To my current followers, sorry if this isn't your cuppa tea, but I had to do it after watching episode 9.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Game of Thrones, I do not work on Game of Thrones. I do not own A Song of Ice and Fire, I do not write A song of Ice and Fire. Because if I did, I would not be sinking a ship and plugging holes in another ship. Especially not a ship that shares a character.

Jon walked trough the keep on his own. He had asked a serving girl to bring a few clean rags and two buckets of scalding hot water to his chambers earlier. It had not been a hard decision on where to sleep. Wherever the Bolton's presence was felt the least was suitable. And that meant his old chambers.

It was bare. Two dressers had been placed there but, nothing else. He placed his rucksack beneath a window out towards the yard. He saw the men of the Vale there. Amongst them a man dressed in grey with a black cloak that seemed to be in command. Though quite a few of the men looked to a man in plate with a similar cloak except it was beige. Yohn Royce, Father considered him one of the best military commanders he'd ever seen. Certainly the only one he respected.

Sansa was there and spoke with them. She knew that they'd arrive. A thousand men at least died because she did not reveal her plan. Was their meeting to find a fitting end for him? To give her uncontested rule of the North?

Before he wonders much more the serving girl arrives with the rags and the buckets. "Will there be anything else, my lord?" She asks as she places them next to the fireplace.

"No, that will be all for now. Though if you could find a bed. I'd appreciate that."

"Of course, my lord." She said before she left again. 'My lord' huh. He had half a mind to let himself be trampled to death back there. But, he had made a promise. And he intended to keep it.

He walked over and closed and barred the door before he took off his bracers. Both of them caked in blood, guts, shit, and mud. Happy thoughts. Right. The tunic came next. And if the bracers were caked, then he honestly did not know what to call the thing he had rested his chin on half the time since the adrenaline had left his body. It was something. Covered the entire region of his left chest. His heart. Had his heart turned to shit during the battle, was that it? Would not have been that bad of a comparison. His only reason for living right now was to protect his sister and she had almost as good as ordered his massacre.

His under tunic was not faring too much better. But then again. He doubted anything but his shirt did. Or did it. He wasn't sure as his under tunic had full-length sleeves, and that was probably the only reason he'd think about not changing shirts. But as he took off his under tunic he saw that the mud and gore had gotten onto his shirt as well. Both sleeves and torso, probably also on his back. So it left as well.

His boots were barely distinguishable beneath the muck, shit, and gore. But he had realised after he had secured Ramsey that they'd have to go. He was not sure how he felt about any of these clothes being returned to him, knowing in what shape they were the last time he saw them.

His trousers were nothing but odd colours in even odder shapes. As he took it off he felt it snag on something and something in his left leg follow it. Blood seemed to seep down his leg from where he'd estimate the spot to be. He looked at the pile of his trousers and saw splinters of an arrow there. But he knew he wasn't hit. Or was he?

With growing tension and horror he felt along his leg and found more splinters to be pulled, but no arrow. Small wounds can still be deadly. But he should just get the Maester to heal it or just bandage it himself. He'd gotten good at that. Edd's not here to do it for him this time, unlike after Hardhome where he bandaged him as best as he could when dealing with a broken rib or two.

Jon walked over to the buckets and took a rag and started to wash off his face. It took him longer than he'd care to admit. Even with the aid of the little mirror that Arya and Robb had given him after they thought he'd skipped cutting his hair one time too many, he thought he was not clean enough. But as he kept on scrubbing himself as clean as he could over the rest of his body with another two rags he came back to his face with a new one. And finally, he thought he saw the end of the grime and the blood and the muck. The last rag he used as best as he could to clean his hair and whatever places he thought was still covered in blood and gore.

If he were honest with himself, he doesn't think he'll ever be clean of it. A pool of water or shattered ice was easy to deal with. But blood, guts, gore and shit? If he had to deal with either the visual or the smell, he'd probably manage. But both? That was a different story.

He walked slowly over to his rucksack and took out his spare set of clothes. A white shirt, black trousers, simple brown leather boots. A brown jerkin and a black tunic. Along with some food and bandages. He quickly bandaged his leg, remembering to place something in it to add pressure to the wound before he wrapped too far.

As he got dressed he saw that the men of the Vale left Winterfell to set up Camp between Winterfell and the Kingsroad. Meanwhile, Sansa seemed to enter the keep. Jon wasn't sure what to do with her, yes she had won them the day. But at what cost? She did not even seem to care that Rickon had died. Yes, he was a boy of four the last time they saw him. But that did not mean he wasn't family.

Where had the sweet girl that only wanted to be Queen and be good gone? When had she been replaced with this cold calculating being?

The more he thought and the less he liked where his thoughts had gone. Ramsey had beaten her and raped her. But what had happened in King's Landing. Slynt had said plenty before he parted with his head. But, none of it concerned Sansa directly. But he knew the name he said often. Baelish. A foolish man that had asked Uncle Brandon to a duel over Lady Catelyn's hand. He had lost, and he lived only by Lady Catelyn's mercy.

His current plot had something to do with Sansa and the Vale. So the most notable lord's of the Vale being here with Sansa and presumably Baelish as well was not a good thing. That he was sure of.

When he was fully dressed he grabbed Longclaw, he hadn't found the scabbard and belt and honestly he was sure it was best forgot out there in the field. He'd have Mikken start work on a new one tomorrow. He'd be glad to serve the Starks again.

He went out of his chambers and walked until he found Tormund standing on the top of one of the towers near the gate, looking between the field of the battle and the Vale encampment.

"I thought you were joking when you said you weren't a Southerner. But those extra Southerner twats seem to be that extra Southern just to piss everybody off. Were they part of your battle plan?"

"No. No, they were not." Jon said as he leaned against the crenellations. His cloak kept him warm enough, but the night wind was blowing in and the temperature would hardly hold for long.

"We lost plenty of men today. It better have been worth it."

"Aye, it better have been worth it."

"You're not planning something stupid are you?" Tormund asked as he turned to look at him.

"What's more stupid than fighting an army twice, almost three times as large as your own?"

"I don't know, going off killing White Walkers on your own?" Tormund said in what felt like a jest. But Jon knew that he had seen him go down.

"I may be many things, but I do not have a death wish. At least not as long as a member of my family lives."

"That is good, I wouldn't know the first thing about leading men or fighting White Walkers."

Jon chuckles at that before he responds. "Not much to it, just pretend that you know what you're doing and they'll fall in line. Or get somebody else that knows what he's doing to lead them for you. And the white walkers, a Dragons glass dagger or a Valyrian steel sword will do the trick."

"We need more men. We lost between half and two-thirds of the men we had. How many more men will these Lords give you now?"

"White Harbour is within our reach now, and they can provide us with Ten Thousand given enough time. Barrowtown, I'd estimate about half of that. Greywater Watch can provide at least Two and a half thousand men. So yes, if they swear themselves to us again we've more than made up for our losses."

"Once things are settled we'll have to head back up to the Queen's Crown, see how things are going there."

"I'll wish you luck. And give Edd my greetings. I doubt the ravens can fly much longer. See you on the Morrow before you leave then."

"I doubt we're leaving that soon. A sennight at least. But yeah, I'll see you on the Morrow."

Jon left the tower and found Ghost sitting not too far from the Kennels and he seemed to be staring ahead with his silent snarl. As he came closer to Ghost he saw why. A half eaten man sat in a chair, rope seemed to have holden him in place, but most of them were gone now. Who'd do this? It barely crossed his mind before he realised who that was, and therefore who'd done it. Or most likely gotten somebody to do for her. He was to be executed at the end of the week, a long enough time for the closest lords to come and see the return of the Starks, and the end of the Bolton's.

"Come on boy. Nothing we can do here." Jon said as he started for the Godswood. He'd spend the night out here. With the Weirwood watching over him. He could not point to why, but since they'd left Castle Black he'd felt like he was watched whenever they were near the Weirwood trees. But it was a presence he'd felt watching him before, but could never point to who it was. But it was not malicious like the Night's King.

He found the stone Father used to sit on and sat down himself. And watched the reflection pool for a moment before he dipped the last rag into the water. It was still as hot as it was the last time he was there. It would probably not start to feel the effects of Winter until it was the dead middle of Winter. It took him but five minutes to clean the sword of the blood and mud. He'd watched Father clean his enough times to know how to do it, what would make you cut, if not sever your fingers, and what would give a good polish. After it was done he laid the sword down next to the stone before he stepped over to the Weirwood tree.

He sat down and looked at it. What am I even to say? Thank you for allowing me to live, I suppose. I don't know how I could look Father in the eye in the Afterlife if I'd died before Ramsey did. I don't know how to win, the White Walkers are too numerous as is their Weights. We don't have any hope of stopping them as it is right now. Just give me a sign.

Jon opened his eyes and turned to the rock he had sat on, only to see Ghost gone and a three-eyed raven sitting on the rock instead.

An ancient, deep and powerful voice seemed to originate from the crow but its beak did not even move.

The Second Long Night is upon the Realm of men, son of Ice and Fire. You'll find the last of my possessions in the last fortification of the Children. Choose wisely who you gift them too. They'll either protect or kill.

And a moment after the last syllable was spoken, the raven was gone and Ghost was back to where he'd left him lying next to the rock. His body was almost that of Arya's first pony now.

He'd come to terms with Arya being dead over the last few moons. If she wasn't then there was no way that she'd not have found her way back to them. She may not have liked Sansa much, but she did not want anybody picking on her either. At least not the last time he'd seen them, but something could have happened since. The last letter he'd gotten from Father was shortly after they'd arrived in Kings Landing. Telling of the events at the Crossroad Inn. That could probably have done it, but Sansa seemed to have forgiven Arya. Or was it a trick? Sansa thinking he'd have her hidden somewhere and planning to remove the both of them at once?

As Dusk gives way to Night, Jon lights three of the standing torches that was placed around the pool and removes his clothes before going into the pool. The water was indeed as scolding hot as he remembered it being.

Ghost was looking at him funnily. As if he could not contemplate why his dumb human went into the scalding hot water. He'd tried to drink from it when he was a pup, and he'd tried again now. Same result. A burned tongue.

"It's alright Ghost. Go and watch Sansa." Jon turned his head back to the pool and loses himself in the reflection. He sees the wounds he'd suffered at the hands of Olly, Thorne and all the rest of them. It reminds him that it's probably in his best interest to leave. But he honestly can't get himself to care. If that's her plan. Then let it happen.

Once upon a time Father had said that he'd serve as Robb's right-hand man, his battle commander. It had seemed nice, that was of course before Lady Catelyn went from ignoring him to sometimes outright blaming him for things. He went from doing his best with her. To outright ignoring her as well. He still wasn't sure what happened.

He heard Ghost lie down next to his clothes, his red eyes closed in slumber. A few more ducks under the water and he himself gets up and dresses before he sits down next to Ghost. As he has done for the last few moons he sits in a half awake and half asleep state. It's odd as he was fooled while completely awake, he was not even half asleep when they stabbed him in the heart. But yet, he could not sleep.

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Dawn arrives before she thought it would She'd slept, but not much. While simply redecorating the castle would work. She had half a mind to tear it down and rebuild it. But she'd probably not be allowed to. White Walkers… She still thought it was a joke. And a bad one at that.

Jon had been foolish. Ride forward to secure Rickon, while a noble gesture. Was foolish, and his continued charge was an even more foolish one. Making his own forces more tired than theirs because his men had to cover larger ground than their enemies.

Then there was Small Jon, he'd been Robb's friend. Or so she thought. And there he was, leading the charge against them. The Karstark land would probably go back to the Starks for now, but the Umber land had to go somewhere. That wildling leader that Jon was so close to perhaps. Though she was not all too sure how wise it was to give them land, they were obviously loyal to Jon. And he could think himself the rightful ruler of Winterfell and the North.

She got dressed and left for the Godswood. The Bolton's had the sept torn down since she had left. Probably after Ramsay killed his Father and his wife. Out with the South apparently.

It took her a while to get to the Reflection pool and the Weirwood tree. Seeing it again now, it looked a lot less scary than it did when she was a child. Or when she was married to Ramsay. While imposing, the face seemed right where it belonged.

She heard the snow crunch behind her. "What do you want?" She asks before she turned.

"I thought you knew what I wanted."

Baelish. She turned and there he was. As always, grey clothes and that black Valeish cloak.

"You were late."

"We arrived as soon as we could. You sent that letter rather late."

"There is a shorter travel from Moat Cailin to Winterfell, than Winterfell to the Gift."

"Not when we're travelling with Three Thousand men. Yes, most of them had horses. But even so, we had more luggage to move."

She wasn't sure what, but something bugged her about the answer. It was too full for an answer Baelish would give. Could it be true?

"Now, at the end of the fortnight, we'll journey back to the Eyrie. I'm sure that Robert will be thrilled to meet you again." Baelish continued as if what he had just said did not seem contradictory to himself at all. Which meant it was planned. He had taught her after all, it only made sense for him to keep a few things up his sleeve for when he dealt with her. Just in case she ever got an inkling to rebel.

"Of course, that will be a bit difficult now." She said slowly as she finished weaving the idea in her head. Yes, they'd agree to it easily enough. And the only ones that Jon would let be there for him. And therefore, the only ones to be there for her would be them. But they were gone now. She'd have to be quick, but otherwise, it was not a bad idea.

"And why would it be difficult sweetling? You know what I want. And I want you, we had a deal."

"Of course, we did, but the only way I could get my half-brother to join me, was if I married him. And… And I feared that if I didn't then he'd do as Ramsay did…" She cried a bit as she sobbed as she trailed off.

Maybe it was excessive, but she felt it was best to thread the line as close as possible. Otherwise, he would not believe her.

"I have more than enough men within the walls of Winterfell to take him. He and his savages can't defeat the men of the Vale."

"I'm sure we can come to a peaceful solution."

"Trust me sweetling, it'll do you no good attempting to negotiate with them. They only want one thing."

'The same as you' almost flows of her tongue. But it'd be for the best if it didn't.

Instead, she says. "Give me to the end of the sennight at least. I want the last of my family to be alive. Even if he is more baseborn than he'd like to admit."

That tasted weird. Jon was nothing but sweet. She may not have liked him when she was younger, but was he ever bad? No, he brooded. He did that even more now. Dead? She did not truly believe it, but after the way those wildlings dropped everything to fight for him, she could not think it was as simple as allowing them to come down south of the Wall.

"Of course, I will not begrudge you what little remains of your family." He says with his usual grin.

That means that he will. He plans to kill Jon.

AN:

So, this is my first foray into the ASOIAF/GOT fanfiction fray. Not all that sure about story length, but I see maybe two dozen chapters for this story as it is right now. I think I'll get a clearer idea when I finish the rest of the scenes I've outlined and get a true idea of what'll go on.

An E-cookie for whoever gets the ships being sunk and plugged :)

Please-Read, Review, Follow.

And yes, I know my grammar still needs work. That's why we call it work, right? because we need to WORK ON IT. Until next time.