She had always been jealous of Sansa's hair, from the first time she met her to this moment now. The red tresses gleam softly and intermittently in the light of the fire and candles, sending off a rosy glow that basks the wall opposite their backs as well as Gabrielle's face in a light of rebirth. Brushed out into long and wavy strands only broken by the braids that run across the woman's head, Gabrielle thinks the woman looks like a vision of her past in this future as she places tiny white flowers into the crevices of the tight northern hairstyle. And on this night—as Sansa moves onto another chapter of her life—Gabrielle thinks it is only fitting that they remember the past in the context of the future.
Looking at the beautiful woman in the mirror, sat upon the vanity chair as Gabrielle finalizes the look, Sansa's blue eyes meet the blue of Gabrielle's, and there's a sense of true love between them. Smiling softly at her, the adopted Stark looks to the woman's white gown that matches Gabrielle's hair, pure and soft and lined with a crackle of gloss. A wedding gown...the first one that is meant-to-be in this third try. It is simple and yet beautiful with the intricated embroidery of Sansa's true skill, showing her station and classical beauty to the small crowd which will see her this night.
And as she stares at her sister, Gabrielle cannot help the excess of feeling in her chest as she remembers that, after tonight, Sansa will trust another person truly and completely. She will give herself to Stannis Baratheon, in body, mind, and spirit. And yet, Gabrielle knows nothing will change in this marriage from the state in which they currently exist—just a title added to a relationship that few knew of. But moreover, Gabrielle wants everything for Sansa that neither of them have ever found.
Sansa too seems struck by emotion—such a strange thing nowadays when she's perpetually so strong. And knowing the girl to never want to linger in pain, Gabrielle remembers something that is sure to give her humour, "You know, I've seen Stannis without his pants before?"
From the reflection in the mirror, Sansa's eyes grow comically wide as she shifts her posture on the bench to hit Gabrielle lightly in the stomach, the target grinning with both potent happiness and mischief. Asking in due cause of slight panic, Sansa questions, "What? How?"
"At Castle Black, I had to treat his leg for the stab wound he suffered during the battle with the Boltons. It was on his upper thigh," Gabrielle responds wisely yet winks at Sansa as they both stare...before revolving into laughter at the changes since that time, the problems they have overcome, and the trouble they have made. But to the same extent that it puts Sansa to ease, it reassures Gabrielle that nothing will change between them...even as Gabrielle and Stannis march south against Cersei.
But as the fear fades from Gabrielle's eyes in the mirror, Sansa is drawn to look inward to their history together. From the first look she had at the woman—at Robert Baratheon's welcoming feast when Gabrielle marched in ahead of four prostitutes—to the first time they spoke—when Gabrielle protected her from Cersei on the night of Lady's 'slaying.' From the first time Gabrielle saved her—on the ramparts following her father's 'death'—to the last time Sansa needed saving—in the forests outlying Winterfell when she fled from Ramsey. But as the woman stands there, doing her hair, it means more than it ever has...that she moves in such a way as to protect her and pamper her as an older sister would. She saved Sansa in the riots, taught her deception, whisked her away, returned her to Sansa's home, and saved the Starks.
But—on such a side note to the rest of the story—Sansa remembers the one conversation as she stares at Gabrielle in that mirror, "Back in King's Landing, you told me that I had a choice to love my husband. I couldn't love Tyrion. I hated Ramsey. But perhaps, I knew neither would last because your words have echoed through my head for years...Thank you for giving me the courage to pursue such a reality, for giving me faith that not all men were bad."
Gabrielle smiles before passing between the vanity and chair to kneel at Sansa's feet, cupping the woman's face in her hands as tears well up in their eyes. Gabrielle imparts in true feeling, "I'm so happy for you, my sister. Stannis will treat you well, and should he not, I'll sever his balls."
Sansa laughs perhaps more loudly than necessary but it matters not as Gabrielle follows in her stead, overwhelmed in the emotions of this moment as tears run down the cheeks of both—but today, they are happy tears. Picking up the woman's hand and holding it firm in her own, Gabrielle leads Sansa from her chambers and down to the godswood as the midnight peaks around their silent ears.
Their feet beat upon the unbent stone floors over the course of hall after hall—beyond the chambers of their enemies alike: Daenerys and Tyrion and the rest. Sansa's white dress and grey Stark cloak are wrapped firmly about her shoulders, and yet, the fabric persists to brush the floor with gentle skirting, diminishing not from the beauty of the embroidery or the fabric itself. But as quiet as they are, no attention is paid to the deaf thump behind wooden doors, quickly passing into more of a shuffle as stone's replaced by snow in the wake of the weirwood trees.
Nodding with nothing more than a confident smile that nothing will change, Gabrielle's grasp on Sansa's arm is replaced by none other than the hand of Ned Stark—the father that could not walk her down the aisle the first two times...but none of those ones mattered—just this last one. Gabrielle lets them have their moment—whispers and promises on their lips—as she passes thus into the view of the godswood and the awaiting crowd.
But on that night, all that should be there are. And those who pose them harm simply vanish from their minds. Arya. Bran. Robb. Jon. Brienne. Pod. Davos. Tormund. Lord Royce. Gendry. The Hound. A collection of a few others...and Gabrielle as she stands next to Arya nearest the groom—not a question that she is family. Stannis stands beneath the blooming boroughs of the Northern and ancient tree, not ever in fear of the bleeding faces and tears of the present gods...but firm in this commitment for life as Sam stands to the side, meant to ordain the proceedings as only he should.
It is just minutes that pass in the wake of Gabrielle's arrival, but in those moments—words of power and history pass as promises between Stannis and Sansa, adoration in their blue eyes that are similar in intent but so different in color. And while Gabrielle never considered the man handsome, she understands now...why Sansa fell for him. The way he looks at Sansa as if she's saved him and built his future. The way he says his vows as if no greater relief has passed his lips. It is simply everything that woman has ever wanted—love and respect. And while they tried to keep the ceremony secret until the morning—as the vows are sealed, the six direwolves who've seen the rise, fall, and resurrection of Starks burst into howls that piece together the breath of the living and the dead alike.
But, as conservative as ever, this is the extent to which the revelry grows. The two newly vowed—once in a secret relationship and now bound in an undeniable truth—do not so much as rush off to their chambers but lead the others back in joyous silence to the Keep. People branch off as they go—to retire in their sleepy state—but Sansa is sure to lend a firm pulse of pressure to Gabrielle's hand before the woman herself splits into the next door chamber to her own. Their eyes resound in the joy of this moment—a moment they may never get to celebrate for the other—before splitting off and into their own quarters...one to her wedding night and the other to loneliness. And while Gabrielle can now understand the appeal of Stannis, she has never been more grateful for the width of the stone walls—that she won't have to hear their proclivities.
And yet—while Gabrielle has been lost to her pervasive happiness and the marking of history in which a Stark finally married a Baratheon—Jon Snow has been left in the rubble of his own making. They barely trusted him...why else would Arya have only told him of this immensely important even just a moment before it happened? Sansa wanted him to be there—they were still family—but she did not trust him not to tell the Dragon Queen.
And that hurt...but on the same note—on the night of Sansa's marriage—Jon would not begrudge Sansa her own wishes. It was her third and final wedding when the last two had ended in nothing but pain. And as such, Jon lets the distrust not so much as foster in his heart but forgives her instantly for the happiness this night has become. Another Stark added to the pack.
But what really had struck Jon was his woman. Gabrielle had been stunning and that was not something Jon could deny or forgive. Her dress was light but nothing more beautiful than the hours prior. Instead—it was her expression and her mindset that had him reeling in emotion. She has not looked so happy in such a long time—months or maybe even a year. Gabrielle was happy for the joy Sansa would find in loving Stannis without fear of persecution against their pairing. It was a pure joy that rose from the love of her confidant, her best friend, and her sister.
Her inhuman blue eyes had shown as they were supposed to—not masked in the delusion for Daenerys, not matter how necessary the plan was. And her lips were parted to reveal the white teeth to match her equally white hair, natural and more beautiful than ever. And no longer did the woman cower under the weight of guilt and shame—but she seemed to rise in the strength of her heritage and the magnitude of her heroism. Simply put, Jon had never seen her in such a state—and to him, it was enthralling.
She has not met Jon's eye even once—as if their embrace on the eve of battle, just the night prior, meant nothing. And yet, Jon's not as he was before—not a coward now that he's faced death and played this game of thrones. And as such—when he once would have relinquished her to the arms of an eventual lover—Jon takes after her as she flees from the wedding...with every intent not to force her hand but prove he will never stop caring for her.
Tormund delays him just a single moment, but in due cause of this pressing concern and deeply-felt need, Jon sprints off in search of the woman in her quarters, quickly around the bends of the hallways and without a regard for keeping his loud feet anything but. As he nears the hallway of Sansa and Gabrielle's lodging, he intends to solely focus on the noises arising not from the former's room but the latter's, coming into contact with the sound of whispers the woman grants the wolves—or so he supposes. And while he knows she could easily have company—and would not begrudge her for it—Jon finds himself knocking softly on her door as her whispers part into the sound of quiet footsteps and she peaks her head from the door—surprised. Looking about, she seems aware of no lurking eyes, and as such—not wanting to risk this getting out—swiftly gestures him into the room where a fire rages blue in the corner and wolves are piled every which way.
The door shuts behind him as he gradually passes between the bodies of the wolves who take up most of the floor, attempting for the place by the fire in this room which is colder than the others—because she likes it that way. Lodging his shoulder into the wood of the mantle, Jon turns in silence to the woman who's quiet behind him, his eyes widening for a short second as he notices she's wearing one of her sheer Dornish gowns. Quickly recognizing the impropriety, his dark eyes dart elsewhere as his mind processes the scars that still paint her chest from the Night King's assault—making her even more beautiful to him as she's a piece of living artwork and heroics.
Gabrielle slowly moves between the wolves, pretending she is alone as she returns to her task of brushing Grey Wind's massive muzzle from the blood that seems to like clotting there. In the corner, Jon notices the two falcons—Valyrion and Hinder—pecking at each other in due fervor, as if fighting. And yet, Jon is inclined to believe they might be doing it out of love versus spite—as if incapable of nuzzling and thus doing this instead.
But he's not here to contemplate the emotions of birds...shaking his head as he turns back to Gabrielle who's repositioned Grey Wind's head in her lap—far outsizing it within the scope of the wolf's grown build. And as he wishes not to boggle her with an unnecessary visit, Jon then imparts the business he does need to discuss with her: "Daenerys visited yesterday evening after the feast."
"And what'd she have to say?" Gabrielle quickly responds, as if expecting the note which could have easily been the case. And yet, she does not look to him in her current task of picking apart the muzzle of the content wolf to which she has the closest connection.
But Jon knows her better than that, and he can see the swirling of her thoughts at his own words, quickly telling her, "Just so you know, she tried to kiss me and—"
Gabrielle meets his eyes with the bright blue of her own, not hindered or dimmed but in her natural form. And in that look, there is instant engagement with him—an engagement that has him falling silent as she quickly assumes, "And you pushed her away because you do not love her."
It's not a question, and Jon thus just stares at her brilliance that shines in her eyes and echoes the immense beauty she has. But at such words—even if they are not a question—Jon nods in agreement as her eyes thus fall as she stands to her feet, Grey Wind grunting in disappointment but he already receives the most love.
"She threatened to burn down Winterfell and kill the Starks should I not conform to her demands..." Jon addresses the more imperative business, his voice wavering as her body shifts beneath the color of the robe's sheer fabric.
"To never tell a soul of your heritage, and to win her the Iron Throne?" Gabrielle guesses as she meets his eye with a slight grin at the predictability of the woman. Jon nods, and Gabrielle thus assumes, "And you want my advice?"
"Nothing more."
Gabrielle smirks as her eyes fall to the floor because that's such a Jon thing to say. She swiftly places the wolves' brush on her vanity before crossing the room to stand in front of Jon and thus the fireplace as her robe becomes even more sheer and Jon has to avert his eyes anywhere else as his anxiety beholds him at this treat. She sighs, but in the effort, makes her advice known: "Well, I'd play along. Let her believe you haven't told anyone should you choose to."
"And should she actually win the Iron Throne?" Jon questions with some sound of fear.
"Then you swear the Northern fealty and return north to your home. Should she turn out as mad as her father, I'll slip her some poison and reveal the truth of your parentage," Gabrielle replies, obviously having thought the matter out as she meets his eyes with an honesty that Jon always wanted. And yet to the same extent it pleases him, it also scares him to not hear her minimize the threat of her abilities and skills—including poison. But she has a plan in mind all the same, and that makes Jon feel less anxious about the unknown if not more anxious for her intentions.
Jon bites back, "I don't want the throne. I never have."
"I know. But I don't believe you would have a choice should she go mad," Gabrielle replies, stepping closer to him as his eyes almost instinctually dart to the body revealed beneath her sheer robe. And where there was once a mosaic of blue and green pieces over her injury—now there is just skin that has healed into the same color and pattern, a gorgeous display of ocean and moss that do not look so sharp as they do soft. But as she steps closer to him, he can still feel the cold of her chest radiating from the damage her father inflicted—damage Jon caused. His eyes meet hers with deep feeling at the pain she's experienced from allies and enemies—and Jon himself.
And yet, she sees little of it as she stares into the eyes of a man who's afraid of his potential—a man with muddy eyes. But as she stares at him now, she notices the unique frosty blue that seem to coat their depths. Winter is in his eyes as it is in hers. And maybe it was because he loved Winter herself, but Gabrielle wants to believe it is the Stark in his blood to make it so...that instead of a purple flame in the ring of his eye, it was a solemn chill of Northern blood. And she whispers, "The best kings are those which never wanted the throne to begin with."
Her words scare him, but as her impossibly soft hand rises to tuck a hair behind him—Jon's fear flees his body altogether. Letting her fingers drift downward, her hand comes to rest upon the side of his cheek as her lips part into a sad smile at his fate. She understands his desires because they are hers. And maybe it's the expression of love hidden there or the comfort she brings him, but Jon's eyes fall shut as her icy hand rests on his skin.
"How do you always know exactly what to say to make me feel better?" Jon breaths out in a soft yet husky voice.
And she smiles, despite him being unable to see it because this is everything love was meant to be, and she cannot help saying it as her thumb traces his scar—"Because I've known and loved you for 8 years."
There is a moment of potent silence, and then his eyes quake open like the earth beneath her feet as brown meets blue at the revelation of her perpetual state. And yet, he has to wonder, "Still?"
Jon shift minutely closer to her in anticipation that they can be recovered—they can be saved. And while a fear still lurks in his heart that she only means to fool him—to hurt him—it is eliminated all at once as her lips part into a bright smile and her eyes become uninhibited and reveal the extent of everlasting passion meant only for this man.
"Still," she promises with a husky voice like his own, and all at once Jon fears nothing but losing her as she presses her soft and cold body to his own and takes his lips with hers. Teeth catching lip and hands ripping across chests, they lose themselves to the time they lost together—the cause forgotten in thus the need to be with the one intended by the gods. Throwing both concern and clothing to the wind and fire, Jon lets her ravage his body as the night aches into morning with nothing but the fire to warm him as she takes him on the ground—knowing now that he has everything to live for as her body warms with the embrace of his own, like a current that surrounds her—dragon's blood or Winter itself.
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That next morning leaves a lot to be desired as the leaders and soldiers find themselves partitioned around the map of Westeros—exhaustion hanging in the eyes of many and the smiles of some potent to the others. And while bridges had been built in just a night alone, the group is divided mainly between two parties: Daenerys and her advisors on one side and the Starks on the other. There are a few who work in the margins—Jaime, Oberyn, Robb, and elsewise—but they are just a few when it comes to the polarized lot. Opposite Daenerys, Gabrielle and Jon stand like soldiers beside each other, revealing nothing of where they found themselves this morning—nonetheless what they did last night.
Grey Worm steps forward as the last of the leaders prop themselves around the table, grabbing a collection of the Unsullied pawns from the table, "A quarter are gone."
"The Northmen as well," Jon adds as he grabs an equal amount followed by Royce doing the same as well as the Dothraki. A quarter of the lot—decimated.
"And the Golden Company has arrived in King's Landing, courtesy of the Greyjoy fleet," Varys informs them, placing new pieces on the map as Daenerys winces in sheer scope of the number alone. But Varys reassures her, "We still have more. But the balance has grown distressingly closer to even."
Missandei parcels in with ignorance, "When the people find out what we have done for them, that we saved them—"
"Cersei will make sure they don't believe it," Daenerys quickly corrects Missandei, before shifting into her totalitarian tone and approach to war. "We will hit her hard. We will rip her out root and stem."
Tyrion tilts his head in disagreement with the woman's pervasive approach to war, but it is Ned Stark who speaks up with due fervor, "The objective here is to remove Cersei without destroying King's Landing."
"Thankfully, she's losing allies by the day," Varys aids as Daenerys stares at the disagreement on Tyrion's face. "Yara Greyjoy has retaken the Iron Islands in her queen's name. Prince Oberyn has returned with the Dornish troops."
But Daenerys believes she knows Cersei better than these people who have lived with her for years—as fellow noblemen, as children under her care, as her greatest enemy, and as her brother. And beyond that, this is no longer a matter about Cersei—but the Throne—as she rebukes, "No matter how many lords turn against her, as long as she sits on the Iron Throne, she can call herself Queen of the Seven Kingdoms."
"If there are no people left at the end of this war, neither will they be able to call you Queen," Ned Stark emphasizes again, and this time Daenerys turns her eyes to him, grey into grey from across that table and building a gorge of tension between them. The memories they shared...the help he gave...it's like he's forgotten all of it.
But choosing thus to ignore the betrayal of this man in favor of the less painful war-mongering alternative, Daenerys switches her gaze to Tyrion with, "We need the capital."
"I watched the people of King's Landing rebel against their king when they were hungry, and that was before winter began," Tyrion attempts to convince her of the savage yet less painful option to starve them versus burn them alive. "Give them the opportunity, and they will cast Cersei aside."
But Daenerys looks unconvinced by his testimony—because she was not there. She did not feel the tearing of her clothes from her body as the people tore the High Septon limb-from-limb and his blood spattered their faces. She was not nabbed and chased by a lot of starving peasants just for the taste of her skin. Sansa stares at the woman, confused as to how Daenerys has any right to judge when she has never even seen the people of King's Landing.
Jon—seeing disagreement in the eyes of both Daenerys and Sansa and wishing to avoid further conflict—prompts Stannis with a nod from across the table. The man does not pause, but stands taller and steps closer to the table as he remarks upon the plan: "We'll surround the city. If the Iron Fleet tries to ferry in more food, the dragons will destroy them. If the Lannister Army and the Golden Company attack, we'll defeat them in the field. Gabrielle is working on a gas to destroy the stashes of wildfire beneath the city should the worst occur. Once the people see that Cersei is our only enemy, her reign is over."
If she cannot help with her powers, Gabrielle will do all that she can with her other talents to save the people from more pain. Her jaw clenches in that promise as the gas lays bottled in her pocket, like a tether to the tree from which the gas derives as she watches Jon stare at Daenerys—a plea present in his temperament. And while Gabrielle thinks the man has little influence over her at this point, there must be something convincing about Jon as Daenerys nods reluctantly for the eyes of the awaiting crowd, "All right."
There is a pregnant pause then as the tension of Daenerys's unspoken anger washes over them, Ned's eyes flickering to Gabrielle's as they agree in this assessment. But ever the one to stoke the flames, Sansa takes her turn then to state her opinion on a matter she is entirely educated to make: "The men we have left are exhausted. Many of them are wounded. They'll fight better if they have time to rest and recuperate."
"How long do you suggest?" Daenerys basically hisses at the woman who's proven far too skillful at avoiding her spies...having heard of the woman's wedding to Stannis Baratheon the night before. A woman who was supposed to be queen married a man who intended to be king. And while it had first been a shock at the pairing of the older gruff man with the young and beautiful Lady of Winterfell, Daenerys had quickly become awash in anger that she was not invited nonetheless told by her spies of this event.
"I can't say for certain," Sansa shrugs, purposefully stubborn in her address as she sees the fury in the Dragon Queen's eyes, knowing the woman faulty and foolish when in such a state, "not without talking to the officers."
But that serves to be the straw on the camel's back as Daenerys finally bites back, "I came north to fight alongside you at great cost to my armies and myself. Now that the time has come to reciprocate, you want to postpone."
"It's not just our people. It's yours," Sansa questions with a truly incredulous tone as her eyebrow rises at the plainly stupid ideas of this queen. "You want to throw them into a war they're not ready to fight?"
"The longer I leave my enemies alone, the stronger they become," Daenerys responds. And while Sansa supposes that is valid, she wants to note that the longer they wait, the stronger they become.
But Jon—seeing the quarrel Sansa will create—turns to the Lady of Winterfell with Gabrielle's plan in mind, reminding her, "Northern forces will honor their promises and their allegiance to the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms." Turning then to the Dragon Queen, Jon tells her, "What you command, we will obey."
From the corner of her eye, Gabrielle sees the look exchanged between Sansa and Arya at Jon's performance, rather convincing for the typically transparent actor. And in response, the room is made more tense as Tyrion coughs to draw their attention and remark, "So, if all are in agreement, Jon and Ser Davos will ride down the Kingsroad with the Northern troops and the bulk of the remaining Dothraki and Unsullied. Four direwolves will join. A smaller group of us will ride to White Harbor, and sail from there to Dragonstone with our queen and her dragons accompanying us from above—"
"Excuse me Tyrion, my Queen," Gabrielle cuts in, looking to the queen and her perpetual anger that Gabrielle will not tempt, but still must remark, "Viserion will need to stay near me in order for me to continue his reanimation. Unfortunately, since—since my loss, I can't have good control of him outside of a city radius."
Of course, she is lying, and most of the Stark family knows that. But all the same, she is not about to risk the lives of all three dragons at Daenerys's foolish hands. Not only would that be a devastating loss in the field, but Gabrielle had formed a sort of connection with the ice drake through their unique abilities.
And while the woman would have once fought the Mock Queen, neither character is acting their typical part as Daenerys nods—not willing to risk the life of her child. As such, she imparts, "Of course. Shall you stay in Winterfell then?"
"No, I shall travel with the Northern company. We shall meet you at Kings Landing where Viserion shall be able to fight," Gabrielle responds with loyalty, the Dragon Queen nodding promptly and without the anger she holds towards Sansa.
And yet—as he stares at the wonder of a woman who has faced and defeated death—Tyrion is more concerned by the choices of a woman who's lost her powers, asking Gabrielle awkwardly, "But your powers...?"
"I am capable of defending myself," she is quick to rebuke, eying the man with the perpetual strength she exerts, whether it was at the Battle for Winterfell or in the court of Joffrey.
He nods, trusting her survival instinct if nothing else as Tyrion turns to the others with, "Ser Jaime has chosen to remain here, as a guest of the Lady of Winterfell."
A pause ensues at the last bit of knowledge, not so much an argued point given they all trust the man further from Cersei than closer. And as the plan in wrapped, the chest of the Dragon Queen rises as her dragons' do when preparing to roast their dinner—masking her anger with her pride at this campaign and the confidence she'll perpetually hold. As such, she ends their talks, "We have won the Great War. Now we will win the Last War. In all Seven Kingdoms, men will live without fear and cruelty under their rightful queen."
Of course, Gabrielle wants to roll her eyes at the impressions of the woman, but instead she simply bows her head as Arya whispers something in Jon's ear. And being gestured along with the rest of the family, Gabrielle can only assume what is next to be discussed.
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First of all, I want to apologize...for abandoning this story for over 8 months. My life took a terrible turn for the worst last November and has persisted through 2020 (which is unquestionably the worst year ever). I am so sorry for leaving you all waiting, but I always intended to return to this story once I healed. I do not give up that easily :)
I hope this chapter was worth the wait, though I doubt that even possible! Let me know your thoughts and I wish you all well in this terrible time in which we live.
xo
Patagonian