Ser Jon awoke with his arm completely numb and a mess of light brown hair in his face.

He patted the hair away and tried to steal back his arm. With the use of only one elbow, Jon couldn't get leverage to sit up, so he reached across his body to pull his useless arm free.

"What are you getting on about?" an alert Lydrea japed. "Oh, your arm is it? Might be I'll give it back, might be I won't."

He slid closer, leaning on top of her sternum. Jon stroked the brown hair out of the young woman's face and tucked it behind her ear. Clutching her chin, he lowered his lips for a kiss, his arm forgotten.

Lydrea wrapped her arms around him, over one shoulder and under the other, and pulled him close.

"You're so warm when you sleep. I'm always so chilly at night."

She closed her ankles around his right leg.

He flinched. "Your feet are like ice," he told her. Jon angled his head and kissed her neck, saying, "But I s'pose I'll get used to it. . ." He added, "wife," to try the sound of it.

She giggled and squirmed further under their furs.

"But, there'll be plenty to get used to, my lady. We didn't have much of a betrothal. Was it even a fortnight?"

Lydrea replied, "It was more like two years. Do you think I didn't know you'd be looking to carry me off back then?"

Jon blushed. Was I so obvious?

"Two weeks or two years," he told her, "I had to wait as long as I cared to."

Clearly pleased by those words, she raised herself up for another kiss.

Jon recalled wondering about what would please Lydrea. It'd worried him, even when he first entered the restored holdfast, several days before she was to arrive with her uncle's riding party. Robb had shown him the keep, and the boyish jubilance of the time the brothers spent together still wasn't enough to make Jon at ease with voicing his concerns about pleasing his bride-to-be with Robb.

Thinking about the kiss she'd just given him, he teased, "You seemed to like that."

"I'm finding a great many things that happen to like, ser."

Jon quirked a smile and flushed furiously.

Last night, he found out how little he knew about what a woman liked, but Lydrea was just as verdant as him. He'd attempted to apologize for his lack of knowledge, but she told him, "This is all so new for me as well. I rather like that you don't know any more than me, as opposed to you acting like some well-salted master."

"Ah!" he exclaimed. "My arm, it's just now waking." Jon slid his other arm beneath her and rolled over, pulling her with him and freeing his arm completely.

Now laying on top of him, she laughed at Jon and tried to rub some blood back into the palm of his hand.

Just then, hands pounded out furious knocks on the door. Jon heard laughter and the sound of running footfalls.

"Bran and Arya," he guessed.

"Or Hal and Ned," she replied with a chuckle. "But if everyone's up, then we should be too."

Jon jokingly grumbled, but agreed.

Lydrea mentioned that she'd like to soak in a bath, and he had to admit, "I don't know if we even have one."

Jon dressed and found that Lady Donella Hornwood had already thought of such things. She pointed him to the cramped kitchen, which sat just off the main hall. Two cooks, one from Winterfell and the other from Castle Hornwood, heated some water in a cast-iron cauldron. Once ready, Jon picked up the empty tub, and he enlisted the siblings who'd disturbed him, and even Robb, to carry various pots and kettles of hot water. The procession of serving wolves had to make a second trip, and then Jon gave Lydrea her privacy.

His father saw them and waved Jon down to the bottom of the stairs. Lord Eddard asked the other children to give them a minute, then he explained to Jon the idea of Ser Wylis Manderly and Lord Halys Hornwood.

"Do you think I should?"

"Jon," he started. "This is your choice, and mayhaps Lady Lydrea's too, but not mine. I think that Lord Manderly and Ser Wylis will be pleased at the surplus wood for their role in this and Lord Halys will earn some easy coin, but they are mostly looking out for Lydrea. It's said that a long winter follows every long summer, so think this opportunity over carefully."

The guests filed down the footpath and all left in good spirits. Ser Wylis and Lord Halys even repurposed some of their horsecarts to begin carrying away cut timber, preempting Jon's answer.

Once they were gone, the holdfast was decidedly peaceful.

Lydrea linked her arm in his and said, "I never really took a long look at this place. Mayhaps. . . my husband would be kind enough to show me about?"

Standing under the archway of the entrance, Jon began his description with where they were. The gateway stood two-and-ten feet tall at the top. On either side of the arch, two small bulwarks protruded as guard posts. He stepped up the holds cut into the stone of the one on the left and motioned for her to do the same on the other. In truth, the posts were little more than places to stand and be able to see over the wall. On that post, the wall reached up to Jon's chest, just low enough for he or a guardsman to fire a bow. The wall, itself, was narrow and without crenellations.

Jon explained to his new wife, "When Robb first showed me all this, he beamed with pride. It was as if he'd rebuilt the ruins all on his own. Notice how you stand at a corner? The end of the holdfast? This archway was once in the middle of the wall. The north and south walls had been twice as long as the other sides, giving the original layout the contour of a rectangle. Well, the western half of the walls, as well as a second keep, was in complete ruin when my father's man first found it. Now that new wall, which forms your corner, boards off the ruined half," he said, pointing. "They used the stone from it for our keep and the other buildings."

He leaned against the wall. Closing one eye, Jon looked along the top of his wall and noticed slight flaws in its straightness. Iron spikes had once lined its top, but only rust stains remained. He imagined a row of gleaming, steel pikes guarding his new home; each spearpoint fashioned to look like the profile of a small wolf howling up at the sky.

"The walls are not so wide as for a guard to walk them, like he might the walls of Winterfell. So these guards posts, yours and mine, the two on either side of the other entrance, and the two in the far corners, they're where a guard would stand to defend the holdfast, loosing arrows from them or from up in the keep."

Jon pointed over to their keep. It was round and extended five floors high with a compact, cone roof. "Can you tell that the stone for the keep is the same as the stone for the walls?"

"I see that," she observed. "Grey, flecked with black."

"Aye. And, can you tell that one half is newly mortared?"

"Like a giant slashed it with a sword." Lydrea demonstrated a cut in the air. "So, that's the new section."

"That part and the roof weren't standing when they found it."

Thin arrow slits encircled the second, third, and fourth floors. The top floor bore square, evenly spaced windows. From the side of the keep facing them, a straight abutment protruded. Jon pointed it out as the feasting hall, to which Lydrea quipped that she could never have puzzled it out on her own. Its sides were made from the same dark rock as everything else. The tip of the hall's pitched, stone roof reached two floors high against the keep.

Two lines of small buildings led to the hall and keep, forming a narrow yard. There were seven of them; in place of an eighth lay a towering mound of soil. All seven stone huts stood no taller than a single story.

"Each of those is bigger than it looks, my lady."

"What do you mean, Jon?"

He explained, "Shortly after the men started building timber houses atop several dirt bulges, Maester Luwin counseled Robb to have them stop and dig. He was right, of course.

"You see, Lydrea, the centuries had laid dirt and the mulch of dead leaves over what used to stand. The laborers found buildings extending into the ground. The wood was rotted and wormholed, but still kept much of the dirt from caving in. They built new walls of mortared stone inside each. Those two wide ones," he said, pointing. "A barn and a stable, most like. Earthen ramps lead below, rather than ladders. In the winter, the animals will be glad for the cover."

"And what a collection of beasts we have," Lydrea said.

She quickly frowned and revised her words, "Not that I mean it in a bad way, Jon. You know, just that we have no livestock: only Drifts, your mare, and the garron Wylis left."

Jon replied that the shaggy horse was a kind gift, but she fondly joked, "My coz had little choice in the matter, the horse was like to break its back if it had to carry his weight again on the journey back to White Harbor."

He took her arm and led her to the keep.

When he opened the door for her, they played at it being their first time through the arched hallway. It was five paces long and led to an open, circular rotunda-column. Stairs with a waist-high guardwall wound up along the walls, heading to the higher floors.

Pointing at the enclosed, brickstone hearth in the center, Jon let out an exaggerated gasp. In truth, he was still a bit taken with the unique furnace and the newness of it all. Jon asked, "Do you see how the chimney splits?"

"It appears we've found a chimney-tree growing in our keep."

He smiled. "The original masons must've built the walls around them. A chimney runs up through each room. Only the lord's quarters at the top has its own hearth. This one furnace and the branching chimneys heat this open, middle spire and the entire keep."

Lydrea supposed, "Most like, it shall be a good way to keep warm without burning too quickly though our stores of firewood."

Jon nodded. He knew winter would be harder here than in his old, castle home. Winterfell's hot springs helped to warm its walls, and as lords of their lands, the Starks could fell as many trees as they wished to for firewood. Whoever used to live in this little holdfast were been able to make do with what they had, probably for many generations. So too will we.

They walked up the spiraling stairs, and Jon showed her to the fourth floor.

The fourth level was not separated into rooms like the rest. Stone arches took the place of walls, giving the level the feel of one, open room.

"I hadn't looked through the doors on this floor, Jon. I just thought it would be like the others."

He said back, "I think that this was laid out for the defense of the keep, maybe. To quickly move from archer-gap to archer-gap firing arrows. "

"Or for storage," she guessed.

Jon led Lydrea back to their bedroom, which was on the level above them: the fifth floor. The first three floors were each separated into at least five rooms; unlike those, the highest level had only three. Half of the floor was partitioned for Jon and Lydrea's bedchamber and the other half was split between only two other rooms.

"I could hardly believe the space afforded to us," Lydrea admitted as they entered.

Though broad, the crescent room was sparsely furnished. It boasted only a bed, a small table, and two chairs. Nevertheless, it was filled with sunlight from four full windows. The chamber's grey stone looked softer and warmer in the brightness.

"I can still hardly believe that they fitted each of the windows and arrow slits with glass," Jon admitted. "Actual glass in everyone of them. When he saw my reaction, Robb hooted in amusement that first day."

Jon went to one window and gingerly touched it. Between wrought-iron bars were squares of thick, smoky glass, each as long and wide as Jon's hand.

Still facing the window, Jon looked out and said, "The best part, though, was when my brother japed that he would spend that first night, before anyone besides us had arrived for the wedding, in one of the other two rooms on this level. 'The Boys Room,' he called it."

For our sons. And the other one will be filled with our daughters, Jon thought, but left unsaid.

Lydrea walked up and hugged him from behind. "You really do get sentimental some times, don't you?"

Jon began to protest, "It's not as if-"

"No, no," she said, stopping his explanation. "I like that about you. . ."

Lydrea giggled and then whispered, "Not to worry, ser, I won't tell anyone."

Supper on their first night with the keep truly their own provided an opportune time for Jon and Lydrea to acquaint themselves with their household.

In Winterfell, the servants did not eat at the same hour as Lord Stark, let alone share his table. After the two serving girls in Jon's keep placed the meal on his table, they simply sat down. Ser Jon would have felt foolish banning them from eating with him.

Jon seated himself at the head of the unvarnished oak table. Needing only one, the other two tables from the Glovers were left stacked against the wall. In his plain chair, Jon thought of where his father sat in his hall. The throne of Winterfell invoked thoughts of the Northern Kings of old. When troubled, Eddard often rubbed the carved direwolves on which his hands rested. Jon's chair didn't even have arms, but he wondered if one day he could find someone to help him craft a direwolf-chair all his own.

Ghost milled about, lurking around in search of table scraps. Lydrea sat close by, to Jon's left. On his right, a guardsman from Winterfell took the honored position.

"Lady Lydrea," Jon said fondly. "It pleases me to introduce Gariss, our master-at-arms. My father thought him the best fitted for our keep."

To her, Gariss added, "Lord Stark japed that I spent so much of my days hunting in the Wolfswood, like as not I won't notice the change in station."

Lydrea then presented the two kitchen girls next to her as Macey and Juniper. Both were only a few years older than her. She said, "They grew up in Castle Hornwood, and I've known them since we were girls."

Macey joked, "M'lady is still half a girl."

The cook sitting further down, a pot-bellied man named Harland, was also from Lord Hornwood's household.

Next to him was a carpenter. He had chosen to stay after the other men rebuilding the holdfast left. He introduced himself as, "Grecor."

Jon nodded in the direction of another man, who was seated at the opposite end of the table. The man's homely face looked up anxiously. "That's Tryne," said Jon, "and those three young children are his. It was Arya, in fact, who found him. We stopped at a village along the White Knife on our way from Riverrun. She heard that he was a mason, asked him what exactly a mason did, and then offered him and the children a place with us, on my behalf."

On the road to Winterfell, Jon had asked Tryne about the children's mother. Of her, he'd answered, "Isn't here, not no more." Jon didn't know if that meant that she died or if she walked out on them, but did not press the man further. He felt a deep respect for the lonely father trying to do right by his children, as well as felling sympathy for the little ones.

"Gariss, what of that other boy?" Jon questioned. "The quiet one so keen on following you about."

"I don't rightly know, ser. He's a mute, I think, or just shy."

Lydrea asked, "Who?"

The Northern huntsman answered, "An orphan who came along with one of your guests, s' far as I can tell. He's off somewhere, but I'll save him a plate."

The rest of the night's meal was spent with each party tentatively trying to explore how they fit together. I make them uneasy, Jon concluded. He told himself, In time, I'll remedy that.

Lydrea was already dressing when Jon first opened his eyes that morning. He let his gaze wander upwards from her stockings, over the curve of her hips and dip of her waist, her smallclothes, and her bare breasts, where his eyes lingered.

She saw him and instantly turned away.

Jon's face flushed, and he averted his eyes.

"My lady, I shouldn't have. . . I. . .I'm sorry." He searched his mind for the proper words.

"No," she replied. "I should not have turned away. You're supposed to. . ."

When Lydrea turned to face him, she was clutching a dress to her chest. She watched his face as she tentatively lowered her hands.

"Do you like. . ." As she trailed off, Lydrea looked at the ground.

Gods.

"Yes. Very much."

Jon motioned for her to come over to the bed. She smiled shyly at him, but again held the dress over her bosom.

Lydrea seated herself on the edge of their bed, and Jon sat up to meet her eyes. Suddenly bashful himself, he checked to be certain that the furs hadn't slide below his waist. She chuckled when he fussed with the bedding. He looked up at her, and Lydrea again lowered her covering.

Jon bent forward and wrapped his hands around her waist. Lydrea let slip a cheerful squeal when he pulled her close. He ducked his head to kiss her small, firm breasts. With his lips, he traced a line up over her shoulder. His kiss brushed her neck, and Lydrea laughed and wriggled away.

"Ticklish?"

He tried to kiss her neck again, but she was too quick, sliding off the mattress. Once standing, Lydrea crossed her arms over her chest.

"If you don't want me to look, I won't," Jon told her. I don't know if I can keep that pledge.

She took a deep breath and her hands fell to her hips. Her expression belayed a fragility which Jon had never seen in her.

He told his new wife, "I do like the look of you. I mean, how you look. You're. . . I am fond of every part of you."

"Truly? You are not. . . disappointed?"

Jon couldn't believe she would have to ask such a question. "No. Of course. I'm fond of every part."

Lydrea gave him an encouraging smile. After a moment, her expression faltered and she asked, "So you do not think. . ."

Jon shook his head preemptively.

". . . my chest too small. . . or my hips too. . . my thighs are kind of. . ."

He realized that she was trusting him with her worries and hung on his opinion in this.

"Every part," he repeated. "Your pretty face, your tempting body."

Jon blushed at his words, and she beamed.

She sat back down, landing on his legs. "I just needed to hear that. Just once." His wife threw her arms around him.

Jon didn't know what to say after that, and she didn't seem to either. After sharing a silence, Lydrea offered, "I thought we might go riding. Want to?"

If ever there was a suitable path between the old holdfast and the Wolfswood trail that led from Winterfell to Deepwood Motte, it had grown over long ago.

Jon led his mare gingerly through the undergrowth. At least the builders stomped down a course through the bushes. Lydrea followed on her beloved horse, Drifts.

No snow fell that morning, but still a light wind cut through the crisp air.

When they reached the main route through the forest, Lydrea said, "From here, there's no sign of our keep."

Ours, Jon thought.

They cantered in the direction of Deepwood Motte. A short ways off, Jon found the beginnings of a rudimentary pathway.

"This leads to our clearing," he said.

"Show me the way, good ser."

His mare happily bounded through the wood. This ride is a great deal more cheerful than that other forest ride, isn't it girl?

Up ahead, Jon saw the end of the path. The shadowed light beneath the canopy and the brightness beyond it made the threshold of the clearing as distinct as any doorway. Jon rode through it and had to shield his eyes from the sun.

Lydrea hollered something at Jon, before her horse burst passed him.

In an instant, Jon's chest tightened and his hand went to the hilt of his sword. He turned his mare to face back at the forest and readied himself.

It's nothing, Jon, he told himself.

As Lydrea galloped across the clearing, Jon took note of the ground that he would eventually farm. The middle was the natural clearing. It arched into a hill and was covered in dull-green crabgrass and brown rushes. Encircling the center was a wide oval that used to be forest. A thick blanket of leaves covered the ground between the stumps. Few had been upturned and most would need to be uprooted before the soil could be plowed. He also saw the felled trees and remembered the conversation that he'd been putting off for two days.

Jon watched his new wife for a minute longer. Her orange riding dress was well-worn, but suited her. Lydrea had it made with an extra fold of fabric in the front of the skirt and a slit hemmed in the back so she could sit astride a horse. It billowed and fluttered as she deftly steered her palfrey around the edge of the grass. Her braid bounced against her back in time with every other stride.

Jon trotted his horse to the top of the slight hill. Lydrea saw him and guided hers over. Both she and Drifts were breathing hard when she reined up.

Lydrea smiled and announced, "He likes it."

"Wait 'til it's fully groomed, my lady. Drifts will love it then."

Changing his tone, Jon said, "There's a matter I've been meaning to talk about." He didn't know how to begin, so he furrowed his brow and plowed ahead, "I need to leave."

Hearing his own words, Jon amended, "Not in a bad way! Just something I have to do. Well, I mean to talk about it. With you."

"Does this have anything to do with White Harbor?" asked Lydrea.

Surprised, he only nodded.

"Daryn said that Uncle Halys was planning something. He overheard him with Ser Wylis and they mentioned you, but that was all my cousin knew."

Jon steadied himself and his horse.

"Lord Halys and the Manderlys want to sell the axed timber." He gestured at the felled wood around them. "In Braavos."

Lydrea looked about at the scattering of fallen trees.

Jon continued, "I am supposed to go along."

"For how long would to be away? When would you leave?"

"I should be back here in a month, more or less. And, I'd leave as soon as White Harbor men return for the rest of the lumber."

She touched her heels to her horse, and Drifts inched forward. Lydrea leaned closer and put her hand on Jon's arm. "Is this important?"

"Yes. Bringing back a good sum of coin would give you and I a fair start."

She smiled at him. "Jon, you need not be so hesitant. I want you to bring your thoughts to me. I'm not going to run away if you happen to say a thing like that, even if it upsets me. And, this does not."

Jon felt foolish for being worried at all. What did you expect her to do? Slap you and flee back to Castle Hornwood?

She said, "So we'll enjoy the time at hand and then I'll be watching for you." Lydrea smirked and added, "Like some sailor's wife standing with a candle in the window."

He raised his hand to grasp hers, but she quickly drew it back. Lydrea set her heels and Drifts burst ahead.

Jon heard her chuckling. He couldn't help but smile as he wheeled his mare around and chased after her.