#ruby rider from the question ofc

[tobyisave]

just a coupla lonesome cowgems roaming free without their sally mays

(aka they both canonically use country music to cope with their aloof blue life partners leaving them and i think thats beautiful) (alt under cut)

[bonjour-rainycity]

Double Heart | Chapter Nine ~ Cosima

|previous part|

Pairing: Haldir x OFC

Rating: PG-13

Word Count: 3476

Warnings: None

**Read on Ao3 under the user “bonjour_rainycity” if you prefer!**

A/n Sorry this was a little late! Happy reading :)

Translations: Mae govannen = well met! // Meleth nîn = my love

Two weeks after I woke in this strange world, we reach Imladris.

When Haldir tells me that the sparkling city in the valley is our destination, I can scarcely believe him. After endless days and nights riding through open country, to finally reach civilization, even if it’s not the civilization I’m used to, is so welcome I nearly cry with relief.

Four men on horseback race up the slope of the mountains to meet us. They wear heavy armor—more than what Haldir and the others wear—and carry tall spears. Their leader, fierce though he seems, takes my breath away. Even from here, I can see his face because it reflects an ethereal glow. His hair, which has to be spun gold, flows long down the back of his horse and glints in the sun. Whoever he is, he is no mere man.

“Elrond’s patrols,” I question, remembering someone mentioning them earlier.

“Yes,” Haldir responds, and I can hear a grin in his voice. “We have reached their outer borders. Congratulations, Cosima.” He twists to offer me a proud smile. “You have completed your first journey.”

I swallow, unable to keep myself from smiling back. Haldir can be so stoic at times that praise from him is completely unexpected. Warmth spreads through my chest.

The riders come to a halt in front of us and the one I assume to be their leader dismounts, striding confidently in our direction. Haldir slides off Faervel, approaching in a similar fashion. I take the horse’s reins in my hands, stroking his back affectionately. The horses’ height doesn’t bother me anymore and I’ve become much more confident in riding them in the past two weeks.

“Mae govannen, Haldir o Lórien!”

“Glorfindel.” Haldir clasps the man’s elbow jubilantly. They converse in that language I haven’t heard since I arrived — the others have been speaking solely in English for my and Alex’s benefit — and it’s jarring to hear the unfamiliar sounds. It serves as a reminder that, though I have allowed myself to become comfortable here, too comfortable, maybe, this is not my world. This is somewhere different.

Haldir turns over his shoulder and extends a hand in my direction. I catch my name and Alexander’s among the strange syllables and offer the man—Glorfindel, Haldir called him—a smile in greeting. He approaches, stunning golden hair shining in the light of the sunset, and bows elegantly. A laugh bubbles from my throat—startled by the action. Vaguely, I remember Rumil bowing to me when we first met. Whereas his motivation had been to make a joke, Glorfindel seems totally genuine, the gesture one of respect and welcome. He performs the same movement for Alex.

“Welcome, lost humans and my elven friends. Come, I shall keep you waiting no longer. Elrond is eager to see you and I am sure you are equally ready for proper food and a full night’s rest.” With that, he strides back to his horse and mounts.

I scoot higher on Faervel’s back to give Haldir room and hand him the reins. The horses must sense how close we are to extended rest, because they race faster than they did the entire journey. Despite my new skill, I have to grip Haldir extra tight to make up for the frantic pace and only being able to use one arm. Though the mountain slope is steep and the city surely has to be miles away, we arrive in less than an hour.

Streams of blue and white cascade above us, falling every way I turn and crashing down below. The air smells impossibly sweet and fresh — perhaps due to the flowers that bloom all around. The rays from the sinking sun, brilliant orange and gold, mingle with the water in the falls and, just as Haldir promised, send gently curving rainbows over our path. I let out a breath, completely stunned.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Haldir’s voice holds a reverence I’ve never heard before, but it is aptly placed. I could not fathom regarding this city with anything less than the utmost respect and admiration.

“I’ve never seen anything like it. Even in my homeworld, I—” I blink, unable to comprehend the etherial nature of my surroundings. “I would have remembered it. This…”

“I know.” Theres a soft, almost vulnerable quality to his voice that caresses the phrase. I can imagine his eyes are alight like mine, taking in the splendor of the city even though he’s seen it many times before. I’d wager this is a sight one never gets used to.

Glorfindel pulls his horse to a stop before an arching, narrow bridge.

Oh no.

I suck in a sharp breath, gripping onto Haldir with both my injured and uninjured arm. My wound stings, but it is preferable to suffer this momentary pain than to loosen my grip and go plummeting off the edge.

Haldir chuckles, the vibrations rumbling deep in his chest. “The bridge is only the beginning. Look ahead—part of the main city is suspended on pillars.”

My stomach churns and I feel my heart race. By the way my arms constrict around him, Haldir seems to figure out that he has not employed the wisest strategy. His voice softens and he squeezes my hand like he did earlier, after the attack. “Faervel knows the way. Neither he nor I will let you fall.”

I take a deep breath. It’s either the bridge and the safety of Imladris or the orc-infested mountains. And, I suppose, Haldir has gotten us this far. Minor injuries aside, we survived a heavily out-numbered attack relatively unscathed. I trusted him then and I can trust him now. “Fine.”

He chuckles again but makes a big show of lining Faervel up with what will be the middle of the bridge. I resist the urge to elbow him in the ribs — armor covers them anyway. It would hurt me more than it would him.  

Glorfindel calls out in that language again, then directs his horse onto the bridge. The three other mounted guards follow. Then, so gently I barely register the change, Faervel steps from the lush grass to the stone of the bridge. Water roars and tosses below us, drowning out any words the others might say. And drowning you if Faervel doesn’t keep straight. That is, if the impact doesn’t kill you first. I fight the urge to whimper and keep my eyes locked straight ahead. Almost to the end.

The bridge is mercifully short and soon we are on much surer foundations, having crossed into the city. While the water still cascades around us, its noise has subsided, almost like it’s been muted. In its place, soft, lyrical music fills the air. Harps. Once we are far from the bridge, I look around. The buildings are made of stone yet seem a natural part of the valley. Chains of flowers spill from every archway, peek between small cracks in the stone, weave into the intricate designs in the masonry. Trees, the same ones that welcomed us at the border, make a home in the city, growing where they wish — even if that means rising alongside a fabricated pillar.

Haldir speaks softly, hesitantly, almost like he doesn’t want to interrupt my exploration of the city. “Is it worth the bridge?”

I realize we’ve come to a stop in front of a large dais backed by a constant stream of blue and frothy white. It’s like we’re in the waterfall. “Definitely,” I exhale. Though, I have no desire to cross that bridge again any time soon.

A tall man steps onto the dais. His face is kind and, though the edges of his mouth and forehead are lined with creases, he could be any age. He seems altogether outside of time. His eyes hold wisdom, more than I could ever hope to collect, and I know this must be the Elrond my friends talked about. He could be no other.

He spreads his hands and smiles warmly. “Welcome. Our friends from Lothlórien and the humans who accompany them, welcome to Imladris. We have dinner prepared for you. Leave your horses with the guards — they will be well cared for.”

I believe him. He could probably tell me the sky is green or Faervel is a mouse and I wouldn’t question it.

And if he told you that you’re in a different world?

I gulp and push the weighted thought away.

Haldir swings his left leg to meet his right and slides off Faervel’s back. As always, he keeps a gentle hold on me until my feet are securely on the ground, then clasps his hands behind his back in his most favored stance.

I peek behind me to locate Alexander. He shifts from foot to foot and darts his eyes suspiciously around the room. With his short hair, lanky stature, and clear discomfort, he looks so out of place here. With a start, I realize that I must, too. Though the physical differences are certainly apparent, there’s just something about these men…an otherworldliness I had somehow gotten used to during our journey. But here, in this unreal city surrounded by others who are so clearly not men…For the first time, I truly, honestly consider that they might not be human.

Rumil appears on my right side, practically beaming with excitement. “What do you think?”

I exhale on shaky breath, my recent realization having left me feeling a little lightheaded. “I think it’s a lot to take in. It’s gorgeous, though.”

At my left, Haldir eyes me curiously. He heard my reaction upon reaching Imladris and is probably wondering why I’m downplaying it to Rumil. Truth be told, I just don’t have the energy to take much more this evening. A good meal and sleep will hopefully help.

“Orophin!”

I tilt my head around Rumil to find the source of the delighted shriek and find myself staring at the most enchanting woman I’ve ever seen.

Her hair, coiled and dark, tumbles down her back in tight curls, brushing the back of her legs. Her espresso skin shines in the nearly-faded light, almost as if it has a luminescence of its own — perhaps a result of the joy that radiates from her. She wears a long, ruby-colored gown that sweeps gently over the stairs as she practically throws herself down them, sprinting in our direction.

“Meleth nîn!” Orophin calls back to her, breaking from our informal line and rushing to whom I assume to be his fiancée.

Indulgent chuckles run through our group as the two collide, gripping each other in a fierce hug. They pull back almost immediately, pressing their foreheads together and just staring into each other’s eyes. The action seems much more intimate than if they had fallen to the floor in a passionate embrace, and I avert my eyes, feeling the need to give them privacy.

“Come on,” Haldir whispers, ghosting his fingers over my elbow. “They will join us later.”

Elrond leads us through open-air hallways. Every way we turn seems to offer a view of the waterfalls and brings with it a light, fresh scent. He takes us right, bringing us through one final archway and into what looks to be a dining room. In the center is a long rectangular table surrounded by ten matching chairs. The table is already stacked with food — breads, salads, fruits, and various kinds of meat that smell absolutely mouthwatering.

Elrond smiles invitingly, entering the room and stopping behind the chair at one of the table’s heads. “I expected you would be weary this evening and would wish to dine in private. Please, sit and help yourselves.”

I follow Rumil and Haldir, hoping I’m not violating any social rules I am unaware of by choosing a random seat in the middle. Before I can pull the chair back, Haldir steps in to complete the task, gesturing for me to take a seat. I have to hold back my amusement at the antiquated gesture — perhaps it’s a custom here. He does seem more formal than Alex and I are.

Haldir and Rumil take the chairs on either side of me and, before long, Alex appears at my opposite. I smile at him. Given our recent arguments and the fact that I don’t really know if we’re friends in this life, I’m not quite sure where we stand. But he returns the gesture which allows me to breathe a sigh of relief. He’s familiar, at least. Baranor sits between Alex and Elrond and immediately the two healers engage in deep discussion.

I distract myself with the food and soon have more piled on my plate than I could possibly hope to eat, but I can certainly try. Before long, Orophin and the woman from earlier join us and are welcomed jovially.

Orophin beams, gesturing to the woman at his side. “Lavandil, these are the humans I was telling you about. Cosima and Alexander, this is my betrothed, Lavandil.”

Lavandil sets her excited gaze on both myself and Alex. “Hello, it’s so nice to meet you. Welcome to Imladris! We are pleased to have you here.” Her voice is warm, welcoming, and I find it impossible not to smile along with her, distressed though I am at Orophin’s clear distinction of me as ‘human’.

Orophin pulls out a chair for Lavandil and sits between her and Alex, who looks ridiculously uncomfortable in the presence of so many of these…humans. Though, I must admit, my resolve to call them that is steadily weakening.

Minutes later, Glorfindel enters the room accompanied by a demure man called Lindir. Haldir and Glorfindel fall into a spirited debate about patrol strategies and border security. Rumil piles something on my plate that he claims I have to try. He’s not wrong — it’s really good!

“So, Cosima, Alexander.” Lavandil props her elbow on the table and rests her chin on her hand, looking at us with interest. “Orophin says they happened upon you both near the river and that you haven’t any memories?”

All eyes converge on me and Alex. I don’t trust him to be polite, so I hurry to answer her question.

“Yes. We remember each other and tiny snippets of our home, but besides that, nothing.”

“How strange,” she muses, looking fascinated. “That must have been so shocking. How are you adjusting?”

I exhale slowly, playing for time. How am I adjusting? The weight of everyone’s eyes feels almost crushing. “It’s definitely a lot to get used to,” I say diplomatically. “But we’re really lucky to have run into good people who were willing to help.”

Despite his feelings towards our companions, Alex wisely remains silent. It would do us no good to offend our hosts.

Lavandil giggles, the sound bright and cheerful. “I’m glad they were helpful and not rude. I know Haldir has a tendency to interrogate first and help later. He’s slow to trust.” She shoots Haldir a teasing grin, to which he merely rolls his eyes, but his cheek twitches like he’s fighting a smile.

I try to suppress a grin. “Well, he wasn’t exactly warm and fuzzy, but he calmed down quickly enough.” I purse my lips, contemplating. “But now that I think about it, no one really left me unattended or gave me a weapon even though the trip was dangerous. Hold on, do any of you actually trust me?” I lean back in my chair and cross my arms, though I raise an eyebrow at Haldir to let him know I’m only kidding.

He shakes his head, huffing in mock exasperation. “We trust you now but at the start, how was I to know you weren’t some sort of spy?”

“A spy!” I huff. “I’m hurt. But moving on. Later, once you decided I was not a spy, how come no one gave me a knife or anything?”

Rumil chortles. “Have you seen the lines of your mending? You’re more likely to impale yourself than an enemy.”

I grumble indignantly. He’s right, but that doesn’t mean I have to tell him so.

Haldir quirks an eyebrow. “Would you like to learn? I can teach you.”

I think on this. Hmmm…do I need to learn how to use a weapon? Probably. But do I want to? Surprisingly, I find that the answer is yes. This world is obviously dangerous—I got a very real reminder of that just a few days ago—and I want to be capable in it. Haldir or the others might not always be there to defend me—I should learn how to protect myself.

“Yeah, I would. Thank you!”

Haldir nods, the edges of his mouth pulling into an expression of grim determination. I quickly discover why.

He’s psyching himself up, I realize with a quiet laugh.

He inclines his head towards Alex. “And you, Alexander? I can teach you as well.” By the gravity in his tone, it is clear Haldir’s offer is real, but begrudging.

Alex takes a bite of fruit. “No thank you.”

That’s to be expected. Though Haldir was angry earlier and probably overreacted, he did make a good point when he said that Alex has yet to make an effort to adjust to life here. He’s stayed on the edge of things since the moment we encountered him, always keeping one foot out the door.

A voice warns me that, rather than criticizing Alex, I should have been doing the same.

Elrond motions for an attendant to refill my glass of water. “Baranor says you were attacked in the mountains? That must have been very frightening.”

Flashes of grotesque beasts and shining swords enters my mind and I shrink away from the images. I know we’re safe inside these halls but the fear is still there, lurking at the edges of my thoughts.

Haldir cuts in and I realize I have been silent for longer than is polite. “We were attacked, yes, by about eighteen orcs, wouldn’t you say?”

Rumil and Orophin both nod — I didn’t even know they had a count. I had been focused trying to dodge the blades and arrows. To me, it seemed there was an endless stream of the monsters. Haldir continues. “We killed them all and had no trouble for the rest of our journey. It does make me wander though,” his eyes dart to mine and then quickly away. “Such a large party so close to your borders? Is that common these days?”

“Yes.” Elrond nods gravely. “We have seen an increase in scouting parties and attacks. Just last month, a fully armed company of forty attempted to breach one of our southeastern border stations.”

“No,” Orophin breathes, gripping Lavandil’s hand tightly, a stricken look of horror stretching his face.

She brushes his concerns aside. “Oh, I’m fine. I was up north visiting my mother at the time. I didn’t even know the attack had occurred until I returned home.”

Orophin’s reaction worries me. I lay my fork on my plate, appetite fading as fear gnaws at the edges of my gut. “That’s unusual?”

Haldir shakes his head. “It is not unusual to encounter orcs at the borders, but an armed, prepared, planned attack of such a large number is…telling.” He avoids my gaze.

My body runs cold. “Telling of what?”

“Sauron,” Elrond says simply.

“That name means nothing to them,” Orophin reminds him, still looking at his love. He holds so much concern in his eyes—and a measure of fear—and I wonder just how big of a threat this is. Is Lavandil in danger? Is Elrond? Are we?

Elrond elaborates. “Sauron is a being of great power and even greater evil. He was defeated once before, but whispers of his presence have been heard throughout the realm. I believe he is growing in power again, gathering his armies. He is preparing.”

I drop my hands into my lap, gripping the edges of the chair in an attempt to find an anchor. Across from me, Alex has gone pale.

I don’t have to ask what this being is preparing for. It’s obvious. He’s preparing for war.

If the orcs weren’t bad enough, now we’ve got an evil power looming over us all? I wonder…is my homeworld safer than this?

Glorfindel raises his glass of deep red wine. He holds a steely, almost feral glare in his golden eyes and, suddenly, I am very, very afraid of him. “As quickly as he rises, so shall he fall.”

All aside from Alex and me raise their goblets, a forceful, “hear, hear” resounding through the room of stone. My eyes meet Alex’s. He raises an eyebrow as if to say, what do you want to do?

And I know my answer.

I want to go home.

A/n Thanks for reading! Likes, comments, and reblogs make my day! Let me know if you would like a tag :)

|next part|

|masterlist|

Tolkien tag list: @anangelwhodidntfall @eru-vande

Haldir tag list: @tolkien-apologist

Double Heart tag list: @lainphotography @themerriweathermage @thophil2941btw @kenobiguacamole @wishingtobeinadifferentuniverse @from-patroclus-with-love @boywivlove @ordinarymom1 @my-darling-haldir @sweet-bea-blossom @moony-artnstuff

[imsfire2]

Lot of memes lately

Number one: I was tagged by the lovely @cats-and-metersticks; thank you for tagging me!

Your questions:

1. List your current WIPs!! 

Eeek.

·         The bargain of liberty – original fic

·         Volume Two of “By stardust and moonlight” – still at planning stage but definitely feels like a WIP in my mind

·         Stardust dancing (completely stalled, to my great shame and sadness)

·         Fragments from the Tale of the Ring - LOTR/Rogue One fusion AU (only ever going to be bits, not the whole thing!)

·         The star of Lyonesse (Arthurian legend/Rogue One AU, stuck on the rocks of angst and the appallingly high Major Character Death factor)

·         A dozen or so assorted one-shots which will eventually be published as more Fragments from the Multiverse    

·         Three attempted re-writes of novel-length fanfic into original fic

·         Five original novel-length fics that stalled between chapter three and chapter eight

2. What’s your favourite thing you’ve ever written? 

>screams weakly and lies down to die< I am so bad at choosing favourites.  I am never sure that anything I write is genuinely any good, but at one and the same time I’m also really childishly loving and protective and generally a fond mama to my own work.  

One answer I could give you is “The eternal love of Gabriel Yeats”.  This is an original story which I wrote in 2005-6 and revised in 2015. It remains unpublished and probably always will, but it’s been shared with a few friends.  I know my writing has got better since then and I know it has many problems structurally and in the internal logic of the plot, but it has a special place in my heart because it was the first full-length story I finished that I felt was genuinely solid and worth reading.

If original work isn’t covered and I have to keep to fic, that makes it even harder to choose!  

In a dark time, the eye begins to see has a place in my heart for similar reasons to Gabriel Yeats; I’m more a natural long-form than short-form writer and it was a delight writing a full-length novel to give our Rogue One heroes a totally different path from hope to victory.  Likewise A rider comes to the valley, which forced me to face the challenge I’m currently baulking at with the Arthurian AU mentioned above, namely writing an AU that is desperately sad instead of a fix-it.  

I very seldom write Baze/Chirrut as I find them hard to get right, but I’m genuinely quite proud of The last dancer, which is about the experience of being part of a very small, very broken diaspora and the decision to hold on to your culture and everything it means in the face of that breaking.

I’m also very fond of some of my bleakest one-shots.  In particular I feel very Loving-Mama towards the non-Rebelcaptain ones, which often don’t get much love, like The mask and In the holding pen, and Recruitment, and The first time.

Also one of my earliest pieces for the Rebelcaptain fandom, Poetry of the First and Second Republics, Vol 3: The War Poets (extract), which is both a really unusual form and canon compliant, but was a very satisfying technical challenge.

3. What are some of your current goals as a writer? 

Keep writing.  Get better at it.  Finish my WIPs.  Start new ones.  Never give up writing.

Also, find ways to get people reading my original work as well as my fanfic.  Find, one day, a genuine old-fashioned agent and get a publishing deal.  Be, not just a writer on AO3 who’s also self-published a couple of novellas on Kindle, but an actual on-paper published novelist with books in bookshops.

4. What first inspired you to write fanfiction? 

Ever since I was little I’ve had ideas about what I would do if I wrote the scripts for assorted films, TV series etc.  My first conscious attempt to write one of these ideas down – completely in secret because I didn’t even know there was such a thing as recognised fan fiction – was a rambling Star Wars story set after “Return of the Jedi”.  Adventures for Luke and a bold and heroic OFC, trying to track down Palpatine’s heir.  Lots of badly-written lightsabre fights, feels, hiding in caves, mutual pining and a solid dose of H/C.  So yes, writing Rogue One fic now is kind of coming full circle for me because it all began with Star Wars!

5. What’s your favourite thing to cook for dinner vs. what’s your favourite meal to eat out? 

When I’m doing the cooking, probably something simple but tasty like a cheese omelette and a salad, or a bean chilli.  Eating out, either eastern Mediterranean/middle eastern food (Turkish, Greek, Cypriot, Lebanese etc.) or south Indian food.

6. What would your dream house be like?

It would be rather larger than a single person has any right to expect!  That way, I could put up guests easily.  It would have high ceilings and large windows, and a big garden with mature fruit trees.  It would either be quite near where I am now, in west London, or somewhere on the coast. It would never be particularly smart inside but it would be comfortable, and there would be a lot of books.  Also cats and dogs.

7. How do you like to start a story? 

With whatever bit of it really wants to be the bit I start with!

I know that sounds daft but I’ve found from experience that waiting for The Right Opening Line to come along can leave an exciting idea completely bogged-down.  Jumping in with the scene that has my energy at the moment, on the other hand, gets things started.  Then I can go back, do the beginning and fill in the gaps, once the blockage has broken.

8. What’s the biggest thing that convinces you to read the second chapter in a multi-chapter fic?

What happens next to these characters?  I need either a plot, or strong character writing, and ideally both.  

9. What fic are you currently obsessed with (any fandom, reading or writing), if any? 

I’m waiting in mixed anguish and awe for the conclusion of the mighty jplus’s historical AU Indigo; suspect I will cry my eyes out several more time before the end.  This series by the same author, The Edge, is also terrific.

And although I fear this will end up as that rare and heart-breaking thing, the canon-compliant AU, I’m eager for the next chapter of @ruby-red-inky-blue aka guineapiggie’s superb The World through a Scope .

10. Describe your perfect Saturday!

Get up, find myself full of energy and optimism, open the blinds to find it’s a perfect sunny-but-not-boiling-hot day; shower, dress, breakfast, make coffee.  Spend the morning writing, without either worrying about what I’m working on or experiencing the urge to procrastinate. Go for a walk along the Thames in the afternoon.  Meet a friend at one of the pubs on Kew Green, have a beer and perhaps watch the last overs of a cricket match on the Green, then stroll into Richmond for a lazy supper out and a movie.

11. Metaphors or similes? 

Both; both is good!

Haven’t analysed my own writing in detail but I’m going to guess I use metaphors more than similes; but I could be wrong!  They both have their place and I’d hate to be denied one or the other.

Thank you for tagging me!

[wind-in-the-weirwoods]

Knight-Errant

I’ve somehow gone over the 500 follower mark on this Jonsa sideblog and I’m thankful for every one of you. This community is wholesome as hell and really helps get through the slog of my personal life

To that end, here’s the rough draft of an AU fic I’m working on where Ser Barristan Selmy went North instead of East, looking to escape assassination attempts and serve the realm by exchanging his white cloak for a black one (the irony is not lost on him). The continuity I’m working with is a combination of book and show elements, things that make sense to me personally, and ofc shades of Jonsa (which I believe is canon but we’re not there yet folks) so please don’t think too hard about timelines and contradictions and such

I’ve got about seven chapters in various states of readiness but this is the one I think will most appeal to anybody seeing this post. It’s a fun project to work on and I’ll keep plugging away until it’s ready to be put on AO3 when all is said and done. I want to emphasize that this is a rough draft (I wrote it in about an hour before posting it here after noticing my followers count went over 500 and started yelling) so there are totally some typos and what have you going on

Anyway check it out I hope you enjoy it

A single horn blast rang through the courtyard. Arstan Whitebeard set his mouth in a firm line and stepped outside to watch the gates open. The big, oak doors had just been repaired from the giant’s break-in that morning and creaked open achingly slow.

Arstan stared down at the horses and riders as they entered. It was as an odd a grouping as he’d ever seen – a straw-haired knight in battered armor, a squire in what looked like faded Lannister red, and a tall girl in grey just behind them. They coaxed their horses into the courtyard warily, looking around at the men of the Watch and wildlings that crowded Castle Black.

Snow fell gently but persistently. Old wooden boards creaked beneath Arstan’s boots as Dolorous Edd and Jon Snow joined him on the balcony. They hadn’t expected any wandering crows or supplies caravans. These newcomers didn’t have the look of messengers.

Edd tapped his gloved fingers nervously on the bannister, but Arstan noticed Snow had gone oddly still. His eyes rose to the young man’s face and saw him staring intently at the three arrivals.

Snow shuddered and hurried to the stairs, wordless. Arstan and Edd were just a step behind him, brows furrowed. What was this?

Tormund gaped open-mouthed as the knight dismounted and helped the lady down. They turned to face Snow at the bottom of the stairs and Arstan started – he knew them. That was no knight, but the lady of Tarth. Her skill at arms in touneys had reached him in King’s Landing. Her squire was familiar but he couldn’t place the boy’s face.

The girl in grey was Ned Stark’s daughter. Taller than Arstan had last seen her, but he remembered her from the last weeks of his service at the capital. Arstan felt his face pale and hoped his beard was enough to keep him from being recognized. Surely he would not be found out after all this time?

Arstan’s gaze flickered from the girl and back to Snow, who had paused at the foot of the stairs still as a statue. Stark’s daughter swallowed uneasily, eyes only for Snow. Her bastard half-brother, Arstan realized. The snowflakes whirled gently between them.

Stark’s daughter – what was her name? – hesitantly stepped forward, timid. Snow mirrored her, arms loose at his sides. Then she lurched forward, mouth opening into a wordless cry. Snow rushed ahead and she leapt into his arms as they embraced.

They stood there, reunited. Arstan numbly thought that Snow hadn’t have expected to see his family again since joining the Watch; what misfortunate had brought the Stark girl here? They still stood there before the befuddled onlookers, quietly rejoicing. The lady of Tarth bowed her head in relief. Tormund was still gawking at the her in her armor.

After a long moment the two Starklings broke their embrace. Snow shouted for firewood and blankets; Edd waved at the gatekeeper to close the doors. Ser Davos ran over from across the courtyard, arms beckoning in question.

Arstan followed them back up the stairs but stopped outside the hall to give them some privacy. What had just happened?

***

He didn’t find out until the next morning when they broke their fast. Snow and Stark’s daughter gathered at a table in the mess hall with Edd, Davos, Tormund, and Brienne, the lady of Tarth. Arstan stood at the doorway as they broke bread and talked.

The tale the Stark girl – Sansa, her name was – told was hard to hear. She did not linger on the abuse she’d suffered from Lannisters and Boltons and Littlefinger but Arstan noticed Snow’s shoulders tighten. She’d won her freedom with the help of a dead man, and Brienne led her safely here.

Someone knocked hurriedly at the door. Arstan turned unbidden and opened it, a hand passively resting at the hilt of his sword. One of the stewards waited outside in the cold, scroll in hand. Outside a grim-faced Bolton man waited patiently on a dark horse.

Arstan’s face was a mask as he took the scroll, nodded to the steward, then shut the door and crossed the room.

“Letter for you, Lord Commander,” Arstan murmured. Snow turned, sighed, and accepted the scroll with a pink wax seal. Sansa’s mountain lake-blue eyes lingered on Arstan’s face before turning down to the message.

“I’m not Lord Commander anymore.”

Arstan stepped back to resume his watch near the doorway. Snow broke the seal and looked the letter over silently.

Sansa’s eyes flickered up at Arstan again and returned to Snow. The old knight felt his blood run cold. Snow snatched the message up roughly and bowed his head, breathing deeply.

“To the traitor and bastard Jon Snow. You allowed thousands of wildlings past the Wall. You have betrayed your own kind. You have betrayed the North. Winterfell is mine, bastard.” Snow paused, breathed, and read again. “Come and see. Your brother Rickon is in my dungeon.”

At that Snow started. His eyes lifted to meet his half-sister’s and he continued, “His direwolf’s skin is on my floor. Come and see. I want my bride back.” Snow did not change his tone. “Send her to me, bastard, and I will not trouble you or your wildling lovers. Keep her from me and I will ride north and slaughter every wildling man, woman, and babe living under your protection.”

Tormund grunted and shifted his weight, staring down at Snow to gauge his reaction. “You will watch as I skin them living.” Snow scanned the next line, began to read it, and stopped, staring at his half-sister. Sansa stared back at her half-brother and reached across the table steadily, taking the letter for herself.

She began to read. “You will watch as my soldiers take turns raping your sister. You will watch as my dogs devour your wild little brother. Then I will spoon your eyes from their sockets and let my dogs do the rest. Come and see.

“Ramsay Bolton, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North.”

The table broke out in discussion. They spoke all at once about the Bolton bastard’s succession, how many fighters the wildlings had, and whether any of the surviving Stark bannermen remembered their oaths. Whether the message even spoke truly.

Sansa’s hand shot across the table and seized Snow’s, pulling him towards her inexorably. Snow froze, eyes wide. Arstan himself was taken aback by the gesture.

Her tone was steely as her eyes pierced into Snow’s. “You’re the son of the last true Warden of the North. Northern families are loyal.” Her knuckles whitened around Snow’s fist. “They’ll fight for you if you ask.” She breathed quickly, licking her lips, and she continued to implore him. “A monster has taken our home and our brother. We have to go back to Winterfell and save them both.”

Snow still sat hunched over the table, eyes the size of dinner plates. He nodded.

Sansa did not let go of his hand as she turned to Tormund. “You’ll help us?”

The big wildling scoffed in response, eyes burning. Ser Davos and Brienne were spoken for. Edd sat on the bench alone, defeated. He had no dog in this fight. The Watch took no part.

Sansa looked up over Snow’s shoulder, eyes searching for Arstan. He frowned, throat dry.

“Will you ride with us, ser?”

Edd jumped and Snow jerked in his seat, eyes questioning.

Sansa surveyed them both in surprise. She hadn’t expected that reaction. “They don’t know?”

Arstan took a moment to respond. His shoulders slumped, and he answered in a low voice, “They don’t, my lady. I left that all behind me.”

“I remember you,” Sansa said slowly, gently, “when you were dismissed.” Her stern face turned to a small frown. “They were awful to you. I’m sorry I said nothing against it.”

It was an ugly memory. He didn’t remember her standing amongst the courtiers before storming out, but the girl spoke truly. “It wasn’t your place to defend me, my lady.”

“I should have still done something. Have you taken your oaths truly?”

Snow’s eyes danced back and forth in thought. Edd interrupted them, “Arstan swore his service to the Night’s Watch, same as me. But not as a knight. You’re anointed?”

“I was shamed,” Arstan answered quietly, “and a wanted fugitive. I didn’t want goldcloaks or knives in the dark bothering the Watch.”

Snow entered the conversation. “Arstan swore to serve the watch. If you’re not Arstan then who are you, truly, ser?”

The old knight thought hard, memory reaching back days and months and across the years. There lay Snow in a drift, ruby-red blood fallen and pooling where he’d found him. Ruby-red blood spattered on his breastplate from dragging Robert away from the dying boar. Loose rubies in the bubbling Red Ford around the ruin of a prince he’d sworn to protect. A white cloak and silver sword thrown down in anguish and fury before the Iron Throne, the same spot where an atrocity in ruby-red cloaks had been offered.

He’d failed before. He wouldn’t fail again. Robert and Rhaegar and the children were gone, there was no saving them. But here was his saving. A knight was nothing without a lord to serve, and any man would have loved to serve Lord Stark. The blood rushed back into his face and he felt hot despite the cold outside. Lord Stark’s children needed a knight to serve them.

He knelt and they stood, Sansa walking around the table and bewildered Edd and Tormund. He bowed his head and spoke confidently, earnestly.

“I am Ser Barristan of House Selmy, formerly of the Kingsguard.” Someone muttered Barristan the Bold in shock and he ignored it. “Dismissed by King Joffrey Baratheon, fugitive of his justice.”

Barristan looked up at the Starklings. Sansa was graceful, eyes dancing. Snow was dark, still processing the revelation. Barristan unsheathed his sword and offered it hilt-first. Snow took it uneasily and Barristan thought of the same trepidation Rhaegar had worn when he’d first sworn his service. He said the same words again.

“Lady Sansa,” he began, then added gently, “Lord Snow, I offer you my service. I will shield your backs and keep your counsel and give my life for yours, if need be. I swear it by the old gods and the new.”

Snow was hesitant and unsure. He’d never been taught the words. Sansa spoke surely, “And I vow that you will always have a place by my hearth and mead at my table.” Her mouth set in a hard, thin line. “And I pledge to ask no service of you that might bring you dishonor. I swear it by the old gods and the new.” She turned to Snow and beckoned him forward. He returned the sword and grasped the knight’s forearm, lifting him to his feet

“Arise, Ser Barristan. We welcome your service.”