A Court of Thrones | Game of Thrones

Home Again

Winterfell.
Cassian Snow.

It had been four long, strange years since he'd last laid eyes on Winterfell, the ancestral seat of his House. Now, those granite walls called to him, drawing Cassian Snow home.

Riding beside him on a piebald destrier, golden-haired Tamlin of Ulthos remarked, "You lived here? No wonder Qarth's walls didn't impress you." Cassian chuckled at his friend's words, casting a fond gaze up at the towering walls.

Winterfell's walls were indeed a sight. The outer one rose eighty feet, and the inner even higher, well over a hundred, separated by a wide moat of bitingly cold water. Years ago, before his self-imposed exile, Cass and his brothers would dive into the moat from the highest point of the inner wall. Foolish—bloody foolish—but exhilarating.

As they rode through the cobbled streets, with the winter town's denizens watching them, Cassian lifted a hand in greeting. Behind him, his men raised his banner—a midnight-black wolf on an ice-white field, its eyes a striking purple. On the walls, watchmen sounded a horn in welcome, and the portcullis creaked open, flakes of ice drifting from the iron and landing in his jet-black hair. Beside him, Tam's golden-bronze eyes scanned the surroundings attentively.

It seemed they'd arrived in the middle of a royal visit, Tamlin noted, nodding toward a yellow banner presenting the crowned stag of House Baratheon. Cassian frowned but brushed it aside, deciding it wasn't worth the irritation.

Dismounting, Cassian handed Winter's reins to a groom and snapped his fingers, summoning a small flame, which he flicked to his other palm. He rubbed his hands over the warmth, easing the frost from his fingers. Tamlin's voice drew his attention as the Ulthosi directed the men, efficiently delegating tasks. They were twenty in all, each one more than capable. Cassian left his Second to handle it, turning his focus instead to the group gathering to greet him.

A smile tugged at the Exile's lips as he spread his arms wide. "Guess who's back?"

Jon strode briskly toward him, his solemn expression flickering through a dozen emotions before finally settling on relief just as they embraced. "Others take you," Jon murmured, his voice thick. "I thought you'd died."

"Not yet, brother," Cassian replied with a grin, patting his twin's back. They lingered for a moment, then drew apart, Cassian leaning in to bump their foreheads together. "I've brought stories you wouldn't believe, Jon. Seen things that would've stolen your breath and brought tears to your eyes."

"For later," Jon replied. "Now, I'm just glad you're back."

Nodding, Cassian walked with his brother to greet the Starks, taking in their faces for the first time in years. The Lord of Winterfell's lips were a tight line beneath his salt-and-pepper beard, his blue-grey eyes moister than Cass had ever seen them, but if he was happy to see her, Lady Stark was anything but, the glare she gave him pointed enough to just scream that she'd prayed he had perished in his travels.

Robb gawked stupidly at him, blinking rapidly as if trying to wake himself from some cruel dream, but the second his sweet Sansa realised it was him, she broke all decorum and sprinted toward Cassian, sobbing his name. Laughing, the Exile snatched her around the waist, twirling her around, hugging her tightly as she gripped the straps of his cloak. It warmed his heart to see Lady Stark had not twisted her opinion of him these long years. Drawing away, Cassian's face broke into the biggest smile he'd worn in a long time, placing both hands on her shoulders and looking at his sister.

Deep blue eyes glistening with tears, her pale cheeks rosy from crying, and auburn hair falling loose from her lovely southern braids, Sansa had grown into one of the most beautiful young ladies he had ever known.