A/N Yep, I did not update for a while. Let's not talk about it. Instead, let me tell you that this chapter is mostly filler (ugh, I know, that's bad news). I just… really need to get past this chapter and get to the good stuff.
My beta says that some chapters are ice cream and some chapters are vegetables. This may be a vegetable. The next chapter is ice cream.
Edit: Messed up the format and had to post twice. I can't ever get the preview to save my italics when I transfer over the document.
The captain of the Crosseyed Ox was an amicable man. Originally, Sam and Arya had offered twenty silver for both cabins and another twenty for the captain's silence. But, upon sight of the direwolf, negotiations had to be reopened.
Jogos Trios demanded another fifty silver to board the animal on top of his usual fees, owing to the danger of bringing a wild beast onto the galley. Jon reassured Jogos calmly of his control over the young wolf and bartered the captain down to thirty, and then, when they landed, Jon promised another ten. Jogos wanted forty for the direwolf and — now that Jon'd mentioned it — another forty when the ship landed… and Jon's boots. Jon then offered twenty and twenty, but failed to offer any article of clothing, which insulted Jogos. After an hour of apologies and a rousing card game—wherein Jon somehow managed to regain possession of his boots—the pair eventually settled on thirty-five and thirty-five, and Jon's fancy leather gloves.
Jon had a substantial headache within seconds of boarding the vessel.
After negotiations were complete, Jogos tolerated his Westerosi passengers' presence well enough, but warned Jon to keep Arya and Sansa close.
"My men are a superstitious lot," he growled in a thick, staccato accent Jon could not place. "Keep your women from wandering."
The moment the ship sailed out of Blackwater Bay, Jon felt the tension leave his shoulders. Unfortunately, the ship ran into a late summer storm early in their journey and the Crosseyed Ox was forced to sail close to the coast. Captain Jogo originally intended to cut across open ocean, and he informed Jon that the weather would delay their arrival.
The incident occurred on the second night of their journey.
Unbeknownst to Jon at the time, Sansa woke sometime in the night and stepped around his sleeping body. She woke Jeyne and the slipped above deck to gaze at the stars.
The click of the cabin door opening and shutting quickly roused Jon from his slumber. He blearily blinked his eyes and shook his head, disoriented by the new surroundings.
A feminine voice could be heard saying, "Sea-stars, which are so much brighter than land stars..." before it faded away. Jon rolled onto his feet and took stock of the empty bed.
What is it Arya always says? Jon thought to himself. Stupid Sansa.
He ran out the door and into the single hallway. Minutes later, he found her on deck and cornered uncomfortably between two sailors. Jon could see both men's eyes flickering to Sansa's nightshirt and robe. Jon quickly stepped between them, drawing his sword.
The two men looked at the bare steel and then at Sansa. The younger of the two reached for the thin steel at his side.
"Don't," Jon warned.
"Why not?" said the younger. "Kill you, kill the others in their sleep. Take your gold and your women and your fancy clothes and jewels."
"Simple. I'll kill you," Jon spat. "Do you see this sword? I know how to use it. I've spent the last twelve years using it. I've killed more than my fair share of men. And I'll kill you. And when I'm done, I'll let loose that direwolf in the cage, and he'll kill the rest of you. Stay away. And tell the others to stay away too."
The sailors crossed their arms, but Jon could tell he had shaken the older one. He put a hand on the younger man's arm and pulled him away. Jon waited until they'd disappeared behind the hatch that led to the crew's quarters before turning around.
Once he'd turned around, Sansa clung to his arm. Jon looked down at her Tully red hair. She was tall for her age, but the top of her head still only just reached his chest. Jeyne stood behind her, clutching a silk piece of lace to her chest with eyes closed, whispering something.
A prayer, Jon realized. Ladies pray. It was such an odd realization to make, that there were still faithful people in the world. Jeyne Poole might have been praying in the original timeline, when she was beaten or killed or kept hostage with Sansa.
Suddenly, he felt a great deal better about his decision to take the girls. Even if it meant leaving Lord Stark behind. It was what he would have wanted, Jon reassured himself. Surely, it was what he would have wanted. To see his daughters safe from harm.
"They said such awful things, Jon," Sansa whispered, stirring him from his thoughts. Jon opened his eyes to see Sansa's pale, tear-stricken face. "Why would they say such things?"
Jon paused. "They are not good men," he finally settled on saying.
"They tried to hold me," she confessed, a tear slipping down her cheek. Jon led her towards the door, knowing they should not linger on deck. They reached the girls' cabin and Jon tried to let go of her arm, but Sansa would not relinquish her vice grip. Jon wasn't even certain she knew to whom she clung. Her eyes were wide with horror as she whispered, "I pushed them away, but they only laughed."
Jon grabbed her shoulders and made her look at him. For an instant, he saw the old Sansa return. The frightened child was back. Staring up at him. Asking him to be a big brother. It reminded Jon of when Sansa was only toddler, too young to know anything of the world.
"Never go anywhere alone on this ship, Sansa. Never. Take me with you. You can always wake me no matter what time of day. You can even ask Sam or Thoros if you don't want me. But never alone."
Sansa nodded fervently and curled into a ball on the bed she shared with Jeyne and Arya. Jon fell asleep against the cabin door, cursing his luck and the Silver Prince. He dreamt of snow and cold winds, and when he woke the next morning, he was disoriented and confused to find himself asleep in the hallway with his sword clutched to his chest.
Sansa paid heed to his words and never left the cabin alone again. She occasionally asked Jon to accompany her above deck and their walks were silent but not uncomfortable. The air between them lacked the unbearable tension that was ever-present during their previous encounters in King's Landing, and before, in Winterfell. Sansa would likely never forgive him for being a bastard, but it seemed she forgave him for ripping her away from her golden prince.
Jon was content to leave the matter alone for the sake of peace between them. The journey was far from over and a long road lay ahead. Jon had unofficially been appointed the leader of their group and he needed everyone's cooperation. Luckily for him, most of the group was friendly to one another.
Arya trailed after Thoros like a lost puppy, begging to see his flaming sword, or hear yet another story from the far east or the Jade Sea. Sansa and Jeyne avoided the red priest, but were always polite at shared meals. Sansa was a fervent believer in the Seven and the Red Priest's open devotion made her uneasy. She ignored Thoros, and favored Sam with questions about the Reach.
When Arya wasn't with Thoros, she was with Jon begging for a sparring session. Jon acquiesced only after it became apparent that her badgering would not cease.
"Alright," he finally said one morning, after breakfast. "But only if you promise. Not a word to your mother. She'd hang me for this."
"I promise! I promise!"
And so Jon taught her the various footworks he knew, and Arya mixed it with her strange, foreign style of fighting. Jon even took to Water Dancing, mimicking what little knowledge the legendary Syrio Forel had imparted to Arya.
Sometimes Sam appeared on the deck to watch their bouts and shout encouragements. Jon even tried to teach Sam a thing or two about fighting, hoping to ward off the other boy's ridicule when his friend finally arrived at the Watch, but Sam was—as always—hopeless with the sword.
All in all, they were an unusual company. A lady, a bastard, a red priest, a lord's son, a steward's daughter, and a water dancer (as Arya called herself), all fleeing from the Capitol.
Jon enjoyed the time before dusk most of all. On balmy evenings, when the light from the setting sun was just right, the old knight wove tales both horrifying and fantastical. Stories told over towering flames. Flames too tall and too red to be natural.
These tales were enticing enough to draw Arya, Sam, Jon, Sansa and Jeyne out from their rooms and onto the deck. Sometimes, Jon saw small, writhing figures fighting in the flames.
At least, Jon thought he saw them. Arya did too. Sam didn't. Sansa thought they were all mad. Jeyne thought it was a cruel joke.
Late one night, after the girls had gone to bed, and Jon set Ghost to watch their door, Thoros begged a private audience. That night, he told a tale for only Jon's ears. He told the tale of Azor Ahai. The prophecy of the Prince that Was Promised. The forging of lightbringer and the song of ice and fire. Legends of an age past.
Jon lay awake for far too long that night, unable to stop his brain from thinking of the Silver Prince. Fire and Ice, Ice and Fire, he tossed and turned on the uncomfortable wooden floor. When the cold breath of darkness falls upon the world, Jon thought. The Others. A burning sword. Stannis. The Wall. Why was I sent back? What can I change? What can one man do?
"The time is drawing slowly closer," Thoros had said as he drew his story to a close. "Trust in the One True God, Jon."
But Jon did not trust anymore. He certainly could not trust Thoros' Red God. He could not trust anyone. Not completely. And he could not sleep with these thoughts. He stared restlessly out the small window of the cabin, thinking. Lyanna and the Silver Prince and Lord Stark. How could he trust anymore?
Thinking of his lord father reminded Jon of the promise he made to Lord Varys, and he realized that he'd broken his word. In the end, he had been unable to remove Lord Stark from the city. Jon had no choice but to leave Lord Stark to fend off the lions alone. He hoped the Master of Whispers would understand that Arya and Sansa's safety—and preventing their awful fates—was Jon's sole responsibility.
He would not stray from his duty.
By the end of their adventure by sea, Jon's back and neck ached from sleeping on the floor of the girls' cabin.
It took a week and a half to reach Maidenpool. The ship docked in the middle of the night, and Jon left the vessel first, covered by a large hood, to rent a room from the local inn. He stopped at several establishments before deciding on a lesser known tavern at the far end of town. It was dark and rainy when the rest of the party disembarked. Jon was silently thankful for the gloomy weather, which would make it more difficult for a stranger to identify their faces.
Their quarters were cramped but livable. Sansa and Jeyne weren't happy with the arrangements (seeing as they shared a large room with three men and Arya "horseface"), but Jon convinced them it was best to conserve what gold they had for the unforeseeable future.
Jon wanted to leave Maidenpool as soon as possible. He would not feel safe until they were behind the stone walls of Riverrun or inside the keep at Winterfell.
The next morning, after they had all rested, Jon, Thoros, Sam and Arya left the inn in disguise to gather news and find a new means to travel the roads or the sea. Jon could not convince Arya to stay behind, so he chopped her hair and smeared some mud on her face, which suited Arya just fine.
Half a day later, Jon thought they'd run out of luck. The people were afraid to travel, and tightlipped with strangers. It was Sam and Arya who found a fishing boat that'd take them all the way to the Saltpans. Jon hired the boat immediately, eager to depart as soon as possible. After the boat ran aground further into the Bay of Crabs, they would travel the western road towards Riverrun. When they arrived, Jon would hand over the care of his sisters to the girls' Uncle and Grandfather. House Tully was one of the most powerful houses in Westeros. With the command of the Riverlands, the girls would be safe. Jon was certain.
Confident in his new plan, Jon bade everyone return to the inn to eat their fill.
Jon sat with Arya on one side and Jeyne on the other. Sansa looked miserable sitting between Thoros and Sam. The plates on the table had been cleared and the ale drunk. Jon was just contemplating the bed upstairs when he heard two men talking in low tones.
"... scuffle 'tween the Hand's men…"
Jon sat up straight.
"... with Robert gone…"
Thoros and he exchanged looks. Together, they stood and approached the men from behind.
"What've you heard," Jon asked the drunk dockworker. "We've got to travel. To see family. Need to know if the roads are safe. Buy you an ale for news."
"Oh aye, aye…Like I say," the talkative man slurred, "the King fell ill. Supposed to leave for a hunt but never made it past the gate. Some say he was poisoned. Most say, by the Queen, but who's there to question her now?"
"The King is ill?" Jon reiterated.
"Nay. Listen. The King is dead. And the Hand's men? Murdered in the streets. The poor folk are calling it the "Howling Riot" because of the way the common folk got to howling and striking the Gold Cloaks while the Hand was fleeing the Capital. Queen says Lord Stark's a traitor. Crimes against the crown, but won't say what crimes. Word around the pub is that the Prince's not a Prince at all, but a bastard by the Queen's own brother. Disgusting," he spat, "man can't fuck his own sister. The Seven say it ain't right."
Jon didn't know if these things had happened in the previous timeline. He did not recognize these events, but the Watch was so far removed from the rest of the Kingdoms. Who could tell the past from the present from the previous past? Jon did not know.
"The Hand?" Jon prompted the man to elaborate. His heart hammered in his chest.
"Ain't no one seen heads or tails of Stark since. Some say he died with his guard. Others say he made it to the Kingswood, but the Lannister's chased him down. There's a price on his head."
"Know what I'd do with all that gold? Buy me a whore for every day of the fuckin' week!" the man to his right said, weaving back and forth in his seat. "No! Five whores—seven! Ah, how many days in a week?"
"Ha! Seven, Thom, Seven. And maybe the reward's been collected, maybe not. Alls anyone can agree is that the Hand's face was bleeding during the riot. Blood was drawn," the dockworker growled.
Jon's heart sank. Missing, but last seen bleeding. Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see Arya and Sansa sitting rigidly in their seats.
"Thank you…" Jon said halfheartedly, "... for the news."
"Long live King Joffrey," the worker said and spat on the ground once more.
Sansa looked shocked. Arya looked the same, until she began to rage and Jon had to throw her over his shoulder and lug her up the stairs. Once behind doors, she beat her fists against his chest and cried. "It's not fair, it's not fair. I hate the King! I hate the Queen! I hate the Prince!" Jon could only hold her until her fit passed and she fell asleep.
Arya's breathing was deep and steady by the time Jon left to find Thoros and Sam in the common room. Both men sat huddled in a dark corner, swathed under cloaks. Sansa and Jeyne had retired to their shared bed.
"Your brother, Robb, has called his banners. The Northmen will march down the neck," Thoros whispered in Jon's ear. "Jaime Lannister is gathering men at the Golden Tooth."
The war has begun in earnest, he thought. Underneath the table, his hands were sweaty. Jon's heart, which had felt calm while holding Arya, suddenly beat frantically against his ribs. He forced himself to steady his breath.
"You seem calm."
Jon looked away. "You're mad, I am losing my mind."
"Calm enough for a man who just learned his father might have bled to death in a sewer."
"N-now… enough of that, Ser Thoros," Sam came to his rescue. "Leave Jon be."
"I…" Jon started and then stopped. He couldn't trust himself to speak of his father. The father who raised him and sheltered him. The father he idolized in death. The noble, generous Lord Stark. Lord Stark, who subjected him to his wife's anger, who bowed to the will of King Robert. Who lied to him? Who abused his trust when Jon came to him with evidence? No, he would not speak of Lord Stark. Instead, he cleared his throat and asked, "Is it safe to travel to Riverrun?"
"It isn't safe to travel anywhere. But Beric Dondarrion's men, and your father's men, have been sent to capture Ser Gregor Clegane. We might slip past, while they're engaged. Send the wolves to scout the path. You said you have some connection to them."
I said that? Jon could not remember, but he nodded in agreement. It must have been the night of the Hand's Tourney, when he'd been inebriated with Thoros and Sam.
"The Tully's are in Riverrun," Jon said. "We must get to the castle before it is besieged, by whatever means necessary."
"As you say," Thoros agreed. "I will look in the fire and ask God for guidance."
One thing was certain, the girls could not remain in Maidenpool. Sansa and Thoros were too recognizable due to their distinctive coloring, and Ghost was also a silent issue. The direwolf had sprinted off the galley and into the woods as soon as they'd docked and Jon hadn't seen him since. It was only a matter of time before the beast came sniffing around town, looking for his master.
Jon lay down to sleep on the floor that night and dreamt of Ghost.
More specifically, he dreamt he was Ghost. He hadn't warged in months. Not since his previous life. He was running through the forest, hot on the heels of a roan colored stag. He could smell the animal's fear and sense the impending kill. Jon leapt and sunk his teeth into the deer's flank, tasting blood. The animal let out an unnatural scream as he dragged it down to the ground. Once it was dead, he buried his snout in the corpse, ripping flesh and tendon.
A noise and a familiar smell drew his eyes to the woods. Golden eyes watched from the sidelines. Sister, he ran to her side. All four paws leapt into the air with one thought: Nymeria. Jon woke with a start.
The next day it rained. The fisherman was hesitant to travel, but together Jon and Sam persuaded him to leave early that afternoon after the worst of the rain subsided.
The fisherman had heard of Thoros' flaming sword and surprisingly, Jon Sand, the bastard who competed in the Hand's Tourney. They eventually agreed on the condition that Jon would deposit a small fee now, and the full purse would be due once they docked at the Saltpans, with the stipulation that Jon and Thoros would defend the vessel should they run across bandits or other outlaws along the coast.
Jon handed over the coin. Along the way, he hoped to catch game, or hunt as Ghost in order to provide food. They'd be unable to purchase many supplies for the journey. He needed to get Arya and Sansa to their Uncle and Grandfather, and fast. In the stories, a rescue does not make a man a pauper, he thought bitterly.
The fishing boat was thin but long, and made of a pale-colored wood. It was manned by the old man, his two sons, and one daughter. Sansa and Jeyne sat at the front of the boat, far away from the smelly catch. Jon and Thoros helped the sons tie the sails, Sam assisted in navigation, and the daughter rowed on occasion. The father leaned back against the helm and shouted commands.
The fisherman estimated it'd take them two weeks to reach the Saltpans. Even though Jon was frustrated at the slow pace of the boat, and anxious to reach Riverrun, he thanked the fisherman's family kindly and helped shoulder their packs when they stopped to dock the boat against the shore at dusk.
The first night, they camped on the sandy shores of a beach. The daughter caught crab and boiled them over the fire with saltwater. They had grapes, sweet potatoes, and some honeyed bread the fisherman's wife had given them. Jon had never tasted crab, and found he liked it well enough. Thoros refused, claiming he'd swell like a pufferfish if he ever touched the meat. Sam laughed at the image, but the knight was deadly serious and did not appreciate the jape.
That night, Thoros joined Jon by the fire after the others had fallen asleep. It was a custom they shared ever since their time at the Painted Lady. Jon no longer looked for the shadow of the dragon's wing, having long given up on seeing it again. Instead, he sat and worried. He worried about the money. He worried about the girls and the wolves. He worried about his father and his brothers. And finally, he worried the monstrous Lord Bolton and the Queen Regent.
"It's to be war," Thoros said, after a long moment of silence. "I had hoped never to see war again. Foolish, really."
The red of the fire reflected in the knight's eyes, giving him a demonic appearance. Jon might have been frightened if he didn't know the man so well.
"As had I," Jon said.
War. Jon thought of the Battle for the Wall, and the sweep of Stannis' army. The cries from the wildlings at night and the dead corpses of Thenns and the ice-river clans. He remembered giants crawling under the wall, and lowering his torch to burn the dead bodies of his black brethren. Last, he thought of Ygritte and the shaft of a black arrow sticking out of her chest.
"Goodnight, Ser Thoros."
Thoros crinkled his white brow and Jon bid him a goodnight. He could not speak, choked by the loss of Ygritte. He dreamt only of her. Her hair. Her smell. The sound of her voice. The warmth of her body as they found shelter in one another.
When he woke, he lay with his eyes closed, wishing away the memories. Thoros shook his shoulder and Jon was on his feet. The second day, the wind favored their small vessel and the Saltpans grew ever closer.
Days blurred together. At night they camped under the stars. The Bay of Crabs and the Saltpans were in the midst of a drought, so they'd no fear of rain, though fresh water was difficult to find. Fortunately, the fisherman and his sons had traveled this length many times, and knew all the little rivers and creeks close to shore. Sam, due to his extensive hours of study, was also well versed in the geography and history of the land, and he entertained Lady Sansa and Jeyne for many hours with stories of the river kings. On the days when there was nothing to do but row and sweat, Sam's stories and songs were a light hearted distraction.
The fifth day, Jon spotted a white blur on the horizon. They made camp hours later, on an outcropping of land with sparse trees. Jon warned the fisherman of Ghost's presence, but the man didn't seem to truly believe him until Arya spotted golden eyes in the brush.
"Ghost, to me," Jon whistled and the direwolf took three steps forward and into the light.
The fisherman yelled and his sons drew their knives. Sam calmed them with a few words and they put away their weapons after witnessing the beast roll on it's back before Jon.
"Ah, Ghost," Jon rubbed him down with a few leaves. His hands came away covered in mud, pine needles and burs. "Where have you been lately?"
The direwolf nudged his hands and then twisted onto it's feet. Ghost danced before Arya.
"I had a dream," Jon recalled. "I saw Nymeria."
Arya's eyes lit with joy. "I did too!" Arya bounced over to Ghost. "Only I was Nymeria. Do you think she's nearby? Do you think she'll come back, after I told her to stay away?"
Ghost disappeared back into the brush. Arya looked disappointed. The beach and the surrounding woods were quiet around them. Jon placed a comforting hand on Arya's shoulder, but she shrugged it off.
Moments later, Ghost returned with a large, grey, female direwolf, who did not hesitate to tackle Arya to the ground. Sansa leapt to her feet and shrieked, and Jon pulled the wolf away, only to find Arya cackling madly and clutching the direwolf's fur. "Nymeria, Nymeria, I knew you wouldn't hate me. I knew you'd understand."
Arya and the wolf were inseparable that night, hugging each other closely near the fire. Jon observed Arya contented smile in her sleep. Ghost was less affectionate. After greeting Jon, the white wolf decided to sprawl out in the far away grass, dead asleep.
"I thought she was dead," Sansa whispered, to his right.
Jon turned to meet her eyes. Sansa was laying next to Jeyne, as per usual, her arms around her friend's middle.
"When the cold wind blows the lone wolf dies but the pack survives," Jon quoted. "The cold winds are not blowing tonight. It seems Nymeria survived."
"Lady didn't," she whispered and lowered her gaze, "and she wasn't alone."
Jon didn't know what to say.
"You look like him," Sansa spoke again, after an awkward silence.
Jon knew of whom she was referring. Again, he had nothing to say.
"I suppose it's not your fault," she said slowly. "I can't help that I only look like mother."
There was forgiveness in her tone. Jon locked gazes with his half-sister and smiled. "Get some sleep, sweet sister, I'll watch over us."
Jon had not called her sister in years, but she did not correct him. After Jon put out the fire, he turned to check on her and found her asleep, curled around Jeyne Poole protectively.
Another week passed. Jon and Jeyne both suffered from the ill effects of the sun. The fisherman took pity on them, and allowed Jon and Jeyne to rest under the boat's canopy for two days. Sam—and occasionally Sansa—brought them water and food.
On the night before they arrived at the Saltpans, Jon volunteered to keep watch and thought of the road ahead. Navigating the Riverlands would be a difficult task, but it had to be done. Jon and Thoros agreed it would be best to exercise every caution. The wolves would scout the path, and the company would follow slowly. Jon only hoped the direwolves were as intelligent as he'd hoped.
Arya and Sansa, Jon reminded himself. I must protect Arya and Sansa.
Sam was snoring when Jon woke him for his watch. "Wh—the pastries—not turtle soup," he blinked at Jon's face. "Ah, Jon," he wiped the sleep from his eyes. "Sorry."
Jon lay down on his mat and Sam took a seat on the fallen log, facing the darkness.
Jon casually rested his head on his arm. Ghost came to lay against his side. The direwolf had been following the boat diligently. Nymeria had trouble staying in one place, and would often disappear for hours at a time. Ghost sometimes followed, but always returned within the day.
"It's been silent all night," Jon said.
"Has it?" Sam replied in a tremulous voice. "That's good."
"Don't be afraid. Ghost will hear anything before we see it, and by the time it gets here we'll be long gone down the river."
"Of course, Jon," Sam shifted uncomfortably on the log and rubbed his backside. "Not used to all these adventures. I suppose we got into plenty at the Wall."
Jon smiled up at the stars. "Aye, we did."
"Any worth mentioning?"
"You slayed an Other," Jon said slowly. "They called you Sam the Slayer."
"You're joking." When Jon didn't say anything Sam kicked his foot, "You're joking, aren't you? A jest."
"Do you doubt it?" Jon rose on his elbows and smirked, "You fought your way back from Craster's Keep with a wildling woman and her babe as company. The Other tried to take her baby and you stabbed it in the back with a dragonglass dagger."
"Dragonglass?" Sam's eyes grew wide and then he shook his head. "Nooo, that doesn't sound like me."
"It was you. It is you," Jon insisted and then thinking back on those days, he winked. "The wildling girl thanked you right proper."
"Wh-what are you implying?" Sam stammered and blushed.
"That Samwell Tarly wet his wick with a pretty girl. He was the envy of the Night's Watch, as I recall," Jon was enjoying teasing his friend, he had too many duties and responsibilities as the Lord Commander to delve into Sam's and Gilly's relationship at the time, but he was certain at one point, it had happened. "You made eyes at each other, and I'd always catch you reading in the Maester's library. Her hand on yours. Never saw the other hand, but I suppose you knew where it was-"
"Jon!" Sam kicked him again and Jon laughed.
"It's true!"
"I don't believe you…" Sam grumbled and Jon turned away, for once, content to fall asleep without gazing into the fire. "Don't believe you…"
Minutes later. "What was her name again?"
"Gilly," Jon smiled but did not open his eyes, "she had brown, doe-eyes. A slender thing. You called her brave and kind."
"What about her hair?"
"Dark brown. Curly."
"Ah… like my mother…" Samwell trailed off. "Gilly… named for the flower…."
Jon fell asleep to Sam's murmurs of "Gilly… Gilly…" and he did not dream. Not even of the Wall.