The next day
Jon and Dany were in his study after breakfast, going through the messages on his desk, when Sam burst in unceremoniously and silently handed Jon a small scroll. Jon took it and held it before him so Dany could read along with him. It contained the news that Lady Selyse of House Baratheon had jumped to her death when word reached her that her husband had been captured. Her lifeless body had been found on the rocks at the foot of the Keep. Shireen was well and truly an orphan now, solely under Jon's care until she married. Dany and Jon exchanged glances, and both quickly left the study and hurried to the door of Lady Shireen's bedchamber.
At the pair's insistence, Lady Shireen allowed them to enter her chambers. Jon was relieved to see that she looked presentable: she was wearing a morning gown and her hair was neatly arranged. She looked calm but pale as she offered her King and Queen a seat. Jon had never set foot in a room belonging to one of Dany's ladies, and he was pleasantly surprised by its high windows and cosy atmosphere. Shireen sat in front of Jon and Dany, and then, as gently as they could, they broke the news of her mother's death. At first Lady Shireen barely reacted, but when Jon looked at her more closely, he noticed that her hands were balled into fists and her lower lip had begun trembling. Jon looked at Dany for support.
"Shireen," Dany called softly. "Shireen?" But Shireen merely lowered her head and avoided their eyes.
Jon couldn't take it any longer. He knelt in front of Shireen, took one of her hands in his, and gently unfurled her little fist. "Nobody blames you for your father's actions, Shireen," he said softly. "We have proven that more than once. You have us. You have Gendry. Your Uncle Renly will also suggest that you go live with him. You still have plenty of family left to turn to. And Daenerys and I would love for you to stay here with us in the Red Keep for as long as you want."
Shireen started crying, and Jon turned again to Dany for support. Dany gently led Shireen to the middle of the sofa so she could sit between Jon and Dany. Dany held her close while Jon continued to hold her hand. "It will be all right, Shireen We all love you. I will write to Lord Newton and let him know what happened," Jon promised her, hoping that mention of Domeric might help. "I am sure he will write back once he receives the raven. We will all help you, Shireen. Just tell us what you need and, if it is in our power, we shall make sure that you get it."
Shireen lifted her tear-stained face and looked at Jon. "I would like to be left alone for now so I can rest. I do not wish to appear ungrateful, but I need some time to consider my options. I promise to let you know my decision soon. I would also be grateful if you send word of what happened to Lord Newton."
"Of course, I will take care of it straight away!" Jon promised.
"Thank you," Shireen whispered. She had calmed down a bit. "Perhaps you could also ask Gendry to join me for dinner in my room?"
"Consider it done as well," Jon answered, wondering whether or not to get up. Meanwhile, Dany handed her own handkerchief to Shireen, since Shireen's was completely soaked with tears, and gestured for Jon to leave them alone.
Jon sighed and left the room without saying a word. Knowing from experience that taking action would make him feel better, he strode in the direction of his study. First, he would write the missive for Domeric, and then he would go find Gendry and fill him in on what had happened.
Sometime later, Dany joined her husband in his study and told him that Shireen was asleep. Jon informed her that he had arranged for the two of them to have a private luncheon with Uncle Benjen and Aunt Ashara so that they could relax a bit. He had deliberately not sent Princess Catelyn an invitation. Instead, he would appease his Aunt by promising her a place of honour at tonight's banquet. She had already been given a seat of honour at Edric's knighting ceremony yesterday.
After lunch, Uncle Benjen asked Jon to take a stroll with him in the Godswood, and Jon accepted gladly. Aside from exchanging information during lunch, they had not found the time to truly talk. Uncle Benjen soon steered the conversation toward the battle that Jon had recently fought in.
"I hardly saw any action, Uncle!" Jon admitted his disappointment as they entered the Godswood, which had been cleared ahead of their arrival so that Jon and his uncle could have some privacy. Jon took a deep breath, enjoying the scent of the trees as he walked. His uncle kept pace with him, undoubtedly enjoying this peaceful moment as well.
Moments later, Jon resumed their conversation. "I was never in any danger during the battle. As you know from the debriefing, Stannis Baratheon and Euron Greyjoy had only left a few hundred soldiers behind as decoys. The battle was over before it could truly begin. And, even then, I was hardly able to engage the enemy! I was so pumped up when I charged over the field toward the Ironborn. I rode on the front lines next to Ghost and my Kingsguard, knocking my first two opponents unconscious with only a few strokes of my sword. But the next thing I knew, three of my Kingsguard had overtaken me while the others closed ranks on either side of me. I was relegated to being a mere spectator!"
"They're your Kingsguard, Jon. They kept you safe from the chaos that ensues when two armies clash," Uncle Benjen explained drily as Jon paused.
"And what a Kingsguard!" Jon exclaimed enthusiastically, with a note of respect evident in his voice. "They were so attuned to each other! I finally understand why they are called a 'brotherhood' and why they live together in such confined quarters. Even their newer members knew exactly where to position themselves so as to form a watertight defense around me without losing their offensive advantage. They kept advancing and cutting down the enemy without once leaving a gap."
Jon's admiration for his Kingsguard had not entirely replaced his frustration, however. He knew he had the abilities to qualify as the eighth member of that highly coordinated group. Instead, he had simply clutched his sword and felt useless. All he had been required to do was steer his horse to keep up with those of his Kingsguard.
Many of Jon's soldiers, however, had fought valiantly, some in more than one battle. Only yesterday, Jon had honoured five of these men who had displayed extraordinary courage and valour as they fought, and who had also saved lives or captured important prisoners. "Ser Gerold trained your men well," Uncle Benjen said approvingly after listening to Jon's account. Then he added, "I heard that Lord Tarly took care of the Baratheon's forces in the Westerlands.
"He did," Jon sighed, wondering again whether he had made the right decision. He had chosen to hunt down and intercept the Baratheon army that had been fleeing west to join with what they assumed were friendly forces led by Lord Tarly. Stannis Baratheon, however, had left earlier than expected, and so when Jon and his army had arrived, the entire situation had already been resolved. There had been no signs of battle. The enemy forces had already been subdued and imprisoned, and Stannis Baratheon himself had been confined in a solitary cell.
The two men stopped walking and sat on two tree trunks near the weirwood sapling. "Lord Tarly won the day without needing to fight," Jon continued. "The Lord of Horn Hill did indeed live up to his reputation as a military genius. To be fair, he did act with some honour: he called for a parlay with Stannis Baratheon and demanded that he surrender. However, he only did this after his trusting opponent had led his entire army into the trap."
Jon recalled that Lord Tarly's forces had cut off almost all of the escape routes, forcing the self-proclaimed King Stannis the First to turn back the way he had come and to face the incoming Targaryen army. Stannis, however, had ordered his men to stand down instead. Jon stopped reminiscing and continued their conversation. "According to what I was told, Lord Randyll Tarly very smugly informed Stannis Baratheon that his pitiful excuse of an army would face the combined forces of the Riverlands, the Vale, the Crownlands, and even a small force of Stormland Lords who were now loyal to King Aegon. Those, and a dragon or two." Jon scowled.
"Isn't that what you wanted, though?" Benjen Stark asked, pointing out the obvious. "Bloodshed was kept to a minimum and you were unharmed. As our King, it is vital that you remain alive and well."
"I have been told the same by Davos, Ser Gerold, everyone I speak to. Prince Oberyn even went as far as praising Ser Gerold out loud."
"Ser Gerold? How so?" Uncle Benjen asked, amused at Jon's exasperated sigh.
"Oberyn was most eloquent." Jon began his explanation. "As we were rode back to King's Landing, he boasted about the number of Ironborn he had cut down. Everything is a competition for him. I couldn't hide from him my frustration at being prevented from engaging with the enemy even after I had already slain two of them."
"That doesn't explain his praising Ser Gerold," Uncle Benjen persisted.
"Well, he did. His exact words were: 'I must remember to congratulate Ser Gerold; I couldn't have orchestrated it better! Everyone will remember the young, heroic King on the frontlines, racing toward his enemy and striking down the first few men he encountered with great courage. What happens next is never remembered in the songs, except for the outcome of the battle. Your Kingsguard kept you safe without tarnishing your reputation. Extremely well done! I am almost jealous that I was not a part of it.' " Jon sighed again.
"But he is right, you know," Benjen Stark said gravely.
"I know," Jon admitted reluctantly. "Davos made me see reason. He told me I would have to get used to having others fight my battles for me." Jon mimicked Davos' voice. "That is their duty, son. You're a King now and should put your Kingdoms above all else. You also have a family to protect. The time for foolish, heroic deeds has come and gone."
Benjen stayed silent. It was better to let Jon vent his frustration instead of keeping it all in.
"Sam said more of the same," Jon continued his complaint. "The only ones to sympathise with me have been Arya and Gendry. Big surprise there." Jon smiled despite himself, and was surprised to discover that he felt somewhat better.
Uncle Benjen returned his smile and changed the subject to Robb's upcoming wedding. During the walk back to the Keep, both men became lost in their own thoughts. Jon's drifted to the approaching conflict in the North. No matter how much his men wanted to shield him, he was convinced that he would play a pivotal role in the Great War. They would have no choice but to allow him to confront the Night King himself. It was his destiny. He would increase his training now that he was back in the capital. Seven excellent White Cloaks or not, in order to stand a chance against this enemy, he needed to become the best warrior the Seven Kingdoms had ever seen.
Jon had scheduled one final meeting that day with Melisandre, Thoros, and Sam to summarize their findings and list all the necessary preparations for the supernatural aspect of the coming war. Gendry, Ser Gerold, and Dany were organising the logistics with Gendry focusing on the weapons, Ser Gerold on selecting the men who would accompany them north and on preparing transport, and Dany on coordinating the food supplies and on the manufacturing of warm coats, hats, and gloves. Once again, the smallfolk on Dragonstone and at the Driftmark were a huge help. Jon remained in contact with the Northern Lords and the Commanders of Castle Black and Eastwatch to oversee the military preparations, the growing stockpile of firewood, and other necessary materials.
Jon left the tunnel and smelled the fresh sea air. He had agreed to the request of Thoros and the red priestess that their meeting be held on the beach. Both servants of R'hllor were fascinated with the dragons. Jon wandered over to a flat rock and waited for Sam, Thoros, and Melisandre. He scanned the skies and let the sun warm his skin. He marvelled at the difference in the climates of the Crownlands and the Stormlands, despite the two regions not being too far apart. When he and his men had been in the Stormlands, harsh winds and rainstorms had hindered them on several occasions, and they had often had to adapt their plans to the weather. Storms in that region could roll in rather quickly and then end just as abruptly, and Jon had been soaked through more than once by an unexpected rainstorm.
In King's Landing, it hardly ever rained, and the only reason they were never short of water was that several small rivers carried the excess water from the Stormlands to the Crownlands. One of the first laws Jon had passed was that no waste was to be dumped in the fresh water streams, but was to be disposed of instead in the saltwater bays.
Jon scanned his surroundings. His Kingsguard as usual stood guard near the entrance of the passageways, letting him walk freely on the beach as long as he was alone. Shortly afterward, Jon saw them approach with the three people whom he was expecting. He stopped walking and waited for them to join him. After they had all greeted each other, Sam sat down next to Jon and took out his writing utensils. The two servants of the Lord of Light, Melisandre of Asshai and Thoros of Myr, seated themselves on the rock facing them.
"It is peaceful out here." Thoros admired the scenery. "Where are the dragons?"
"They are resting close by," Jon answered. "They can appear in the blink of an eye if need be. Between them and my Kingsguard, I am better protected out here than in the Red Keep."
"The ideal place to hold a secret meeting if the weather permits," Thoros said, smiling. "I trust there will be no storms rolling in anytime soon?"
"There might be some in the Stormlands, but none here today, or so I was told," Jon answered, returning his smile. "Shall we start with the most important matter? We must find a way to destroy the horn."
"Indeed," Melisandre said in her usual dramatic tone. "No good can come to those without pure Valyrian blood who use it."
"How did Euron Greyjoy ever believe it would work?" Sam wondered.
Jon realised that Sam was not yet aware of the wizard's information about the horn. Jon and his companions had interrogated the warlock in the Stormlands and then allowed him to leave Westeros on a boat heading east. Jon quickly shared the main points of the wizard's explanation with his friend. "Euron used blood magic. He smeared his own blood on the mouthpiece and forced slaves with diluted Valyrian blood to blow the horn. Each time they did this, the horn made a terrible sound, and every single one of those slaves perished moments later. The sound hurt the dragons and messed with their minds so much that they would agree to anything just to make the pain stop. As the wizard explained it, the off-key sound that the horn produced was not the sound needed to actually enslave a dragon. Nevertheless, it hurt the dragons like hell, and their sight also got affected. At one point, Rhaegal was almost completely blind. Fortunately, Rhaegal and I managed to merge our minds, and together we succeeded in blocking the horn's sound. Viserion, though, was not as lucky, and I can only imagine how much he suffered. As he healed, his fear of Euron Greyjoy using the horn again to cause him excruciating pain was what stripped him of his will to fight back."
"The wizard explained all of that to you?" Sam asked Jon.
"Some of it," Jon replied, "and Viserion shared some of his traumatic experiences the other day."
"Melisandre added, "I was there when it all happened, and I persuaded Queen Daenerys to blow the horn. I knew she would be fine. Her blood is purer than yours--no offense meant, my King. However, I would not have dared to suggest that she do it had I not seen in the fire that she would survive."
Jon nodded and continued. "The sound that the horn made when Daenerys blew it was apparently enchanting: a warm harmonic cord. What made all the difference was that she did not blow the horn with the intent to enslave a dragon."
Melisandre nodded emphatically. "I convinced the Queen to instead ask the dragon to become her partner, her equal."
"You mean, uh, the Queen enslaved the dragon successfully?" Sam's eyes were wide as saucers.
Jon shook his head. "No, Sam. The wizard told us that the timing was wrong. Viserion was still in pain and his mind could not absorb the magic."
Sam stared at Jon, deep in thought. "But--" he began, then bit his lip when Jon interrupted. "I think it is more respectful to Viserion and Daenerys to allow them to bond naturally rather than force the bond using magic."
Sam nodded, but was still thinking deeply it. He frowned as he asked Jon, "If the horn can help true Valyrians bond with a dragon, do you not wish the Queen to use it on Viserion after he has healed? Or to keep the horn for your descendants to use?"
Jon shook his head. "The horn is too dangerous to be allowed to exist in this realm. You read my father's diary. Targaryens have a natural ability to bond with the dragons, as long as they can convince the dragon that their motives are pure and that they will respect the dragon. Then there are the edicts from my Targaryen ancestor that I have sworn to uphold. One of these is to never treat a dragon like a slave. We should allow them their free will and their right to choose whether or not to take a rider. Daenerys agrees with me on this. We both want the horn destroyed. And besides, I don't think we really have a say in this, because the dragons have the horn in their possession."
"The flames showed me the horn's destruction. It is the will of R'hllor," Melisandre spoke in her strange manner.
"Thoros?" Jon wanted to hear the Red Priest's opinion. Somehow, Jon trusted him more than the priestess, whom he still associated with Stannis Baratheon's burning people alive to placate her Red God.
Thoros looked at Jon. "I propose that we build a fire and pray for the Lord of Light to guide us in this matter. If two of his servants and the Prince That Was Promised pray together for his guidance, he may be willing to show us the answer to our dilemma."
They all stood and began collecting pieces of driftwood, aided by Jon's Kingsguard. When they had assembled a large enough pile to keep a fire burning for quite some time, Thoros took out two small stones and struck them together to create a spark. It did not take long for the fire to build up.
Jon sat staring at the dancing flames for a long time. Not only did he see images in the fire, but words formed in his mind as well. The Lord of Light clearly believed him to be worthy. When the connection fizzled out, Jon realized that all of his companions were staring at him. "What is it?" he asked when none of them reacted.
"Your Grace," Melisandre spoke with a note of awe in her voice. "You were glowing! The Lord of Light has bestowed his blessing upon you!"
Thoros and Sam nodded when Jon looked to them for confirmation. "You were, Jon. You were a beacon of light!" Sam knew Jon would certainly believe his words.
"Did the three of you see any visions in the flames?" Jon asked, before revealing what he had learned.
"I saw how the combined flames from the two dragons, along with the chants of a servant of R'hllor, successfully melted the Valyrian bands on the horn. That broke the magic spell so that the horn could then be completely destroyed by brute force," Thoros informed Jon.
"Sam?" Jon asked, turning to his friend.
"Sorry, Jon, I only saw flames. And then I only had eyes for you and had to hold back your Kingsguard when you started glowing," Sam replied nervously.
"Anything else?" Jon asked Thoros and Melisandre.
The servants of R'hllor exchanged glances, then Melisandre replied, "Thoros and I are needed at the Wall to assist you in your fight against the Great Other."
"True," Jon agreed, "but not both of you at once. One of you must set out immediately," he said, addressing Melisandre alone. "You will need to find my cousin Brandon north of the Wall and bring him a candle that I will give you. Don't show it to anyone. It is one of a set of two special candles. The other will remain in my possession. If we both succeed in lighting these candles, we will be able to communicate with each other, using both words and images. These two magic candles were mentioned in some old books that I found. What these books do not mention, however, is that the candles will not work when someone 'unworthy,' or not one of 'the chosen ones,' tries to use them. This means that anyone who hears about these candles will want to steal them from you, believing they can use them themselves. Therefore, keep the candle hidden on your person at all times. Do not take it out of its wrapping, and tell no one about it. It is imperative that the candle reaches my cousin intact!"
Thoros looked at Jon in awe. "I have heard tales about these candles. If I may ask, how did you come by them, my King?"
Jon kept his explanation simple. "My father, Prince Rhaegar, found them. He was preparing for the war against the dead and was obsessed with the prophecy."
"Your House is truly blessed by the Lord of Light!" Melisandre declared. "I was truly mistaken in believing that Stannis Baratheon was the Lord's chosen one! And I am thoroughly ashamed of the methods that I used in my misguided attempt to save the realm from the Darkness."
"You were tricked by a dark force who posed as R'hllor," Jon explained calmly. Everyone gaped at him.
"The Lord of Light just spoke to me, and he vouched for you." Jon kept his expression neutral, trying not to react to the devout expressions on the faces of both Thoros and Melisandre. He still needed to process everything that the Red God had told him, and to come to terms with how he had just conducted what amounted to a conversation with a foreign God. It had been much more direct than the visions the Old Gods had sent him in the past. He had actually been allowed to interact with this deity--or that at least had been the illusion that the god had created in his mind. R'hllor had answered some of Jon's questions immediately after they had popped up in his head.
Melisandre knelt before Jon, raised both hands to the heavens, and began chanting, "The Lord of Light has shone his light upon you! The Lord of Light has granted you his wisdom! Oh praise be! The Lord of Light will defend us, for the night is dark and full of terrors!"
"For the night is dark and full of terrors!" Thoros repeated, and both servants of the Lord of Light bowed their heads in devotion.
Jon looked at Sam, who simply shrugged his shoulders. Jon bowed his head in respect for a few moments as well, not bothering to check if Sam was doing the same. His mind was still reeling with everything that had been revealed to him. All his actions were empowering the Night King and vice versa. The outcome of the Great War still hung in the balance. Consulting with Bran would be key, and to do that, Melisandre would have to leave with a proper escort as soon as possible.
And what had been most worrisome for Jon were the whispers of "Nissa, Nissa," combined with the promise that he had been compelled to give. He had solemnly promised the Lord of Light that he would consult the flames shortly before his heir was born. Once again, Jon found himself burdened with secrets that he could not share with anyone--not yet, at least. When Bran finally had the candle, Jon felt he might be ready to share those secrets with him. Now, though, his instincts ordered him to keep silent. But whether they were truly his instincts, or the will of the Red God, Jon was not entirely sure.
Interlude 53: Parting is such sweet sorrow
Sansa was secretly rejoicing at Edric's closeness. They sat next to each other in a secluded spot in the Godswood, their hands joined in Edric's lap, their fingers closely woven together. Gendry and Arya were supposed to be their chaperones, but Sansa had solemnly promised them that she and Edric would do nothing more intimate than holding hands and talking. Arya had successfully convinced Gendry to let the couple wander off on their own; the strong, formidable Lord of House Baratheon simply could not refuse Arya's puppy eyes. Sansa had promised to meet them at the exit of the Godswood before lunch.
It was both Sansa and Edric's last day in King's Landing, but Sansa did her best to keep their conversation light, with no mention of their imminent parting. She would not say goodbye to him until the very last moment. "It was such a nice feast! And I liked that it coincided with the two hundredth day of my cousin's reign." Sansa smiled up at Edric. "You looked splendid in your new outfit, Ser Edric! Mother was also impressed, and I believe she is warming up to you."
Edric squeezed her hand. "I had help. And, if I am not mistaken, you had a hand in sewing the tunic that the King gave me to wear for the ceremony."
"I assisted with the embroidering," Sansa admitted. Then she remembered her mother's strange mood swings. "Did you notice my uncle's and Lady Ashara's attempts to persuade Mother to smile last night while we were dancing?"
"I only had eyes for you, sweet Sansa." Edric looked deep into her eyes. "All I remember is how polite your mother was when she accepted my request for a dance with you. And there might have been a hint of a smile on her face."
"It was very considerate of you to ask her instead of me. If it had been any other man, I would have been insulted at not being asked directly, but you struck the right note: not subservient, but still considerate of Mother's status and her close connection to the King."
"All part of the plan!" Edric said smiling. "The King and Queen didn't dance much. I did not see them on the dance floor after the opening dance."
"They danced the first dance after the break as well," Sansa told him, and sighed. "He held her ever so sweetly! I envied them. As for us, we had to maintain the required distance for mere acquaintances prescribed by court protocol."
"And keep our faces in check and pretend to be bored," Edric agreed. "While Jon could admire his wife as much as he wished!"
The pair sat in silence for a while until Edric found another safe topic to bring up. "Arya looked nice in her new dress. I gather she has you to thank for it as well?"
Sansa beamed. "I designed it, chose the colour myself, and assisted the seamstress in making it. I also helped Arya braid her hair."
"Then you deserve all the compliments that come your way, dearest Sansa! Arya truly looked beautiful. I saw several heads turn her way! She may never outshine you, but she is a beauty in her own right. I reckon some of those Lords who asked her to dance would not recognise her if they saw her in the training yard this morning."
Sandra frowned. "I begged her not to offend any suitors, but she merely proclaimed that they were of no consequence."
"But Gendry is?" Edric prodded, fishing for information.
"He is her friend," Sansa corrected him. "Arya declares that he is nothing more than a very good friend who helps her keep her suitors at bay. She compares their relationship to her friendship with Jon."
"For now." Edric looked pensive. "People change, feelings change, you know. Attachments can either grow deeper or die a slow death. Absence and distance have been known to cause those changes."
Edric sighed when Sansa looked away and bowed her head. He released her hands and lifted her chin so that she was forced to look at him. "Sansa, I have to go south to Starfall. You are headed to Winterfell. It is hardly possible to put more distance between us than that."
Sansa blushed. She removed Edric's hand from her chin and turned away from him again. "What are you saying, Edric? Do you want me to release you from your vow?"
"No! Sansa, please look at me!" Edric begged. "I don't want you bound by a promise when I myself can't promise you when, or if, we will ever see each other again after today!"
Sansa obeyed and sat sideways so she could observe Edric's reactions more closely. "I won't remain in the North forever, you know. I intend to return to King's Landing and continue serving Daenerys," she declared, all her shyness gone. "And are you not coming North soon? With the army, I mean. I know about the Great War."
Edric nodded gloomily. "Then you also know that there is no fixed timetable for it yet. And we will be heading straight for the Wall, so there is not much of a chance that we can drop by Winterfell for a visit."
"You should know then that I intend to speak with Father and tell him about all your heroic deeds and your knighthood," Sansa said with determination. "May I also tell him that you own a Valyrian sword? Or is that still a secret?"
Edric's eyes wandered to the pommel of the beautiful sword that Jon had given him after the knighting ceremony, when only he, Jon, and Jon's closest advisors had been left in the throne room. Jon had handed him the Valyrian sword with a pommel that ended in a golden star, and then he had been asked to swear a rather long oath. Some of the pledges he had made were similar to his knightly vows, but the pledge that Jon had asked him to make went much further in adherence to the edicts of Jon's Targaryen ancestors. Afterwards Jon had apologised and explained that swearing this oath was the only way for Edric to claim ownership of the sword. Edric had thanked him profusely and named his Sword 'Rising Star'.
"You may tell you Father about my sword as long as you also mention that the King wants us to keep it a secret for now," Edric told Sansa. "I trust that your father will not breathe a word about it to anyone else."
"I will tell him about the sword and describe your knighthood ceremony at length. Now that you are a knight of the realm who possesses a Valyrian sword, surely Father must at least consider your suit?" Sansa pleaded, holding out her hand.
Edric grabbed her hand as if he were a drowning man reaching for a lifeline. "Sansa, are you sure about us? We have quarrelled before, and I do not wish to part from you again with doubts in my mind. These past few months have not been easy for me. I was relieved when Jon allowed us to exchange short messages. Before I received your first few notes, I wasn't sure whether you would ever talk to me again!"
"I am sure! What must I do to persuade you?" Sansa cried desperately. Edric was startled at her tone, so she immediately composed herself, and spoke her next few words in a calmer, but still passionate, tone. "Everyone thinks I am a fickle being, but this is not true! I know my heart, Edric. It is you whom I want to marry! I love you, Edric! I will refuse any other suitor who asks for my hand! And if Father has doubts about us, Jon will help me convince him." Sansa took Edric's face in both her hands. "It is you, Edric, only you. You must believe me!"
Edric gently removed her hands. "We promised Gendry and Arya that we would behave, Sansa," he reminded her. "I will do my best to believe you, and you must write to me often to help me keep that belief alive."
"Edric," Sansa said slowly, "we are in a Godswood. What if I vowed before a heart tree? It is a sacred vow in the North, considered unbreakable."
"Sansa . . ." Edric's voice faltered.
"Not wedding vows, but a secret betrothal. If I speak the words before a heart tree, I will be promised to you in the eyes of the Gods. Please, Edric!" Again Sansa took his face in her hands.
Edric looked at her longingly. "I wish I could accept, Sansa. I would want nothing more than to promise myself to you before your Gods! But without your father's consent, it is not honourable."
"That is not true!" Sansa swallowed. "It is honourable! It is only a promise that we shall make to each other. It will help us endure our separation until we marry. It only becomes dishonourable if you change your mind and marry someone else. And you will not be betraying my parents' trust because have not touched me where you shouldn't. You will simply pledge to wait for me and remain chaste until we are allowed to marry."
Edric took Sansa's hands in his. "Pledge or no pledge, I will marry you, Sansa! No matter how long your father makes us wait. Even if I have to wait until--" He stopped and his entire face lit up. "All right, I agree! Let's do this! And, afterward, perhaps a brief kiss is permitted to seal such heartfelt vows?" Edric smiled as Sansa pulled him to his feet and in the direction of the heart tree.
***
"What do you think they are doing?" Gendry asked Arya. They had wandered to their usual spot in the Godswood, a small clearing that Arya had discovered some time ago. To reach it, Gendry had to duck awkwardly beneath a tangle of branches. His large frame made it more difficult for him to get there than Arya's shorter, leaner form.
Arya quickly put him at ease. "Talking and holding hands as promised. Perhaps one quick peck on the cheek before they part? Don't worry, Gendry. I trust Sansa."
"And I trust Edric." Gendry smiled. "All right, I will stop worrying. Did you enjoy the feast last night?"
"It was all right," Arya replied. "I enjoyed observing everyone. Did you see the face of that newly-knighted Ser Owen when I refused to dance with him?" Her eyes twinkled.
"At least you did not call him 'stupid'--there's that!" Gendry teased her. "Perhaps he should have changed his tactics and asked your mother's permission first!" he added, changing the subject to Edric's behaviour.
Arya chuckled. "You saw that too? That was so funny! Edric, all dressed up like a peacock, calling Mother 'Princess' at the end of every sentence and hinting that King Aegon, her nephew, had sent him over. Mother bought it hook, line, and sinker!"
"I though his attire suited his new position as a knight of the realm. Besides, he and Sansa were able to dance together, so his tactic worked!" Gendry remarked drily.
"Much good it did them, though!" Arya was clearly amusing herself. "Did you see how stiffly they moved? We behaved much more naturally during our dance, without all that pomp and circumstance!"
"We did indeed, but only because we managed to dance at the other end of the dance floor, while your mother was busy talking to your Uncle Benjen and Princess Ashara. Clever of you to ask for your uncle's assistance, by the way!" Gendry nudged Arya's shoulder.
Arya shrugged. "It was no big deal. You see, Uncle Benjen likes me. I think I'm his favourite niece!" Then her eyes narrowed and she studied Gendry's face closely. "By the way, your dancing has improved, Gendry. How come?"
"I have Sansa to thank for that," Gendry explained, keeping his tone neutral. "She dances with me at least once at each feast, and tells me where to put my feet and how to stand and things."
"And do you always hold her as stiffly as Edric did yesterday?" Arya asked, unable to hide the jealousy in her tone.
Gendry refrained from putting his arm around her and drawing her close to him. Instead, he used his most convincing argument. "Arya, we made a pact! I promised I would never develop feelings for anyone else. And if I remember correctly, we decided to stop talking about this until way later."
Arya bit her lip. "I will be leaving in the morning, Gendry. And you refuse to come home with us."
"I will return north soon enough, Arya," Gendry promised, keeping his voice steady. "I have to help Jon put the final touches on Robb's wedding gift before the Great War."
"Nevertheless, that might be ages from now!" Arya pouted. "Why can't you use Winterfell's forge for the remainder of your war preparations? You haven't had to use dragonfire in ages!"
"Arya!" Gendry exclaimed, trying to keep his voice down. He looked around. "Don't ever speak those words out loud! Jon wouldn't like it if he knew we were speaking of this out in the open!"
"I know, I'm sorry!" Arya hung her head miserably. "I have trouble thinking straight, knowing I will be getting on that ship later today, yet not knowing when or if I will ever see you again!"
Gendry could resist no longer and pulled Arya into his lap, even if he felt like a hypocrite. He had ordered Edric and Sansa to do nothing more than hold hands, yet here he was, embracing Arya! He decided to banish these thoughts, convincing himself that their situations were not the same: he was merely comforting Arya in a perfectly innocent manner. "You will see me again, I promise! And I will send messages to you through Jon as often as I can."
"Promise?" Arya nestled herself against his broad chest.
Gendry was cherishing every moment that he held her in his arms, for it was not often that Arya allowed anyone to comfort her. He swallowed. "I don't need to. Our pact assures you that I am speaking the absolute truth." He took a deep breath before promising anyway. "I will think of you every day, while you are gone, Princess. You will have a special place in both my mind and my heart!"
"Gendry?" Arya looked up at him with her big, beautiful eyes.
"Yes, Princess?" Gendry's voice was hoarse.
"Will you kiss me just this once? Just so I can learn what all the fuss is about! I hear the servants talking sometimes, and some like it, but others don't. I would like to find out what it is like for myself, because right now I feel so ignorant!" Arya said in her typical blunt manner.
"Are you sure, Arya?" Gendry asked, his self-control slipping away as he gazed into her innocent eyes.
"One quick peck on my lips! Or do you not want to?" Arya felt no shame in tricking him like that.
Perhaps Gendry was a fool to think Arya had no ulterior motive and was only making an innocent request. "One simple kiss then," he agreed. "But it will have to last longer than a short peck. Otherwise, you will not be able to understand what it really is like. Do you trust me?" he added, not sure if he could trust himself.
"Of course! We have a pact, so I trust you! Do I need to close my eyes for this? The servants seemed to have differing opinions on that as well."
This time Arya's innocent tone did not fool Gendry for one second, and yet he still could not refuse her. "Arya, stop analysing this! My advice to you is to just relax. Close your eyes and let it happen." He took hold of her chin and, as he lifted her head, he dipped his mouth slowly towards hers. "No second thoughts?" he whispered when their lips were within touching distance.
Arya responded by pulling Gendry's head closer and initiating the kiss. Gendry kept his lips closed and did not apply too much pressure. It was a sweet, innocent kiss. Arya sighed when he released her lips a moment later, and she opened her eyes again. Gendry studied her expression and asked hesitantly, "Do you know what a kiss is like now, Princess?"
Arya blushed. "Maybe?" She touched her lips with her finger. "It wasn't so bad, but only because you were kind about it and we like each other. I wouldn't want to try this with anyone else, though!"
Gendry smiled, hiding his relief. "I'm glad, because I wouldn't want you to try this with anyone else either!"
Arya wriggled out of his lap. "Well, now that this is out of the way . . . how shall we say goodbye?"
"How about a hug?" Gendry proposed, still reeling from what had just taken place between them.
"Hugs are good. Actually, your hugs are the best! We'll make sure to hug later," Arya said in her straightforward manner as she jumped to her feet. "Come on, let's go and find Sansa! I'm starting to think that she and Edric may try and kiss each other now that they're all alone!"
Gendry smiled and followed her with renewed energy. He was filled with hope for the future. By suddenly questioning Sansa's hesitation to kiss Edric, his own Princess had unwittingly betrayed that she had found kissing him to be much more than "not bad."