The Long Winter | Jaime Lannister X Stark OC | GOT/ASOIAF

Dark Water

It hit Ross, when they had crossed the Neck and she could see the crumbling towers of Moat Cailin ahead, that she truly was going home. Until that moment, it was as though she hadn't let herself believe it. Almost three years, since she was here last. She had left as a stiff, gangly girl of fifteen, who was, whilst cynical, largely naive to the evil people could inflict on others no matter how she thought herself otherwise. Now, she returned as a woman of eighteen, a mother, scarred, stronger in many ways and broken in many others.

At least she was coming back at all. Before, her sister had ridden alongside her, laughing, youthful and alive. Now, Lyanna was bones in the back of a cart, lain alongside Brandon and Father.

Ross had found the bones of her brother and a jar containing the ashes of Lord Rickard a day before they left King's Landing. Abandoned in a dark cellar. She was amazed Aerys hadn't thrown them into the sea; she had only found the room after the snivelling eunuch, Varys, presumably hoping to gain favour with Robert, had led her there. Her father's blackened armour had been carelessly thrown inside, whilst Brandon's body had just been dumped and left to rot; his not-quite-skeleton still wore the clothes he'd been imprisoned in. The Tyroshi strangulation device had been left around his neck, like an even grislier noose, and she hadn't hesitated before cutting it off with her dagger and flinging it viciously into a dark corner.

But she had her son, strapped to her chest. Wylla, like most common folk, did not know how to ride and sat in one of the carts with Jon, and had offered to take Ren too, but Ross was too used to needing to watch her son to know he was safe. Under Aerys' rule, she had not trusted him in the care of anyone for even a minute, and it was a hard habit to break.

"Almost home," She murmured in Ren's ear.

Moat Cailin had never been taken from the south. Even after Aerys was killed, part of her had been concerned she was never going to feel safe again, after all she had been through, but some level of tension did drain from her as they passed the ancient castle. There was a biting wind blowing against her face already, and she smiled, however briefly.

Ross was not made for King's Landing. The idea of staying there, now she'd tasted the North again, was unthinkable. The Riverlands were beautiful, all rolling hills, twisting rivers and airy woodlands. No matter how majestic the mountains of the Vale were, no matter how charming the meadows and orchards of the Reach, no matter the shifting sands of Dorne; there was nothing like the wild moors and ancient evergreen forests of the North.

The grim grey walls of Winterfell might have been the sweetest thing she had seen in three years. She wasn't alone in that thought. Ned and his army hadn't seen home in almost as long as she had been away. Lya should be here. Brandon and Father too.

Ross hardly recognised the solemn boy of four-and-ten who greeted Ned with a bow.

"The castle is yours, Lord Stark,"

Benjen had been a happy, mischievious boy of eleven when she had last seen him, eager to be like his elder siblings and longing for their father's approval. He had been the Stark in Winterfell for as long as Ned had been gone, forced to wait whilst his father and brother were murdered, his sisters taken, whilst Ned risked his life daily fighting a way. Though her youngest brother put on a good show of being a man grown in public, however, Ross saw how his eyes followed them, drinking them in like he couldn't get enough, like they'd vanish if he looked away for too long.

Lady Catelyn was there to greet them with a smile. She had clearly dressed for the occasion, and had the servants running to make sure all the arrangements were perfect. Her son was in her arms, a healthy, ruddy-cheeked baby some months older than Jon. He had a thatch of red-brown hair and big blue eyes. She had not yet seen Jon or Wylla, who was discreetly staying in one of the carts waiting to be unloaded. It would have been rather cruel, to spring a child who was supposedly her husband's bastard upon the woman in front of everyone, the day they came home from war.