A bit sad, but what can you do. Please review!

Rivers of Blood

The excuses were feeble. With every fumbled attempt to reassure her, she felt dread fill her. But with ever moment she did not see his body, the tiny, naive, hopeful girl inside her clung to the possibility he was still alive.

"You have my Uncle but not my Husband," she said finally, interrupting the mumbling.

Ser Alliser Thorne grimaced, but nodded.

"How many men did you send?"

"Twenty, my Lady."

"And you mean to tell me," she said dangerously, rising from her seat to glower at them, "That every one of them was killed by wildlings?"

A silence, the men glanced at each other apprehensively.

"Aye, that is what we think."

"Two Starks," she hissed. "Two members of a Great House, an ancient House, have died under your watch and you tell me aye? How in Seven Hells could great big blundering wildlingskill Benjen and Jon Stark?"

Ser Alliser's face was stoic, sour, and the others watched them. Larys hardly reached his shoulders but her hair crackled with fury and her eyes blazed so that it was as though a wolf was snarling at them and not a pregnant woman.

"They were outnumbered. The body indicated that they were taken by surprise, a stab wound in the First Ranger's back."

"And how is it you have my Uncle's body and not Lord Stark's?"

She had seen Benjen's body. Cold and dry, void of even a single drop of blood, but even in death his face was calm and soothing, and she held back tears at the memories of him dancing with her at Winterfell. How he looked like Jon. Why did all the good men die?

"It was brought to us, likely by the wildlings," he said stonily, but she knew a man of his arrogance must be embarrassed at this blunder, "They have respect for strong fighters."

"I'm sure that's why they stabbed him in the back," she snapped. "And I suppose they skipped up to the Wall, dropped off the body of a man they killed, and danced right back home."

His face twisted into one of such ugly malevolence, the other men stiffened. She felt a sudden mad desire to laugh.

"...Aye."

"It seems to me," she sneered, "That the Night's Watch is a farce and is filled with cursed men. The best thing Lord Eddard Stark has ever done was give me your land."

The room fell silent, and she stared down the pathetic excuse for a knight whose face was filled with hate. Each man in the room felt like a child again, as this woman who could have been their daughter shamed them with words none had dared say.

"Lord Stark will be mourned."

"Do not think," Lady Larys went on, ignoring his comment. "That with Lord Stark's death Haven will return to you. I will rule the Gift with an iron fist.

Here Larys turned away from the knight to face the Lord Commander, who sat silent in his chair, watching her with tired eyes. Promise was written on her face.

"And the trade deal between us? No more. You will find your food and men elsewhere. Any trust or respect for the Night's Watch died with my husband."

Larys sat on the bed, staring blankly at the wall. All energy, all fury had fled as soon as the door closed behind her. She had made her point, had said what she wanted to say.

She wrapped the woollen blanket tighter around her- her heart beat was slow and quiet beneath her hands. The wind howled, and the door rattled on its hinges. Her room was on the bottom floor- stairs were not an option anymore.

The fire in the hearth was but a sham, and her fingers lost all feeling. And yet, Larys did not care. She only listened, finding refuge in the raging storm outside. It mirrored the one within.

A howl and she jerked from her trance, hands curling into fists. Something about that howl was familiar- again, and the hairs on the back of her neck rose. Larys climbed to her feet, swaying for a moment before she found her balance. One hand on her belly and she stumbled to the door, yanking it open to be met by Jory's surprised face.

"It is but a wolf, Larys," he said gently. "Go back inside. It is not healthy to be so cold in your state."

Shaking her head wordlessly, she pushed past him, holding the blanket around her like a lifeline. Fighting the wind, she crossed the empty courtyard, boots slipping in the cold. Her lips were blue and her teeth chattered, yet nothing mattered but the howls on the wind.

Jory called after her but it was swept away in the storm, and it was a moment before she felt his hand on her shoulder.

"Larys!" he shouted into her ear. "Turn back!"

She turned her head to look at him and realised how close he was. Touching a hand softly to his bearded cheek, she took in his face.

"I cannot," she whispered, and somehow he heard her. "If I do I will spend the rest of my life wishing I hadn't."

Larys kissed his cheek gently, and turned away, clutching her belly as if with enough force she could push her son into her very soul. A growl of frustration, and after some hesitation, Jory followed.

They reached the gate of the Wall. Dark and imposing.

"Open it!"

Jory stared at her in shock, following her pointed finger to the gate itself.

"Fuck no!"

"Do it," she snarled, and a hint of her old self returned. "I am your Lady! You will do as I command!"

He shook his head fiercely, hair tangled in the wind.

"I will not! You are not yourself."

Another howl, long and haunting, and Larys felt desperation claw at her throat.

"Don't you see?" she screeched over the wind. "That's Ghost! I cannot lose him too!"

Jory was torn, and though he had never heard Ghost howl in his life, he was overcome by the sudden urge to obey. Running to the chain, he pulled, and pulled, turning the cog, and the gate slowly rose. With every inch, Ghost grew quieter, and Larys felt tears of frustration freeze on her cheeks.

Sprinting forward, she ignored Jory's shouts and ducked beneath the gate as soon as it allowed.

Silence- there was no wind here. A long , tunnel-like cavern, and at the end she spied the second gate. Above her was the entire weight of the Wall, and if it fell, now, she would be crushed beneath it.

Lifting her skirts in her hands, Larys ran as fast as her son would allow, stumbling, blanket falling from her shoulders and lying forgotten on the floor. Her hair streamed behind her, like smoke, and as she neared the second gate, Jory far away and long forgotten, she heard scratching.

Larys crashed into the gate in a flurry of sobs and hot tears, banging on it with her fists.

"Jon!" she screamed. "Jon!"

Suddenly the only noise was her laboured breathing, and for a terrifying moment, she thought she was wrong, completely wrong, that a wolf in the forest was calling his brothers and nobody was on the other side of this gate but snow.

"Jon?" she breathed, frantic. "Please..."

A shifting on the other side- her heart beat a fierce rhythm in her chest.

"...Larys?"

Larys burst into fresh tears, falling to her knees, pressing her cheek into the gate like it was a lover.

"Oh, Jon," she sobbed. "Jon... Thank the Gods..."

A shuffling and his voice, like the dawn, and she wept anew to hear it again.

"It's alright, I'm here," Jon said, voice soothing. "I'm right next to you."

With every word he spoke Larys felt an all-consuming desire to feel him, to touch him, to see him. She scrambled to her feet and to the chain at the side.

"Lift!" she screamed. "Help me!"

Larys pulled with all the strength she could muster, and the tender scars on her hands bled again, smearing the cold metal with hot blood. Hands slipping, she regained purchase and with a cry heaved with all her weight. The gate rose with an almighty groan, and from beneath it, two hands wrapped around and lifted, and beside them, a snuffling white nose. She laughed, laughed hysterically, overcome with dizzy joy at the sight of them. As soon as it was high enough, she let go, knowing it would stay in place, and ran.

Before he could blink, she ducked beneath the gate and barrelled into his arms. Jon held her, tears falling from blue eyes, holding her tight and burying his face into her hair.

Larys sobbed into his chest, weak with relief, with joy.

"You're alive," she gasped. "Gods you're alive..."

Jon hushed her, stroking her hair. Her sobs died and she buried her face in his neck, kissing it tenderly. He shivered, and a tear fell down his cheek at her warmth and love. He dreaded the moment she looked into his eyes.

Larys pulled away, and he had a mad urge to hold her in place, but move she did. Tilting her head to look at him, she froze.

"Your..."

Her voice trailed to a whisper and Jon waited, braced himself for the disgust, the fear. He closed his ice blue eyes- perhaps she would not feel so violated then.

"Oh Jon..."

He felt her hand, soft and warm and slick with blood, rest against his cheek, and tears slid from beneath his lashes.

"What happened?"

"The Others killed Benjen and wounded me. Ghost found my body and brought me to the Children of the Forest. They stopped me from becoming one of them but they could not change my eyes."

Jon's voice was monotone, eyes firmly shut. Suddenly, soft lips pressed against his and his eyes flew open to see the pure love and adoration in hers. His knees went weak.

Tenderly, he kissed her back, and felt a rush of a thousand emotions he thought he'd forgotten- all his fears, all his frustration, all his fury died at her touch, and he became Jon again. Memories flashed before his eyes; stealing a kiss as children, dancing in the candle light, taking her on the forest floor. The passion, the lust, running his hands along every contour of her body, watching in awe as she tilted her had back with a moan like a heathen goddess. Her laughs and smiles and round cheeks as she felt their child kick. The thick black curls that slept perfect and awoke wild. Larys, his Larys, his love.

"I love you," he whispered, and his voice was raw with yearning. "I love you."

He kissed every part of her face, her tiny button nose, her soft cheeks, her delicate eyelids, and the line of her jaw. He memorised the taste of her beneath his lips, the feel of her skin against his. She shivered, and he took delight in her fervour.

"I am yours and you are mine," she sighed softly, tilting her head back as he nuzzled her neck. "No matter what happens."

He lifted his eyes to look at hers, and brown met blue with utter certainty and complete loyalty.

A nose suddenly wiggled in between them and they laughed to see Ghost, tail wagging. Larys wrapped her arms around his neck, hardly needing to bend down, and her face shone with joy.

"I missed you too Ghost."

The wolf yapped and ran to play in the snow with all the casual grace of one who cares not for the problems of tomorrow. Jon smiled and turned back to his wife.

For the first time, he truly saw how big she was with his child. It gave him a feral sort of pleasure to know why.

Larys saw the pride in his eyes and beamed.

"I cannot wait until he arrives," she said, taking his hands. "Then we can be together, at last. And you'll never ever leave home again."

Her face was soft and hopeful, drunk on dreams, but he knew better. His smile slid away like oil, and she frowned to see it.

"What is it?" she murmured, dreading his answer.

"I cannot go home," he said blankly. "I cannot pass beneath the Wall."

Larys blinked.

"That's ridiculous," she insisted. "Look."

She took his hand before he could protest and dragged him to the gate, ducking her head. She stood on one side and him on the other, and as she tugged him in, Jon held his breathe. And exhaled it, grinning slowly.

"You see, I told you."

"Thank the-"

Jon froze. His face turned to stone and Larys watched in horror as all feeling and humanity bled from his form. His fingers were cold and rigid in hers.

"Jon?"

Silence was her only answer.

"Jon?"

What terrified her most were his eyes. They seemed to glow like two sapphires in the dark of the tunnel, and behind them were a thousand screams. Whimpering in fear, she began to push him, urge him away from the Wall. He hit his head on the gate and did not flinch, but she persisted until he stood firmly outside of the gate. Ghost watched with solemn eyes.

"Come back," she whispered, touching his face, eyes wide and frightened. "Please Jon..."

A blink and Jon was back, a flood of emotions shining so bright on his face she felt she might go blind. Her shoulders sagged in relief.

Jon gasped, face drawn in pain, sinking to his knees.

"I'm sorry," Larys wept, kneeling beside him. "I'm so sorry."

"No," he muttered. "No."

He took her face in his hands, and though it was lined with agony, it was alive, it was Jon. She traced his scars, and remembered her own.

"I will find a way," he promised, though his eyes were filled with despair. "Upon the Old Gods and the New, I will come back to you. If it takes months, if it takes years, I will come back."

Larys nodded, but with every word her heart broke, and the pieces were ground to dust beneath the cruel heel of fate. Jon pressed his forehead against hers, and their tears ran like rivers of blood.