“I keep remembering the Stark words. Winter has come, Father. For me. For me. Robb must fight the Greyjoys now as well as the Lannisters, and for what? For a gold hat and an iron chair? Surely the land has bled enough. I want my girls back, I want Robb to lay down his sword and pick some homely daughter of Walder Frey to make him happy and give him sons. I want Bran and Rickon back, I want …” Catelyn hung her head. “I want,” she said once more, and then her words were gone.
Next week on Game of Thrones: While rowing, Podrick and Brienne run into Gendry. The three of them share a rowboat and run into Arya, who’s also returning to Winterfell. Together, the four of them return and help Jon and Sansa take back Winterfell and save Rickon.
The angels sing, the heavens open, and each Stark child gets a turn in kicking Ramsey in the face before they kill him. Sansa and Rickon throw in extra kicks for Theon and Osha.
“It was the singers who taught the First Men to send messages by raven…but in those days, the birds would speak the words. The trees remember, but men forget, and so now they write the messages on parchment and tie them round the feet of birds who have never shared their skin.”
Old Nan had told him the same story once, Bran remembered, but when he asked Robb if it was true, his brother laughed and asked him if he believed in grumkins too. He wished Robb were with them now. I’d tell him I could fly, but he wouldn’t believe, so I’d have to show him. I bet that he could learn to fly too, him and Arya and Sansa, even baby Rickon and Jon Snow. We could all be ravens and live in Maester Luwin’s rookery.
@queen–of–thorns asked: can you write something about the Starklings outside/having a snowball fight or something together?
Sansa stepped out from the keep. The air was crisp from the summer snow and she breathed it in. Father had told them this was nothing when Bran looked out at it with wide eyes, that they were summer children.
“Winter is coming,” he had said, “Then you will truly see snow.”
He had said it with a smile though, not the way he usually said their house words. He had said it as Father, not as Lord Stark.
Her remembering was interrupted by something hitting her in the back. It knocked the breath out of her and left her feeling cold. Laughter sounded behind her and Sansa whirled around.
“You rotten,” she began to say.
They pelted her with more snowballs before she could finish. Bran was on the roof of the covered bridge, high above the ground just as he almost always was. Always climbing and out of her reach. Sansa could do nothing but scowl at him as he laughed but Arya was much closer.
“You’ll be sorry,” Sansa told her and she began to run.
Arya hooted and dropped one of the snowballs in her hands, darting away as Sansa pursued her. They ran and ran, through the stables and around the kitchen. Sansa was cross, cross until she began to gain on her sister, just as she knew she would. Arya was quick but Sansa had longer legs and she was older. She almost caught her… until her foot slipped out from under her.
It was only a moment before Arya was back.
“Sansa?” she sounded worried. “Are you hurt?”
Sansa shifted a little.
“I don’t think so.”
The snowball hit her in the forehead and Sansa shrieked as the melting snow slid down her face. She caught Arya by the leg, determined to stop her getting away this time.
“It’s your turn,” she said, rubbing snow in her sister’s hair.
Arya was laughing and Sansa could not help but laugh too. They might be summer children and she knew Septa Mordane might frown but Father always said summer was time for laughter and childish games.