17-A Small Reunion

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction based on the Harry Potter and A Song of Ice and Fire universes. All recognizable characters, plots, and settings are exclusive property of Joanne K. Rowling and George R.R. Martin respectively. I make no claim to ownership.

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Acknowledgements: This chapter was edited by Void Uzumaki and AshestoDusts. I also want to thank my beta-reader nicknm for helping me bounce ideas around.

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Linktr!ee/gladiusx - Links to all my relevant stuff is now available here. (Replace the ! with a .)

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Aegon Targaryen

"We lost three thousand men, while the Kingslayer lost only two thousand before retreating. Another two thousand of our men were lost taking Harrenhal," reported Will Cole, a sergeant of the Golden Company.

They had gathered in the Hall of a Thousand Hearths around a large table with a map of Westeros. The storming of Harrenhal had been a bloody affair, and if Will was correct, they lost five men for every defender. The battle before was a little better, but not by much. While they were fighting under the walls of Harrenhal, arrows were constantly raining down on their men.

"If we face such a battle at every holdfast east of the Red Fork, we will run out of men before even seeing Casterly Rock," Jon Connington frowned.

"The further west we go, the more our supply lines will be stretched. Little can be foraged from the Riverlands - everything has already been burned or looted in the War of the Five Kings. No fields were left unburned, towns unsacked, or maidens unspoiled," Manfrey Martell finished with a hum and scratched his cheek. He was right, the surrounding lands had been pitiful. The smallfolk had fled into the hills and forests at the first sight of armed men. Nobody dared work the fields, lest they got slaughtered and their harvest taken. Between floods, fire, and war, four of the last five harvests were lost in the Riverlands.

If they wanted to attack the Westerlands, they had no other choice but to subjugate the Riverlords first, lest they left their supply chains undefended.

Aegon looked carefully at the map. Jaime Lannister meant to waste their strength here, and by the time they could attack the Westerlands, the Riverlands would be dead weight at best.

"Any news from the Reach, North or the Vale, Maar?" Jon asked.

"The Redwyne fleet has been sunk by Euron Greyjoy, and the Arbor has fallen into the hands of the Ironborn," Lysono said.

"How? The Redwyne fleet is one of the greatest fleets in Westeros, with nearly two hundred ships."

"Survivors said there was a fierce storm that sank half the fleet when they were passing the Redwyne Straits. As soon as the storm ended, they were met with Euron, who easily defeated them. Willas Tyrell promises to swear fealty to whoever helps him defeat the Iron Fleet."

Everything lulled into a short silence. Aegon had been taught that the ironborn were reavers that rested on old glory but could not compete with the rest of Westeros. Now they were proving to be a bigger nuisance than he ever expected. Furthermore, the only sizable fleets left in the seven kingdoms were the Hightower fleet and the Manderly fleet, which had been built up in the last few years. Even combined, both of them were barely a match for the Redwyne fleet.

"Harrold Arryn sent a letter, assuring us that he's forever loyal to the Iron Throne. However, he could not provide any men, as the High Road of the Vale was blocked by snow," the spymaster continued.

Aegon couldn't help but snort. By this point, everyone knew that King's Landing was no more and that the Iron Throne was lost. It did not matter if there was any snow at all in the Mountains of the Moon, the new Lord Arryn did not intend to enter this war. The Vale would be a nearly impossible nut to crack with the easily defensible Bloody Gate, should they choose to resist his rule. The only reason it fell during the Conquest, was because Visenya had managed to spirit away the child king from the Eyrie on her dragon and get his Queen mother to swear fealty. Now, he had no dragons, and it was unknown if Daenerys would ever come west, or if she'd keep playing saviour in Slaver's Bay.

"House Bolton continues to stay silent. We have no idea what is happening in the north, as it has always been isolated, and outsiders were scarcely welcome. We only have some vague rumours spreading around White Harbour about Lord Commander Jon Snow letting a hundred thousand wildlings south of the Wall."

"Is the boy mad? Letting the savages cross in such numbers…" Connington sighed and rubbed his gloved hand uncomfortably. The rest of the Westerosi Lords seemed just as unhappy and a few of them even spat on the ground.

"Maybe. But another rumour is that he has declared himself King Beyond the Wall and the North. He is now leading all those wildlings to retake Winterfell from House Bolton." Everyone was aghast. The wildlings were dangerous in large numbers, but no real threat, as they understood nothing of tactics and warfare. But with a capable man in charge, they would become very dangerous. And from what he knew, Jon Snow was raised together with Robb Stark who was undefeated on the battlefield.

"Bah, I can't imagine the hatred the boy holds for the Boltons to let wildlings through the Wall as the Lord Commander. And I'm sure that the numbers are greatly exaggerated. If the wildlings could muster a hundred thousand men, the Watch would have been overrun long ago," Lord Simon Staunton shook his head and the surrounding lords nodded in agreement. Lord Staunton had been one of the first to declare for Aegon from the crownlords.

Aegon's head started to hurt. If Jon Snow truly commanded so many wildlings, he could retake Winterfell with such a great army. The North would be nearly impossible to conquer from the outside with a Stark in charge. Hopefully the numbers were exaggerated and the wildlings were fewer. Maybe the northern lords would resist Jon Snow for breaking his vows to the Night's Watch and bringing wildlings south of the Wall. Aegon could subjugate a conflicted North. But if Jon Snow actually defeated the Boltons and the northern lords decided to be faithful and pay homage to him, Aegon would not be able to make any headway in the north, especially with winter coming. He needed Daenerys' dragons now more than ever.

"Lord Walder Frey and every living soul in the Crossing has been found dead with no signs of resistance. Messages were sent from there by raven, to all corners of the Seven Kingdoms" the spymaster unfurled a small scroll and started reading out loud, "Do you remember the tale of the Rat Cook? The North Remembers. Winter is coming."

Aegon couldn't help but feel chills at the words. True, everyone hated the late Lord Frey at this point, but to kill everyone in the Twins without any resistance...

"Hah, it serves the old weasel right for breaking guest rights. And it seems that House Stark is not as dead as we previously thought," Lord Adrian Thorne chortled. Nods of agreement from most of the Lords around the table followed his words.

Aegon fell deep in thought. While they could probably beat House Lannister, and subjugate the Riverlands, his forces would be too spent if they ever emerged victorious. It seemed that nobody else would join either him or House Lannister. He hoped to defeat Jaime Lannister quickly, take Casterly Rock and hope that the other Lord Paramounts would somehow join him peacefully. House Tyrell would swear fealty to the victor easily enough. But he harboured no illusions about the rest – not all of them would go down without a fight. They couldn't afford to follow the Kingslayer's plan and lose most of their strength in the Riverlands.

"We will give him battle once more. If he retreats again, the light cavalry will follow closely and harry his troops. They will be led by Ser Walter Wyl and Lord Nymor Jordayne," Aegon ordered.

"It shall be done, Your Grace," Lord Jordayne proclaimed. The Wyl knight nodded thoughtfully.

"We will leave two thousand men behind to siege the keep, and try to give chase to the Kingslayer and force a battle before he reaches the next holdfast."

It was incredibly risky, but otherwise Aegon would lose most of his men in the Riverlands. Should this idea succeed, House Lannister's military power would be broken, and only Casterly Rock would stand in his way.

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Eddara Tallhart, Torrhen's Square

A repeated soft tapping from the window woke her up. She waited, but it simply would not go away. Annoyed, she groggily got out of the bed, covered herself with a fur cloak and curiously went near the window. Carefully, she opened the small shutter only to be greeted by a raven perched on the outer side of the tiny window sill. It was snowing hard outside, and the bird was covered with a coat of white. Its beady eyes looked curiously inside the room. A few moments later, it cawed, shook the snow off itself, turned around and flew away hastily into the night.

"If only I could fly away like this," she uttered softly. Stuck in a servant room with only her good-aunt for probably years had left Eddara despondent.

"And go where? Living a life in the wilderness is a harsh thing, niece," Berena's voice reached her from the bed. Getting up seemed to have woken her good-aunt.

"It would still be better than living in fear under these ironmen," Eddara closed the shutter before what little warmth was left in the room escaped. She then quickly snuggled back under the covers together with Berena. They scarcely gave them any firewood to light the heart, as it could be used as a weapon. All they had were furs and each other to keep warm.

"Perhaps, but you would have to do everything alone. Are you prepared to fight, kill, hunt, and cook by yourself? The nights outside in the North are getting colder and colder. Winter is coming..."

Hearing House Stark's words made Eddara sad. If only there was a Stark in Winterfell, he'd surely chase away all those reavers from their keep. Yet reality was cruel. Every time word about Stark dying reached Dagmer Cleftjaw, the ironborn captain took great pleasure in visiting and informing Eddara and Berena of the news. All the Stark brothers were dead, the sisters were missing and just like that, a mighty House with eight thousand years of history was gone.

Her only consolation was that her good-aunt was too old and Eddara was too young for the ironborn to have their way with her. But only a moon ago, she had flowered and every time they were brought food, she feared for her chastity. The ironman that brought the meals had started throwing her lusty looks.

The worst part was that she knew it was coming. Sooner or later, one of them would force himself on her, and there was nothing she could do but wait in fear. If she resisted, she could be maimed or killed. With her father and elder brother dead, Eddara was technically Lady of Torrhen's Square, they could force her to marry and whelp out child after child.

She closed her eyes and tried to return to sleep. Minutes ticked by, but she was still wide awake. In the back of her mind, a persistent feeling that something was off kept her tense. Eddara inwardly scoffed. Of course something was off, she was a prisoner in her own keep, her father and brother killed, and the fate of her cousins unknown. She was soon to be a plaything of the ironborn. Yet the feeling did not go away. She had no idea how much time had passed when a sharp intake of breath was heard outside the door. For a moment Eddara thought it was just her imagination when the door opened with a creek that tore apart the silence. Her heart began to race with worry. Before she could even turn around, a big hand covered her mouth and prevented her from screaming.

"My name is Jon Stark, and I am here to rescue you. I would appreciate it if you do not scream. I do not want to alert the ironborn just yet. Nod twice if you understood and would stay quiet," she could barely hear the whisper above her.

Eddara quickly nodded twice, and soon her mouth was free. She quickly turned around to see a torch being lit. The flickering light illuminated a big man with curly black hair and dark purple eyes. A white direwolf head stood proudly on his pitch-black breastplate.

"How did you even get here? I do not know of any Jon Stark in the North, who are you?" Berena asked fearfully and backed to the wall.

"Keep your tone down, lest you wish to wake every ironman in the keep. You might know me as Jon Snow, baseborn son of Eddard Stark, my Lady. Robb Stark managed to name me his heir and legitimise me before the Red Wedding. Everything else will be explained when this is over. Now get up and stay behind me," his tone brokered no disagreement.

"But my sons..." her good-aunt whispered with worry.

"Do you even know where they are, lady?"

"No, but they surely must be nearby!"

The armoured man looked thoughtful for a few moments and sighed.

"Do not make any loud noise and stay here, I'll check every room on this floor," Jon Stark handed Eddara the torch and left. He moved way too quietly for a man in full armour. For a moment she thought he was a product of her imagination, but the torch in her hand did not appear into thin air. Everything was so quick, that she still couldn't fully process all that was happening. After a few moments, she finally gathered her bearings, and quickly put on her cloak.

"Didn't the Starks have grey or icy blue eyes, aunt?" she blurted out the first thing on her mind.

"Yes, but the rumour was that Jon Snow's mother had been Ashara Dayne, who had purple eyes. Mayhaps there is some truth to them, "Berena hesitantly replied while fidgeting with worry.

The minutes dragged on, and no sound was heard, other than the crackling of the torch. Her aunt was getting more and more worried until footsteps finally neared.

"Mother!" two tall, but thin young men rushed inside and hugged Berena from each side. She could barely recognise Brandon and Beren, as their faces were covered with shaggy beards and long and dirty hair.

Eddara felt envy rise at the heartfelt reunion. She would never get to hug her brother, mother or parents ever again. She grudgingly shook her head to get rid of the feeling.

"How will we get out with so many people?" she couldn't help but ask Jon Stark, who had just entered the door.

"We won't. We stay here, while my men storm the keep," he replied calmly. At that moment, a terrifying roar was heard, followed by shouts and the sound of clashing steel.

"What in the seven hells was that?" Beren let go of his mother and tightly grabbed a big knife strapped to his belt.

"That was my dear companion, Winter," Jon Stark's voice was tinged with amusement. Rushed footsteps were heard in the hallway outside. His face turned deadly serious and he unsheathed his sword. "No matter what, stay here."

Shouts of pain and anger accompanied the clanking of weapons could be heard from the hallway before the door even closed. Beren and Brandon moved protectively between the door and Eddara and her good-aunt. She could feel her heart beating so hard as if it was trying to escape her breast. The fighting both outside and in the hallway continued and she silently prayed to the old gods for Jon Stark's victory.

Her cousins were tense and slowly inched closer to the door.

"Boys! What are you doing?" Berena's furious whisper stopped them cold.

"Ma, we cannot let him fight alone! What if he gets overwhelmed?" Brandon pointed with his knife towards the door.

"That Jon Stark was wearing plate and has little to worry about. You will only slow him down and get yourself killed with no armour and a knife!" Her good-aunt was about to cry.

Both of the young men shifted uneasily, but after a few moments moved back to them. The room fell into silence, as all of them waited with trepidation.

Time dragged on, until eventually, the sound of fighting slowly receded.

The door creaked open, and a familiar tall armoured figure entered. The Tallharts let out a collective sigh of relief. A few crimson splatters marred the otherwise pitch-black plate and the white wolf head, and the blade in his hand was dripping with blood.

"Come, it is safe now," Jon Stark gestured for them to follow and returned to the hallway.

Berena and her sons left and went after him. Eddara hesitantly made her way out of the room for the first time in years. The future did not seem so dark anymore and she could feel joy and hope blossom within her. Then she exited the room. The path outside was strewn with cut-off limbs, heads and maimed corpses. The stone floor was soaked red with blood. The air stank so badly that it made her stomach churn. Her cousins and good aunt were already arched over and puking, and Eddara could not help but join them.

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Arya Stark

She was running on four legs amidst the pine trees. The scent of prey was near. She could feel the pack following behind her. Then she finally saw them in a clearing. The hunt was on. A group carrying the banners of the twin blue towers of House Frey. She lunged at the man leading them...

Arya awoke with the taste of blood in her mouth and a wet, sticky feeling on her face. Even in her sleep, she was killing Freys. Nothing less than the traitorous weasels deserved. She has had similar dreams before, but this was the first time her face was wet.

A giant lolled tongue and a pair of red eyes greeted her as she opened her eyes. Whiteness flashed quicker than she could react and Arya felt her face being licked.

With a mighty effort, she managed to push away the offending tongue and got up. An enormous white direwolf was standing right in front of her. It was more than a head and a half higher even with Arya standing upright. She would be panicking greatly if she did not recognise it. The last time she had seen Ghost, he had been so small, and now...

She absentmindedly scratched him under his left ear wondering, with a tinge of regret, if Nymeria would have been able to grow as big as Ghost if she hadn't chased her away. Suddenly, he bolted out of her tent and disappeared into the white landscape. While it hadn't snowed recently, the surroundings were covered by a layer of morning frost. Winter was almost upon them. Arya would have questioned if Ghost had even been here, had her face not been sticky from the direwolf's ministrations. She quickly got ready to travel.

A few hours on the road later, when Winterfell could be seen far in the distance, she felt something and all the horses suddenly stopped.

"By the fucking gods! Is this the king's direwolf?" Arya turned around to see Ghost again. He was curiously sniffing around Greatjon Umber, who was looking at the white direwolf cautiously. All the horses were frozen in fear and did not dare move a muscle. The riders were scarcely any better, all of them had a hand on the nearest weapon.

"He is my brother's yes. Don't worry, he's harmless. Come here, boy!" Arya cooed. A second later she realised she made a grave mistake, as Ghost was already upon her, and she had her face under attack again. The fact that she was riding on top of a horse did not deter him one bit, as he could easily reach her. Hells, Ghost was bigger than a warhorse. Maybe Jon would let her ride Ghost into battle?

"Bah, Robb's direwolf bit off my fingers when it was just a wee pup below my waist. When it grew further, it easily tore through Lannister men, as if they were pieces of meat. And this one is at least twice as big. With those teeth, it can probably crunch through armour as if it were mere flesh," the Umber Lord was looking more and more impressed.

All her attempts to wrestle Ghost away proved unsuccessful, but after one last lick, he bolted towards Winterfell. The horses finally recovered, and the group uneasily continued.

"That's no normal direwolf, "she barely heard Howland Reed mutter near her.

"He was the runt of the litter, smallest of them all. And I never heard him make a sound. Of course he's not normal," Arya hotly replied.

"No, not like that. He's bigger than he's supposed to be. And something is...different about him."

"His name is Ghost! And when was the last time you've seen a direwolf, Lord Reed?" she huffed.

"Seen? Never before this. But Graytower Watch has plenty of records about the northern fauna. And none were described to be as big as this one. And his presence, it was almost overwhelming."

"Anything that can tear your head off casually has an overwhelming presence, Howland," Greatjon rumbled. Lord Reed just shrugged his shoulders as the party continued.

A dozen horsemen rode out of the gate and headed their way. In a few minutes, they were upon them.

"Halt! State your business in Winterfell," a gruff voice was heard from their leader. He was wearing a half-plate, with a tabard on top, showing the grey direwolf of House Stark.

"Lord Howland Reed and Jon Umber to swear fealty to King Jon Stark the Third. His youngest sister Arya is also riding with us," the crannog lord calmly spoke and tilted his head towards her.

Every gaze suddenly moved onto her. "Princess Arya, " the men hurriedly bowed their heads towards her.

Arya opened her mouth to argue that she was not a princess... but the gazes of reverence thrown her way were disarming. She could only scowl in distaste. If her brother was king, she really was a princess for real. Her head was beginning to hurt already.

"How would you even know if I'm Arya Stark?" she asked weakly.

"Princess Sansa described your looks in great detail, and you match 'em fully. You even look very much like the King. 'Tis not like Lord Reed and Umber will lie either. Besides, you will meet her soon enough, and she can confirm," the man shrugged.

"And where would my brother be? He too can confirm," Arya asked.

"The king's on his way to Torrhen's Square. He is going to chase the ironborn away from the North," was the gruff reply.

Seeing as no further questions came, the party quietly escorted them towards the seat of House Stark. As they neared, Arya saw that the spikes along the battlements were lined with heads. Jon had not let off the traitors easily. All of them wore various expressions of terror and despair, and a particularly ugly one looked like it had been ripped off by force. Vengeful satisfaction bubbled in her gut.

Winterfell's courtyard was just as she remembered it. In the middle, flanked by Brienne of Tarth and the giant form of Ghost stood a tall maiden. She had flowing auburn hair and deep blue eyes, reminding her greatly of her mother, Catelyn. Sansa had always been the better-looking of the two sisters, but now she had blossomed into a great beauty. Arya had always felt envious of her as a child, but at the sight of Sansa, all of it was forgotten.

Arya hurriedly dismounted and flung herself into her sister's embrace, holding her tightly with all of her strength.

"I'm glad you're alive, Arya," Sansa whispered in her ear and clutched her just as strongly. Gods, her sister had grown taller than their mother. Arya barely reached her bosom.

After a few minutes, they reluctantly separated and Arya carefully looked at Sansa. She no longer had that naive and foolish expression she still had in King's Landing. Her body was guarded, and her eyes cautious.

"Lord Reed," Sansa curtsied carefully then turned to Greatjon. "Lord Umber. I am glad you have somehow escaped the Twins, but I cannot help but ask how you have achieved such a perilous feat?"

"I would still be left to rot there in chains, had not the young she-wolf come to set me free. She had snuck in and managed to kill the Old Weasel himself, with all the other Freys at the Crossing!" Greatjon's voice boomed through the courtyard and she wanted to facepalm. The people in the yard started cheering. Arya even heard someone shouting 'Freysbane'. Although she was proud of her deed, Lord Umber did not have to shout this to the whole world to hear.

"Good! One less problem to worry about," Sansa nodded with pride in her gaze. Arya's jaw almost fell off. She had grown skilled at reading faces, and Sansa meant every word she had said. Was this truly her prim and proper sister that hated her wild ways? Sansa gently ushered her towards the Great Keep. "Come, I have many things to tell you..."