The carriage rolled over the last hillside, and Sam was home. The pale, squared faces of flat sandstone, interlaced with arching pillars greeted him from atop the great, rounded hill for which it was named.
Holding Little Sam up so he could see, Sam pointed out along the road all his favorite reading spots, from when he was young. The rock fall, the crooked tree, the ruined fort... Gilly laughed when he told Little Sam about "falling down that ravine, there."
Sam looked fondly on Gilly, enjoying her laugh to its last note. Taking a breath, he kept the promise he had made to himself two weeks ago, when he left the North.
"Gilly," Sam breathed, pulling her delighted smile from the carriage window, "From the first moment I met you, I knew you would be important to me for the rest of my life... and..." he took a breath, "...I'd like you to... I mean, will you marry me?"
Her smile fell, and Sam's stomach dropped. "You're the Lord of Horn Hill, now," Gilly said soberly, "If I marry ya, that makes me the Lady of Horn Hill... Don't you think your people'll think you mad, for marryin' a Wildling?"
"I think I could give a bloody rat's arse what they think about you, or me!" Sam laughed, and bounced Little Sam on his knee to distract from his cursing.
"Are you sure?" Gilly asked, and Sam nodded once. "Then, I will," Gilly laughed, leaning over to plant a long kiss on him. They held hands until the first view of Horn Hill vanished behind another rolling hillside. The carriage plucked along for another hour, and Sam grew itchy in his wools to be done with it, to be home with his family... and to discover if there was any word waiting for him, from Jon.
The news of the Great War could be good or bad, but if Sam arrived home, and there was no news at all... Sam shuddered, grateful to see the shadow of the gate pass briefly over his carriage, which rolled along another hundred feet or so, and stopped.
Mother and Talla were awaiting them, holding their skirts high and hastening to close the last of the distance in the courtyard. Forgetting his fears for a moment, Sam waved and almost broke the carriage door, to have it open as fast as he could manage.
"My boy!" Lady Melessa Tarly cried, pulling Sam's face to her lips and laying three kisses on his cheek. His mother pulled back, but kept his hands. "My Lord..." she said thickly, "Welcome home."
Talla had already pulled Gilly aside, and Sam's younger sister squealed suddenly. "You didn't tell me you got engaged!" Talla accused, throwing herself into his arms.
He grunted at the impact. "Well it only happened about five minutes ago!" Sam said in his defense. Sam's mother joined the embrace, and then Gilly. All their warmth almost made him forget the chilly wind, which had nagged at him the whole ride South of Winterfell. It could be a spring wind... Sam thought hopefully, or it could be from the Night King's eternal Storm...
After a few more fond words, spoken in rushed voices in the courtyard of Horn Hill, Sam insisted that they all retire inside, from the wind. His family accompanied him, for the walk.
"You have letters," his mother said importantly as they moved through the halls. "From Jon?" Sam asked, and his mother nodded. "And everywhere else," she replied.
So there is some news, at least... Sam hastened his step to the Lord's chambers, striding beside his mother, while Talla and Gilly followed just behind. He had decided he would not tell his family about the Army of the Dead unless he had a very good reason to. Finding out Night King's still on the bloody march South would be a bloody good reason...
"Did you read any of them?" Sam asked his mother.
"You think I survived your father as long as I did, by rifling through his letters?" Melessa asked rhetorically, and Sam frowned.
"He really was terrible, wasn't he?" His mother nodded in a sad reply.
"But he's gone now... Every last bit of him, blown away on the wind," Melessa added with a tense laugh. "Which means... very good things, for our family." Mellessa finished in a tight voice, and took his hand as she walked, but would not look at him. Talla had stopped prattling about the wedding to listen, and the family finished to walk to the Lord's Chambers in silence.
I was right not to mourn him, Sam decided, as Randyll Tarly's widow and daughter both kept silent on his death, but he wondered how they felt about Dickon, who had been burned right alongside his father... Sam thought it an unkind reminder for his mother to ask, and said instead that he loved her, and he was happy to be home.
The door to the Lord's Chambers approached him, and behind the doors, news from the North. Sam did not slow his step to open it, nor to approach the desk. To one side were two scrolls; one bore the Direwolf seal, the other bearing the Queen's Hand's seal, palm forward, wreathed in flame. On the other side, a pile of scrolls bearing seals of every color, from what seemed to be every great and noble Southern House, and most of the Northern ones as well. Sam snatched up Jon's letter and broke the seal.
"We'll leave you two alone," his mother said, brushing past Talla.
"So happy you're home!" Talla said gaily, backing away. "Supper's ready when you are," she told him, shutting the door behind her. "I love youuu," she sang through the crack.
Sam,
The Great War is won...
"Oh," Sam moaned, dropping the letter and pressing his hands over his face. He hit the chair heavily, faint from his relief, and laughed into his hands. "Oh Gods, Jon," Sam moaned, uncovering his face. "Oh, I knew you could do it," Sam breathed. Gilly shared his mirth, planted a long kiss on his cheek before she excused herself to wash.
His cheeks aflame with joy, Sam read the rest of the scroll, detailing the victory, assuring they were well, and that they would speak more on it soon.
...for now, we remain in the North, shoveling shit until we march South.
Jon.
Sam chuckled. Shoveling shit was an inside jest from their time together in the Night's Watch, and it meant Jon and Daenerys were taking rest. Gods know they need it, Sam thought. Setting the letter aside, he rushed to the window and threw open the shutters. The wet wind was chilly, but now he could see the sun shining proudly through the pearly overcast... Sam gazed over Horn Hill and sucked in the clean spring air for a while, then returned to read the second letter, bearing the flaming Hand of Tyrion Lannister.
Sam skipped over the formal introductions and dove right to it.
"...It will please you greatly, I'm sure, to learn that Jon Snow, formerly known as the Bastard of Winterfell..." Sam furrowed his brow, confused, "was taken by Queen Daenerys Targaryen, in a lawful marriage ceremony..."
"Oh Gods..."
"And therefore, by the laws of Westeros, Jon Snow has been renamed in sight of the Old Gods as King Jon Targaryen, the first of his name..."
"Oh..." Sam moaned, running a hand hard through his hair. "Oh, you bloody coward," Sam cursed himself, skimming the last of the letter, formally thanking Sam for his loyalty.
"Oh, Gods! What have I done?" Sam pulled a fresh parchment from his desk, and scrawled as fast as his hand would allow.
Jon.
Are you mad? You can't just go marrying anyone you want!
You hardly know Daenerys! You don't even know that--" Sam groaned, crumpled the parchment up, cast it aside, and started over.
Jon.
Did you even read my letter? I told you to read it after you won the Great War, but I should've known you would bloody put it off as long as you could--" Sam moaned again, balled the parchment up and held it to a candle on his desk. He wrote Jon's name on top and stalled, staring blankly at the parchment.
It was impossible. If Sam wrote the truth about Jon's parents, tied it to a raven, and sent the bird to fly hundreds of miles North... Sam shuddered at the thought of who might intercept it. Even if he wrote, and only implored Jon to read his bloody letter, then Sam risked exposing the letters— and their contents— to any number of prying eyes.
"Sam!"
"I didn't know!" Sam shouted, lurching up from his seat. "Oh, Gods, Talla!" Sam gasped, pressing his hand to his pounding chest. "Talla, I'm the Lord of Horn Hill now! You can't just sneak into my chambers whenever you feel like it!"
"You are my long lost and beloved brother," she corrected him, crossing her arms, "and you were taking too long. Also, I knocked, twice, and called your name three times, my Lord... What are you doing?" She asked curiously.
"I need to write Jon," Sam replied seriously.
"You mean King Jon?" Talla replied with an easy grin. Oh, Gods forgive me... "I can't believe your old Night's Watch friend is--"
"How did you know that?" Sam demanded. "Did you read my letters?"
"Of course not!" Talla replied, "Everyone knows. They sent letters all over the country, announcing their marriage! People are so excited," Talla gushed, "everyone loves a good wedding! Do you think I'll get to meet her, the Dragon Queen, I mean? Oh, Sam..." Talla clasped her hands and stepped quickly to his side. "I can't believe you know them! I didn't expect to see it in my life, but people are starting to hope again... Sam? Are you alright?"
"No! ... yes," Sam replied. "I'm fine, Talla, I just... I need to do something," he said, helpless. What's wrong is Jon married his aunt! Sam wanted to scream it, but instead he pressed his lips together as hard as he could, until his teeth bit the backs of his lips, and hung his head.
Talla pursed her lips and looked at him, while Sam tapped his quill anxiously, ignoring the pooling ink as it leaked onto his desk. "What's wrong with you?" Talla demanded.
"Nothing! I just... I need to tell Jon something... without telling anyone bloody else who could manage to intercept a raven's scroll! There's something he has to know, and no-one else can know. No-one," Sam repeated seriously, "Not you, not mother... not even Gilly," Sam admitted.
"So... if you can't write him, then invite him here," Talla said, as if it were obvious. "I mean, he of all people has to be there for your wedding, right? Oh, my Gods, Sam! He could even officiate! What color gown are you thinking, by the way, for Gilly? I think she looks daring in red--"
Sam lurched towards his sister and twirled her in a tight hug. He planted a kiss on her cheek, and she laughed, wiping it off.
"Definitely red... or white," Sam offered. Gilly's dark hair and fair skin were daring in red, and white on her reminded Sam of the endless snowy North, where he had found her. "You're brilliant, Talla, you know that? I'll be right down to supper. I just have to write this first."
"I'll wait," Talla said, sitting on his desk and swinging her legs freely. "I always wanted to learn how to send ravens," she added.
Sam wrote the formal invitations quickly, then a duplicate, and flew out of his chambers. Talla followed him up the winding stairs, to the rookery. The birds of Horn Hill were not familiar with him, and naturally went straight for his eyes and fingers, but it only gave Sam the chance to show Talla how to handle unwieldy ravens. For the task, Sam chose the two finest looking birds that Horn Hill had to offer, and let Talla hold them as he bound each one with a scroll.
"Do you think they'll come?" Talla asked him as he sent the birds off. Sam nodded.
"I know they will." With a breath, Sam turned with his sister to attend supper. A final glance over his shoulder showed the birds had already vanished to the Northern horizon.
***
After three weeks of rest, Daenerys felt stronger and more at peace than she had in years, and she credited much of her rejuvenation to her husband. Jon had hardly left her side, since they had announced their marriage, and everywhere they went together, people greeted each of them with fondness, respect, and admiration in equal measure.
Part of her wondered if they ought to go South at all. The Northern spring, though not without chill, had come on quickly. The snow had almost gone, and fresh shoots sprung up everywhere. Best of all, she loved the sound of water. Everywhere she went, there was the gentle trickling of melting snow and ice, a sweet and constant reminder of the spring they had fought for and won together.
Tyrion, Ser Davos, and all the rest of their advisers had been working all daylight hours in their interest, and for the most part, their only responsibilities were to approve letters, which Tyrion and Missandei wrote, to the Westerosi Lords and Ladies. With ample rest, companionship, and free time to herself, Daenerys' strength had returned more quickly than she imagined it could, after what she had been through.
She walked constantly, at first just around the Castle, and then, as she improved, outside the walls of Winterfell and into the Wolfswood. Among the pines, sparkling with dew more often than not, Ghost would join them. Sometimes the white wolf walked just beside Jon, and other times they merely caught his glance from far off, before his pale red eyes vanished again into the brush.
Two weeks after the Great War was won, the dragonriders took to the skies together in the early morning. Jon showed her all the beauty the North had to offer. They landed upon South-facing mountain sides, bursting with fresh blossoms of every color, which Jon surprised her by knowing each bloom by name: entire fields of purple lupines, golden clusters of Northern poppies, and mountain avens, like a white star with a twinkling yellow eye. Daenerys brushed, as they flew past, the icy waters of a fall that Jon said only flowed in spring.
There was more color and beauty in the North than she had imagined there could be, and she found the people refreshingly direct, and surprisingly colorful themselves, now that the Queen had come to know them better. Even her grief had begun to pale in the light of the Northern spring.
Often she ached, and in private she wept, for she missed Ser Jorah most often whenever she glanced over her shoulder to catch his eye, only to find he was not there... But to think of Jorah was as much a weight on her heart as it was a relief, ever since Lyanna Mormont had sworn her fealty, offered Jorah posthumous pardon, and brought his ashes home, to Bear Island. If Ser Jorah had ever hoped for anything, it was to return home, welcomed by his family, with honor... and despite all likelihood and errors past, her loyal Knight had done just so.
Viserion had also been lain to rest... the people had pulled his mangled corpse off the Castle wall to lay a ways South and West of Winterfell. They covered him over with earth and compost, and by the next day, impossibly, a thousand fire lilies of yellow, red and gold had sprung from the mound that marked Viserion's grave. People had come to call the site Dragon's Rest, and there was always someone holding quiet vigil there by sunset, when the flowers glowed, as if set afire in the dying light of day.
There were new things, light things for Daenerys, now, as well as the weight of the old. Three weeks ago, Missandei had carried her word to Jonelle Cerwyn, to seek the Queen out, as soon as she was able, and the young Northern Lady had come the very next morning. Straight away, Daenerys took a liking to the young Lady, a young and kindred spirit, and had since invited her on many of the walks she took about Winterfell, some with Jon, some with Missandei.
Today, however, on the morning of her third week of rest, Daenerys had invited Jonelle alone to the Glass Garden of Winterfell. The Garden was near to mythical, in the North, as so few people were allowed to risk proximity to the delicate, priceless panes that were unique to Winterfell Castle.
The guards outside the doors to the Garden nodded familiarly and stepped aside. The Queen swept past them, in a loose gown of charcoal and red, nodding politely. Jonelle mimicked her, and even offered a curtsy with skirts of cream-and silver. As soon as she was through the doors, Jonelle's poised face broke into one of wonder, and she cast wide gray eyes up and around.
The Glass Garden was built over a hot spring, and the uniquely pure glass let sun pour straight through, and painted the ceiling with whatever clouds hung above that day. Clustered in groups along a narrow, winding tract, crops were grown and tended year-round, and a warm air hung heavily on the skin. Birds sang in the branches of the fruit trees, and bees buzzed freely between flowers and their wooden hives.
"It's beautiful," Jonelle breathed, laying her hand softly on the delicate glass panes. Daenerys opened her mouth to remind her of Jon's warning; the delicate, large panes of glass were the very reason so few were allowed entry into the Glass Garden.
"There," Jonelle said, pulling her hand back with a satisfied smile. "I won't do it again," she promised. "Don't tell the King."
"Your secret is safe with me," Daenerys chuckled. For a while, she watched Jonelle stroll between plants, caressing a flower here and there, watching birds flit about. "Do you know what you'll do," Daenerys asked, "after Jon and I leave the North?"
Jonelle's mouth pursed. "No," she admitted. "With Cerwyn Hold gone, I don't think I'm technically a Lady anymore..."
The young girl trailed off, her eyes troubled. Daenerys knew she had no clue what would come next for her. As a young Lady, her entire life had been written out for her: she was born, she had been educated, and one day, after her flowering, she was to be married off to the highest bidder.
With her Lords dead, and her Hold in ruins, Jonelle had no plan left to her, and no marriages yet arranged. For that, Daenerys was glad. Even if Jonelle was lost, and cast adrift, she was free.
"Perhaps I'll write," Jonelle said with sudden brightness, taking a large red blossom from where it had fallen on the ground. She offered it to the Queen, and Daenerys grinned, and tucked the bloom into the fold of her braid. Jonelle turned, and spread her arms wide as if to embrace all of the Garden at once.
"I'd never left Cerwyn Hold before I came here..." Jonelle sighed, "But I've got more life experience now, and I've always liked writing stories," she grinned bashfully, "especially ones with happy endings."
"The world needs more happy endings," Daenerys commended. "Have you thought about moving to the Capitol?" Daenerys asked. "I expect there would be more of an audience for you, there. You're welcome to stay with us in the Red Keep, for as long as you like." Forever, if you wanted... but the Queen was still keeping such thoughts to herself.
"I... yes, I will!" Jonelle breathed, ducking her head. "Only... I can't. Not until my people are settled, here. They've lost everything... their homes and most their fortunes. It was my suggestion for King Jon to do what he did," Jonelle said heavily, "I can't just leave my people behind, to fend for themselves."
"I would not risk you coming to the Capitol yet, in any case... This war isn't over yet. Jon and I have learned to expect the worst, from Cersei Lannister."
"When do you expect to leave?" Jonelle asked her, and Daenerys' slow steps halted beneath her feet. The narrow track between sun-dappled crops stretched before her, as well as behind.
"I don't know," Daenerys admitted with a half-hearted shrug. "Soon, I expect..."
I could leave today, and be well enough for it... Daenerys thought with a pit in her stomach. If she was honest, she could have left days ago. There was no pain left to her injuries; the grotesque purpling at her waist had faded to yellow, and then back to supple pink.
"My Ladies," came Jon's voice, and Daenerys turned with a surprised smile, which turned nervous to see he was holding a raven's scroll. "If I may borrow you, love," Jon said, gesturing with the scroll and looking oddly pleased.
"Your Grace," Jonelle said in dismissal, then paused. "Thank you... for everything. I never thought I'd see the Glass Garden of Winterfell, no matter how many times I dreamed about it..." Jonelle cast wide gray eyes around again, absorbing every detail with a grateful sigh, and turned for the door.
"Remember to practice," Daenerys called after, in High Valyrian, "Lady Missandei is ready when you are, for your lesson."
Jonelle grinned and assured she would, in the Mother tongue, then let herself through the door. "She's something, isn't she?" Jon asked fondly, and Daenerys nodded. She wondered if the same idea lingered behind his smile, thought and yet unspoken.
"Is that from Sam?" Daenerys asked, glimpsing the broken seal on the scroll he held.
"It is," Jon said merrily. "He's asked us to come to Horn Hill and marry him to Gilly, as soon as we can," he chuckled, "Says he can hardly wait another day, and he wouldn't want anyone but us to officiate. Seems we're off to Horn Hill, soon..."
There was no need to wonder what gave his voice the barest pause. Going South meant... going South. Even if it was, at first, to officiate Sam's wedding, once dragons were spotted South of Winterfell, there could be no delaying the return to the war for the Seven Kingdoms.
And yet, Sam had asked it of them. Such a small request, for such a good and lovely purpose could not simply go ignored... And neither, anymore, could the mysterious letters Sam had written to them, both of which Daenerys had locked away in her Quarthian box, yet unread.
"When do we leave?" Daenerys asked.
Jon shrugged, his eyes losing warmth the longer they delayed on speaking of it. "Might take a day or two, to prepare our armies for the march South," he said evasively.
If he will not say it... "We have to read them now, don't we?"
Jon nodded with a heavy sigh, and Daenerys offered her arm. "Together?" His dour looked softened, and he took her arm with a comforting nod.