The Stag and The Frog - (GendryxMeera GOT fanfic) Part 3: Apart

7: The Young Wolf

The leaves of the weirwood tree shone as red as ever. The mellow spring weather had made the trees bloom even in the frozen North. Sansa picked up a fallen leaf and let it slip between her fingers. It reminded her of Bran. He'd always loved those trees. Even more after he came back. He'd always sat right there, in the shade of the weirwood.

He'd been different, but he'd still been Bran. She couldn't let herself believe anything else.

"How can he..." she muttered. "How can Jon come here and expect me to just believe him like that?"

"Do you think your brother is lying, my love?" her husband Quentyn asked with a jovial smile on his lips as always. He definitely was a breath of fresh air after the drama and intrigue before she took the throne. A ray of sunshine lighting up the harsh northern plains.

She shook her head. Jon wouldn't lie. She wasn't even sure he was capable of such acts. He was as honest as her father, the most honorable man she'd ever known. "No, but someone's turned his head. He's been deceived or misinformed. That's the only explanation."

Someone must be trying to usurp Bran from the throne of Westeros, and somehow whoever that was must have gotten to Jon. That's what always happened in this kingdom: if someone had power there was someone else who wanted that power for themselves.

"Gendry Baratheon. It has to be him," Quentyn said. "House Seaworth is sworn to House Baratheon after all, so it makes sense. I've had word from my family down south. They say he's growing power-hungry. Ellaria tried to quench him but unknown forces showed up to his aid."

"He's just like his father," Sansa surmised.

"But your father fought with his father."

"My father fought for his sister. Robert winning the throne was just the end result of that quest."

"Robert Baratheon fought for your aunt Lyanna too, didn't he?."

Sansa sighed. "You're right," she concluded. "But Gendry Baratheon isn't his father. He's a bastard blacksmith who is letting power get to his head. A foolish commoner with no sense or reason. Unfortunately, I was forced to accept the Dragon queen's legitimization of him, but I won't stand for this treason."

She pounded her hand on the trunk of the weirwood for emphasis, making red leaves rain down over them both. But as the red rain ceased, Quentyn wasn't there anymore. Neither was the courtyard where they had stood. Winterfell had turned into a snowy field.

Snowflakes whirled around Sansa, but they didn't chill her bones. Instead, they felt like a warm embrace. Like her father's hand on her shoulder and her mother's fingers on her cheek.

The snow disappeared, and a young man with blond hair stood before her. His eyes glowed red like weirwood.

"I welcome you, the queen of the North." He said, bowing down to her in reverence. "The queen of my father's lands."

She looked him up and down, confused about his sudden presence. "Who are you?" she asked.

"My name's Jojen Reed," he replied.

"Jojen Reed died. My brother told me he sacrificed himself during their journey North."

The man pretending to be Jojen Reed shrugged. "Whoever told you about my demise was not your brother. That's what I'm here to tell you about."

"I don't believe you," she said resolutely. "Whoever you are and for whatever reason you're here, I don't believe your lies."

"I figured you would say that," Jojen, or whoever he was, said. "So I brought someone else along. Someone you may listen to." He gestured for her to turn around. Sansa refused. She wasn't interested in whatever this imposter wanted to show her.