A/N:Again, not much to say here, although I do want to remind everyone that this is in no way how I actually believe the books will progress. This is, despite many opinions I've had shot my way, an AU fic. That means there may be sidesteps away from canon, slight inaccuracies, but they are not unintentional. Any move outside the canon will be for a reason, and I hope you can understand the motivation behind it. I just want to present you all with a good story. Anyway, without further ado, enjoy!

Jon had seen the Godswood covered in a dusty layer of snow, but now the trees were submerged, red bloody eyes looking out through a frosty veil. He watched them, mind revealing an image of a younger self, and a younger Sam, kneeling in the dirt and repeating words that he had broken, and other's had broken, to bring him his redemption.

If he had known what saying those words meant, the revenge he was forfeiting, the aid he would refuse, he may have beckoned to Ghost and ran. To his brother's side, to his father's side. I could have protected Arya, he thought bitterly,I could have kept her safe.

His wolf sidled out from behind a tree and approached him, nudging Jon's arm until he stumbled back a step. "Ghost" he murmured, not looking away from the tree ahead of him. The wolf backed away, sinking onto his haunches with a whine. He almost melted into his setting in his place out of focus in the corner of Jon's eye, and it almost felt like Jon was too, becoming so much a part of the north he could disguise himself in the snows and winds. Without brothers, to fight with, to defend, and even to order from here to there, he didn't feel like part of the Wall any more. He wasn't a Stark, he wasn't a Snow, and he wasn't a brother of the Night's Watch.

For all the world, he shouldn't even be stood here. Alive.

He was nothing; just a man in a black cloak, with a wolf in the woods. Miles from home, miles from family. Miles from warmth and comfort and dreamless sleep. It was a dream that had led him here, a dream laced with the scent of winter and the bitter taste of warm blood. He wad walked, or crawled, to these woods. He had stopped in front of the heart tree, and the heart tree had blinked. The rest was just a collection of shrouded memories and a vague sense of purpose. When he had woken, grey light was bleeding through the shutters across his windows. He'd dressed and left, without food, or drink.

Stood here now, cocooned in warmth and yet somehow still cold, his skin felt as if it were floating an inch from his limbs, like he was slowly drifting away from himself, into something else. Or someone else. This wood held so many memories, so many words had been spoken here, blood had been spilled here. Ashes lay beneath feet of snow, dirt imbued with age and with promises whispered silently in the dead of night.

People came here for guidance; even he had come here for guidance, but now it felt like stepping into its threshold meant stepping into a stranger's body, like here he was another person from another time.

"I don't know what to do Ghost." He said, finally turning his head to the wolf "do I stay? But Sansa…"

He pictured the moment, the doors of Wintefell's great hall swinging wide to reveal a woman he would barely recognise, but who he would know. Or perhaps out in the snow, with nobody around, they could share their grief. They may not have been close, but they were all each other had left, and how could he refute that.

But I swore a vow. One voice said.

A vow to a legion that no longer exists. Another whispered.

Jon clutched his hands tightly in front of his stomach and squeezed his eyes shut. Without even having to try he conjured up the image of Wun Wun swiping madly ahead, the prickle of fear rolling across the back of neck, the moment the first blade had coursed towards him, grazing the expanse of skin over his throat. He had dreamt about that night too, and just like now, as Jon stumbled, Ghost had been there to wipe the images from his mind.

He clutched the wolf's fur tightly and kept his eyes closed against the dizziness. His stomach nagged at him, gnawing away at his body until the cold finally began to seep through the furs and he began to shiver.

"C'mon boy" he muttered, straightening into too bright light. He kept the wolf close as they backed away and out of the Godswood. He didn't turn back, but Jon felt eyes watching him.

Walking into the common hall was beginning to look much the same each time he did. Tyrion would be seated at the far end of the room, a fire would be smouldering darkly in the hearth, and Jon would either nod his head and be on his way, or simper over and join him for a cup. Today it was the latter.

"Lord Snow" Tyrion greeted, and filled another cup "It's becoming a nice routine, you and I and this wine."

"Has the taste improved?" Jon asked, taking a sip

"Not so much as my tongue has become accustomed. You are a bitter race, you northerners, and so is your wine."

"Can't contend that." He tapped his cup to Tyrion's and took a larger gulp.

"You know when we came here I wasn't expecting to find the comfort I have."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Well, my chambers are amicable, the wind is biting yes, but the fire is warm and me, I have always enjoyed my own company."

"And the princess?" Jon asked "how does she enjoy her own company?"

"The princess remains a mystery to me. She followed her nephew's orders, she saw that you are alive and well" he nodded his cup toward Jon "and yet…" he paused, looking across at him, befuddled. "She lingers."

Jon drew his gaze from Tyrion's and looked instead to the fire dying just past his shoulder. The Red Woman had told him she had seen him in the flames, that it confused her. Her courage with men was a given, and yet with Jon she had danced like a predator stalking larger prey. She was powerful yes, and yet she had been wary. Watching the fire now, eyes flickering with their ever shifting tendrils, he had to wonder why.

"I received a letter" he said eventually into the silence. Tyrion looked up, having been consumed by his own thoughts, and raised his eyebrows in curiosity.

"In this weather?"

"Those were my sentiments too. It was from my sister." He looked up at his companion and tried to read his expression, but all he could see there was a blank acceptance. He had resolved to keep his secrets to himself, but Tyrion understood him, and if Daenerys Targaryen was as much of a mystery to him as he claimed, perhaps he could lend the little lord his trust. "It had a blue seal, and a bird. I did not recognise it."

Tyrion smiled at her, "The Sansa Stark I knew had grown wise." He took a deep breath and let it out slowly "no doubt that is her little jest, in the face of my sister."

Jon looked at him with a furrowed brow. "My sister" Tyrion continued "used to call her little dove. Now she is free, I expect she wishes to turn that which hurt her, into her own brand of power. No doubt Littlefinger had some say in it."

Jon's frown deepened. "But why not just use the Stark seal? She is the true heir to the North after all, even if the Boltons still hold Winterfell."

The lord considered. "If I may ask" he then went on, pushing his cup aside and pulling himself a little higher on the bench, "what were the contents of this letter?"

Jon opened his mouth, and then hesitated, mind flashing back to Daenerys' face when she had handed him the letter. How was he to know that this wasn't some elaborate plan? That Aegon wanted him dead? I am no-one. He thought, I am no-one to be feared, I am no-one to be defeated. I hold nothing. I am, no-one. "She's marching on Winterfell. She intends to take back the North."

He watched Tyrion's face move from surprised, to confused, to a little amused. When it finally settled on impressed, Jon let out the breath in his lungs.

"Well your sister is certainly something." He observed, turning back to his wine.

"She wants my aid" he continued, bent on finishing what he had started now that he had. "She wants me to leave Castle Black and stand by her side."

"And how does she intend to take it? As Lady? She can do that as soon as she is married."

"She intends to take it as Queen." Jon sighed "As Robb's heir."

Tyrion closed his eyes, let loose a rye smile and then rubbed a hand across his face, "you Starks have courage I'll give you that."

"I'm not a Stark." Jon corrected, out of habit.

"yes yes, you're not a Stark. But you will be I'll garner. By Royal decree you can be legitimised, and if Sansa intends on taking the Northern Throne-"

"And as I Stark what would I do? Sit in Winterfell and watch my sister rule?"

Tyrion considered for a moment, a long moment, and then shrugged a shoulder "It's better that sitting here. And there are other ways..." Tyrion trailed off, buring his face in his cup.

"And what do you mean by that?" Jon watched the dwarf swallow, eyes flicking around the table nervously. He prickled, straightening his spine. He had hit a fault line, he could see it in the man's face.

Eventually, Tyrion looked up to meet his eyes "you want my advice, Snow?"

Jon nodded slowly.

"I think you have been given an opportunity."

"You think the princess would just let me leave?"

"I think the princess has other plans" he said quietly, and finishing what was left in his cup. He leant closer, lowered his voice "the princess has conquered cities, defeated the Red Waste, survived almost 18 years being chased by the Iron Throne's knives. You think she is going to sit back and let her nephew rule while she watches, as you would, from the shadows of the throne room? I think not."

Like so many days before, the little lord pushed himself back off the bench and stretched.

"What do you suggest?" Jon queried.

"I suggest Lord Snow, that you take a fancy at her plans. She would not have come this far north without one. Don't think she will so easily give up what she has spent her life trying to regain." He turned to walk away, but something prompted Jon to call out his name again.

"And what about you?" he asked, pushing himself up.

"Me?" Tyrion replied, sticking out his bottom lip "Well I'm a Lannister without a rock. I follow where I am allowed."

"And you believe in her?"

"I believe in her as I believe in most" he said, turning his back and striding towards the door "as much as it takes to keep me alive."

Jon smiled as the door swung shut, if only from the relief of having the burden lifted from his shoulders. As soon as it was gone however, another came to press with even more weight. There was princess, a knight, a disgraced Lord without a home, and Jon and his wolf, left to embrace the North as its only defense.

As he moved from the room, he paused, hearing a clatter and shuffle, but then the door was open, and the wind pulled unease and distraction into his mind.