Sinking deeper into the tub of hot water, Ireyne let the heat take control of her skin, sighing in relief as the water scalded her body up to her neck. The heat seemed to burn away the memories of the morning past. Ireyne could still not wrap her head around the events that had occurred today; her mind was still half numb and half shocked - it was as though she had experienced everything from someone else's body and not her own. She could feel fresh tears stream down her cheeks, her body shaking once more.

"Oh Ireyne. Shh, there now, everything is fine." Vaera, her handmaiden, whispered, sitting next to her on a stool, running her hands through Ireyne's hair. When she'd found her way back to Winterfell, Ireyne had carefully managed to evade every other soul in the castle, sneaking into her bedchamber, and only then had she allowed herself to break down. Only Vaera knew at this point of whatever happened. And Ireyne wanted to keep it that way. She knew she'd get herself in worse trouble if anyone found out she had sneaked off in the morning.

"Vaera, please leave me alone for a while?" Ireyne softly murmured. Upon noticing her handmaiden's crestfallen face, she continued, "I just- I want to be alone for a while. Please."

Ireyne waited until she caught a low murmur of agreement from the young girl, and heard the heavy oak door close behind Vaera as she left. Leaning her head on the edge of the tub and letting her eyes fall shut, Ireyne's mind wandered back to the woods, rethinking everything that happened in the last 12 hours...

...They laughed.

The sound echoed in her mind as his hand moved lower, much lower, ready to hike up her skirt and - please, no. Her mind willed for all this to stop. And as the men laughed, their obnoxious roars filling the air, their stench invading her nostrils, more tears flowing down her cheeks, her body shaking vigorously, and his hand moving dangerously down, under her skirt...

Her eyes shut tightly, a lone tear escaping, as Ireyne kept repeating her mantra, no, no, no, please, no, no, no, please no, stop, save me, please, no, Gods no, no, no, please...

The man holding her legs abruptly shifted, pulling her backwards and throwing her on the ground. Ireyne landed on her back, leaves scrunching up under her weight. She braced her weight on her left hand, the right one sliding back underneath her cloak and clenching at her dress.

One of the men moved forward now, "it will be easier this way pretty lass..." he smirked. The other three men stood a few feet behind, leaning against tree trunks, waiting for the show to begin. The bearded man stood over Ireyne, legs placed on either side of her, as he began to undo his pants and bend down at the same time.

He was a few inches away from her, when Ireyne pulled out her dagger from behind her and, with quick, deft hands, swung her hand to the left side, neatly slitting his throat. Blood came spurting out, staining her delicate hands and coloring her pale yellow dress crimson. The man was holding onto his bleeding neck, choking on his blood, eyes wide as he fell at her feet. The other three men stood stock-still, shocked, for a few moments.

And in those few moments, Ireyne hurriedly got to her feet and started running in the opposite direction.

She didn't know how long she'd been running - it might've been seconds, minutes, hours or even days. Ireyne wasn't sure how time moved. She could hear those men following her, their panting breath growing louder and louder, their hefty footfalls sounding closer and closer...

Out of the corner of her eye, Ireyne saw something large and white rush past her, followed by a blood-curling scream from behind her. Looking over her shoulder, she saw the white wolf from Godswood mauling one of the men while the other two continued chasing her.

And she ran, further, faster, straining her aching legs and willing herself to keep running. She kept hearing screams of pain and howls behind her but not once did she turn back. Looking ahead, Ireyne could faintly see a figure running towards her. She panicked a little, bracing herself to stab whoever it was. Men behind her and a man in front; she seemed to have no escape. However, as the man drew closer, the blonde realized just exactly who it was - Jon.

"Ireyne?!" he exclaimed, his eyes wide as he took in her appearance.

"Jon..." his name rolled off her tongue. Looking behind her, Jon caught sight of the man chasing her. As if that jump-started his senses, Jon grabbed Ireyne's hand in his own and roughly pulled her behind himself, before lunging forward to fight the wildling off.

Ireyne watched in fear as Jon drew his sword from its scabbard, and aimed it at the burly man. They seemed to engage in a rough, uncoordinated dance of sorts. The bearded man lunged and attacked every which way, his movements hasty yet forceful. Jon seemed to dodge and jump around much more swiftly, his movements fast yet rather defensive. For a few moments they seemed to dance around in circles, attacking and defending; the wild man seemed tired of this game, however, because he threw aside his spear and abruptly knelt, surprising Jon. His distraction was all that Ireyne's attacker needed for he now easily grasped Jon's legs and pulled forcefully, managing to knock Jon off his feet. The man stood up and kicked Jon's sword away, kicking him sharply in the abdomen.

Ireyne stood in utter horror now. If she'd been scared a few moments before, she was now terrified. She watched the man beat Jon mercilessly, kicking his shins and stomach repeatedly.

Jon rolled around in the ground, his body aching, too overwhelmed to gather his senses again and fight back. From his position on the ground, Jon couldn't see Ireyne; he knew she was behind the wildling and could only hope she had enough logic in her to run away while she had the chance. The man laughed, kicking Jon over on his back, and knelt over him. Jon - through the pain that clouded his vision and threatened to pull him into a dark void - saw the man raise his clenched fist up high - ready to strike down on his face; Jon's eyes shut tightly, mentally bracing himself for the impending blow.

But the blow never came. Only something warm sprayed on his face, smelling very strongly like iron - like blood. Jon opened his eyes to see the vicious man choking on his own blood, a deep gash evident on his throat. Jon glanced behind the man to see Ireyne standing there, her eyes wide and chest heaving, holding the wildling's chin in one of her hands while the other was by her side, a blood drenched dagger clasped tightly in it.

"You..?" Jon couldn't finish his sentence.

Ireyne could only nod her head, words escaping her.

Jon didn't move.

She still said nothing.

They stood motionless for what felt like ages, neither Jon nor Ireyne uttering a word - perhaps not even breathing for a few moments. They simply looked at the ground, at the blood pooling on it, staining everything red. Eventually, Jon seemed to regain his senses for he began to stand up, staggering a little, biting back moans of pain. Ireyne continued to stand still, the shock and weight of what happened - what could have happened - sinking in, making her freeze.

It was a gentle touch to her hand that broke Ireyne from her reverie. She flinched violently at the sensation without realizing what it was. Jon stood closer to her than she realized, and it was his warm hand that had touched hers. He seemed hesitant, unsure of what to do, what to say to her.

Thinking of nothing better, Jon eventually reached for her hand again, keeping his grey eyes locked on her blue ones. Gently taking hold of her smaller hand, Jon wrapped his fingers around hers, tugging at her hand to force her to start moving with him.

Throughout the duration of their walk back to Winterfell, Jon didn't let go of her hand; Ireyne was extremely grateful for the contact for she felt like her mind and body were two separate entities at the moment; she felt herself shaking, unsteady on her own two feet. Jon's hand seemed to root her to the ground; he seemed to be the only reason she was putting one foot in front of the other repeatedly. He had to be the reason considering he was the one almost dragging her - albeit gently - back home.

Sometime during their impromptu hike, he'd draped his fur cloak over her smaller form, effectively warming her and concealing her crimson-tainted dress. Ireyne didn't know exactly how he'd managed to steer her away from everyone else and secretly escort her to her chamber without a soul knowing what had happened. Ireyne had told him in one strict sentence that he wasn't supposed to tell anyone that she had wandered off to the forest by herself - and got caught. Jon understood she wanted to avoid the torment and degrading glances she would get if word got out - people in Westeros were excellent at formulating rumors and false stories about girls which aimed to besmirch their name, especially if they were of noble birth and house.

And so he'd agreed to keep silent, still maintaining their skin-to-skin contact - only letting go of her hand once she was outside of her chambers safely.

Memories of the day rushed back to Ireyne who sniffled a bit once again and firmly shook her head, trying to relieve herself of the torturous thoughts. Glancing outside the window, the youngest Lannister noted the sun was setting - the time for the sun to set in the North was far greater than in King's Landing, she dully comprehended.

Dressed in a simple white nightgown with tiny red flowers creeping up the bottom, Ireyne sat in a chair in front of the mirror, letting Vaera brush out the tangles from her blonde hair. Usually, Ireyne did such tasks herself - or at least preferred to - but tonight, she was far too tired, both emotionally and physically.

"Do you think he's alright?" Vaera soft, accented voice spoke in the far too silent bedchamber.

Ireyne didn't need to ask about whom Vaera was talking about.

"I don't know." Ireyne responded. "He should be..." she trailed off, uncertainty apparent in her voice. She hadn't thought back to him once since she'd locked herself in her room today. Tyrion was informed that his sister wasn't feeling well and requested to be alone. He'd tried to see her, but Ireyne was adamant about letting anyone in. The whole day had passed and she'd been awake from dawn till dusk. She was tired, her bones aching and her mind begging for sleep - the fur draped bed looked so so enticing; inviting enough to let almost every other thought evaporate from her brain. Except one nagging thought.

Jon sat on his bed in his chambers, events of the day running around in his restless mind. He supposed he was lucky - the wildling hadn't bruised his face, only his ribs and stomach and back. It made it easier to hide the events past from everyone else, at least until his father came home. Jon had decided to keep his lips sealed, knowing the kinds of rumors and trouble it would bring Ireyne if he let his tongue slip. But he couldn't just let the knowledge that a couple of wildlings had wandered so close to Winterfell be hidden for long. Jon therefore surmised it was best to let his Lord Father know of the unfortunate occurrence - in private. He would do so as soon as they came back from their hunting trip.

The downside of his decision was the fact that he had to invent a mad story to explain why he was limping and in pain. Jon decided that the 'I fell off my horse when it stumbled over roots in the forest' story was his best coverup. So far, he'd narrated his incredible story - which gained intricate details each time he retold it - to Jory, Mikken, Arya, Maester Luwin, and Bran. Jon had an exceptionally difficult time evading the maester when he said he wanted to check for bruises and wounds, knowing that Maester Luwin would recognize the bruises for stemming from something far more sinister than falling off horses.

But all this meant that Jon hurt more than ever before. He knew his chest and abdomen had several, large, deeply hued bruises at this point. And they ached terribly so. He was wondering if there was any way he could obtain milk of poppy to sooth his battered body for a while and have a good night's sleep tonight, when a soft knock sounded at his door, so soft he almost thought he'd imagined it.

Groaning and irked at whoever it was on the opposite side of the door, Jon limped his way off the bed to unlock it. Irritably, he swung open the heavy oak door much more forcefully than he intended to, finding himself face to face with-

"Ireyne?"