Disclaimer: Song of Ice and Fire and Game of Thrones belong to George RR Martin. BtVS belongs to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy.
Timeline: During Season 1 of GoT and Season 7 BtVS.
Jon Snow watched as a group of rangers passed through the Wall and out into the beyond. As always, he held out hope that they would find his uncle, however bleak it was.
And with each passing day, it was getting bleaker indeed.
What's more, there was turmoil in the south, and from what little he could glean, it was threatening the House Stark; ihis/i house, for it did not matter if he could not lay claim to it as the bastard son of Eddard Stark.
Jon drew his cloak to him as a cold wind began to blow.
Winter is coming.
Never before had the words of his house sounded more ominous.
With more than a little foreboding, he started to turn, to head back to Castle Black. Before he had made it more than a few steps, however, he heard his direwolf, Ghost, growl.
Jon turned to look. Ghost was down on his haunches, staring at the Wall as he alternated between growling and a series of yips. Then, without warning, the beast raced toward the enormous structure.
Startled, it took Jon a moment to react, and by that time, Ghost was well out of reach.
"Ghost!" he called out as he began to give chase.
But it was no use. His direwolf was paying him no heed. Jon watched helplessly as Ghost darted beyond the gate, which was beginning to close.
"Wait!" he shouted as he summoned all the speed he could muster. "Do not close the gate yet!"
Miraculously, they stopped. Jon never broke his stride. As he passed through, he searched for Ghost. The white wolf had all but disappeared, however, hidden well in the landscape of snow.
Jon felt his ire begin to rise. Out of breath, he stopped for a moment, hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath.
Only when he stopped could he hear it – the distinct snarl of a direwolf.
Suppressing a curse, Jon followed the sound. It led him to the right of the main road, over a hill and through some thick brush. Finally, once he pushed his way through the branches, he found Ghost and the thing he had been chasing – or rather, the person.
Jon drew his sword. "Who are you?" he demanded. "Identify yourself!"
Truth be told, he felt a little foolish, as the girl before him was tiny in stature, barely taller than Arya. She was also greatly weakened from the exposure to the cold. In fact, if this were winter, she would be dead, as the strange garments she wore offered little protection.
He could not, however, ignore that wicked looking axe in her hands or the way she was brandishing it – even if her arms shook from the effort. It also did not escape his notice that Ghost was still snarling at her, or that she looked more amused than frightened by giant direwolf.
She said something to him then, some gibberish he could not understand. At first he thought it was the cold affecting her speech. His eyebrows rose when he realized that she was speaking a different language, one unknown to him.
Jon took a step back and studied the girl.
Clearly, she was not an Other; though her pallor was grim from the cold, her skin had a golden tone to it. More telling, she did not have the blue, sightless eyes of the Others, but ones that were a brilliant green. She was far too clean – almost oddly so - to be a Wildling. Nor was she one of Westeros; though her hair was the same burnished gold as those in the House of Lannister, her face had a foreign cast to it. And she obviously did not know the Common Language.
Just then, she took a step toward him.
"Stop!" he ordered, but she kept coming toward him, not quite threateningly but not quite so innocently, either.
Jon gripped the handle of his sword tightly, and Ghost raised his hackles, only waiting for the command to attack.
It was then that it happened. Just as he was about to strike, the sun peeked through the clouds, and the girl passed through one of its rays.
As she did, the sun glinted brightly off her hair so that it shone like gold. At the same time, it bounced off her axe, which cast a brilliant red light, making the weapon seem alive, almost as if it were made of fire.
Jon froze for a moment before vehemently shaking his head. It could not be. The Legend of the Lightbringer spoke of a man with a sword of fire; certainly not this, not her.
And yet when the girl pitched forward, finally succumbing to the cold, he found himself reaching to catch her.
The instant he touched her, he felt how cold she truly was and marveled that she was alive at all. As it was, she was quite within Death's reach.
But then the sun fell upon them, bathing her in its golden light once more so that she herself seemed warm and... alive.
A strange thought echoed through his mind, almost as if placed there by some other force.
Winter is coming, but Summer is here.