its unity thanks to House Stark. We wish to keep this unity by having the Head of House Stark named Warden of the North."
"We would not have it another way." Daenerys smiled knowingly.
"Then the North is yours, Your Graces." Lyanna concluded.
"We thank you, Lady Mormont, and welcome you in the Seven Kingdoms. The North is my husband's home and we will always look to its best interests."
"I hope you will."
"I have another request, Your Grace. Concerning my House." Rickon declared, and Lyanna wondered how many times her heart could break.
Winterfell 304 AC.
Baelon Targaryen.
He tried to show her with his eyes that she shouldn't worry about him, but it was to no avail. Baelon knew he was lost and that those around him were concerned, yet for now, there was little he could do about it. Instead, he just went through the motions as best he could and tried his very best not to just break down and give into his despair. Today would be a test of just how much strength he had in him. So as he rose, washed, and dressed, he begged the Old Gods to let him make it through without faltering too much.
They broke their fasts and just like every meal he'd eaten since he'd seen her body, Baelon only did so because others looked at him while he ate. Once they were done, he rubbed his hand through Ghost's fur, offered Dany the closest thing to a smile he had in him and together they made their way from the Great Hall and into the courtyard. Rickon, Sansa, Davos, and Wylla walked with him and though he could see him not, Baelon knew Rhaegal flew overhead. His dragon, just like Ghost, wished for nothing more than for his heart to fix itself after it had been broken so completely.
Soon enough they were at the gate and here his footsteps faltered. Closing his eyes, Baelon took a breath and then began to move before anyone could take his arm and bid him do so. He kept his eyes closed for some time and when he opened them it was to a sight he had hoped never to see. Row upon row of pyres littered the grounds in front of them. Body after body laid out on top of them. The heroic dead. Those who'd paid the ultimate price and whose sacrifice had ensured that the rest of them knew a morrow.
"Baelon," Dany said worriedly and Baelon nodded as he moved a little ahead of her, hoping his movement showed he was well, or at least that she bought his mummery.
Before too long, they were joined by the rest of those who'd come to pay their respects. Each and every person who named Winterfell and Wintertown their homes. All those who'd fought against the army of the dead and the Night King. Men and women from every corner of Westeros each united in their grief and loss. It was Sansa who handed him the torch and the worry in her blue eyes was something he'd never truly expected would be aimed in his direction. It showed just how far they had come in their own relationship and though he wished it had taken much less for them to be a true brother and sister, he welcomed it all the same.
"I'm well, Sansa." he lied.
He, Dany, and Rickon had spoken of the need to speak the words that would be spoken here today. It shamed him that he could not bring himself to be the one to do so and yet he knew he could not. Instead, it would fall to his wife and his brother and as a hush came over those present, Dany stepped forward.
"There are no true words that can speak of the debt that is owed to those we come to honor here today. Not a single one of us here who doesn't respect the sacrifice these brave men and women made so we knew a future. Together we all fought and played our part and some of us, the lucky ones, got to stand here and breathe free air in the brightness of the sun's shining glory because of that and the parts that those who fell played.
No man or woman did more than any other, yet those we honor today lost more than any of us because of it. Their families lost more and the world is a poorer place without a single one of those who lost their lives that day. Their courage will never be matched. Their sacrifice never forgotten and their loss never recovered from.
To the Brave Fallen, We Salute You!" Dany said, her words ringing out loudly, and then answered in kind.
"The Brave Fallen!"
"The Brave Fallen!"
"The Brave Fallen!"
As the cheers died down, Rickon moved forward. Baelon tried to offer his brother a reassuring look but no doubt failed miserably. It should not fall to him to do what Baelon himself should, yet he was thankful that his brother had the strength he did not.
"We of the North have a saying that is known to one and all. The North Remembers." Rickon said loudly "Each man and woman, every child who lives or is born from this day forward will hear the tale of the Battle for the Dawn. They'll learn of the heroes of that day. Of the King and Queen who led us through our darkest ever time. Of the battle fought between two kings, one of darkness and the other of light, and how it was our King, King Baelon Targaryen who drove his sword into the Night King's chest and brought forth the Dawn.
They'll learn how in his own words, King Baelon named each and every man and woman who fought that day just as true a hero as he was. And they'll learn of the Brave Fallen. They'll learn of Tormund Giantsbane and Brienne of Tarth. Of Ned Umber and Edmure Tully. Of Jaime Lannister and how he gave his life to protect his king.
They'll learn of all of those who fell.
To those who lost kin, I bid you to name them now. To shout out their names loudly and proudly." Rickon said.
Around the field, the voices intermingled as names of husbands, fathers, brothers, sisters, and mothers, of nieces and nephews, grandfathers, and grandmothers all rang out. Then with a simple raising of Rickon's hands, the hush was upon them all once again.
"We owe you far too much to ever repay. Yet we make you this solemn vow. The lives you bought us will not be wasted, the days we shall know because of you will be ones where we prove ourselves worthy of your sacrifice. And you will never be forgotten.
The North Remembers and we are not alone in that!"
"The North Remembers!"
"The West Remembers!"
"The Riverlands Remembers!"
"The Stormlands Remembers!"
"The Reach Remembers!"
"The Vale Remembers!"
"Dorne Remembers!"
Seven kingdoms united in their grief all shouted as one and once their words were lost in the wind, then and only then did people begin to move forward. Baelon dipped his torch into the fire and prayed once again to the Old Gods to give him the strength to do as he must. He moved forward to the pyre and felt the tears as they flowed down his cheeks. They were laying together, joined in death as they had been but briefly in life. Tormund and his beauty. Baelon's truest ever friend lay in front of him and his hand began to shake as he moved the torch to the pyre.
Words flowed through his head. Images of days gone past and in his desire not to see them and witness them once more, he was soon pushing past them. Baelon thought it was too hard to see the memories he and Tormund had shared together, given what he soon saw, he wished he'd thought differently. For he was no longer standing by the pyre watching as Tormund and Brienne were given to the flames, instead, he was back at the Crypts next to his sister's body.
" AryaAAAA!"
" ARyAAAAAA!"
" ARYAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"
A few days earlier.
None of them could utter the words. Yet he knew they were hiding something terrible from him. Seeing Rickon in the distance, his shape at least as he stood looking out of his window, Baelon was both relieved and not. For if both he and Sansa were here and Arya was not, then it could only mean one thing.
"Where is Arya?"
"Where is my Sister?"
"ARYAAAAA."
"ARYAAAAA."
He ran through the courtyard, his destination unknown and when he made it to the crypts he almost broke through the doors. Looking around he couldn't see her and though it should give him some relief it did not. Racing outside, it was to the Godswood and then to the keep itself he ran. Behind him, words were shouted out and yet he cared not. He had to find her, to see her, to save her. He had to.
Guards moved out of his way and at one point he swore he saw Rickon standing with Old Nan, yet no words were spoken to him and so he was sure he just imagined it. It was the sight of Nymeria that led him to where she was. The sadness in the wolf's eyes was one that he was soon to know for true. Almost kicking the door open, he hurried into the room and the cry he let out was one that would probably be heard at the Wall itself.
"ARYAAAAA!"
She lay unmoving on the bed. Was he not already lost in his grief then he'd have thought she merely slept. Moving to her, he felt her coldness before he even touched her. Taking her in his arms, Baelon lifted her from the bed and was soon running down the halls and out into the cold air of the courtyard. No one moved or tried to stop him nor even came his way. Most averted their eyes as they couldn't bear to look at the sight he presented to them.
"Melisandre! Where is the Red Woman! Find me the Red Woman!" he shouted to one and all.
"FIND ME THE RED WOMAN!"
Davos moved towards him, his hand open and bearing her necklace in his palm. The words not needing to be spoken and Baelon fell to his knees as he cursed the gods.
"DAMN YOU ALL!"
"FUCK YOU ALL!"
"WHY HER?"
"IT WAS MEANT TO BE ME, NEVER HER, NEVER HER!"
Hands touched him and he shrugged them off. People came to him and were lucky they placed their hands on him and not his sister. For had they done so then blood would have been spilled here this day. Eventually, they left him alone. Baelon knelt in the middle of Winterfell's courtyard holding his sister in his arms and wept for some time.
At some point, he moved and walked with Arya in his arms to the Crypts. Ghost and Nymeria had joined him as had Dany and Sansa. Behind him, his sister and wife spoke of him and he cared not. Their words were like wind and though they were concerned and worried about him, Baelon was in no condition to make them feel any less so. Entering the Crypts, it was to his uncle's statue that he carried Arya and laid her down in front of. The first time he'd let her out of his arms since entering her room.
Baelon knelt and begged his uncle's forgiveness. All the anger he'd had at him over the lies about who he truly was were forgotten as instead, he told him that had he the power he'd have taken the blow that ended his sister's life. That if the gods would but give him the chance to trade places then he'd do so gladly. He begged his uncle to take her into his embrace. To hold her and keep her in his loving arms. Then he leaned down and kissed his sister's forehead before he picked her back up and carried her back to her room.
No one could reach him that night or the next. Dany's words went unanswered and not even Rickon, when he finally regained his energy, could get through to him. Baelon was a man going through the motions, a Wight in all but the fact that he breathed and his heart beat still. He found himself drawn to the Godswood more than once and though he cursed the gods as he stood in front of the Weirwood tree, he felt some little comfort there.
As he did when he was joined by Dany, Rickon, and Sansa. Later on by Wylla too when she had returned and allowed him to speak and sob against her chest while telling him all the while it was not his fault. Rhaegal and Ghost worried about him and he did his best to offer them reassurance. His touches, his unspoken words, hopefully being enough for now. He felt nothing at all when words were spoken to him. Took no respite in his food and found no sleep in his bed. Not even the feel of Dany's arms as they wrapped around him was enough to get him to sleep. And in the end, he simply perfumed a mummery of it. It was not until words were spoken about Bran that he felt anything other than despair and he embraced the hatred he had for the thing that had been his brother once.
"She can have it," he said when words were spoken of taking Bran's head from his shoulders.
Now.
Baelon was in his room with no memory of how he got there. Standing by his bed and looking down at him, Dany looked as lost as he felt. He reached out with his hand and she took it. Baelon then pulled her into the bed beside him and though they spoke not, he felt he did enough with his arms when they wrapped around her to make her feel somewhat better. He hoped he did. Sleep once again eluded him and so he quietly climbed from the bed and made his way to the window. Looking outside, he saw Rhaegal in the sky and knew he needed to speak to his dragon.
Baelon dressed quietly and moved to Dany to check if she slept soundly or not. Upon finding that she did, he wrote a small note and then moved to the door. Handing it to the two unsullied stationed there, he waved away their suggestion that they follow him and instead walked away alone. Ghost was offering up his own comfort to Nymeria and her pack and so Baelon disturbed him not. Instead, he just moved about the keep, happy in the knowledge that there were few up and about at this time of night. It took him no time to reach the main doors and to walk out into the coolness of the night.
As he walked through the courtyard and to the southern gate, in his head he called for Rhaegal to join him. Their bond was a unique one and as with Ghost, his dragon never refused his call. So eager was Rhaegal to see him and to find out he was well, that Baelon saw him land before he reached the southern gate. To bows of heads and whispered "Your Graces'" Baelon nodded, smiled, and walked out the gate in silence. He knew all eyes were on him as he moved to the green dragon and so he did his best to make it look as if this was nothing more than a simple walk at night. Something hard to do given just how eager Rhaegal was for him to fly with him once he reached him.
"Sȳrje." (Very Well) he said to a loud trill from Rhaegal as he climbed up on his back and bid him to take him for a nighttime flight.
Rhaegal flew over Winterfell and the Wolfswood, past where the battle had been fought and won, and deeper into the lands of the North itself. Deepwood Motte, Sea Dragon Point, and down along the coast before turning back towards Winterfell once more. Baelon shared as much of his feelings with Rhaegal as he could or wished to. His sadness, his despair, guilt, and loss, all of it in equal measure. He thanked the green dragon too. Praised him for all he'd done in the fight and told him that time was what he needed. Baelon prayed he was telling the truth and not that it was merely wishful thinking he was expressing.
They arrived back at Winterfell before morning broke and Baelon once again thanked and praised Rhaegal. He told him that he was so very proud of him and his brothers and that they were the true heroes of the battle they'd fought. Though he could feel that the green dragon only somewhat accepted that he'd be better in time, Baelon felt that it was enough for now.
Walking back into the keep, he resolved to speak words that offered the same comfort to those who worried so much about his well-being. A lie for now mayhap, but one that would, he hoped, be the truth in time. However, it was not to his room that he walked and as he stood outside the door, he felt a new feeling almost overwhelm him. It was one he welcomed greatly. For hatred was what he should feel for the thing that was in that room.
Moving his hand to his sword, Baelon almost smiled. Opening the door, he didn't hear the sound of the hurried steps as both Ghost and Rickon ran to join him. To stop him from what he may do if he was left alone with the thing that had been his brother once. Bran deserved death. He deserved pain and suffering and left alone with him, Baelon would bring him both. Something though held him back, it allowed him to leave the door open and to keep his hand from his sword, and instead, it was with words and not Valyrian Steel that he attacked Bran with.
"You killed her." he said angrily "As much as if you'd struck the knife in her heart yourself. Why? For a fucking throne? To see me suffer? What kind of a thing are you? She would have fought the world to see you safe. And you…..you took her from us."
"Hodor."
"Jon," Rickon said softly.
"Worry not, I'll not end this thing's life. I'd not stain my sword on it." Baelon said as he walked to the door and then stopped.
He looked back at Rickon who looked at him worriedly. His brother had explained it to Dany already, he'd told her exactly what he'd done to Bran and his reasons for it. Baelon knew both of them believed he'd not heard or not been listening, but he had. Deep down he understood and yet he was of the North and his way was the old way. By right, Bran should face the sword and Baelon should be the one who swung it. That Rickon named his punishment as truer than that, was understood and accepted, if only barely.
"Bran," Baelon called out.
"Hodor."
"It should have been you," he said as he left the room and the thing inside it behind.
Later that day they stood at the weirwood and Rickon knelt to him and Dany. it was just those closest of all to them who'd bear witness to it. He and Dany, Davos and Missandei, Lyanna Mormont and Sansa. The words meant little to him, though he welcomed the sentiment behind them. It was not until the oath was sworn first by Rickon and then by Sansa that anything truly registered in Baelon's mind.
"What, you can't," Sansa said.
"Yet it is what I must do."
Baelon looked at his brother and sister, confused by the panicked look on Sansa's face and the resolved one on Rickon's. He turned to Dany who wore a true smile and to Lyanna Mormont who looked almost heartbroken.
"What's going on?" he asked, feeling a fool for doing so as it showed he'd paid little mind to what had been said.
"Rickon wishes me to be named Lady of Winterfell and Warden of the North. He wants to go south with you and Daenerys." Sansa said pleadingly.
"Brother?" he asked, more confused now than anything.
"It's my choice, Jon. You told me I'd find my path and this is my path." Rickon said, the look in his eyes one that both begged Baelon to accept and told him the truth of why he wished to do what he was suggesting.
A part of him wanted to deny him. To tell him that this was his place and that in time he'd pull his head out of his own arse and be who he needed to be. He so very much wanted to be stronger than he was at this very moment. To put aside the grief he felt for Arya, Tormund, Jaime, and all those who'd lost their lives. Yet for now, at least, that part of him was beaten away by a different part. The simple truth was that he not only wished for Rickon by his side, but he needed it like a man needed air to breathe. As much as he needed Ghost or Rhaegal, almost as much as he needed Dany, he needed his brother and so he simply nodded his head and looked at his wife.
"Sansa Stark, in the name of his grace King Baelon Targaryen and in mine own name, we name you our Warden of the North and the Lady of Winterfell," Dany said unhesitatingly and with that Lyanna Mormont walked away from the weirwood tree and Rickon looked to him.
Again it was a simple nod of his head that took Rickon away from the Godswood and not one of them needed to ask where he had gone or who he'd gone to. Sansa reluctantly accepted her new role and with one last look at the Weirwood, Baelon was left alone or alone for a moment. He was standing looking at the tree when he felt him nearby. His uncle's presence felt different to him from anyone else's for some reason. How Benjen lived still and what sort of a life it was that he was to know, Baelon knew or cared not. That he lived was more than enough for him. Turning to face him, Baelon almost knew the words that would be spoken before they were.
"You're leaving aren't you?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.
"Aye, I am. This is no place for me, Jon. Though with luck it won't be the last time I see it."
"You could…."
"No lad, I'm of the North and though I understand little of what I now am, I know I'll not see other lands before I'm called to join my kin."
"I…"
"I'll see the Free Folk settled, make sure that all is well Beyond the Wall. We'll see each other again, Jon."
"I'm glad we had some time, uncle."
"Aye lad, as am I."
Baelon stayed standing there alone after Benjen left, his uncle was a mystery to him and he wagered to Rickon too. Before the sadness he felt within him grew too much for him to bear, Wylla made her way to where he stood, Ghost walked with her and he felt them by his side long before he opened his eyes to see them there. As his hand rubbed through the white fur he felt the comfort of the closest thing to a mother he'd ever known taking his other hand in her own.
"You'll…"
"I will. I'll be by your side for as long as you need me, Baelon."
"Thank you," he said softly as she hugged him.
Two days later they said their goodbyes to Winterfell and the North. Or to be more accurate, Dany did so on his behalf. Other than the words he'd spoken in private to Sansa, he'd said little to any apart from the Free Folk. A promise that they would always have a place in their kingdom and a friend in him and his House that he swore to live up to and that was that. When or if he'd ever see them or the North again, only the gods knew.
Riding out the gate, he didn't look back. Baelon feared if he did so then he'd not be able to leave her behind. He feared that he'd see her atop the walls or hiding in a place that only she knew. That the memories that threatened to overwhelm him would burst forth and break him even more than he already was. Wiping tears from his eyes, he looked to his wife and brother and offered them the truest smile he'd done in days. He was not who he was meant to be, but with their help, one day he would be so again.
"Goodbye little sister," he said softly in the wind as Winterfell faded from view.