Yours and Mine

Winterfell "Wait, Bran!" "You are too slow, sister." Arya sprang into another run, chasing after her brother with ragged breaths. she laughed as she almost bumped against a tree, and snow fell on her hair and shoulders and covered the tip of her nose. Arya shrugged it off. They entered the Godswood, the place where her father prayed to the Old Gods. "Just wait, you-" Bran laughed loudly and Arya saw him climb up a tree. He crawled up swiftly. Arya tried to follow but her feet slipped after she tried to put them over a snow-covered branch. She made a face at her little brother and tried to climb again but failed, groaning in exasperation. "You lose, dear sis. You can't get up here," Bran said and grinned from over her, making er even more annoyed. "You're not human, you know?" Arya crossed her arms. "No one can climb a tree this slippery." "Just accept that I'm a better climber than you." Bran winked. "No!" Arya said defiantly. "Your feet are just too small, is all." "Oh of course, big sister." Bran took a small branch and threw it down at her, and it hit Arya on the face. She glared at him and tried to climb up again, but only to fail. "Arya?" A voice sounded from afar. "No!" She whined and looked up at Bran. "Please?" Bran giggled and held out his hand. "You owe me one, sis." Ned walked into the Godswood shouting his daughter's name. Septa Mordane said that she had run from her sewing lessons. Again. Though Ned quite admired his daughter's heroics, it was time she stopped running from her chores. He heard whispering voices and looked up; on a tree sat Bran and Arya. "Arya," he sighed. "Get down from there. You too, Bran." "No," Arya said and smirked at her father, throwing a kiss his way. "Not me," Bran added, and smirked. Ned smiled despite himself. He loved his children terribly but they were sometimes so difficult to deal with. "Septa Mordane is angry at you," he said. "You are fifteen, Arya. Why are you still running from your sewing lessons?" "Yes, Father, I am fifteen. Why am I still having sewing lessons? I do not care about sewing. It only makes my fingers blister." She groaned and Bran giggled. "Child," Ned came closer to the tree, and looked up at them with a kind smile. "You know your mother insists." "But I don't want to sew! I want to practise with a sword but Robb isn't here and there is no one to do that with me!" "That doesn't mean you can go on climbing trees," her father said. "And haven't I told you before? You shouldn't disturb the Gods." "The Gods love us, Father!" Bran retorted. "They do, Bran. But we shou-" "Father, please!" Arya interrupted him. "Won't you tell her you couldn't find me?" "That is what I've been doing for years, Arya." After a few silent moments, Arya finally balanced herself using the branches and stood up on one. She sighed in defeat. "You have to stop these lessons," she said. "You know I cannot, little one. Your mother wouldn't like that." "But I don't want to sew, Father. I want to fight." "But you are a girl, you have to sew," Bran said. Arya rolled her eyes. Ned smiled warmly and held out his arms. "My little wolf. Come down now." Arya hesitated but then holding on tightly at a branch, hopped down the tree, into her father's arms. Ned laughed lightly and put her down, looking up at the tree again. "Bran, child, you come down as well." "But I didn't run off from sewing lessons!" Bran complained. "No, but if your mother hears about this, you know what will happen." Bran climbed down the tree with an an angry groan. Ned put his arms around both of them and smiled. "Off you go now." Arya walked fast ahead. She was tired of these stupid lessons. Lately, even her father had stopped supporting her. Her mother kept on going about how her future husband would want her to know these chores. But who needed a husband anyway? She could stay in Winterfell forever. It was her home, after all. Septa Mordane and her sister were sitting together when she arrived. Sansa was always good at these things. Sewing, and other womanly things their mother insisted they both do. Arya never understood the need to learn such stupid things, especially when she would rather throw herself off the highest tower than marry someone. She looked around for her mother and breathed a sigh of relief when she was nowhere to be found. Sansa looked at her and stifled a laugh. "Arya." She shook her head. "Gone again?" Arya rolled her eyes and smiled. "You need to stop running away, child," Septa Mordane scolded her. "Your mother is not happy with you." "When is she ever," Arya mumbled under her breath. "Arya!" Sansa exclaimed. "I am going to my room." "Not until you finish your sewing, little Lady," the Septa ordered. "I am not a Lady!" Arya exclaimed in fury. "Actually," her sister intervened before a fight would start. "I think we have sewed enough for today, dear Septa. My fingers hurt a bit." Septa Mordane frowned upon her and Arya, but then nodded. "Arya," Sansa said to her and pulled her along with herself out of the room. Once they were in the empty hallway, Sansa sighed. "You can't run off every time." "But I am tired of all this. You know I don't like these things." "But, Arya," Sansa explained. "You have to. When you're married-" "I won't marry!" Arya shouted. "That's your job!" Sansa shook her head and laughed. "Oh and what's yours?" "Fighting beside Father." "There is no war, or battles. You are a woman, Arya. Battles are not for women." "When there is a war, then," Arya smirked. "Mother won't like that," Sansa said. "Aunt Lyanna would." "Oh yes, she would. You even look like her and do things like she did." "Father says she liked to fight. She was wild." "Just like you." Arya and Sansa's aunt Lyanna Stark was married to King Rhaegar Targaryen. The King and the Queen lived in King's Landing. It had been so long since Arya had seen her but Lyanna was still one of Arya's favourite people. She was the only woman who fought with swords like she wanted to, and rode horses and went to hunts. And she did not like sewing either. "So where were you?" Sansa asked as they entered her room. "I climbed a tree with Bran." "Of course." Sansa sat down on her bed. But as soon as she did, the door was again opened. Lady Catelyn walked in. "Sansa, have you see-" Her eyes fell on Arya. "Here she is! Where have you been Arya?" "I was with Bran," Arya said and rolled her eyes. "And why were you with Bran when you should be attending your sewing lessons?" "Because I wanted to," Arya mumbled. "Arya! Girl, speak properly. Ladies don't-" "I am not a Lady! I hate sewing!" She shouted, cutting her off. "I hate Septa Mordane and I hate that you try to command me every time to do something that I don't want!" Arya stormed past them. She was tired of explaining things to people. She shouldn't have to explain anything to anyone! She was fifteen, for God's sake, and they still ordered her around. She shut the door to her room behind her with a loud bang, and laid on the bed. She had to find a way to stop these stupid lessons entirely, before she killed herself or the Septa King's Landing "What's with the unusual weather?" Jon held out his hand through the window and felt the raindrops on his palm, cold and warm at the same time. "Strange," Aegon frowned. "How long has it been since it rained here?" "Longer than I remember," Jon murmured. The sky was clear with only a few clouds, the sun shining. Most days, no one in the South would expect rainfall. But the rain had come suddenly that morning, a rare and strange sight. "Well, enough with the unnecessary talk, brother," Aegon smiled, patting Jon on the back. "Tell me, how was your trip?" "Tiring, if nothing else. I must say the Tyrells are quite the hosts," Jon said and sighed, remembering the over-the-top hospitality of the Tyrells, especially of the Tyrell girl. "I bet Margaery Tyrell was particularly clingy." Aegon winked. Jon had went to Highgarden on behalf of his father. From the very first day that he had arrived, the Tyrell girl had followed him everywhere. She sat next to him on the feast, and her continuous talking had made Jon want to knock his head on the table. He would not have minded talking to her had she been interesting to talk with, but all she did was blatantly flirt with him. Being with Loras and Willas Tyrell didn't help either. The siblings were too close, always staying together. It gave Margaery all the more excuse to talk to Jon. As much as he wanted to shout to her face that batting her eyelashes would do no good in making him like her, he controlled himself for the sake of the friendship of their fathers. Mace Tyrell supported Rhaegar Targaryen wholeheartedly. The least Jon could do was act comfortable in front of everyone, even though that was very far from what he was actually feeling. "Not her fault, brother. Maidens would fall at your feet if you ask them to," Aegon japed then laughed aloud. "That doesn't mean I want them to." "She wants to be your Queen, dear future King," Aegon said dramatically waving his hands in the air. Jon's half-brother was different from him in not only looks, but also his ways. Aegon was a much spirited and outgoing person, while Jon preferred to spend time by himself, a trait he inherited from his father. Aegon was silver haired, amethyst-eyed, and more graceful than Jon. Jon took more after his mother in case of his looks. He had dark hair and eyes, like his mother Lyanna. "That is never happening." "We'll see," Aegon said teasingly. "You've got to get yourself a wife soon." Jon turned to Aegon and frowned. "So do you, Egg." Aegon rolled his eyes. "I am a free man, brother. I don't have responsibilities to produce an heir. That's your job." Jon sighed and glanced outside. The rain had stopped. ***** "This way, Your Grace." The King followed the old man and walked towards a faraway tent. The people around threw peculiar glances at them, staring at the King with scrutinizing eyes. "Are you sure about this, Your Grace?" Jon Connington asked in a worried voice. "We could go back. I'll send other men to take this- Priestess back to the castle." "No," Rhaegar replied calmly. "I want to hear what she has to say alone. There has been enough rumours already. I don't want the Lords at the castle to hear of this." "Yes, Your Grace." The old man left as soon as they arrived at the entrance of the tent, bowing. The King amd Jon Connington went inside and saw the place lit by candles. A woman stood with their back to them. "You," Rhaegar's voice filled the tent. "Are you the Red Priestess?" "One of many, yes." The woman turned. She was clad in red. A necklace with a ruby shone on her neck. Even her hair was red. "What are these rumours you've been spreading, woman?" Jon asked in an annoyed tone. "Patience, Jon," Rhaegar told him. Then turning to the woman he spoke, "You claim to have some vision. You know we do not believe in such things. Your God has no place here in King's Landing." "R'hllor is everywhere, Your Grace. There is only one true God, and that is he. My visions tell me true, the Targaryens' rule are to come to an end." "And how exactly?" Rhaegar asked, his own patience thinning by the moment. The Priestess strode closer to them. She looked Rhaegar in the eye and said one word, "Stag." Rhaegar inhaled sharply. "That is not possible. Robert Baratheon is exiled," Jon said. "I've seen what the future holds, Your Grace," she spoke still looking at Rhaegar. He has both ice and fire in him. He's as much wolf as he's a dragon." Rhaegar's eyes widened. "How do I know you're not lying about Robert Baratheon?" He asked. "I wouldn't dare lie to Your Grace. You could have me executed in a heartbeat." Silence followed. Jon wanted to speak but then stopped himself. Something was bothering the King. Was he truly listening to this lunatic? "There is a way to stop it, Your Grace." Both pairs of eyes looked at her. "I've seen how." "Tell me," Rhaegar said. "The North. There must be an alliance with the North. I've seen a Queen, beautiful and courageous. She will be the shield to your heir. Jon Targaryen must marry." "This is ridiculous, Your Grace," Jon said as soon as the words left her mouth. "She is mad." "Silence, Jon!" Rhaegar roared, and turned to the Priestess. "How do I know which Lady?" "She is a Stark. One of your wife's family." Rhaegar eyed the woman carefully. After a moment he spoke, "Jon. We are taking this woman to the castle." He turned to her. "You will come with us." Without waiting for an answer, Rhaegar went out of the tent. "Your Grace, you couldn't possibly have believed this witch." Rhaegar stood calm. "She knows, Jon. Those words were what I'd said to Lyanna when Jon was born. She shouldn't have known them. Unless-" "Maybe she had heard it from someone? Maybe she's tricking you into believing her." "Only Lyanna and I were present. It is not possible." "But, Your Grace-" "We have to get back to the castle. I must speak with my wife. A marriage is a small price to pay. And it's also time Jon took a wife." "I am still not convinced she isn't lying, Your Grace." "If she is, she will soon be executed for lying to her King. And it won't be inconvenient to marry Jon to one of the Stark girls." Jon was skeptical but he nodded. "There are tales of the older daughter's beauty throughout Westeros. She is also said to be a well-educated and capable Lady. Perhaps-" "The older daughter of Stark, then. Sansa."