Thank you all! Your devotion is astounding. Please keep reading, following/favouriting, reviewing and spreading the good word and I promise I'll keep bring you chapters. And for those who are still feeling heartbroken about the season finale - watch?v=6Ev0lsbL6PM

There are some Game of Thrones Telltale Game spoilers in here, so if you haven't played the game yet fair warning, but I hope that doesn't stop you.

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Chapters 6 - A Game of Leverage

Nieve stumbled. Her hands buried into the snow, despite the leather and furs she wore, the cold is still piercing. She panted wearily, on her hands and knees, she just wanted to collapse there and let the cold and the darkness take her. Her eyes were stinging - she wanted to cry but the freeze held the tears at bay. She was alone, lost and weak. The howling wind died down to a low growl. She knew she had to keep moving if she wanted to survive this darkness, but her body had given up on her. She could feel it shutting down. Her breath growing shallower, her lungs freezing up at every breath she managed to draw in.

"You can't go on, Nieve." She heard the voice in her head. It was Arya's voice. She felt her hand on her back, rubbing small circles in comfort. But her touch only made Nieve feel colder. "Stop fighting. Close your eyes. Rest now."

Nieve could hear a chilling smile in Arya's voice as whispered into her ear. "Valar morgulis, my friend."

Nieve shook her head in denial.

"No." She managed quietly under her breath.

Arya would never say those words. Arya would never allow me to give up. She thought hard about what Arya would truly say; "Not Today", Nieve croaked.

The growling of the wind was growing louder again. No, not louder. Nieve realised, Closer!

She looked up in a panic, eyes scanning the darkness ahead of her. She could see nothing beyond a line of shadowed trees in the woods, but the growling grew closer and closer. She closed her eyes, wishing the voices and the growling to stop.

It's just your mind playing tricks on you.

She willed herself to stand but as she opened her eyes again, she grew rigid. Standing a few feet from her was a direwolf. A huge beast as white as the snow she was buried in. The wolf growled at her, teeth bared, it's shoulders hunched up, head dipped low and threatening - ready to attack.

Nieve was trembling but still she meets the creature in the eye. Then the growling ceased. The wolf raised it's head, his pricked ears drooped, his eyes softened. He cocked his head to the side, suddenly looking rather like a dog than a beast. Nieve stared at the creature. What's it doing? Why the fuck am I still alive?

She looked down at her hands buried in the snow. But the snow wasn't white anymore; red was running slowly from were her wrists were buried. The red spread wider, further and faster. Nieve screamed. Realising in horror that it was blood. She struggled where she was to get up and run, but she was stuck, her hands frozen in the snow. The pool had spread all around her now.

"Help me!" She cried to the wolf in desperation.

But the blood had reached the wolf too, it's paws danced as it squealed and whimpered helplessly.

The wolf then threw back his head and howled.

The sound was deafening. Nieve felt the chills run up her already freezing spine. She closed her eyes tightly trying to clear these illusions from her mind, like she done with Arya, but when she opened them again, to her dread, she was still surrounded in blood.

But the wolf was gone.

Instead, there stood her father. Although, it wasn't really him anymore.

He was too pale; skin almost transparent white, his hair was silver and his eyes were glowing, misted blue.

No no, not you.

Nieve wanted to collapse now more than ever but her body held still, she couldn't even turn her head away from looking at the monster her father had become.

The tears finally won.

"Father!" She gasped between sobs. "Father, help me please!"

Oberyn Martell just looked down at her, with a cold expression she'd never seen on him before.

"You abandoned me." His voice roars. "You abandoned your family." He raises his spear, crystallised in ice, "You are not my daughter."

"No. No. Please. Father. PLEASE!" Nieve screams.

Oberyn brings his spear down on her without hesitation, without remorse.

Nieve feels a her body shaking violently, and voice calling her desperately.

"Nieve…. NIEVE!"

Nieve reacted before her mind realised what she was doing. She had her hands squeezed around Sam's throat, and he was weazing breathlessly.

"I'm sorry, Sam!" She pants in horror, and releases him from her grip.

Sam gasps and backs away as quickly as he could, tripping a little before he crashes into the wall on other side of the cell, coughing and spluttering.

Nieve was shaking, apologising frantically. She remembers she's lost her accent, she attempts to recover her northern character. Luckily, it seems Sam is too busy trying to draw breath to notice.

"I was having a nightmare. I didn't mean to hurt you." Nieve tries to stand, but Sam coughs and waves a hand at her to say it's okay. Or to stay the hell away. She couldn't tell by the pained expression on his face.

Nieve sighs in relief a little however, she knew it could have been a lot worse - if she'd had a knife in her hand he'd probably be dead. "You shouldn't have woke me like that!" She yells at him, concerned but her voice came across as only angry.

Sam splutters, throat still soar. "Y-you were sc-screamin' in your … sleep!"

Nieve clears her throat too, a little embarrassed by her reflexes. "What are you even doing here?" She says to him defensively.

Sam takes a moment to fully recover, before he stands upright and brushes himself off, huffing, "I came to give your breakfast."

Nieve frowns. She sees the bowl of grey placed by the open cell door.

Sam continues, clearing away her confusion, "…And to apologise for last night. I didn't want to manipulate you. You didn't deserve it, not after what my brothers did to you -"

"-It's okay." Nieve dismisses, "You were just doing what you had to do." She stretches out her stiff muscles; a result from the restless night sleeping on the hard stone floor.

Sam gives a small nod. "Well I guess we're even now." He smiles a little - pointing to his neck.

Nieve still felt awful about the way she reacted. "Come here and let me examine the damage." She moves to lean on her knees, gesturing him to come closer. She hoped she could win Sam's trust at least.

But Sam shakes his head hesitantly. "No need, I'll be alright."

Nieve's shoulders sink as she sighs, "Please, Sam. It would make me feel like less of a arse, at least."

Sam finally nods and approaches Nieve slowly. He crouches in front of her, and she ran her hands along his neck, pressing gentle for any swelling. He winces a little when she reaches his jawline.

"Some minor bruising, but nothing internally damaged however. Could have been a lot worse." She drops her hands back down to the floor and rests her back against the wall again.

Sam gives a nervous laugh, "Oh I know, I've seen you do worse."

Nieve looks at him, it was meant to be a glare but she didn't have it in her to mean to the boy, he actually seemed like he was truly sorry for her being locked away. Well, that makes one of us. She thought bitterly. Jon didn't appear to ease up on her much even after learning she was defending herself from rape. And if the blood running from her hands in her dream was anything to go by, Nieve also wasn't easing up on her actions. Sam had retrieved the bowl, and hands it to Nieve who was too busy daydreaming, she actually flinches a little when he offers it to her.

"Thank you for the breakfast, Sam." She says in her most polite voice.

Sam frowns, "No problem at all." She could tell he sensed her anxiety, still a little shaken from the dream.

Nieve wasn't keen on the idea that Sam had heard her screaming in her dreams. Her dreams were a factor she couldn't control - at day or at night. She didn't know what she was revealing in those moments. Nothing more personal than ones dreams. She hints at him to leave her in peace, "If you have do have other duties, by all means you're free to tend to them."

She focuses rather intently on her meal, hoping her lack of acknowledgement for Sam might cause him to fall disinterested and leave. But Sam didn't take the hint; he seems to determined to bring up the one thing she doesn't want to talk about.

"So those nightmares, eh?" He crouches again in the corner, "…Do you have them often?"

Nieve just shrugs.

Sam took that to mean yes. "I can see if Maester Eamon has something to help you sleep a little more peacefully…"

Nieve shakes her head, "I don't want milk of the poppy. Besides you should save all you've got, not waste it on nightmares for prisoners."

She takes another large spoonful of food. Sam didn't seems to be leaving so she thought it best to turn the conversation onto him. "So… is that something you'd be interest in becoming? A Maester, I mean?"

Sam looks flattered that Nieve was taking an interest, she hoped that was a start to make up for the embarrassingly awkward encounter they were having this morning.

"Yes, it was before my dad sent me here." Sam nods enthusiastically, but then he seems to remember that any hopes of him becoming qualified were thwarted when said he said his vows. "Maester Eamon has been teaching me what he can, be he's rather… old… now, unfortunately."

Nieve sits up a little straighter. "Eamon? Like Targaryen?"

Sam looks surprised that she'd made the connection so quickly. Nieve knew their would be some men of noble birth and former high social status but she'd just assumed they'd just be criminals, brutes, thieves and rapists. Never did she expect royalty hidden up at the wall - well, besides Jon. Then it occurred to her, Jon's Targaryen - he didn't know that he and Eamon were related. She hoped she'd at least have the support of Eamon at the wall then. "What do the other brothers think of Snow, y'know, as lord commander?"

Sam pauses for a moment. Nieve can tell he's choosing his words carefully.

"We all swore a vowel to protect the realm, the brothers know their duty is to the lord commander." He says rather stiffly.

Nieve's face fell. "So they hate him." That will make things difficult. Nieve thinks.

"No- they don't… hate him" Sam says meekly,"They just- well, they voted him Lord Commander, didn't they?"

"Don't mean they're loyal though." She scoffs, taking another spoonful.

Sam sighs in admittance.

"Why don't they trust him?" Nieve gargles, mouthful of porridge. She didn't care if it was ladylike - she was too hungry for manners. She was even too hungry to complain about the tasteless cack she was shovelling down her throat.

Sam didn't seem to care either though. "He lived with the free folk for a while. He managed to infiltrate their army, and found out their battle plans."

Nieve raises her brows, impressed.

"But…" Sam follows hesitantly, "…he fell in love with a Freefolk girl. Now, the brothers think he's too empathetic to them. Some even suspect he's turned."

Nieve nods solemnly. "Do you think he's turned?"

"I think he's realised something that the Night's watch has failed to realise until now; that everyone's forgotten why crows and wildlings even began fighting in the first place."

Nieve lowers the spoon back in the empty bowl and looks at Sam with concern. "You protect him don't you?" She asks seriously.

Sam looks at her, but his head is bowed. "I try. But he's got Ghost for that - his wolf - does a better job than I ever could. I still worry though."

Nieve wants to tell Sam, I want to help protect him too. But she bites her tongue. They would mean empty words to Sam, and she couldn't explain to him that Jon means the survival of this realm, without him telling Jon before he's ready to know. She could only hope that whilst she's stuck in here - Sam and the wolf would be enough to keep him safe.

Sam stands up and hobbles over to retrieve the empty bowl. Nieve thanks him again and he promises dinner will be brought to her later.

"Hey sam," Nieve catches him before he's about the exit the door. "Do you think you could lend me a book - just something to do in the day?"

Sam frowns guiltily. Nieve hadn't forgotten she was a prisoner still, inclined to few privileges, I mean before last night she was chained to the wall - incapable of even pissing in the bloody chamber pot in the corner. But she had to try - anything she could do to wile away the hours alone in her dark, cold cell.

"I'd have to ask Jon," Sam admits, "but if I'm honest, I'd imagine he'd say no. You look like you can turn anything into a weapon."

Nieve snickers disappointedly. "Wasn't quite planning to bore the Lord Commander to death with the history books but I see your point." She says fairly. Nieve had never had a chosen weapon, she had trained with them all - whip, spear, poison, dagger, bow, axe, sword - you name it; Nieve had mastered it. But her training had encouraged her to improvise at times - to use what ever she had at her disposal against a threat. Once she'd subdued a target at the markets in Braavos with an apple: it was the first mission she was sent on by the faceless men and things got a little desperate when the mark managed to pin her to the ground in an alley, so she'd grabbed the closest object she could find - an apple knocked off a market stall - shoved it into the target's mouth and swiftly followed through with a punch. She'd knocked his teeth out, and he damned near choked on the apple, but it gave her enough opportunity to push him off and finish him with a dagger. Hardly subtle, but certainly affective. She had no doubt a book would easily be a weapon in her hands.

She nods to Sam as he parts, "Thank you anyway, Sam."

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

It was nearly midday that Jon finally came to visit Nieve, truth was he'd been itching to talk to Nieve again, but he didn't want to look to eager - too desperate. Jon walks into the cell. Nieve is strew out, casually lying on her back on the cell floor - staring at the ceiling, an arm tucked behind her head in support. Her eyes barely glance at him as he enter - she certainly knew how to feign disinterest better than Jon did, because he found himself peeved at her lack of acknowledgement.

"Nieve…?" He says boldly.

She turns her head patiently, waiting for him to get on with it.

"…Have you any news of the Capital?" Ravens were always slow to reach The Wall from King's Landing, but Jon hadn't heard of any news for a few months - they had been busy defending the wall and licking their wounds to bother requesting intel about the capital just yet. But Nieve was worrying that she wouldn't have anything new or relevant to tell Jon - she could only inform him of what Varys had told her, otherwise she'd been out of Westeros in Braavos or travelling with no word or knowledge of the Realm's going-ons. She began to realise her plan of leverage wasn't so full proof as she thought.

Honesty is my best play here. She thinks.

"You know my information will surely become out dated the longer you keep me in here." She sasses.

Jon tries to hide a smug expression, accepting the little victory over her not being so useful as she thought. But he still needed to hear whatever she knew. "Tell me what you know of the Lannister's rule in King's Landing…"

She feigns a gasp. "Traitor! Don't you mean the Baratheon's rule?" Nieve teases.

Jon huffs and she laughs harder. "Little incest humour…? No…? I'll get a smile from you one day, Snow."

Jon stands unamused; patiently waiting for her to begin.

"Alright. As you wish Lord Commander," She mocks, sitting up cross-legged. "But I'd get comfortable if I were you."

And so she begins. She tells him all she could of the Lannisters' recent goings-on. Of Margery Tyrell's marriage to her third king husband, Tommen. Of how Queen Cersei is promised to Sir Loras Tyrell. Jamie Lannister's return without his fighting hand has weakened his commander over the Goldcloaks. And of how Tyrion Lannister was on trial for the murder of King Joffery, but he managed to escape, but not before he murdered his father, Tywin. She omitted the part about Varys - not wishing to draw attention to her source.

Jon had sat quietly throughout Nieve's stories, but now he couldn't contain his shock any longer. "Tywin Lannister is dead!"

Nieve grins at the words. "Said he shot him with two bolts to the chest."

Jon blinks, "You spoke to him? Tyrion?"

Nieve remember's the imps last words to her, and decides to make good on her promise. "Yes, Tyrion and I met briefly in Braavos. When he heard I was coming to the wall he told me to send you his condolences. According to him: he and you are friends?"

"It's complicated." Is all Jon says. Even more so after his family helped kill my family. But these words only confirmed jon's suspicions - Nieve was here for a reason.

"I guess so, him being your brother-in-law too, I mean…" Nieve shrugs.

Jon stares at her blankly.

Nieve's eyebrows drop in disbelief. "You didn't know…"

He continues to stare at her like she'd slapped him in the face. She couldn't believe he didn't know, this was old news, news that happened before the death of his brother Robb.

She garbles the words out faster than she intended too; she felt guilty this was coming from her. "Sansa Stark and Tyrion are married. Have been for over a year now."

Jon remains silent. He tries to suppress the anger inside boiling his chest but he was sure Nieve could read his eyes.

"How did you not know that?" Nieve questions.

It was probably a good thing I didn't know before, He thinks bitterly - he couldn't have bared any more incentive to desert and join the rebellion. Or take a dagger to every Lannister's throat.

He had never been especially close with Sansa, she had taken a weary disposition to Jon much like Catelyn had. Jon could only remember her as the naive and spoilt young lady; who Arya would moan to him about when Sansa teased her about her needle work or giggled at for dressing like a boy. But he knew Sansa was still family and would strike down anyone who'd mean her harm. The Starks were a dying breed, he owed it to Ned at least.

At least it's Tyrion. Jon considers. Sansa was originally intended for Joffery, at least Tyrion would be more likely to treat her kindly. But then Jon remembers that Tyrion was on the run and thousands of miles away in Braavos. "Where's Sansa now? Is she safe?"

Nieve shakes her head, ashamedly. "I honestly don't know. She fled the scene of Joffery's murder, no one's heard of her where a bouts since, but I have my suspicions on a man called Peter Baelish."

Jon spat out the name. "Little Finger?" He'd heard of that cowardly procurer - the man who sold his father out in exchange for the ruins of Harenhall.

"He was said to show an interest in Sansa," Nieve continues, "Much like he did Catelyn Stark. Presumably, he took her, that they worked together to kill Joffrey? If so she's most likely with him, and he was heading to the Eyrie to marry Lysa Arryn. Only shortly after their wedding Lysa apparently threw herself from her tower. Convenient, eh? Not sure what that man's game is entirely but he has Sansa - the eldest and last known living Stark, he's definitely up to something. He'll challenge the Baratheons, the Boltons and eventually the Lannister's."

Jon watches Nieve's mind run. She certainly has a talent for gaging tactics. But it didn't make much sense to him: "But Little Finger's allegiance is to the Lannister's - is it not? He's on their council, if he killed Joffrey and took Sansa, he runs the risk of losing his position in King's Landing - a coward like him with nothing else valuable wouldn't risk double crossing them."

Nieve considers his words for a moment.

"Maybe." She admits, but she remembers the way Varys had talked to him, saying that Baelish had even once admitted to desiring the Iron throne for himself. If Varys didn't trust him, Nieve wouldn't either. "But don't underestimate Little Finger; he's built his way up from nothing - no one who plays the game that well plays nicely."

Doesn't look like we have the lords of the Vail to support us then.

Jon slumps back against the wall he was standing against. His eye's close and he exhales deeply. He'd heard so much knew information and he wasn't quite sure how to process it.

Nieve pulls her knees into her chest, head resting back on the wall. She stares at Jon opposite her.

"Are you okay?" she asks bluntly, noticing Jon seemed stressed.

Jon opens his eyes, realising he's showing vulnerability - that she shouldn't be seeing him in this state. He straightens up abruptly, rearranging his cloak, "Thank you, Nieve." He said calmly. "I'll be back same time, tomorrow."

And he was out the door before she could respond.

She understood it was a lot to take in, especially when it regarded family. She was surprised he'd handled it all so well. If it were her she'd be on a horse down to King's Landing, with a sharpened sword, by now. And she wanted to despise Jon's lack of passion but instead she found she admired it. His focus was to duty. Much like Ned Stark had been. She'd never met the man but her father had talked of him, he claimed he was a dutiful man - too dutiful… Oberyn had never understood duty over family - family was everything to him. But when the moment came that Eddard to chose his family over his duty, it cost him his head.

Let's hope Jon doesn't make the same mistake.

Then she remembered the dream she'd had last night; Oberyn's harsh words rang in her head. You Abandoned your family. She realised she'd done exactly what Jon had done - she'd given up her vengeance for duty. She'd be a hypocrite to despise him from not rejoining his family in their hour of need. I mean look at where I am now! Bloody Dorne is on the brink of war and I'm at the bloody wall. She closes her eyes now too, the guilt weighing ever deeper in her chest.

I promise, I'll make you proud, father. She vows. You'll understand soon.

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

For the next few days Nieve and Jon would continue with their meeting in a meticulous manner. He'd arrive round midday, ask a question, and she'd roll her eyes and answer as truthfully as she wished. He wouldn't ask anything more on his family. Nieve presumed it was to much of a personal matter for him to discuss with her, yet she was curious; of how much Eddard told him of his parentage, of his journey beyond the wall with the Freefolke, and of the Wildling girl that he fell for. But she understood his reservations - she wouldn't want him to start prying either, so she didn't pester the lord commander. She hoped in time she would come to earn his stories. Maybe when that day came, she'd be willing to confide in him too. However, this left their discussions rather formal, cold and strictly business. Nieve was growing slightly mad in the cell - she spent most of her days staring at the stone wall or at the door, praying for a visitor. And when a visitor did arrive it was mostly Jon, sullen faced, stiff and cold as this name suggested. She knew it was a wall he put up to protect himself, much like she did - but knowing that made their meetings all the more tedious. Jon's game of disinterest had certainly improved, he remained detached, his expressions were unreadable, and soon Nieve had grown to be the one aggravated at his lack of acknowledgement. She craved more human interaction - real emotion and contact with the world outside her icy cell. She craved food, warmth, a comfy bed and above all a wash, as she still had traces of Turnip face's blood on her hands and clothes.

Her sanity would be saved however, when Nieve was treated to a visit from Shireen on the odd occasion. The girl would tell her of latest books she'd read and if Nieve was lucky, Shireen would sneak her candles, flint and a fresh loaf of bread. Shireen said she'd tried to bring her something to read but Sam was always in the library, and the books weren't meant to be taken out. But Nieve was just grateful. She couldn't believe how Shireen got away with it all.

"With stealth like that, you'd make a good assassin." She'd told Shireen, complimenting her stealth skills, when she first had snuck her the bread.

Shireen had only giggled, "My face would be too memorable."

Not if you're a faceless man. Nieve thought.

But Nieve would come to regret that comment after Shireen told her she contracted Greyscale by an assassination attempt.

Nieve cursed herself. How could I be so insensitive?

She knew her profession wasn't the most noble, but here she was parading her skills and knowledge without showing the slightest consideration for others at the horror of what she does. Guilt was something she dealt with on a day to day basis, it still consumed her - every life she'd taken, she couldn't even count them, she could just about remember their faces, but that always made the guilt worse.

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

Around noon on the fourth day, Nieve stowed her candles and waited for the Lord Commander to turn up.

She could hear his footsteps passing down the corridor, it had become a familiar sound, - it was so dull in her cell that she'd come to learn his step pattern, she recognised the short and hastened pace of his heavy boots tapping on the stone paving. It always took him seven paces to reach the cell door, before the heavy cell door clunked open.

"Always so punctual, Snow. It's nice to know you can rely on a man." Everyday Nieve begun with a new flirt, she always found his reactions amusing - he would tense up, his grumpy face would intensify, and sometimes he'd even blush. But today Jon was expecting it and was finally ready to serve it back the the prisoner.

"It's nice to know you're always where I want you - locked in this cell."

Nieve grinned. "Don't try make jokes, Snow. You lack the comic timing and intelligence."

Jon grimaces but they press on to the important matters. Nieve tells him of the troubles certain Houses are suffering from the wars between the North and South. She tells him of the house foresters' struggle with the House Bolton and Whitehill control, after Ramsey's murder of the Lord Ethan Forrester - advising him that he'd wise to write to them for recruits - the men are desperate for an escape from their brutal occupants, particularly with Lord Roderick Forrester's hands tied.

Jon sits silently, heeding every word. He couldn't remember when he decided that he could trust what Nieve was saying was the truth, strangely he just did. Despite her being with the faceless men, she didn't seem the type to lie - that's when he realises, he still didn't know anything about her. Their meetings had been so formal. But he'd felt their a sense of understanding between them, but he couldn't place why, they had not shared a mutual conversation about anything other than the realm's dramas, and sure, Nieve would throw the occasional jib of mockery at Jon - and he'd force himself not to smile - he'd still come to value their meetings as a strange sort of means of council or guidance for him. Yet he didn't know a single detail about her other than her first name. It frustrated him. He needed to know who he was dealing with. A first name wasn't enough anymore.

So on the fifth day he decided it was worth using his daily information quota on finding out more about her. Jon he sat down his back and head resting against the wall like hers did.

Nieve shifted a little, sensing she wasn't going to like what was about to happen. He usually stands.

Jon looks at her quietly for a moment, before asking his question of the day. "Who are you?"

Nieve knew this was coming, "I thought we'd covered that topic already." She says dismissively.

Jon sighs, why do I even bother.

Nieve feels a strange sense of sympathy. She knew she was making his life difficult. But the mystery of her identity was her protection. "Guess."

Jon narrowed his eyes but plays along, "The men say you look Dornish."

Nieve remains aloof, "Do you think I look Dornish?"

"You don't sound Dornish."
"I've learnt to adapt my accent to my surroundings…" She says in a thick Dornish slur.

"…It keeps my enemies confused…" she then says in the voice of one from the capital, 'proper' and southern like Sansa, Jon thought.

"…The way they should be." Nieve finishes off in a northern accent, much broader than his own, it was the voice of the freefolk.

The voice of Ygritte. Jon thought glumly.

"So you're telling me," Jon says, beginning to understand her methods of manipulation, "because you assume identities - play with accents - you may not be from Dorne, at all?"
Nieve closes her eyes satisfied, leaning her head back against the wall. "Guess you'll never tell."
But Jon shook his head, he'd had suspicions for a while that she really was from Dorne. "Oh but I know you are."
"What makes you think that?" She challenges him.
He smirks, "The Dornish are brutal and proud people, but they're fair minded. I know you're Dornish because you have no problem in the presence of a bastard. You don't grow up as the Bastard of Winterfell without recognising what rejection means. I sense it even among my enemies, my friends, even in my family. But I don't sense it with you. Seven Hells, I mean you're probably a bastard yourself."

She blinks at him. No one ever saw through her cracks, what little there were, she thought she'd plastered up years ago. She remains silent however, not wanting to give him the benefit of the doubt. My walls will remain plastered thank you.

Jon appears to be thinking hard. His eyebrows rose as he realises he was ready to make his guess.

"In fact, I think I know exactly who you are…"

Nieve tries to keep the worry out of her face but she feels she's failing, looking at the ever growing confidence on Jon's.

"I was taught of the great houses growing up in Winterfell, and I paid close attention to the Houses of Dorne - it seeming such a fair-minded place. I heard of the reputation of the bastard daughters of Oberyn Martell - the Sandsnakes, if I believe?"

Nieve stares at him transfixed by his words. She couldn't believe he'd figured her out.

"I envied them." Jon reminisces with a sad smile, he seems to be talking more to himself than to her. "Bastards who were valued, not shunned. Who could do as they please and no one would undermine them because of blood right. I also heard of a girl. An orphaned baby bastard who was found bundled up on a ship in the port of Sunspear. It was said Oberyn Martell found her and took her in, raised her like his own. She became a great fighter from a young age, probably one of the best in the Kingdom, but no one outside of Dorne would take a woman seriously. And so the girl disappeared to Braavos and that was the last anyone had ever heard of her… Until now." He his eyes come to meet hers intensely. "Now, she shows up at the wall, with that warrior spirit she was so famed for, and a new the desire to help defend the Wall from the coming winter… apparently." he adds skeptically.

Nieve had remained stunned silent throughout Jon's speech; watching the Lord Commander's mind tick away, piecing together her life. It was the most she'd ever heard him speak and he was speaking about her life. His words were too familiar, and familiarity to Nieve always felt dangerous. She didn't know what to say: for once she felt speechless. For once she felt scared.

She swallows hard, trying to remember her words again. She couldn't let her fear show, so she forces a arrogant scoff, "Well, well, you got me. Seems I underestimated you, Jon snow." She had dropped the Northern accent, finally, revealing her true voice; tainted Dornish. "Seems you know… everything there is to know about me." She says sarcastically.

Jon ignores her tone, his expression both stern and pitiful. "Why is it I still don't know who you are then?"

Nieve huffs to herself, she really didn't like the direction this conversation was heading, so she deflected as usual. "Because people are more than just branches on a family tree." She sasses.

Jon nods in agreement, but wasn't buying her vague responses any longer. "But I think it's more because even you aren't sure who you are anymore."

He was heading into dangerous territory, she hated that his words were affecting her. She hated the way he made himself too familiar. Too close to the truths that she didn't want to hear, that she would never entertain.

Keep your calm, Sand. She breathed to herself.

But Jon stood up then, beginning to pace lightly around the room. He wasn't done interrogating her mind yet. "I remember that girl from my lessons at Winterfell. That girl I understood, empathised with her even. She was an outsider, and a fighter." he stops pacing. "But I can't understand her now. Not since she disappeared to Braavos."

He takes a step closer towards her, he hears Nieve's breath hitch in her throat.

He frowns, "You've assumed too many identities, played too many roles, backed too many sides-"

"-I become whoever I need to be to do what I need to do." Nieve spits at him.

"And what do you need to do?"

"My duty!" She cries, it was the words she told herself time and time again. That she lied and killed for a cause, for duty. Nieve had risen to a stand now, she didn't even realise she'd done it. Her fist were clenched, her eyes a light with fury. Jon thought she looked taller than when he first saw her standing in the hall, whilst he had sat high on the council table. She took a few steps towards him, "For Oberyn; I served. For the Many faced god; I killed. And now for you; I wish to help protect the realm." She was breathless now, her heart racing, her face inches away from his, squaring him up. Their eyes refusing break contact. She watches as his eyes study hers, searching for the truth.

He so desperately wanted to believe her words, but he couldn't help feel their was more to it; to the reason she had come into his life. He knew the gods had sent her for a purpose - either good or bad. Whatever it was, he wanted to find out before it was too late.

"If you truly want to help, you can help by being Nieve Sand of House Martell." He whispers softly. "Stop lying. Stop running. Stop hiding."

Nieve's expression had softened slightly. Strangely, upon hearing those words she felt a huge release escape her. She wasn't used to being told to be herself. Even Oberyn had her play an act - the champion daughter of a lord. Jon was right, she'd always had to be someone else. To play a role; the noble, the killer, the spy. She'd wasn't even sure who she was anymore, or what she wanted - Justice? Revenge? Peace? War? And there she was; trying to teach Arya to be true to herself. Maybe years with the faceless men had finally broken her - turned her into nobody without her even releasing it. It was something that Nieve had never thought of and knowing it now bothered her. But what bothered her more was that Jon was the first one to see. The man had just met her, yet somehow knew her all too well.

She broke away from their stare, turning her back to him to face the wall. She couldn't bare letting him see her face as she admitted that he was right.

Jon didn't say anything. He let her take in his words, sensing her every process of denial, rage, fear, admittance, before finally and slowly turning to face him again. She looked different though, she looked vulnerable now, more human.

Nieve tousled her long hair over her shoulder, exposing her tanned neck. She was fiercely stunning. Jon rarely saw women, being at the wall but he knew she was one of the most beautiful women he'd ever seen. He never thought he'd truly admire another woman's beauty again, after Ygritte.

Ygritte was the love of his life - he would never truly let her go, but here, with Nieve, the pain of that loss that he carried everywhere he went; of all his losses - Ygritte, his father, Robb, Benjen, Grenn, Pyp and many other brothers, even Catelyn too - that pain seemed to soothe when he was with Nieve. He enjoyed her company more than he cared to admit. And it worried him that his desire to get to know her better wasn't just for reasons of trust, but of affection.

Nieve hadn't taken her eyes off his, he thought he saw a glimpse of affection in her expression too, but it was most likely wishful thinking.

"What is it that Nieve Sand do can then?" She says defeatedly.

Jon let's out a sigh in relief, he felt like he'd finally reached her now. "We're trying to gather as many men as possible to fight when the time comes. You are of nobility and royalty - you can talk to you father, convince him of the danger we face from the white walkers."

Like I hadn't considered that before. Nieve shook her head with a sad laugh. "That's not possible."

"Why not?" Jon frowns.

"Because my father is dead."

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

So they've come to an understanding but there's still reservations which neither of them want but neither of them can let go of. Please tell me what you think. Sorry if it felt like a bridge chapter - didn't want it to seem like a filler, but more like an establishment chapter for Nieve being at the wall. Join me very soon for Chapter 7 - More Than Man's Best Friend. I've already begun writing it.