I'm terribly sorry for taking so long, but I had absolutely no time at all to write during the holiday season, due to work (I had a 12 hour shift daily, and of course, friends, family and a fiancé to spend time with as well). Unfortunately, I'll be able to post regularly again after February, when my finals will be over. That doesn't mean I won't post again sooner, but I just wanted to warn you beforehand.

JON

I found myself wandering around Winterfell, down stairways and along corridors, opening doors to empty and cold chambers. There was nobody there.

The yard was also completely desolate.

A terrible thought came unbidden into my mind.

What if they are all dead?

I ran towards the crypts, desperate to find out. I had just run by the First Keep when I saw a figure standing vigil before the heavy ironwood door of the crypts. Instead of relief, fear twisted in my gut, but I couldn't stop. I had to go there. I had to get inside.

Suddenly, I found myself in front of Lady Catelyn. She was sneering at me with obvious contempt, as she stood tall, between me and the door of the crypts.

"You have no right to be here. Leave."

She hissed at me, voicing finally the unspoken words I could always see plainly reflected in her eyes.

"I have to go inside."

I told her, not really afraid of her. There was something worse inside the crypts, waiting for me to find.

"You have no place in the crypts. No place in Winterfell. You are not a Stark, only a bastard."

Lady Stark replied with conviction, looking at me with cold, unyielding eyes. I shoved her aside to make way, but when I touched her she disappeared like smoke through my fingers.

Inside the crypts it was dark and cold and my cries for father and Robb echoed in the endless, damp corridors. I somehow found myself in the deepest part of them, walking hurriedly past the Kings of Winter, whose ghosts all repeated Lady Catelyn's words at me, over and over again. I was terrified, but not of them. There was something terrible in here, something more frightening than the dead and I had to find it. I had to…

In my hurry, I slipped on something, losing my balance and just like that, I was falling into an abyss…

I woke up abruptly, regaining my balance. I had slipped sideways on the saddle, where I had obviously fallen asleep. I would have fallen, had I not woken when I did.

When had I even slept?

I wondered, feeling shaken by the dream. It was almost the same dream as before. The only change was Lady Catelyn's appearance, but that could probably be explained as a result of the turmoil Sansa's proposition had caused in me last night…

"Did you enjoy your beauty sleep princess?"

Morgan Liddle asked me teasingly, as I rubbed the sleep off my eyes.

"Fuck you."

I grumbled at him, not really in the mood for his japes.

"With pleasure Snow! I bet you'll keep me nice and warm under my furs tonight…"

He retorted, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. I gave him a withering glare to shut him up and he rolled his eyes at me, as he spurred his horse forwards, muttering under his breath something about me being a prissy cunt.

I sighed in relief at his departure, needing some time to think by myself. I needed to know whether I had chosen to do the right thing and I couldn't do that with that him and his big mouth nearby…

In the end, I had decided to go along with Sansa's plan. I had all night to think about it uninterrupted, as she slept. There had been a war inside my mind. One that stopped only the moment I realized how selfish I was being.

I had decided weeks ago that Sansa's wellbeing was far more important than my stupid sense of honor, but it seemed like old habits die hard. But die they would, if that meant she would get to live.

So, the moment she woke, I told her I would do it, stammering the whole time like a green boy. She hadn't seemed to notice though. She coiled her arms around me and thanked me a thousand times, promising me I wouldn't regret it.

I could still remember how her soft body felt pressed on mine. I had a whole night to ingrain it to my memory. I had never expected her to sleep in my arms. I had only been comforting her, but then she fell asleep and, even though I knew it was wrong to keep her so close, I still couldn't bring myself to wake her. 'Just a little longer.', I would repeat to myself, because I was a selfish bastard, and I couldn't get enough, but minutes stretched into hours… until dawn came and she finally stirred on her own. She even apologized for sleeping, as if it had been a chore, an inconvenience for me…

"We'll part ways soon. We'll reach the juncture by midday."

The Wull informed me, as he came to ride beside me on his black destrier. I was lost in thought and I had not heard his approach. That by itself was a marvel, because his horse was anything but silent. It was a muscular and mean beast, prone to biting and kicking and making a ruckus. The only thing that could scare it, so far, was Ghost and the only person it let on its back was Big-Bucket Wull.

I looked him in the eye and gave him a nod, hoping that would be enough of an answer for him. The chief was a fearsome sight today. He was wearing his white bear hide, which made him look even more brawny and formidable and at his back hung his mighty war hammer. To be honest, he looked more like a bear than a man… a white bear riding a black horse.

"Are you all right son?"

He asked me, sounding genuinely concerned.

If I look half as shitty as I feel, then I understand why he asks.

I thought to myself, as the last word he said echoed in my mind. The first time he had called me 'son' it had been a big shock. I had no recollection of being called that by anyone in my whole life; not even my own father, but surely I had just forgotten… There was no way father had never called me 'son'…

I dragged my hand along my skull, pulling back my unruly hair and tying it half of it at the back of my head. The touch of the icy wind at my exposed neck and ears made me shiver, but I ignored it.

"I'm fine. I just couldn't sleep last night. I had too much in my mind."

I saw his face darken at my comment and he frowned at me.

"Don't tell me you have been contemplating on actually going along with your foolish plan!"

He hissed at me in exasperation. In the past three days we had talked about Ramsay Bolton's letter extensively. I had told him of my plan to go to Winterfell and rescue Rickon, just as I had rescued Sansa, but he wouldn't hear any of it. He said that it was a trap, that the Bastard was lying, that my brother was dead…

And I had grudgingly agreed, because he was voicing my own dark suspicions.

I couldn't let little Rickon die though, in the off chance Ramsay Bolton was telling the truth…

"Rickon will be dead by the time the battle ends, no matter the outcome."

Sansa said in my mind for the hundredth time since last night. I felt my right hand spasm on the reigns and I tightened it into a fist.

"I don't know."

I said, not really in the mood to explain anything to anyone… not even myself. I saw him run his hand through his beard, pulling away the tiny icicles that had formed there from his breath and I did the same with mine, watching the ice crumble and fall on the ground.

"Jon, you cannot jeopardize the fate of the North for the sake of a child that could or could not be Eddard Stark's son. We are at war and winter is almost upon us."

He replied with cold pragmatism, reminding me of Maester Aemon's words.

"Kill the boy, Jon Snow. Winter is almost upon us. Kill the boy and let the man be born."

I thought the boy was dead and buried by the Wall, under a sign with the word 'TRAITOR' written on it, but it wasn't, not entirely. There was a small part of the boy still alive, demanding to be heard.

Damn her.

I thought, knowing she was the one to do this to me. She was the one to awaken this part of me. It had been dead, and yet, she had somehow breathed life into it, the same way the Red Woman had breathed life into my dead body.

"So am I supposed to stand down and let another one of my brothers die? Is that what you'd have off me? My Lord…"

I asked him through clenched teeth, adding his title in the end with withering scorn. He huffed in anger at my outburst and his clear blue eyes hardened like chips of ice that fell off the Wall.

"Yes you are, damn you! Your place is at the head of your army, not in the Bastard's dungeons like some common thief. All those men marching behind you have put their faith in you to help them survive this winter, the way the Starks have done for thousands of years. If you are not the man to do that, then there is no point in following you in the first place."

He told me, using the same arguments as yesterday and the day before yesterday, with slightly different wording.

"That boy is not your brother Jon. He is just a decoy, a sham! And even if he is your brother, there is no need for you to go rescue him! You have four thousand men under your command! Surely there are plenty willing and able to take on this quest! But there is no other man to command your army in your stead."

He said in exasperation and his horse whinnied in agreement with him.

He is right… I can send somebody else… How did I not think about it before?

I wondered, feeling at a loss. I had ruminated on the subject for days on end and not even once did that possibility cross my mind.

"I have a man in mind for the job if you are interested…"

He said when I gave him no reply, probably sensing I was half-sold on this idea of his.

"Who?"

"The Red Mouse. His real name is Karl and serves the Flints. He is half clansman, half crannogman. He is small as a mouse, this one, and quiet too. Perfect for the job."

He informed me with a smile, but his words were met with skepticism on my part.

"Tell me more of him. Why do they call him that?"

I requested and his face crunched up in an annoyance, or distaste, I couldn't really tell.

"Well, I already told you how the "mouse" part came to be, but people added the 'red' part for he is a little too fond of the killing business."

He informed me and the scowl on my face deepened, making the scab at my temple grow taut.

"I won't put the life of my brother at the hands of a killer."

"We are all killers Jon Snow. He is just better at it, is all."

He replied with a shrug and I had no comeback for him, because he was right. I was right as well though.

There is surely somebody better suited for the job… somebody I can trust… one of my own men.

I thought and suddenly I had my answer. There were not many men I could trust. I could count them in one hand and there was only one amongst them who met all the conditions. Lord Davos Seaworth. He had been a smuggler before Robert's Rebellion and he had sneaked inside Storm's End undetected, not once, but twice and lived to tell the tale.

This man has already risked his life for mine… he would never refuse me… not even if I sent him on a suicide mission like this one. He is the only one I know capable of pulling this off and, even if he fails, I will know for certain that nobody would have succeeded.

"It doesn't matter. I won't have him. I have somebody better in mind for the job my Lord, but thank you for your counsel."

I told him somberly.

"Good! Now that we finally solved that, it's high time you get your face out of your ass and start enjoying the ride!"

He replied as he slapped my horse's flank causing it to break into a fast gallop. He spurred his own horse forwards as well and I ran with him, letting myself enjoy the ride as he had urged me. After a while, we both slowed down, as the path became smaller again and steeper. While I was catching my breath, I looked around, taking in the scenery I had ignored for most of the day. To my left there was a solid mountain wall, made up of grey stone and chunks of iridescent ice, stretching towards the heavens. To my left, there were endless pine and fir trees, filling the whole slope, their branches white with snow. Those mountains were beautiful in their own way; in the wild way of the North. A screech sounded from up above and I saw a falcon soaring in the clear blue sky directly above us. I looked at it suspiciously, having the same feeling I had when Orell's eagle had flown down at me, ready to tear my eyes out with its sharp talons.

The falcon took a dive directly towards us and I unsheathed my sword in a heartbeat, ready to strike it down.

"NO!"

Big-Bucket shouted at me, holding my hand down with all his strength. Panic surged in my chest. The next moment, the falcon was harmlessly perched on his shoulder, reminding me of the way the Lord Commander's raven used to stay in that position. The urge to attack it was still very much present though. I knew there was a man inside the falcon. I didn't know how, but I knew all the same…

"This is Rickard."

The Wull said affectionately, as he petted its feathers with his fingers.

"He is the messenger I will be sending you when we reach the Wolfswood."

He continued, and I looked at him with a blank expression.

"I thought you'd recognize your own kind Jon Snow."

He said dryly and I sucked in a breath in sock.

How does he know? I have only told Sansa and she would never share such a secret… would she?

"I don't understa−"

"There's no use in denying it. It's just us here and I know a skinchanger when I see one lad. There is no shame in it. What you have is a gift from the old gods, a blessing…"

He told me in a coarse voice, his tone sad and rueful, not understanding that my link with Ghost was a curse as much as it was a blessing.

"You don't know what you're talking about."

I hissed at him and he shot me with a hard glare. His horse huffed under him and kicked the icy path with its hooves, sensing his rider's anger.

"What I know, Jon Snow, is that, even thought my firstborn son died at Twins, he came back to me after the Red Wedding inside that falcon. To me, that is nothing but a blessing from the gods."

A gasp escaped my lips at his harshly spoken words. I knew his son had died at the Red Wedding, along with my brother, but I never could have guessed…

"I… I'm terribly sorry my Lord. I didn't know."

I apologized clumsily, cursing my lack of eloquence.

If Sansa were here, she would have known what to say. She is the one with the pretty words and the proper courtesies…

I thought to myself as I stole a glance at Big-Bucket Wull beside me. He was whispering something to the falcon, which promptly flew away with a screech, disappearing behind a mountaintop.

"You remind me of him you know… maybe not in appearance, but in character. My Rickard was as brave, noble and kind, as you are…"

He started and I turned my attention back to him and away from the winter sky.

"When I found out he was a skinchanger, I got so mad, I took a bow and arrow and shot that bloody bird out of the sky. The wind led my arrow astray though, piercing its wing instead of its belly. I can still remember how it had shrieked in agony in time with my son, as it fell."

"I found it in the yard, laying half-dead on the snow. I had my dirk ready, but my son was already there, holding a kitchen knife in his hand as if it were a sword, ready to defend his bird. He was a boy of seven and, still, he stood up to me without a second thought. I have no idea what came over me at that moment, but I decided to spare it. And now it brought a part of my son back to me…"

He said, dragging his gloved hand along his face. He appeared older somehow, resigned and pained. And I understood him. I knew how his chest burned and ached, I knew how much he missed him. I was no stranger to grief. And my pain was surely sharper, because no part of Robb came back to me, no part of Arya or father…

Only Sansa came back to me, but even she came back broken, with her other half dead and gone…

I said nothing. Empty words of comfort would offer him no solace. They didn't bring any to me at least.

The scenery had changed yet again and we were now walking in the middle of a chasm that had formed in the mountain. Twin stone walls flanked us from both directions. The rest of the men had caught up to us a while ago. The sound of hooves hitting on stone and of the sound human voices was resonating in the narrow space, creating the illusion of an army counting tens of thousands.

"We'll part ways after this bend Jon Snow."

He suddenly said the moment said bend became visible. He sounded like the man I had met all those days ago, composed and serious and nothing like the grieving father I had beside me only moments ago. I gave him a solemn nod, murmuring 'Aye' under my breath.

"When we reach our designated position at the Wolfswood, I will send Rickard to find you and, a day before the attack, you'll send him back to me, so we can prepare."

"I'll be waiting for him my Lord."

I told him somberly as we took a sharp turn on the mountain. Suddenly the path we were riding on split into two and Big-Bucket raised his arm high above his head, gesturing for everyone to come to a halt. The time to split our forces had come and fear twisted in my belly like vicious snakes. From the three thousand clansmen, only five hundred would follow Sansa and me to Last Heath, and then south to Winterfell, through the King's Road. The rest would take the path that led to Winterfell through the mountains, to attack the enemy from the rear. I would have to provide the Bastard with a show, drawing his attention to the north with sorties, so the clansmen would remain undetected in the Wolfswood, right at his doorstep.

It was a bold plan and a risky one and that made me wary. There was too much at stake and there was no room for mistakes. One mistake was all that was needed for death to come for us all.

I said my goodbyes to the chiefs and then to their sons, crushing their hands in mine and relishing in the way they flinched. I knew I was being petty, but watching them talk with Sansa for all those days when I could not even let myself look her way, had me turning green with jealousy.

That feeling should have been nothing new to a bastard. After all, I had been jealous of all my siblings for my whole life, especially Robb. I had even envied Theon in a way, but this kind of jealousy was new to me. It was toxic like poison and it caused fierce anger to erupt in my chest, anger I had nowhere to channel, except to Ghost. He welcomed all my darkest feelings and made them his own. Watching the lordlings cower before the huge white direwolf was my only source of pleasure on this cold and seemingly unending march.

I watched as the biggest part of our army took the path to the right, towards Winterfell, leaving only a small force of Flints and Liddles behind, with Morgan Liddle and Black Donnel Flint as their commanders. It was a good thing for my sanity, because Donnel Flint was married and Morgan Liddle was intent on remaining a bachelor for as long as possible. Obviously none of them had any intention of courting her and I was glad for the reprieve, no matter how brief it would be.

I turned around and saw Sansa riding alone again, with her back held straight as an arrow and her cloak blowing in the breeze. Ghost was at her side, like always these days. I saw her start coming towards me with a hesitant smile and I smiled in return, unable to resist. The next moment though, I got flanked by Morgan and Black Donnel and I saw her draw back the reins softly, stilling her advance. Morgan started unfurling a tale at Donnel and I, about his last hunting trip and, with a sigh, I tore my eyes from her and concentrated on Middle Liddle's story.

ͽͼ

Sansa had just finished eating the weak broth that had been our supper and put her bowl down with a content sigh. I had finished mine a while ago and I was struggling not to stare at her for too long now that I had nothing to occupy myself with. She had unbound her hair from her braids and her curls were flowing down her back in a river of bright flame. Her cheeks were flush from the ale we had both drank and the black circles under her eyes had almost disappeared since last night. She was radiant…

"Do you remember that one time when you and Robb snuck out in the woods to play and I followed you?"

She asked me with an expectant smile on her face. There was a tightening in my chest at the mention of Robb. She had taken me unawares with her question.

"When was that?"

I asked her sheepishly as I raked my mind to remember the incident she was talking about. It must have been a long time ago, if Sansa had still been following us around…

"I think I was around five and you and Robb were eight at the time. You had both promised we would play monsters-and-maidens together, but Robb didn't want to play with me. I believe he coaxed you into sneaking out and going to the Wolfswood to play heroes… again. I was so mad when I saw you leave, I ran behind you, to drag you back so we could play together, as you had promised."

She interrupted her recounting to giggle and snicker at what came next. The memory eluded me, but her happiness was infectious and I caught myself smiling as well. I couldn't decide whether my smile was a happy or sad one.

"I was being so silly! I stomped into the forest, as if I owned the place and started looking for you, but you were nowhere to be found. I remember shouting out your names, and, of course, panicking when you gave no reply. I was completely lost and very scared, when, suddenly, a squirrel landed on my head. I shrieked so loud, I'm sure even the rangers on the Wall heard me. And then, in my panic, I fell in the creek, which of course resulted in some more shrieks."

She said, scrunching her nose in the most adorable way. I gasped, as I suddenly remembered what came next.

"Yes! Gods, how could I have forgotten that? We heard you scream and ran to you, thinking you were being mauled by a bear or attacked by Wildlings. But you… we…"

My voice trailed off as the memory faded. I felt my face grow hot in embarrassment and frustration, but Sansa picked up effortlessly from where I had left off, as if nothing had happened.

"You came running through the trees, with your wooden swords in hand, ready to defend me, but I was the only one there, struggling to get out of the creek, wet like a fish. It took the both of you to pull me out of the water, thanks to that heavy woolen dress I was wearing."

"But of course, like the brat I was, the moment I was out, I started screeching in the most unladylike manner that it was your fault my new dress got ruined and that I would never-ever forgive you for leaving me behind! Gods, the looks on your faces were hilarious."

She said amidst bouts of laughter. The shocked face of eight-year-old Robb flashed in my mind, along with the image of Sansa, sodden and red of face, shouting at us, while she was fumbling to pry the squirrel off her hair.

"If you thought our expressions were hilarious, you should have seen your face! It was almost as red as your hair! And gods, your hair… I've never seen them so out of place! They were drenched and tangled and the bloody squirrel wouldn't get off them!"

I exclaimed, joining her in her laughter. Sansa laughed harder still, clutching her ribs with one hand and wiping the corners of her eyes with the other. When our laughter died down, I found myself transfixed by her eyes. They were vibrant with joy and so… alive. If I could, I would have frozen time forever in this moment.

The moment passed though and she continued with more stories from our childhood. Some of them, the most recent ones, I remembered vividly, some others vaguely and others not at all, but she had them all recorded in her memory, perfectly preserved, as if she was waiting for somebody to share them with. And share she did…

After a few stories, I believe she realized the ones missing from my memories were the oldest ones, those before Arya and Bran came along, so she concentrated on them, leaving the rest for another time. Theon Greyjoy was suspiciously missing from all her stories though and I couldn't decide whether he hadn't been there in the first place or whether she cut him out of her naration intentionally… whatever it was I was glad she had the foresight not to include him.

In hindsight I felt bad for thinking she had invited me to sup with her to talk politics again. I felt even worse for thinking she would demand something else of me, when in truth she wanted to give me something instead, an invaluable gift I would never be able to replay.

I did the right thing, agreeing to follow her plan, didn't I? I will not have to go through with it anyway… Rickon will live.

I thought to myself, feeling unsure, all of a sudden. I understood that Sansa had devised this plan in order to feel a semblance of safety and control. Both of those things were important to her, maybe more important than anything else and, by agreeing with her plan, I had given them to her, sacrificing my honor in the process.

What would you have done father?

I wondered, but I already knew the answer. Sansa told me that father, in the end, chose to protect his daughters, forsaking his honor his family.

What is right is not necessarily what is honorable as well.

I already knew that. I had been forced to choose between those two, one time too many in my life, to be able to make the distinction.

My honor doesn't matter. All the sacrifices I made for honor left me with nothing. The Others can take my bloody honor for all I care.

Silence had fallen in the tent whilst I was deep in thought. Sansa was staring at me through her lashes, perched on a couple of pillows across of me, while she played with her hair absentmindedly.

The moment my eyes locked on hers, I saw her blush and avert her eyes, embarrassed at being caught staring. After all, it had been ingrained into her that it was most unbecoming for a lady of her station to stare openly at anyone.

"I'm really sorry for the prolonged silence… I was−"

"Brooding… I noticed."

She quipped with a teasing smile on her lips. I chuckled at her remark, even though that was not what I was about to say.

"Aye I was. I make for awful company with all my brooding I'm afraid."

I confessed with an apologetic smile and she laughed, as if I just shared a jape.

"Don't be silly Jon! You are the best company I've had in ages!"

Sansa told me merrily and I found myself believing her, even though I knew she was probably just being courteous, as always. She was being so sweet today… it was almost as if she was trying to make it up to me for all the times she had been cruel, angry or totally broken in my presence.

"Sansa I… I want to thank you for everything tonight… It means a lot to me."

I told her earnestly, tripping over the words and probably making a fool of myself in the process.

"There is no need to thank me for anything Jon. Watching you being happy was thanks enough."

Sansa told me with a pearly smile and a soft blush, placing her right hand tentatively on top of mine. Her touch was freezing cold, but extremely soft at the same time, sending tingles up my arm. I heard her sigh in content the moment it came in contact with my admittedly very warm hand, so I enveloped it with both of mine, giving her my warmth. A moment later she gave me her other hand as well with a pleading look. As if I would refuse her…

"I have a confession to make."

She said after a while, looking extremely nervous. My heart doubled its pace and my mouth went dry at her words.

"What is it?"

I croaked out, my voice sounding strange in my ears.

"Telling you those stories was not an impulsive thing. I… I've been preparing them since the moment I woke up this morning, trying to remember them perfectly, so I could capture every detail for you. I put them in order and sorted them into categories and I even tried to remember the ones I was not present in. They were usually the most fun ones and you all loved sharing them with father during dinner, so I thought it would be nice to remind you of them, even though I was not present myself."

The words were flowing out of her lips like water from a spring. I certainly wasn't expecting such a confession, but it made me smile anyway, because that was exactly the kind of thing Sansa the perfectionist would do. It didn't matter what she occupied her time with, she would always strive to do it flawlessly. She would pore over every detail until it was just right; until it was polished to perfection.

"Did I do well Jon? Did I help you at all?"

She asked, her question sounding more like a plea. Her whole expression was too vulnerable at this moment, especially her eyes, which appeared as deep and blue as the Narrow Sea. Her bottom lip was caught between her teeth again and her fingers were drawing circles on my palms, sending chills down my spine.

"Aye, you did."

I replied hoarsely, unable to form a more eloquent reply. Her responding smile was brighter than the summer sun. Warmth filled my chest at the sight of it and my heart soared with happiness.

The only other times I have felt anything close to that, I've been drunk, but tonight I have barely drank half a skin of ale.

I mused, realizing I was drunk on her instead. Drunk on her smiles, her touch, her scent… and I craved to have a taste so much, I could hardly think straight.

Leave you bloody bastard.

My conscience urged me, but I found myself leaning forward, towards her. I only had a moment to assess the confusion evident on her face, before my lips came into contact with her forehead. The chaste kiss lasted only a moment and then I pulled back.

"Good night Sansa."

I told her huskily as I shifted to get on my knees. There was a flash of disappointment in her eyes and I understood perfectly the sentiment. Tonight had been so perfect, so joyful…

If only I could stay here forever.

I thought to myself as she told me good night. The moment I was out of the tent, I called for Ghost to go to her. He was already on his way, so I walked away from the camp, letting the darkness swallow me once more.

At last! I'm so glad his chapter is over! I had pondered and researched endlessly on strategies in order to come up with something that I believed was remotely good and that is the reason why I had avoided writing about it for so long… I simply had no idea before this very chapter what they would do. I know the second part was maybe a little too fluffy, but they deserved a break before the battle, don't you think?