A Knight's Watch

by DolorousEdditor

Jon Snow is forbidden to take the black by his father. Instead he sent to squire for a famous knight, beginning a long arduous journey that causes him to cross paths which characters he never would have. Along the way he learns truths long hidden and discovers love in the most unlikely of places. All of this in the shadow of the War of Five Kings and the coming of the Others.

37. Chapter 37

JON

A biting breeze snuck in through the open door of the armoury. The weapons piled around them could not defend against the chill which followed.

Yet the cold could not dampen the warmth of Sam's smile.

"Thank you Jon. I've no right to ask you for this, but I thank you…"

"There's no need Sam." Jon replied idly, watching Coll count the rows of spear-torches laid against the wall. The squire's brow was furrowed in concentration, taking all care to get the proper count they needed. Jon was making sure to note how the boy still favored his injured side. Many had succumbed to their grievous injuries from the battle and he'd been fearful Coll would as well, yet he was gladdened to see the boy looking healthier every day.

"What's the count Coll?"

"Same as the steward's ser." Coll answered, resting his hand on the last weapon. "Five and fifty spears. That's much less than the hundred you wanted to send to Sable Hall, I think the spear makers will need to work faster."

"Yes, yes. Much faster…" Sam grumbled while taking a quill to parchment. The steward had been taking stock of their supplies for the past hour, Jon and Coll only recently joining him. At one time the armory had been stocked with iron and steel weapons, collected over a great many years. Now those had been mostly replaced with wooden sticks and dragonglass.

Hardly a man walked the Wall or throughout the castle without a torch strapped to his belt and a flint in his pocket to light it. The dragonglass shipments from Winterfell were being distributed all along the Wall, but much of the smithing of such weapons was done here at Castle Black. There was little smithing about it truly; the work mostly came down to carving and shaping the brittle rock.

There were now hundreds of dragonglass spear points, arrows heads, and daggers being handed out amongst the forces holding the Wall, and Jon had been sure to sing the Starks praises for giving them such weapons. While there was nowhere near enough to arm every man no one force was allotted more than the other. Night's Watch, Northmen, free folk, whoever was most likely to meet a foe, they were armed accordingly. Since Stannis was still isolating himself at the Nightfort, and Jon had no reason to antagonize the man, they'd been shipping weapons and supplies to the western castles of the Wall through the mountain clans.

That will change soon enough I hope. If anything good can come from me leaving, I pray that it is Stannis rejoining this fight.

The thought of leaving pulled him back to Sam's words.

"You're sure the babe is able enough?" He asked, knowing Sam harbored a personal affection for the child in question. "It will be a long cold ride that we're embarking on, and I'd rather not put the him at risk needlessly."

"Gilly says that free folk babes are strong." Sam smiled. "And he certainly sounds strong enough ser. The last couple of times I've gone to see them, the little babe was wailing so much that I could hardly hear my own thoughts…"

The steward's smile died away towards the end.

"I'll miss that I think."

"Better to miss it than to lose them." Jon said simply. He did not mean to sound so harsh but following the battle Beyond-the-Wall, he wished for no innocents to be near this fight. "The finest warriors in the realm are not even safe here Sam. To keep mothers and babes near this threat would be madness."

"I know and I'm ashamed." Sam nodded. "When Gilly first asked me if she and her son should leave, I wanted to say no… sending them away was a hard thing to think on after everything we've been through here. It hurt some to think she wanted to leave but I was being selfish… after everything that's happened at the Wall how could I say no? So when the summons came for you to depart, it felt fated and I knew the choice was made. Gilly has been so quiet after the battle. I mean, she was always sort of quiet but I think… she won't admit it, but she's scared, and- and I promised her when I first met her that I would keep her safe."

Jon chose to politely ignore the look of affection that passed over Sam's face then.

We're all allowed our secret loves I suppose.

"They'll be safe with the Starks, I believe that." Sam added with a nod, seeming to reassure himself more than anything.

"We will, that is to say the Starks will find a place for Gilly, I promise. That good woman and her child will want for nothing if I have any say in it."

It will be nice to have the child with me. To arrive at Winterfell with new life, Sansa might like that.

Far better than returning with relics of the dead.

He glanced down to the sword upon his belt then, cringing again to see Willem's blade hanging from his hip. He felt like a thief for carrying a sword that rightly belonged to his friend. The guilt was worse though, to walk about each day with Willem's sword while his friend's body couldn't even be found after the battle.

I'm sorry Will… I looked and I looked… I went to corpse after corpse, each more charred than the last…

I couldn't see your smirking face among them… I couldn't find you, the man who found me at the Saltpans…

The man who gave me purpose again.

So lost in thought and grief, Jon didn't notice that Sam had been speaking. He begged forgiveness and asked the steward to repeat himself.

"I said that Val promised me much the same. I was quite surprised by it actually. She's never really liked me I think, but she said she'd look after Gilly and her boy at Winterfell. She acts so strangely sometimes, especially of late. I don't know when she's threatening me or complimenting me. I still can't believe the Lord-Commander is permitting her to leave with you."

"Things have changed." Jon answered, holding back a chuckle. "And Val can be quite convincing when she wants to be."

No sooner had Sansa's letter arrived than did Val kick in Howland's door and demand to join his party set for Winterfell. Such was how the crannogman told the tale anyway. Jon thought that Howland was having a rare moment of jest, until later he saw some stewards fixing the hinges on the solar door.

What surprised Jon more than Val wanting to go to Winterfell though was Howland allowing it.

"Things have changed." Howland had said to him a few days past.

After watching Leathers train some new recruits for the Watch they'd sought the top of the Wall together. Many of the new faces had come from amongst the wildlings themselves while others were freshly arrived from Winterfell. Leathers fought savagely but he was a good teacher with a patient and friendly disposition. Some of the new men feared the rough-looking raider but Jon thought that was a good thing. Learning to deal with fear would be necessary for the coming battles.

Just as Jon dealt with his own fear when they journeyed up the Wall. The specter of seeing the battlefield in daylight was a hard one for him. The lands beyond had been blanketed by several fresh snowfalls since, masking the carnage which they'd unleashed below, but the image of those fields seared black with fire and littered with thousands of corpses wouldn't leave Jon's mind. He was glad when Howland distracted him with talk of politics at the Wall.

As stressful as they could be, politics didn't bid him to wake up screaming in the middle of the night.

"I haven't noticed much a change in Val myself." Jon had answered back and Howland grunted in amusement.

"Her nature is not the issue, her worth is. I kept Val from leaving for Karhold because she was a symbol to my men, that I had control over the free folk. An important thing to have at the time, for my sworn brothers feared our new allies would break, run, or even betray them. After the battle things changed, the wildlings fought well and saved many lives, some have even taken the black. We've spread out the hostages taken from them throughout the castles holding the Wall, and the need for Val to act as a symbol has waned. I'm fairly content to let Mance Rayder serve in that role for now while Val plays a more important one at Winterfell."

"Val at Winterfell… I can't see how-"

"The Others lost a battle Jon, but it was just that; a single battle. We may hold the Wall but they control the vast lands beyond. Our new allies can't return to their homes until this threat is defeated outright. So the free folk are here to stay, perhaps for quite some time, and their people cannot shelter at the Wall forever. They will need lands to settle, with promises that they will be safe when doing so… they need the North to welcome them in the New Gift."

"Welcome them to the New Gift" He'd shivered in the wind. "I'll be surprised if the Northern Houses even allow it…"

Despite his words, Jon saw the wisdom in moving the wildlings away from the front. His father had once spoken of settling lords on the Gift, to help support the Night's Watch by feeding its men and perhaps even helping them man the Wall in times of emergency. The wildlings were not northern lords though, and the New Gift was far closer to the Kingdom of the North than Eddard Stark would have preferred.

Then again, he never expected the Others would return as well.

I can't see the man who raised me content in allowing women and babes living so close to this fight…

The rough lands of the New Gift were likely more hospitable than what the free folk were used to, and there were enough lakes to fish and game to hunt to support small groups of them. Jon could foresee the rough people thriving there, becoming a force that would help the Watch return to its former glory and a great boon for the North itself. Yet to act so hopeful was foolish, for he saw problems in Howland's proposal as well. Specifically from the lords of the North, like the Umbers, the Mormonts, and the mountain clans, just to name a few. They had always experienced the worst the wildlings had to offer, most viewing the free folk as raiders and rapers. The thousands of years of bad blood could not be washed away by one victory.

When Jon put that to words, Howland had answered his worries.

"You're right. That's why this plan needs the support of the King in the North." Howland held up his black cloak then. "I command the Watch and lord over the lands of the New Gift. I could settle the free folk there without anyone's permission, as is my right, but good relations between neighbors is desirable to say the least, and approval from the Starks would go a long way in helping. I believe we can gain that support by having some of the wildling leaders join you in going south. Let the regent and her council see their worth. Sansa may appreciate Val's strength… and perhaps she can even find a match for our wildling princess among the northern nobility. Seeing what many consider wildling royalty married to a lord of the North would help relations considerably…"

"Not if she slits her husband's throat in their bridal bed." Jon had almost laughed at the thought of Val being paired to the likes of Roger Ryswell or even Ronnel Stout. "Val's too wild to be paired off, but if I can keep her from threatening anyone I think her beauty will help set some of the lords at ease."

Jon had seen Val act courteous and charming when it was needed of her, though he was wary of it being a way to lure enemies into underestimating her. Like Val's adept nature with a blade, her charm was just another skill she had developed to survive.

Like when Sansa would play the innocent wide-eyed girl before friends and foes alike…

Perhaps she might appreciate Val some.

"It's a good idea though, the marriages." Jon had said in thought, trying to think of other options. "Binding the free folk and North together before the heart tree could help. Not too many of the wildling men would make tempting suitors but as to brides… what of Gerrick's daughters?"

"Gerrick Kingsblood?" Howland asked and he nodded.

"As Tormund tells it there's little royalty in the man's blood, but Gerrick is still a leader among their people. His three daughters are of a gentler kind than Val and Gerrick is clearly eager to marry them off-"

"Hasn't he offered one to you?" Howland had offered a rare smile at Jon's discomfort. "Or was it two?"

"All three at one point or another." He'd frowned.

The last time Gerrick had attempted such a thing he'd done so quite publicly. Everyone in the hall had watched as the man brought his youngest daughter before Jon's table, presenting the girl as if she was his next serving of meat. He'd felt sorry for her, for Gylda was only barely older than Arya, and a pretty thing besides. All Gerrick's daughters shared the same long, straight red hair, kissed by fire as the free folk called it, with comely faces and fine forms as far as he could tell. The youngest would surely grow into a beauty like her older sisters but that mattered not to Jon, for his heart belonged to another…

He could not speak to that though and his polite refusal of Gylda left Gerrick grunting in annoyance. The girl had seemed relieved, for she'd been almost trembling in fear the whole while. At first Jon believed it inspired by her father, or perhaps even the prospect of wedding a dragon. Following her gaze though, he found what truly scared the girl. For Val was glaring at the poor girl from the far end of his table, her eyes narrowed in an unspoken threat. Jon had seen that look a few times before, the last being when a minor lord of House Umber had offered to wed Val in such a way. Just before she'd broken his arm.

While Gylda was frozen by fear, Jon stood to shield her and frown at Val. Her menacing glare had quickly changed to a smile at his challenge. The same flush crossing her face as when they grappled in Howland's solar. He still expected that Val would come to his chambers one night, slip under his furs and bury a dagger in his stomach over that affair. Val tried to provoke him often now, as if goading him into a confrontation but he'd disappointed her each time.

She better not try anything on the ride… tying a wildling woman up and dragging her about a frozen land is something I'd rather not do.

"Gerrick it is then." Howland had crossed his arms. "Yet I want a true leader to represent the free folk at Winterfell, not just some man with some blood claims. A man they can fear at first but appreciate over time. A loud one at that…"

"Tormund?"

"Tormund." Howland nodded. "Soren and Sigorn can fill the gap in leadership in his wake. I keep his youngest as a page, but he can take his eldest Toregg on the journey. If things go well at Winterfell he can become Rickon's… guest."

His hostage, it went unspoken.

"I'm gathering quite an escort for my ride of shame." Jon had shaken his head, still struggling to understand how he'd made such a mess of things here at the Wall.

So much so that even the woman I love could not allow me to continue here.

"There is no shame in this Jon. I tell you now there are none here at the Wall as esteemed or respected as you are. That battle would not have been won without your insights, and your slaying of the Others gave many of the men hope…"

"The losses were too great Howland. Sansa must have realized that… she sent me here to help and I repay her trust by leading a thousand men to their deaths…"

"I would say you were wrong but you will argue with me anyway." Howland had sighed, patting his back. "In that I see my friend Eddard. As much as I miss him, we will miss you here at the Wall even more. I am happy you are leaving nonetheless."

"But you just said-"

"I never wanted you to come to the Wall in the first place, but I knew the lords would not trust me to come here alone… and I had to come… I had to…" The Lord-Commander had looked out to the vast expanse of snow-covered wilderness once more. "For the sake of the daughter I have now foresworn."

Howland grabbed at his arm then and bid Jon to join him in gazing north yet he saw nothing out there that demanded such urgency.

"I lost my son out there Jon." The crannogman's voice shook some. "I felt it when Jojen passed… it told me when he died…"

"It?"

"A power, a great power, old and knowing. Far more powerful than my dreams or your family's skinchanging. It speaks to me through those dreams… through the heart tree at Winterfell. Somewhere in that wilderness, it sits in the dark with Meera… and Bran. They are alive Jon, alive and at its side."

"What!?" Jon had shaken free of his hold and stared at the man in shock. "You've known where Bran is since Winterfell? And you've said nothing?"

Howland had shaken his head and placed two fingers forcefully against his temple.

"I know without knowing! Whatever the red eye is, it will not tell me where they are! No matter how I beg! Only that they are safe… it said if I came to the Wall and took the black, if I allowed you to join me, then they would be safe. There was no guile in its words, and rarely has it led me astray, though in truth it says little…"

Hearing Howland speak of a red eye in the dark had sent a wave of terror through him. Jon and Ghost had both dreamed of such a thing, of a terribly old voice speaking to them. He could not rightly recall its words once he woke, only that they scared him. Despite that fear, and knowing that such a dark thing could be real and was communicating with Howland, a ray of hope had broken through.

"Bran's alive?" He'd asked desperately. "Out there? You're sure of it?"

Howland had smiled sadly in reply, turning his eyes back north.

"Meera too." The Lord-Commander clenched his fists. "We have no hope of reaching them Jon… not through all of that. Like I said, we hold the Wall, the Others hold the rest. If we want to see them again, we must do more than win one battle. We must vanquish our enemy…"

In a selfish way, he wished Howland hadn't told him any of this. It made following Sansa's order and returning to Winterfell all the more difficult. When he proposed writing to Sansa of what Howland spoke of the lord had coldly forbidden it.

"Sansa would surely demand a rescue mission, one that would be doomed as soon as it set foot outside the Wall." Howland gazed down at the ring of torches they'd posted around the gate. "We have not seen the Others since the battle, and my rangers report only small forces of wights moving through the forest at night. We burn those we find yet more await us out there, we are not safe."

Jon had nodded, feeling further shame to be leaving while this war continued on without him.

"And how would we explain my knowledge of Bran's survival to my brothers? Were my men ever to catch wind of my dreams, or that I somehow commune with a dark power, how long would it be before I suffered the same fate as Jeor Mormont?"

Howland had looked pained to speak to all of this yet he pressed on anyways. The Lord-Commander was casting away the selfish feelings of Howland Reed to better serve the realm, and Jon admired that strength. Yet when he spoke again, a brief glimpse of the man Jon had journeyed north with broke through.

"Besides, you would try and use this as an excuse to stay at the Wall, to lead that ill-fated rescue yourself. I cannot allow that. My dreams have shown a foul fate for you Jon… I saw men plotting in a cold, dark place, feasting on a white dragon with your name upon their blood soaked lips..."

"You think that place is where the red eye keeps Bran and Meera?"

"I don't believe so… but I cannot say for certain." Howland had turned away from him again, once more staring off into the snowy lands. "I was forced to allow your coming here Jon so I will not hinder your leaving. Sansa ordered you home for a reason, so go to her. I'd ask you to wed her there but, forgive me this, my dreams showed Sansa on my arm the day of her wedding. She was wearing a bridal gown as I led her to the godswood, tears in her eyes… I am certain that means I am to be there, so I cannot be sure-"

"Please Howland." He'd interrupted. "I've had enough of your dreams for now… I have things to tend to before I leave my post and return to my king."

His head had been spinning and he was annoyed with Howland's mysterious words yet he couldn't bring himself to leave the lord angrily. This wasn't their final farewell, he knew that, yet he couldn't allow harsh feelings to fester between them while he was gone. They'd been through so much together and Jon had so few friends left.

"Hold the Wall my lord." Jon had offered his hand to Howland. "As happy as I would be to have you at my wedding, if it is a choice between the Wall standing and my selfish wants being fulfilled, I know which I prefer."

"As do I." Howland shook his hand firmly. "I fear sometimes that this world will forget Ned and his honorable ways. Somehow you manage to ease those fears. As long as you live, so does his memory. Keep his family safe ser. Protect our home."

Jon took as much solace in those words as he could. Being unable to fight alongside Howland and the other brave men at the Wall had been a hard thing to swallow. When he had first received Sansa's letter, it had been confusing, and later when re-reading it, he still didn't understand.

'Ser Jon,

The king commends you for your service at the Wall. In his name, you are summoned back to Winterfell to continue your duties here. Lord Umber and Lady Maege will henceforth take command in your stead. You are ordered to return to Winterfell with the utmost haste.

Princess Sansa Stark, the Royal Regent.'

The idea that Sansa had lost faith in him stung deeply, yet a part of him was glad and yearned to see her once more. He'd done his best to hide those conflicting feelings from Howland and Sam when he'd first read the letter in front of them. Sam, while clearly upset to hear the news, had tried to put a positive light on things. He suggested it as an opportunity for Jon to spread word of what was happening at the Wall in person, to encourage more men to take the black and convince their southron allies to send aid as well.

With all the people I'm bringing with me, I can't see how that message would go unnoticed.

I still can't believe the group I've cobbled together to join this ride…

"Ser!" Coll called out, snapping up from counting so quickly that he clutched at his wound in pain. "Gods- I mean, look ser… a ser!"

The squire was pointing at a new visitor to the armory, one who did not lack for armor or weapons himself. Ser Richard's face was as grim at it always was.

"Yes Coll, I see him." Jon patted his squire's shoulder, bidding the young to man to sit and cutting him off from announcing another's coming within the armory. "I see Aldred too."

His sworn man was indeed following a few paces behind Ser Richard, hugging his maimed arm against his chest. Aldred had been forced to abandon his two-handed axe after that the battle for, unlike Coll, his injuries had not healed so well. Jon himself had volunteered to hold Aldred down so the healer could saw off his ruined left hand but the young man would hear none of it.

"I won't sit here and let any man claim he took a hand from me." Aldred had growled before laying his left arm down upon a block. With a roar that set Jon's hair to standing on end, he cleaved the ruined limb in one stroke.

The sheer bravery of that act more than made up for the man's tears as Jon held him steady, for the healer still had to press a hot iron against his stump to cauterize the blood. Aldred had sobbed the whole while, clutching the bloodied axe in his right hand tightly.

"I can fight…" He'd wept. "I can still fight… I'm still a warrior…"

He surely acted the part, following after Ser Richard as he did. Jon had actually put a stop to watching the knight for treachery shortly after the battle. His men needed time to heal, and Richard had fought nobly alongside them, proving himself savage yet trustworthy ally. Nonetheless, Aldred had taken up duties following the knight once he was able, wearing the very axe he'd taken his own hand with.

"Ser Jon." Richard nodded, stopping to glower at Coll and Sam.

"Ser Richard asks an audience my lord." Aldred grunted from behind the knight, gesturing to him with a wave of his stump. "Or so I guess. I can't read the man's mind."

Willem would say you're stumped.

"I can speak for myself." Richard growled without looking back at Aldred. "I have considered your proposal ser. I accept."

"I am glad." Jon said, quite surprised to hear so. "King Stannis must have complete confidence in our alliance if we are to work together. With the free folk envoys going to Winterfell, he must know that he has naught to fear from it."

"King Stannis does not fear." The knight answered simply. "I cannot speak for the king so I will not deign to try, but I can report to him what I see and hear."

Likely what you were sent here to do in the first place.

"Then I welcome your company on the journey south." Jon offered his hand which Richard stared at a moment before grasping it with his own.

"The Lord of Light has bid me to do so." Richard said simply. "My path is set. When do we leave?"

"First light on the morrow. Is there anything you'd have us make ready?"

"I will be taking Devan Seaworth with me." Richard spoke curtly.

The man left armory without another word. While Jon lamented leaving the Wall, he had hopes that his departure would help mend the rift between House Stark and Stannis. Inviting Richard along for the trip south was an attempt to rebuild some faith between them, the knight acting as an envoy alongside Tormund, Gerrick, and Val. While not the most pleasant of company Jon was glad Richard had agreed to come.

From the looks on Sam and Aldred's faces, he was quite alone in welcoming Ser Richard's decision.

"Forgive me my lord, but I think this is a bad idea." Aldred tapped his axe absently. "I saw that man fight. Even with both my hands, I doubt I could've matched him."

"And now Al's only got the one." Coll added, pointing at the stump and earning a cuff from Aldred for it. "What? I'm helping!"

"Ser Richard comes as an envoy, not an enemy." Jon said to quiet them. "Besides, there will be almost fifty northmen in our party. He'd be foolish to try anything against such numbers. Nor can I think of a reason he would."

"He's a follower of the red god ser." Sam folded his parchment in a worried manner. "People of that faith value blood sacrifices. The burning of kingsblood before any other, and being the son of Rhaegar Targaryen, descended from a line of kings and dragonlords from Old Valyria itself makes you a valuable offering indeed. Just as Maester Aemon was…"

He frowned. Jon was glad that Sam was finding the courage to speak in front of Aldred's fierce manner, but was annoyed that he used that newfound courage to disagree with him.

"Ser Richard did not take part in my great uncle's murder Sam. The guilty party is far from here-"

"We hope." Sam added with a shiver.

His statement caused Coll to look about the shadowy armory in fear, as if expecting to Melisandre to pop out at any moment.

She despises the shadows. She prefers the light and the fire and the burning that comes with it.

So look to the fires Coll, if you seek her. She'd likely counsel the same.

The red sorceress's disappearance from Castle Black had been a great mystery for some time now. Not a day after the battle, Melisandre had sent Devan Seaworth to collect more wood for her fire and she was seen leaving her tower not long after by some guardsmen, before moving out of sight between some buildings. When her squire grew worried at the length of her absence he'd sought out Jon. That had sparked a search where Howland and Tormund sent men all over the castle looking for Melisandre.

His first thought had been to seek the fires that burned at the edges of the Castle Black. Following the battle many wounded and sickly had succumbed to their wounds and for days and nights afterwards the bodies had been burned, a grim beacon in the darkness. He believed that a perfect place to find Melisandre.

Yet they found nothing there, or anywhere else. Ghost had never been able to track the sorceress properly for some strange reason, and both Richard and Devan claimed to have no idea about her whereabouts. Days of searching left them with no sign of the woman they sought and the mystery endured even now.

Most had been cheerful that the red witch had disappeared and Jon had heard men say that they finally felt safe around fires.

Yet you remain troubled, he thought, Melisandre knew I'd be summoned back to Winterfell and she asked to join me.

Now I'm going and she is nowhere to be found… it makes no sense…

"My lord, have good sense." Aldred asked then. "You set me to following that man for a reason."

"He's a killer!" Coll rose to his feet, doing his best to sound older than he was. "Ser Willem named him such and he was a wise knight! He taught me the Old Tongue-"

"My friend's worth is not lost on me!" Jon snapped angrily, causing Coll to take a step back. "Enough! Both of you! I have made my decision! If you have enough energy to argue with me then I'm sure there's other work you could be doing right now! I want our sleighs and saddles ready by first light, so see it done!

With that he turned to leave, assured that Sam could complete the weapon inventory without him. He had only been there to distract himself, but Coll and Aldred had brought the ghosts back. The people who died, he didn't want to think about them right now.

The only ghost he welcomed was resting at the entrance of the armory. The direwolf rose as he passed, coming to Jon's side, where he was needed. Walking side by side, he reached out to pet Ghost's head and the soft feel of his fur beneath Jon's gloved hand was welcome.

Always there when I need you, he thought, how long until I fail you too Ghost?

"You have no worries about heading home, do you?" He asked the wolf. "Reuniting with your brother and sister again, joining them in playing with Arya and Rickon. I know you dream about Sansa too old friend… don't think I never noticed how she would sneak you extra food off her plate in the Great Hall…"

"Jon!" He turned to see Sam chasing after him. "Jon, wait!"

"Sam, if you're going to tell me to be wary of Richard-"

"I'm not!" Sam wheezed. "Though you should be."

"I said-"

"It's about Ser Willem." The steward raised his hands up in surrender and looked to the tower that Willem and Jon had made their chambers. "Your squire's words reminded me, and I'm sorry to bring it up, I know you grieve still-"

"What about Willem?" He liked Sam speaking of his grief as much as he enjoyed thinking about it himself.

"His chambers, they haven't been cleaned out. I saw a steward preparing to do so but I stopped them, out of respect for the good ser. I thought… I thought you would prefer to have someone who knew him take care of it. A friend perhaps."

What kind of true friend am I? I completely forgot about Willem's effects.

"Thank you Sam." He grasped Sam's arm and shook it slightly. "I shall see to it myself. Willem would've thanked you as well."

"He would've told me to call him ser." Sam smiled good-naturedly.

He left Sam's side and headed straight to Willem's chambers. It felt like there were more stairs than he remembered, and Jon worried at what he would find. They had journeyed here to fight, not for a pleasure stay, and he knew his friend had brought little with him. Yet a foolish fear filled Jon's head, that when he opened the door, Willem's spirit would be there waiting for him.

Cursing Jon for letting him die. Cursing him that his body hadn't been given a proper burial, that he'd let him burn out in that cold darkness. Alone.

When he did open the door there was no angry spirit waiting for him. He found only a shockingly messy room, with clothing and refuse dotting the floor.

"By the gods Willem." He shook his head as he kicked one of the many empty wine bottles strewn across the floor. "Who drinks so much alone in their rooms?"

You did once, he thought, back at the Twins, when your scars still hurt.

When I believed Sansa had spurned me… when I thought her lost to me…

There was little enough of note in the piles of rags and bottles. Some rough spun woolen clothing here and there, some riding leathers, a spare pair of boots, nothing he knew Willem would attach much value to. He decided to allow the Watch to take most of it, likely some of the free folk could be helped using Willem's garments.

He smiled to see signs that his friend had been helping himself to some of wildling wears himself. Among the piles of clothing, he saw what he knew to be the undergarments worn by women north of the Wall. Different sizes for each too and, lifting one up with his boot and taking note it was made of beaver fur, he chuckled to remember something Willem had said to him one morning.

'What odds would you lay that some of those spearwives use beaver fur to hide their-"

"You're a filthy man." Jon repeated once more, his words heard by none but him in the dark cold room. "A filthy man… I miss you Will."

Running a hand over his neck, he made to take his leave when he noticed some scuff marks at the bottom of the bed. Drag marks cutting through the dust on the floor. Bending down, he peered beneath and saw a satchel tucked away for safekeeping. When he'd pulled it out, Jon sat on the bed and rummaged through it.

There was a coin purse with a good amount of gold and silvers, enough to buy a new suit of armor and a fine steed to go with it. He tried to ignore how much of the coin was marked by muck and blood. The next thing he pulled free looked to be the torn remnants of a tunic, bearing a sigil much like that of House Royce but not one he recognized.

The bronze background was there, the black runes adorning the edges, but in the center, instead of the black iron studs of the Runestone Royces were two black iron swords crossed.

Willem had a sigil? Why didn't he ever show it to me?

I only ever saw him wearing Bronze Yohn's standard or the Stark direwolf…

His questions only deepened when he pulled the last treasure from the satchel. A bundle of cloth tied with string, with a simple bit of parchment rolled beneath the bindings. A message with a lone name scrawled across it.

Jon's name.

He stared at the parchment for a long time, afraid of what it would say. When he found the nerve he began to carefully unwind the string. Once he opened the bundle however, he was baffled at what lay within. The first item was simple enough, a thick lock of honey-colored hair, tied together by a long red ribbon. The next was a small knitted boot of bronze-dyed wool, a child's garment to be sure, singed about the edges.

As odd as all this was, it compared little to the last object, which stood apart from all the others. The bright red ruby was only just smaller than his palm and Jon marveled at its beauty. The stone had been intricately carved and looked like something out of a story, a beautiful treasure that only a king would wear.

Why did Willem keep such a valuable thing next to some hair and a child's bootie?

Contrary to the end my friend… contrary to the end…

Clutching the ruby, he finally turned his attention to the parchment baring his name, wondering at how Willem could've known he'd be the one to come here. As he began to read, it became clear.

For Willem had done what Jon had before the battle. He'd written a letter of farewell to his loved ones.

A letter to Jon.

'Either this is Jon or someone is a snooping pile of shit.

But if this is Jon, and you're reading this, then I'm dead.

If that's the case, well, first things first, stop blaming yourself. I know you lad, you sullen arse, and there are better things to dwell on than me so stop your brooding.

I'd rather you cry over some spilt wine, which is a true crime indeed. Don't turn back to wine to feel better though, you've been doing good with the drink. Want my advice on how to deal with your woes?

Go back to Winterfell. Marry that girl and let her take your pain away. She's the type that'll do it with a smile, so damn well let her. Make that sweet thing happy and give her some pretty babes or I'll come back and haunt your privy.

I mean it. I don't want to see your pale arse so damn well do as I say.

Speaking of ghosts, I better explain that ruby. Long story short, it's your father's, Prince Rhaegar's. I plucked it from the ford after he fell at the Trident. I'm sorry I never had the guts to tell you how I watched your father die. I'm ashamed that I cheered to see it, and prided myself on looting one of his rubies. I didn't know then what I know now. I never sold it off though, and it was the one of the few things to survive the fire. I figured that meant something, and finding you was damn well fated.

So don't sell it Jon. And don't hide it away. Take it and wear the thing with pride. If your father is the man we all think he is, if he had even half of your honor, I know that he'd be proud of you. I know that I am.

About the rest, ask Sansa about it. I'd rather not weep before battle, won't be good for Coll's morale. I ask you to take it all back to Winterfell one day and bury it in your godswood. I liked that place. It was peaceful.

I think that's it. Thank you for giving me something to fight for again. People die, and you shouldn't forget them, but don't let them become burdens on your soul. That's not doing anyone any good, trust me. Remember them as they were. Don't let grief keep you from loving. Or forgetting how to hope.

I love you Jon.

Oh make sure Morton Waynwood pays back that coin he owes me. Buy Sansa something worthwhile with it, maybe some soap to cover up the smell of you.

Ser Willem Royce, Knight of the Runetower, First of the Guard, Taller-than-you-think.'

Willem's signature was smudged from Jon's tear and the parchment crumpled in his hands as he shook. He wished then that Willem's ghost was there, just so he could talk to him again.

He said to not let grieving keep me from loving… but most of people that I've loved are dead.

How many… how many more…

He saw his father smiling down at him, helping him with a scraped knee while Jon cried. He saw Robb, cursing at him happily as they pelted each other with snowballs in the godswood. He saw Robar, laughing and twirling his sword as they sparred together in the lands of he saw Willem, giving Jon a push into Sansa's chambers while she held her arms open in welcome for him.

More names and faces came at him in a torrent. Jeyne Stark. Galbart Glover. Jon Redfort. Hallis Mollen. Grenn. Pyp. Ulmer.

Even Wun Wun, who'd died saving him and Jon still didn't understand why.

He threw me away from the battle. He didn't want me there, like Willem. He wanted me to have hope…

Thinking of hope could only made Jon picture Winterfell. Rickon would be playing among the trees in the godswood, with Shaggydog chasing behind. Arya would be in the practice yard, her face full of glee as she danced about with Needle. He saw Sansa in the Great Hall with someone playing music for her. She and Myranda could share a dance together and Sansa would be smiling that bright smile he had come to love.

I don't grieve them. I love them. I hope for them.

Eddard Stark forbade me from staying at the Wall.

Willem asked me to go to Winterfell.

Sansa calls me home.

"I wanted to serve here, to defend the realm, and honor your sacrifice my friend." He said to no one but ghosts and shadows. "But the world is not about what we want. It is about what we must do."

"My watch here has ended."

"It is time to go home."

THE VOICE ON THE WIND

He'd had a body once.

Hands that were his own to touch with. A mouth that spoke his thoughts.

Eyes that beheld the world around him.

Now he could still see the world, but there was no him. Not after the pain and screaming. Not after the fire.

Adrift as he was, he had spent untold years remembering that pain, feeling so lost. There was no way to know how long his spirit wandered the lands. How many years, how many thousands of years, had it travelled through?

Sometimes a weirwood tree would play host to him, in warm lands from days long past, in colder lands as time wore on. He stayed so long in one tree that the seasons changed around him as white branches and red leaves grew and shriveled and grew again.

It was a happy thing when young lovers would come before the trees. Their garb and languages changed over the years, from rough spun wools to garments of linen, swords of bronze changing to iron, then steel. Some would be surrounded by friends and family in the light of day. Others came at night and in secret, with only the gods and him to bear witness to their love.

One such couple had stolen away before him, to bind their love with an eagerness that set them both to laughing. The man had been dressed in rough spun wool and bronze armor, the woman a gown of white wool, with wildflowers tied into her hair. They'd both shed their clothing quickly, making love at the foot of his roots. He'd allowed the wind to take many of his leaves then, watching them glide back and forth like crimson dancers as they fell gently upon the lovers.

Their laughter and words of love made him think of a green-eyed girl. One who called to him from outside the vastness of land and time, the girl he could not find his way back to.

He couldn't even remember her name. His grief at that shed bitter tears through ages.

Even more so when happiness and life turned to sorrow and death.

Not all those who came before the weirwoods did so willingly. He saw many weeping young maidens dragged to their knees by rough, older men, callous to the unwillingness of their partners. In the older times, there were as many weddings as killings. Blood sacrifices made to the trees.

He could not count the number of men, women, and even children that were killed as offerings to him. So much blood, it was enough to flood the whole world.

Once, when he'd been a tree quite close to the power of the Wall, it had been the black cloaks of the Night's Watch doing the killing. Under the cold, uncaring gaze of a man who sat upon a white steed, hundreds of naked northern villagers had their throats slit and their bodies thrown upon the roots of the tree. The bodies piled so high that he could no longer see his roots. The dark lord watched unflinching, and even though torches lit up the night all around him, the man cast no shadow to be seen.

His spirit left that place of blood and evil. His mind went north, much farther north, staying in this ancient time.

He was not bound to trees alone. His wanderings… his blind search for the girl calling to him… they brought him to many different bodies.

Most had been welcoming to his spirit. They'd been used by others like him, willing to share their bodies and eyes with the seers. Familiar to their power. Servants of the greensight.

It was one of these familiars who hosted him Beyond-the-Wall, far to the north, where a great frozen mountain range rose into the sky. The eagle flew over a snow-covered valley nestled in between the mountains, a valley which played host to strangers as well.

Men intent on slaughtering one another.

The snow had been painted red and was dotted with the bodies of the fallen. A black-cloaked army, hundreds strong, had encircled a smaller force of wild men in bronze and iron. The slaughter was one-sided and ruthless, yet the wild men fought on. Not a man tried to flee the ring of death around them.

For their battle drew attention away from others who already fled, an escape he watched with interest. They were two figures farther up the valley, struggling through the snows. Drawn to them, he flew lower.

Like he'd done when the fire came.

In this body, in this time, he was more likely to freeze than burn as gusts of cold wind battered him. Nearing the fleeing pair, he saw one to be a child, a young boy being dragged away by a man. The eagle saw only a fearful man protecting his child, while the greenseer glimpsed someone he knew from before he became lost.

In a different time, his body would be pale and rotted. His hands black and cold. In this time, thousands of years to the past, the man was still alive and there was a flushed color to his cheeks.

Joramun… Joramun was his name.

Somewhere in the haze of who he once was, he saw this Joramun holding a horn above his head while fierce men chanted his name. He'd been brave and fearsome to behold then but much had changed.

His eyes were wild with fear and his breathing was labored and panicked. Constantly looking over his shoulder at the battle behind them, Joramun dragged the young boy with one arm while the other clutched something to his chest tightly.

The horn he'd once held with pride, he now gripped with desperation.

"Almost there." Joramun rasped to the boy weeping at his side. "We're almost there… just a little farther son…"

"I can't…" The boy cried, stumbling in the snow. "Father, I'm so tired…"

"You can do it. You have to." He yanked the child up. "Be brave boy, be like your mother was… strong and brave…"

"She's dead!" The boy pointed back at the battle. "They killed her! The Night's King took her! You said she'd be safe! You said-"

"She was brave until the end! She died for us, for you! I won't let you die, I will not… just a little more and you'll be safe…"

The eagle was ahead of them now and saw no safe haven for the child in the distance. The valley came to an abrupt end, not a few hundred feet ahead of them. A massive collection of rock stretched in front of them, an unnatural barrier in the otherwise untouched wilds of these mountains. Flapping along it, he saw no holes for those two to escape within, no hidden rescue party waiting to spirit them to safety.

Instead he saw their enemies growing closer. A number of black-cloaked riders had detached from the main battle and now rode after the father and son. The horses struggled in the thick snow but still moved at a pace which would overtake their prey long before Joramun could reach the end of the valley.

Joramun had noticed the same, suddenly coming to an abrupt stop and cursing to see the riders bearing down on them.

"Gods, let this be close enough." He said, releasing his son and dropping to a knee in the snow. Laying the horn down gently, Joramun pulled free a dagger. "Son, do you remember what I told you? Of what must be done?"

"Yes, but you said you'd do it!" The boy protested. "That someone else would blow the horn and you'd be the one to control-"

"There's no one but us now!" Joramun grabbed hold of the boy. "I've been fighting this fight since before you were born and I knew this day could come… that I might fall to see the Night's King brought low. He must be stopped. Him, his bloody army, and the Others fighting with him. For that, I would die gladly, to give you a chance. To give men a chance…"

The child began sobbing even more as the riders drew nearer. The lost memory of whom he was thought to perhaps buy them time by attacking their foes, but there was no point. There was no help for the father and son here, only ice and death.

"After this, you find Torr, your grandfather." Joramun cupped the boy's cheek. "He's eager enough to get vengeance for your mother. Find his army and together you can take the fight back south! If you can push the Night's King back to the Wall the Starks of Winterfell might make common cause with you. Get the wolves to push from the south and together you might have a chance…"

"They won't listen to me…"

"They will." The father kissed his son's forehead. "With this power they will, they will have to. Your mother named you so that one day men would follow you. The free folk don't bow to just any man and neither did she. Yet I claimed her as I did her people, and she saw the same greatness in you… there is power in a name my son. Say it now. Say your name with strength and pride. A man must always remember his name… say it!"

The boy wiped at his tears and stared back at the riders. They were calling curses and threats at them.

"Joramun." He whispered, reaching for the man's hand. "After my father…"

"Good. Say it again."

"Joramun. My name is Joramun." The boy sounded stronger. "The son of a king."

"Good… good…"

The father took the boy's hand in his, holding it gently and closing his eyes with a look of pain. When he opened them again, he laid the sharp edge of a dagger against his son's palm and sliced a bloody line across it. The boy's cry was ignored by Joramun as he threw the dagger aside and lifted the horn to catch the blood dripping from the open wound. He even went so far as to press his son's hand against the bronze, cracked bandings, smearing it until the brown metal was colored red.

"Enough… that's enough… it's bound to you now." Joramun released his son and rose back to his feet, horn in hand. "The Builder cursed his ice harvesters here; we will free them from those bonds."

"Father… I can't." The son reached for his father, trying to drag the arm holding the black horn down and away. "Not without you… don't leave me…"

"I will be with you." A single tear slipped free from Joramun's hard face then. "I was never meant to have you. I took an oath, and an oathbreaker has no right to life… I've lost everything else, but I won't lose you. With this the Night's Watch will be saved… the Wall will be set to rights… and you will live. We've no other choice."

"No! Please, we can run! I'll make it, I swear…"

"We have nothing left…"

With that Joramun brought the horn up his lips, shutting his eyes as he sucked in a great breath. The sounds of horses, men, and the screaming of the boy did nothing to dampen the loud blast of the horn. It was a mournful thing to hear, like the sorrow of a thousand souls moaning all at once, in one deep voice. A sudden wind had blown up and battered the eagle the very moment the horn sounded. The deep bellow echoed off the mountains all around them. Within this beast, he felt something change in the air, but saw nothing that spoke to it.

Save the dying man below.

Joramun had paled horribly in the short time since sounding the horn, which fell from his shaking hands and into the snow below. The man fell too, dropping to his knees and holding his hands to his chest, pounding it like he wished to free some hold upon his heart. Then, with a great heaving, a cloud of frost broke free from the man's mouth, high into the air above. The eagle's eyes spotted flecks of snow among that cloud and he knew no warmth would be found in Joramun's final breath.

That was King-Beyond-the-Wall's last act before pitching forward, falling face first into the deep snow. His son was on the ground too, screaming and crying at his father's side. The boy began pounding upon the frozen body, willing the man to rise again.

The pounding of the boy's fists were nothing compared to what came next though.

The mountains themselves began to shake as some great force awoke within them. Something that pounded away from deep within them, a power with the strength to move mountains.. Sheets of snow, ice, and rock tumbled down from the mountains as the party of riders stopped their pursuit, startled at the world crumbling around them. The source of the power was shown to be a great barrier at the end of the valley. It was shaking with such intensity that the whole thing was falling to ruin. Massive boulders broke free as ice and rock was torn forcefully from their resting place. Land and snow crashed and broke like dry kindling, as something raged from behind the barrier.

The pounding became deafening, like something was forging the mountain into something anew.

When the valley end finally burst forward in a great explosion of frost and debris, the power of it sent the eagle tumbling through the air. Shards of ice tore through its wings, sending it hurtling to the ground.

The last thing he saw was the younger Joramun rising to his feet, holding the bloody horn and staring into newly made hole at the end of the valley. It was a dark abyss at the foot of the mountains, where shadowy monsters moved in the dark.

An ancient power seeing light once more.

His spirit did not stay to endure the eagle's death. Dying was what caused him to be lost in the first place and he would not allow that to happen again.

When he fled, there were a countless number of familiars he could seek, spread out across great distances and times. Great beasts like mammoths and snow bears, smaller creatures like stags and foxes, far rarer were the giants and the singers who welcomed his coming.

Men were fewer still.

At times it felt like he could see through a thousand eyes but there was only one set he sought now.

The memory of Joramun made him remember a creature that had been named Coldhands by a wise, reedy voice. That memory led him to another, where he had flown above another battlefield in a different place, closer to where he wanted to be.

Where the green-eyed girl sang and touched a boy's face with care.

The familiar he sought now was one still very much alive and flying, just as he liked it. He was at the Wall again, soaring above it in the body of a raven that knew him. The bird remembered him more than he remembered himself.

The raven showed him their destination. The night sky above them was blocked out by thick clouds but their eyes were sharp. He could see the huge, dark castle resting at the foot of the Wall, even with so few torches lighting it.

The raven soared down over the outlines of a palisade wall that was being built around the castle. There were pits filled with bodies beneath those walls, all unburied, preserved by the cold. Within the castle grounds, he saw the dark shapes of horses being led about the yard, saddled and foddered. As they flew at one tower in particular, with one window perfectly framed by light, he noticed how the air grew colder the closer the raven flew toward the castle. It was a biting, harsh cold, with little to no wind. It made him think this place was held in the dark, icy grip of something far colder indeed.

The only wind he felt was when they landed on the window's ledge, for this tower, more than any other part of castle, was bearing the brunt of gusts coming down from the Wall.

When he peered through the filthy window he saw a number of men standing within but could hear little of what they said. The cries of pain came through clear enough, shaking the window more than the wind. Those sad sounds came from a skinny mess of a man, cowering on the floor under the brutal feet of two tormentors.

Both men standing over him were armored. The large, red-faced one drew back his foot and kicked into the prisoner's gut.

"Admit it!" His bark barely carried forth through the glass. "Turncloak…treacherous… to die…killed the onion…"

"No… a friend… no more…"

The other man, a skinnier, cruel-looking one, followed that up by pressing a foot down on the prisoner's hand, grinding his boot over bleeding fingers. This one sneered as the prisoner screamed, his mouth was filled with ugly teeth.

"Do we … burn… leave to freeze…"

That was when the raven took notice of others in the room. A thin, handsome knight watched all of this with a smile on his face while a stern, gaunt man wearing a crown ground his teeth and held a bloodied dagger in his hands. The knight crossed his arms before walking closer to the prisoner and the window. His words were clearer.

"It doesn't matter… do it quickly… be leaving soon… we have a dragon to burn…"

Another kick from the large man caused the prisoner to howl in pain, but the sounds of ice cracking filled the air around the raven, drowning out the cries. A moment later, the king jerked his head, as if he'd heard the same. He said something that bid the torturers to halt their treatment of the broken man.

"Enough… decided… sacrifice…" With that the king strode forward and pointed to the three armored men. "You are to… left Castle Black… Jon Snow's reckoning…"

"I will… your regards." The smiling knight bowed before waving the other two to join him in departing the room. With them gone, only two guards remained, standing at the door until beckoned forth by their king to lift the prisoner to his feet.

The wind rattled the window again and more ice cracking rang out around the raven. The coldness deepened as he took note of the king moving away from the small fire burning in the hearth. The light from it was so weak that the shadow he cast against the wall was a small one. Gazing at it more he saw this shadow did not move as it should, not mimicking his movements at all. Indeed there was no sign of a shadow that did so, as if the king had left his behind somewhere. Instead this smaller one, slighter and shorter of stature, stayed beside him wherever he moved. When the ice cracked loudest the king would even look to this shadow, once nodding as if in reply.

Like it was speaking to him.

The shambling wreck of a prisoner was raised up to his feet between the arms of the two guards. His face was bloody and bruised yet ruined far worse than that. His hair was white, his teeth were ruined, but the raven saw him as a young man.

One his forgotten-self recognized from a life led long ago. A smirking young man with a bow in hand came to his mind. Then an angry prince shouting at a cowered people he'd known as well. A last memory came forth, of the ruin that the prisoner now was standing before a weirwood, with tears in his eyes, praying for death.

He'd spoken the man's name then. He knew the man's name now. He spoke it again.

'Theon.'

The guardsmen jerked in surprise and looked to the window. What should have been a raven's cry came out as a word, a name. The guards glanced at each other in fear.

'Theon.' He said it again, but the wind was driving him away, pushing him from the ledge before he could see if Theon had heard him. Joramun had said there was power in a name, and Theon needed strength now more than ever.

Saying the name brought back other memories. Of a home lost to him. Faces of friends and loved ones who were dead. Their names came along with their faces. Robb. Mikken. Luwin. Rodrik. Jojen.

As the raven was blown from the ledge, more faces and names flooded his mind. But these were the people who were still alive. The ones there was still hope for.

Rickon… my brother… Sansa… Arya… my sisters…

Jon… I love him… I love them all…

I love her too… Meera… Meera!

'Bran…' A sweet voice called in the distance as the raven righted itself in the air. A voice carried not by the wind, but through the haze of the green beyond. 'Bran, I hear you… come back to me…'

Bran.

Hearing that name changed everything. He remembered his name was Bran. He wasn't a spirit… he wasn't lost… he was Bran. Son of Lord Eddard and Lady Catelyn, the Blood of House Stark, the Broken Boy, the Prince of Winterfell, the Last Greenseer.

The boy who loved Meera Reed with all his heart.

'Bran, follow my voice! I'm here, waiting! Please don't go away again!'

'Meera! I can't find you! Where are you?'

'Follow my voice Bran! I'm here! We're all here!'

He struggled to remember where he needed to be but when he tried to remember, all that came back was burning and fire. The sweet voice of his love was not the only thing that sought him in the darkness. A presence found the raven then, one it knew well, one it trusted. It was an old power that pulled his spirit from the familiar and into the dark sky above.

'Now we've found you…' The dark voice spoke. 'You've wandered too long young Brandon…'

He was pulled higher and higher until the Wall below became a tiny white line and the stars above shone like bright torches, welcoming him home. That brightness became so powerful that it blinded him, the world became a blur and he couldn't see properly…

Then a bright haze began to lift and a pretty face took shape before him. One that held green eyes, glistening as the girl wept and smiled all at the same time.

"Bran?" Meera asked, her warm hands clutching his face desperately. "Bran, speak to me, please… say my name… say anything, just don't disappear…"

"Meera." Bran moved his mouth to remember what it felt like, becoming startled to realize that the voice he heard belonged to him. He'd forgotten he had a voice. It sounded deeper than he remembered. "Meera… I'm Bran… Brandon Stark…"

She startled him by crying out happily, wrapping her arms around his body and pulling Bran into a tight embrace. His back and neck ached, and the rest of his body felt numb, but her embrace filled Bran with warmth. His memories came back to him slowly. Still seated on his weirwood throne, Bran was bundled with furs and strewn with strange talismans. White weirwood branches were strung together with roots in complicated designs all about his lap. He felt something tickling his forehead and reached up to find a wreath of red leaves there.

"Hodor! Hodor!"

The cries came from the stableboy practically jumping up and down to see Bran moving and speaking. The children around him did not celebrate as enthusiastically, but they smiled and clasped their hands together as if in thanks.

"I missed you too Hodor."

"I was afraid you'd never find us again." Meera pulled away to kiss his forehead several times. "Gods Bran, it was weeks this time! Not days! Weeks!"

"Lost… everything was burning, and then I was lost…"

A rasping beside him made Bran turn and see Bloodraven eyeing him with as much concern as his red eye could allow. That expression was the same one that the old greenseer had given Bran right before he began his journey to save Jon from the Others. Before he sought Wun Wun and led the poor giant to his death, a death he'd forgotten about until now.

"Death and suffering." Bloodraven spoke, pointing a gnarled hand at him. "I warned you. All you would find at that battle was fire and blood…"

"Stop it!" Meera snapped. "He's only just found us! Leave him be you-"

"It was he who left us." The ancient man replied. "He who became so lost that it took me this long to find him and bring him back, time better spent preparing for…"

"Meera found me." Bran spoke up, smiling at her as he remembered the kisses upon his forehead. "I heard you calling me… I heard your singing…"

"Did you? I almost wished you hadn't, I have a terrible singing voice." Meera blushed and smiled before her face became serious again. "But I had to try something. I wanted to take you out into the sun, but Brynden said that moving you from the throne might make it so you'd never find us. So I moved your legs and your arms about to keep away sores. I fed you honey and acorn paste, gave you water, took care of you. I prayed so hard Bran… Hodor did too…"

"Hodor." Hodor nodded.

"Thank you." He smiled at his friends, then at the Children around him. "All of you. I forgot who I was. For years… it felt like years and years. I only remembered it because of…"

Theon's battered face shot to the fore of his mind then. That and all the strange things he'd seen at the Nightfort. Of the things he'd heard said and the name that the gaunt king had spoken.

"Jon." He turned to Bloodraven. "I saved Jon but I couldn't talk to him! I was burned before-"

"Yes, by the fire priestess." Bloodraven grimaced. "For one with such power, she wields it as foolishly as a child with their first wooden sword. Had you not escaped that familiar just before its death, I fear your spirit might have wandered far beyond my reach. I have tried to reach her but she blocks me, and now she hides herself with a glamour, following our kin in the guise of another…"

"Our kin?" He asked, remembering then how Bloodraven and Jon shared a bloodline. "You mean Jon? Melisandre is with him?"

His teacher nodded and fear gripped Bran's heart. Even before she'd tried to kill him, Bran had already taken a dislike to the woman during his time at Castle Black. Wun Wun had been afraid of her and he'd felt her watching him when he was inside the Lord-Commander's pet raven. To hear that Melisandre was with Jon made his own mind race with dark possibilities.

"Where are they going?" Bran asked Bloodraven but Meera answered instead.

"South. To Winterfell." She sighed sadly. "Brynden told me that my father stays at the Wall for me… but that Jon goes back to your home."

"Much has changed." Bloodraven added. "Things are moving quickly. The Others are marching, not just their thralls, but the white walkers themselves. In numbers that men have not seen since the Long Night. They have found what we sought to hide from them on the Fist. I had thought the old magics there might protect it until my former brothers could find it, but alas. If only we could have kept it here, but the chance of the Others breaking through the protections in search of it was too great…"

"Summer's gone." Meera broke in, grabbing at his unfeeling legs. "He and his pack left days ago. I was worried that it meant you weren't coming back at first but now I think they were following Joramun."

Worrying after Summer made him reach for his friend. While he didn't slip into the direwolf's skin, he could feel that the bond between them was still strong which meant Summer still lived. He had no such bond with Jon though, and while Meera seemed upset that Coldhands was missing, he had other worries. He couldn't shake his fear of the red witch being with Jon, following him to Winterfell.

Where his family was.

"Why?" Bran rubbed at the ache in his temples. "Why is Melisandre with him?"

"Perhaps she senses what is to come." Bloodraven answered. "Of what is to befall your cousin."

"What? No! Nothing's going to happen to Jon!" He clenched his fists before him and sought Meera. "Jon went to the Wall and he was supposed to fall but he didn't! I stopped it! The Wall didn't fall either! They won the battle! I saved Jon! Wun Wun died so I could!"

"It's alright Bran." Meera tried to soothe him but Bloodraven's glare did the opposite. He looked at Bran like he was a fool.

"You said if he went to the Wall that he'd fall…"

"I did, yet not that he would fall there." Bloodraven sounded tired. "You might have delayed that for some time, but even now, his fate is still sealed Brandon. You cannot change what is meant to be, no matter the evil the future holds. Some events must come to pass for-"

"Yes I can!" He shouted. "I can fly! I can hunt as a direwolf! I can fight as a giant! I can save my family!"

I didn't kill Wun Wun for no reason. I didn't go through that fiery hell for no reason.

Coldhands might not have been able to save his family but I can save mine.

I am the Prince of Winterfell, the last greenseer, and I must do something.

Bran didn't feel strong enough to do much of anything though, and his head rang with a horrible ache. Even the dim lighting of the cave hurt his eyes. Bloodraven acted stern then, his ancient hands clenching into fists.

"You have not the strength to do so. Heed me in this, the priestess will sense your coming as she did before and burn some other poor innocent to dispatch you. All for nothing."

The thought of burning again gave him pause and he worried that Bloodraven was right, that he was too weak to journey so far again. Yet going to Jon himself was not his only option. There were others who were closer to him that he could warn; those far from the red witch but who might reach Jon in his stead.

As he made to speak to it, his head suddenly throbbed in agony. So much so that he cried out and Meera pressed her hand against his head again.

"Bran? Bran, what is it?"

"Summer… it's Summer." He winced, feeling his friend's fear through their bond. "He's in danger. Something's happening and- ah!"

Even as it felt like a hundred tiny swords were stabbing into his mind, Bran sought Summer, just as the direwolf would seek him if he was in trouble.

"It is in their grasp." Bloodraven's voice sounded distant. "May he wield my gift to him well in this fight… he did not have to go, this is not a battle we can win…"

Bran had to go though. Meera was pleading with him but there was no choice…

… and no escape.

The undead were all around him and his pack. They'd tracked the cold one here, through the dark woods to this place in the shadow of a great up thrust of rock. The winds had not been with them and they'd lost sight of the cold one as he moved through the trees.

Instead they'd found other things moving through the trees. The undead men all wore the black cloaks of the men on the Wall. Their eyes shone blue and their weapons were frosted in the cold. They ringed his pack in every direction he looked, save for ahead, so that was where he ran to. One Eye, Stalker, and Sly fell in behind him and they darted between the trees as fast as they could.

Until that escape proved to be no escape at all.

He'd led them away from the hordes of undead into the path of white walkers themselves. The cold creatures had somehow hidden themselves from view, their coverings shifting and changing so they blended in with the dark woods around them. There was one for every member of their pack and two more besides. They all held their shimmering swords at the ready, barring his way and keeping the wolves from interrupting the digging of a lone undead man behind their number.

From what he saw, the earth was being thrown aside so some filthy bundle could be pulled to the surface.

Then they were under attack.

The white walkers struck at once, two darting in from the sides while the others fanned out in their advance. His fangs and claws would do little to them so he leapt back from their assault. As did Sly and Stalker.

One Eye tried to get between their enemy and paid dearly for it. The thin blades slashed through the air and blood sprayed out soon after. The wolf did not even get the chance to yelp as its hind leg was severed and its head fell away from its body.

Sly began to whine loudly at the loss of their pack member and the oncoming white walkers. He growled himself at the one closing in on him, trying to decide whether to attack its sword hand or its legs.

The choice was not his to make. A glint of steel flashed through the night and cut through the white walker like it wasn't even there. The shrill scream that followed hurt his ears horribly but left the creature of darkness a shimmering pool on the ground. The cold one stood in his place, his black cloak blowing in the wind, the sword in his hands steaming with a deep cold.

This blade was a fine one, even the wolf understood that. It was glimmering with power. Its silver handle was slim and surrounded by barbs wending upwards into two arcs. The pommel was made in the same fashion, but encrusted with bright red rubies. The cold one raised it high as icy cries from the remaining white walkers rose up in the night.

"This sword, belongs to the dragons." He declared, slicing it through the air. "That horn was my son's, and the Builder's before him. It is not meant for your evil. By this sword I will end your evil."

One of the white walkers sprung forward, razor-sharp blade slicing through the air, only to be shattered by the cold one's blow. His powerful sword cut through both blade and white walker, causing it to fall and another scream to fill the air.

"I'll make you pay for it." The man said, a man he wanted to name Joramun. "I swore an oath once, to hold your kind back… I died an oathbreaker but in this I will not balk."

The white walkers did not come at him one at time, instead they did as his pack would, circling their prey before moving in for the kill. Another scream burst forth as Joramun stabbed into a white walker. He blocked a strike from the side before ducking a blow that would have taken his head.

The boy he was wanted to go forth and pull one of the foes away, but the wolf knew better. The undead were closing in from behind and more white walkers were emerging from the darkness. This was not a fight they could win. They might not even be able to escape it.

A crash above them caused him to jump as a black cloud of ravens descended and began attacking the undead horde behind them. The ravens distracted the dead men long enough for their ranks to break, creating an opening that Sly and Stalker quickly ran through.

He should've run with them, but he turned back to watch the battle between Joramun and the white walkers.

"You turned my brother against me." Joramun cut a white walker's leg off while another cut across the ranger's middle, filling the air with nothing but frost. "My love died because of you… I lost my son to a crown he never wanted… all because of you…"

Another white walker met its screeching end. It stabbed its shimmering blade through Joramun's chest, but he acted unfazed and slashed at its arm. His burning blade flashed left and right against the cold. While cut after cut fell upon his dead body, the old ranger did not fall.

When a white walker cut one of his arms off at the elbow, the ranger answered with a blow to its neck.

"I've lost worse than that… I lost the warmth of the world… I lost my name and who I was to the ages…bound to that horn…"

Bran growled in warning at the foe behind Joramun but the man mistook his warning. When he plunged his blade backwards, it stuck in the chest of the undead sworn brother who'd been digging. Joramun tried to pull it free but the thing grabbed hold and held the blade within itself. The remaining white walkers saw their chance.

His legs were almost completely gone before he collapsed to what was left of his knees. Abandoning his grip on the sword, Joramun instead reached for what the undead man held in its other hand. A horn Bran remembered all too well.

It stayed just out of his grasp.

"I remember who I am now…" He rasped as shimmering blades were raised high to end him. "I am the sword in the darkness… I am the watcher on the walls…"

The howling of Sly and Stalker bid him to see the undead tearing through the raven attack, that his window of escape was almost gone. So as the white walkers brought down a man who'd stood longer than the trees around them, Bran ran.

He could do no more for Joramun… but he could protect his family.

He ran through the undead and the piles of dead ravens at their feet, running to meet up with the rest of his pack. They were waiting for him. They needed Summer.

Just like Jon needed Bran.

Leaving Summer's skin, knowing that his fiend was safe now, he sought a different place.

His home. His true home.

Winterfell…

ARYA

She was sleeping, they both were.

The two wolves curled up beside one another among the thick roots of an old pine. They were warm and at peace here, sheltered in this forest, surrounded by the man den. Their dreams had been of their quiet brother, who was resting far north of them, yet nearer than he had been. Every night for weeks now he drew closer and closer. Sometimes the three would run together in those dreams, in lands green and lush, with weather as warm as spring.

Heavy snows had been falling for days, the cold winds blowing hard against their home. By the dim light of day, men would walk along the tall walls, shoveling and sweeping the snow from their path. Winter's white bounty did not reach the wolves beneath the large branches of the pine. The limbs held the snow at bay but now hung low because of it, making it hard for anyone to find the wolves.

Yet something had found them anyway. The wind that swept across the snow-covered wood was moving in a different direction than it had been only moments ago. Ruffling her fur and tickling her ears, it bid her to wake from the peaceful dreams.

A voice drifted upon that wind. It moved over the ground and beneath the branches of the pine. A voice that called to her, a voice she knew.

'Arya… Arya… come…'

She moved free of her brother, heading out into darkness and following the calls. The sky was lightening. Dawn was near, though the cold lingered. Snows blew through the trees at her face but she wouldn't stop. Relief came when she arrived at the bone tree, the blood leaves offering ample protection against the harsh weather. Against its size and its thick canopy, winter broke. Just as the wind tearing through these lands broke against the walls of the man den.

A leaf broke from the tree then as well. Yet the blood canopy did not shake from the wind. It moved by some other force she could not see but heard clearly enough. From the sounds of all the leaves rustling a voice formed, one which called to her.

'Arya…' It whispered. 'It's me… Bran…'

That name caused her to whine loudly in yearning, for she knew it to be true. This was the voice of the hurt boy she missed so much, the man half of their strongest brother. It was his scent she smelled now in the wind. She still remembered it from long ago. Sometimes she'd catch faints whiffs of him in parts of the man den. This was his home as much as hers, even now.

Now he smelt strange though, of earth and darkness. She did not see him, but his voice called again.

"Arya… help Jon… danger…"

She backed away from the tree and growled. The words he spoke angered her. They filled her with fear and worry. The quiet brother was still far from them, far from help.

"Arya listen… they are coming… swords… fire… Jon needs you…"

A noise came from behind her and a moment later the fierce brother was there. Coming up beside her, the dark wolf began to stare up at the tree as well. The sound of the boy coming from the tree was strange enough, but the way her brother acted was odd as well. Something was different. He did not act as he normally would. Her brother would challenge any who came before him, but now his head and ears were lowered in submission. She knew his threatening growl well, but the whine that burst forth from him now was fearful.

His eyes were different as well. They were still familiar, still family, but not the bright green of her smallest brother.

No. These did not belong to any of her brothers.

Soft. Caring. Fearful. A bright blue.

Her sister's eyes.

The boy in the tree saw this too.

'Sansa…' He called. 'Sansa… go to Jon… in danger… burning…"

The tree voice came again and again, even as other sounds began to filter down from the leaves. It was the whispering of an old voice and the cries of ravens. She could smell another scent as well, a smell of death and decay. Of deep darkness.

She growled again at this change. She did not like that this new scent was near the boy's. The boy continued despite her worries.

'Help him… they are coming…'

With a gust of wind, the voice and smells were drifting away from here, the boy and the other scent fading back into the darkness. She didn't want the boy to go. He belonged here, with them.

So she chased him. Not as the wolf though but as something more powerful, a spirit that could reach within the tree and grab at the one leaving her. A great pain came over her as she left the wolf, her mind screaming as it fought and pulled itself within the tree, pulling at the boy who tried to fly from her.

'Arya no…' He warned her. 'You can't…'

She could. He was in her grasp now even though she had no paws or hands. It was only the strength within her that kept his spirit in the tree. Every bit of longing and love in her heart held him to her, but it was not enough.

Something else was pulling him away, something terrible and strong. A flurry of darkness attacked her, pecking and screeching to try and drive her back from her brother. The voice was angry and seeped in darkness.

'Her place is in the beast, not here.' The old thing warned, beating her away. 'Stop her now or she'll become lost and I will not be able to find her…'

'No!'

Her brother wept and his love reached out to her. For a brief moment they were together again. A memory came back of two small children wrestling in the snow; a bright-eyed little boy and a dark-haired little girl, laughing and shouting as they fought. Their weak blows came not in anger, but with care and joy.

They would not hurt each other. There was love there.

'I love you Arya… I love you all so much… but I can't stay… there's more to learn… help Jon … go!'

The ravens were no longer attacking her. Instead, a powerful cascade of bloody leaves blew her back, followed by a flurry of snow. The red and white haze was somehow more powerful than the dark and the ravens. It broke her hold on both the boy and the tree, sending her mind reeling back into her wolf. No matter how much she fought it, the power was too great...

Arya awoke with a start and cried out.

Her body jerked straight up in her bed, clutching her furs desperately to her chest as she prepared herself for a fight. Glancing about the room, she expected to find a flock of ravens or some hooded figure to be waiting for her in the shadows.

Yet there were no enemies in the room.

She saw only a warm fire burning in the hearth and snow falling outside her window. The world without was brightening. Morning was upon them, just as it had been in her dream.

Bran, he spoke to me, she realized, he was speaking through the tree again.

That was no dream… that fight was real… I held him…

The fight for Bran had been so vicious that her body was covered in a light sweat. Throwing off her furs, she half expected to find herself scratched and bruised.

She hadn't been prepared for the blood tough.

A scream broke free from her to see it there, her nightgown colored bright-red below the waist. As damp as the bedding was with her sweat she suddenly feared the whole thing soaked with her blood. Arya leapt up and away, fearful to see more gore on the blankets.

There was only two or three drops on the bedding though. Her eyes adjusting to the light, she saw that the blood wasn't so bad, truth she'd had worse cuts in the practice yard. Nor did she feel wounded, save for a slight bellyache.

Feeling more foolish than hurt she soon realized what had happened, and it only got worse when Ser Evan and Errold Flint burst into the room, looking panicked.

"Princess!" Evan shouted, hand on sword. "Where is the threat?"

The knight's eyes darted about the room while the wiry man next to him focused on her. Then his gaze went lower still, towards the blood upon her night clothes. Errold was a Flint of Flint's Finger, having spent much the war fighting ironmen that attacked fishing villages near their western shores. Many, including Arya, had been enthralled by the grand tales he told of each scar on his body, all marks of battle. He claimed that he'd grown his mustache to help cover the smell of all the squids he'd killed. He would always send his mustache to twitching at that part of the story.

That mustache wrinkled when he saw Arya's bloodied gown. She quickly tried to cover herself by pulling a fur around her middle and Errold tried to help her by covering the eyes of his fellow Sworn Guard, which made Evan start cursing.

"Seven Hells Flint! The girl cried for help!" Evan struggled with the hand blocking his eyes.

"Avert your eyes if you wish to help her ser!" Errold snapped. "Your grace-"

"Get out!" She screamed. "Get out! Get out now!"

"Why? I don't-" The knight's words caught in his mouth when he saw the drops of blood upon her bedding. "Princess… were you attacked? Did some fiend ravage you? Did he take your virtue? It wasn't one your suitors, was it?"

Ser Evan looked positively aghast while Errold rolled his eyes before giving her a pitying look. Her face felt redder than she'd ever known it.

"Out!" She grabbed Needle from her table as Errold wrenched Evan back by his cloak, pulling him from the room.

"Are you a fool?" Errold whispered as they cleared the doorway, pulling it closed behind. "No one's in the chamber, we've been here all night. The girl's on her moonblood… don't tempt a woman's wrath when she's bleeding-"

The rest was cut off when the door shut, leaving Arya with her thoughts.

My moonblood… it's my moonblood… Mother said that she'd talk to me about it when I was older… but that was years ago.

Sansa said she got hers in King's Landing when she was a little younger than I am now, but I thought I had more time! Lya hasn't gotten hers yet I don't think.

No, no, no… I don't want it now… not with everything else going on…

Not when Bran and Jon need me.

Even with the shock of waking to find her moonblood, Arya still repeated Bran's words over and over again. She cherished his words of love towards the end, but she thought more on the ones of warning. That somehow swords and fire were threatening them out in those snows.

That Jon was in danger. Jon needed their help.

Sansa was there. It was supposed to be Rickon, but I saw her in Shaggydog.

Bran saw her too. He warned her the same as me.

"We need to help Jon." She said, tossing the fur aside and lifting her night dress overhead.

Arya was naked under her night dress as most of her smallclothes had become itchy and ill-fitting recently. She rushed to her drawer for clothes but then suddenly stopped and gripped her gut. For the first time, she felt the ache there and in between her legs. It wasn't too bad, but it was sudden and unfamiliar, making her feel dizzy for a moment. She pushed through it, about to put on a woolen gown before remembering that it didn't fit over her chest and hips anymore.

"You are becoming a woman Arya." Jeyne had said blushing while she helped Arya dress one morning. "A pretty young woman... with a woman's form."

"Stop it!" She'd snapped at her friend. "I'd rather you call me Arya Horseface than say that."

Her body had been changing for some time now, to Arya's displeasure. Her breasts were swelling, still far smaller than Sansa's but burdensome to her archery stance all the same. The new hair above her sex was darker too, which embarrassed her whenever she went to the bathhouse with the other girls. Jeyne must have said something to Sansa about all this, because her sister had been dropping hints that a seamstress should get new measurements for Arya's dresses and nightgowns, even smallclothes.

"The wild girl I've come to know is becoming a warrior woman before my eyes." Sansa had smiled as Arya brushed her hair. "Lady Brienne and the Mormont ladies will need to take notice. Soon they might not be the greatest of their like in the North. Jon might come home and not recognize you at all."

"That's not true." She'd argued. "Jon will always know me. Always."

Arya looked out the window as she donned some smallclothes that she had borrowed from Jeyne. The sun was still low, but there were men leading horses about. That meant riders were readying to go out to relieve those returning from the night patrols. Usually she wouldn't seek Sansa's room until after she heard the whinnies of their horses returning, but early would have to do.

This can't wait. Not if all Bran said was true.

Arya donned a simple dress that wasn't frilled or lacy or colorful. Just simple and plain, like she wanted to be right now. Even still, she grabbed the crown Gendry had forged for her and placed it upon her head, scowling at how messed up her hair looked in the looking glass. It had grown to her shoulders now, and Sansa had said she wasn't allowed to cut it. Gathering it together into a simple braid like Lya's, she set to work until her crown sat evenly before rushing out.

Errold and Ser Evan tried to follow but she was too fast for them. Servants were moving about, which gave her a better idea of the time. Most of the highborns would still be abed, but she had a feeling Sansa would be up. After what they'd just seen and heard Arya couldn't imagine her sister was still sleeping.

As Arya came to Sansa's chambers, she found Duncan Snow and Ser Rayland Coldwater standing guard. Duncan was kind to her and laughed when others thought she was being improper. Ser Rayland she didn't know as well. The man had blotchy skin and a past fight had left him with a crooked, broken nose. Wylla said that his coal black hair and bright green eyes made up for it though and Arya had agreed. He was a few years older than Jon and had come to Winterfell with Bronze Yohn Royce and his men.

The lord had been the one to offer Ser Rayland as a new member of the Sworn Guard.

"The knight served ably in the siege of the Dreadfort." Lord Royce had grimaced to say. "He was the one who carried the old woman out of the dungeons and brought her to a maester when all others left her for dead."

"You mean Old Nan?" Sansa had asked, seeming impressed with the story and the knight, but Arya was still nervous about him.

"He's a Vale man." She had said, feeling bad to do so even though she knew that a good princess should. "You all serve the Dragon Queen now. Why should we take him and not a Northman?"

"House Royce of Runestone has bent no knee to Daenerys Targaryen!" The lord had replied forcefully, crossing his arms and looking strong for a man of his years. "I won't fight against the lords of my lands, but I stand with House Stark still, as House Coldwater stands with me."

A deep, rumbling laugh had come from the lord after that, looking sideways at the kneeling Ser Rayland.

"Besides, the ser has his eyes set on marrying some northern lady who's been staying at Coldwater. Being a second son and having no inheritance, gaining some repute in the North might help young Rayland earn her family's favor."

"What northern lady?" Sansa had asked and Ser Rayland blushed to answer.

"A fine one… a beautiful one." He'd said without raising his eyes. "Lady Cayllie of House Lothien… When I was with her last I told her I was going to fight the Boltons, a house her family served. She feared that I might meet them in battle, her father and uncle… for her brother the most …"

"And if you had?" Sansa had asked coolly. "If it came to fulfilling the oath you now swear to the Starks and sparing the feelings of a woman you love, what decision would you make?"

"I offer you my sword as a knight." Ser Rayland drew his blade then and offered it up to them with both hands. "If I cannot keep my word as a knight, then I would not be fit as a husband for such an honorable lady. The Lothiens have bent the knee I heard… but should I be tasked with battling them one day, it would mean that they broke their vows. So I would do as the Starks bid, as honor dictates."

That was how Ser Rayland became the ninth and last member of their Sworn Guard. One for each of the nine weirwoods that witnessed the Pact between the First Men and the Children of the Forest, according to Maester Medrick anyway.

Seeing Ser Rayland standing outside Sansa's chamber made her feel strange. Like she didn't want this stranger to see her while blood spotted her new small clothes. Even Duncan's kind gaze felt strange to her.

"The warrior princess rises early today!" Duncan greeted her with a yawn and a grin. "Have you come to relieve me of my post?"

"Good morning Duncan, Ser Rayland." She remembered to curtsy like Sansa taught her. "I've come to see my sister."

"I believe she is awake." Duncan glanced to the door. "It's early still, but I think I heard her moving about in there… hey where's your Sworn Guard? That Whitehill dandy is supposed to be-"

"Don't worry about that." Arya said, interrupting. "Let me pass."

Ser Rayland appeared taken aback by her boldness but Duncan nodded and rapped lightly upon the door, announcing Arya's arrival. After a moment of silence, a soft voice answered, bidding her to enter.

Arya hurried within and shut the door behind her. Sansa was more out of sorts than she'd ever seen. Her usually shiny auburn hair was in tangles, and she had dark circles under her eyes. Lately Arya had taken a strange pride in seeing Sansa's hair looking nice after she brushed it, so seeing her sister like this was startling.

She looks as if she was tossing and turning all night.

Like she's been having foul dreams too.

Sansa's been skinchanging…

"Arya, I had not expected you… it is early." Sansa's voice was a hoarse rasp and her eyes were dazed. "I didn't sleep well…

Walking forward, she grabbed Sansa by the shoulder. When Sansa turned, Arya looked deeply into her eyes. They were blue, the same fearful blue eyes she'd seen in Shaggydog during their dream.

"You saw." She whispered. "You dreamt what I dreamt. Bran came to the tree again. He spoke to me about Jon. He spoke to you."

The last word was said accusingly and her sister's eyes bulged. Arya knew it had to be true then.

Sansa had been there.

She had a wolf dream. Sansa doesn't have a wolf… but she is as much a Stark as the rest of us.

Maybe she's something more… I've never been able to slip into Shaggydog or Ghost's skin.

"What? Arya… no… I don't understand."

"Yes you do. Don't lie to me, I can tell when you do." She grabbed at Sansa's cheek when she tried to look away. "I saw- well, Nymeria saw you. We know when Rickon is skinchanging with Shaggydog. Last night it wasn't him, it was you. Bran talked to you through the wolf dreams."

Sansa shook her head, but the way she rung her hands confirmed all of Arya's suspicions.

"You dreamt of Bran?" Sansa asked suddenly. "Of him talking through those leaves… through those horrible, blood-red leaves…"

Arya nodded, which set Sansa to cringing.

"I didn't remember what I was." Her sister continued. "I was dreaming of other things I think… of Ghost being closer than ever. Then I was a wolf, walking through the godswood, and I heard a sweet voice… oh gods, I knew it was Bran's voice-"

"He was talking from the heart tree! It was like that when Jon and I heard it-"

"I thought it just a dream Arya, maybe a nightmare… but to hear his voice… his poor sweet voice…" Sansa's eyes began to glisten then as she trembled. "Is that truly what it's like? When Bran came to you that time? It was terrifying! There was someone else there… something else was in the tree with him… whispering… a-a red eye…"

"I fought him. That old dying thing." She said, struggling to understand that part herself. "In the tree I think, or maybe somewhere else. I tried to keep Bran here but he wouldn't stay... he wanted to me to let go so he could leave. So I could-"

She shuddered at the memory until she remembered what else Bran had said.

"He said we needed to help Jon!"

Sansa broke away from her then, glancing fearfully towards the door before wrapping an arm around Arya's shoulders and pulling her farther away from it. It felt comforting, but she could also feel her sister's trembling. Arya waited patiently while Sansa sorted through her thoughts.

"He kept saying Jon's name… and something of swords…" Sansa said, and she saw how scared her sister really was. All of this was new to Sansa and for Arya too in truth. Even with all her experience at skinchanging, Bran's voice in the tree was still the scariest thing she'd ever faced. She was impressed that Sansa was handling it as well as she was.

It's because she's worried about Jon. She's braver when it comes to protecting him.

I am too.

"Jon is close Sansa. Nymeria dreamt of Ghost and she felt that he wasn't far."

Sansa didn't look surprised. She let go of her and went to sit at the window.

"I had hoped he would be… I prayed for it. With all these storms, I worried. That's why I asked House Lake to send riders to find his party. When they refused-"

Arya jumped and grabbed at Sansa's hand, shocked to hear that anyone wouldn't help someone as good as Jon, let alone one of their bannermen.

"What do you mean? Why won't they try and find him?"

"The Lakes said they weren't willing to risk their men in these snows for the 'usurping dragonspawn.' That they remained loyal to the good and true King Rickon, and so they wouldn't help Jon steal away their king's crown."

The rage almost choked her then it was so all-encompassing. To hear people talk that way about Jon, after he'd won a great victory for the North over the Others… Arya wanted to scream.

Her brother had spent almost half a year away from his home, something he hadn't even wanted to do, while these people had sat back and done nothing. These were the same people who'd sent away a thousand smallfolk to shelter in the Winter Town! The cravens had the audacity to deny Jon the courtesy of a warm bed!?

"How dare they!? We need to deal with them!" Arya hissed. "And why didn't you tell me? How could you keep that from me?"

"I thought to handle it quietly, perhaps even soothe their worries… and it was my fault anyways." Sansa shook her head in a sad way. "The Lakes aren't the only ones taking word of my betrothal to Jon poorly."

"Tell me everything!" Arya demanded, jabbing a finger up at her crown. "We aren't supposed to do that anymore Sansa! No more secrets, remember? Either we stand together to protect Rickon and the North, or we stand apart and fall. The She-Wolves of Winterfell, remember? No more lies! No more secrets!"

Sansa dabbed at her eyes with her sleeves and ran some fingers through Arya's hair before straightening her crown. Somehow Arya could never quite get the crown perfect, but Sansa always helped.

"No more secrets." Sansa whispered then. "When I sent word of my betrothal to the northern houses, some replies were better than others. Maege and the Greatjon delivered us the Mormonts and Umbers, but their strength is far from us. Robett Glover is still thankful that his children were reunited with his wife, so his support came easily enough. Larence Hornwood, Ronnel Stout, and Jonelle Cerwyn all support me in this as well."

After that she sighed.

"From the Karstarks and Tallharts I've heard nothing. House Karstark I understand, it's currently being ruled by Lady Alys and some wildlings according to Jon, but they might not have a maester anymore for the ravens. For House Tallhart though, Ronnel made it clear that the lords around Torrhen's Square aren't pleased. The worst came from those like the Lakes. The Holts, the Woolfields, and the Ironsmiths all believe Jon is just using me to claim the Kingdom of the North for himself."

"Fuck them!" Arya spat, her rage making her forget Bran's warning for a moment. "They're minor houses anyways! If we weren't fighting at the Wall and worried about the ironmen we could-"

"Their views matter Arya. Lord Wyman has pledged the support of House Manderly, but I fear if enough of the minor houses protest at Jon and I marrying… the lord may use it as grounds to take the regency away from me and name himself in my place."

"What? But Wyman's your ally!"

She couldn't believe it. The Manderlys had been bending over backwards to feed Winterfell and the other northern houses for moons. Lord Wyman was far from her favorite lord, but Wylla was kind and fun to be around. The lady was a good friend to Sansa, and Arya could think of few people fiercer in loyalty to the Starks.

As if hearing her thoughts, Sansa frowned at her.

"Yes, Wyman is our ally. He is also a dear friend and a very capable Hand of the King. His strength is great and he's been instrumental in keeping peace in the North. That's why I fear him. It's those you find yourself depending on that can hurt you the most Arya, remember that."

Sansa's words made her think of Hyle Hunt for the first time in a long while. The traitorous knight had been part of their group, fighting alongside them and supposedly a friend. Only for so long as Brienne had been strong though, for when the lady was injured he'd turned against them when his hunger for lands and title grew. It was a foul thing to think on, but she knew there was no man as fervently hungry as Wyman Manderly.

"Is that what Bran was warning us of?" Arya asked suddenly. "Do you think those northern houses would try and hurt Jon?"

She began trying to figure out how far Jon was from Winterfell and how close he was to any potential enemies. The raven from the Wall had travelled to Castle Cerwyn first in the storms, and then onto Winterfell, which made the news come a days later than it should meant he'd been travelling over a month now and she breathed a sigh of relief. After that much travelling, it was likely that Jon was out of the Lake lands and in Stark territory by now.

"I don't want to think so." Sansa answered. "But if we ignored it we'd be silly little girls… simply waiting for their knights to solve all our problems."

"No more waiting then! We send him help, just like Bran said!"

"We won't wait." Sansa said and Arya was unsurprised they agreed on this. Jon and Rickon were the two people that they always agreed were the first priority. "Ser Kyle is still at the castle, and he's the most experienced and respected northern leader we have. I'll have him form a party right away when the weather clears-"

"You just said we won't wait!" She protested.

"Arya! They wouldn't even be able to see the way before them!" Sansa inclined her head out the window to the storm still raging outside. "The snows have been so bad that we lost another Manderly caravan. Jon's party might not even be following the usual paths! Finding him won't come down to a map. It will come to being able to spot his party from a distance, which no man will be able to in this weather."

Arya had no argument to that at first. The snowfall was thick, the winds strong. Outside, men would soon be put to work clearing off the battlements and the paths between buildings, as they had been for days now. Gendry and Brienne had been out a few times during these storms, and both had said that seeing even a few feet in front of their horses was difficult.

She grunted in frustration at the thought of having to wait for the storm to pass. They knew Jon was in danger, Nymeria knew Ghost was coming closer, yet they couldn't do anything about it because of the bloody snows. She cursed the horses for not having the same keen senses that Nymeria did.

Nymeria wouldn't let this bloody snow stop her. The direwolves are bound to each other by love and blood.

They always find each other... no matter what's in the way… no matter…

"The direwolves." Arya spoke barely above a whisper. "Of course, the direwolves…"

"What?" Sansa asked. "What about them?"

Grinning from ear to ear, she smacked her forehead at how thickheaded they were being. The answer was so clear.

"Nymeria can find them." She clapped her hands together. "She could find Ghost and Jon and then the others could follow her. It's not just seeing and smelling for her Sansa, she can sense Ghost. All the wolves can always find each other!"

What had happened with Rickon had been proof enough of that. Ghost and Nymeria had run from the castle days before they had any right to know that Shaggydog was approaching. The whole time though, Arya and Jon had felt something coming. They had sensed Rickon just like she could sense Jon now.

Sansa looked hopeful at first, her face brightening and a smile almost came to her lips before it all fell away. She sighed then and shook her head.

"Perhaps Nymeria could find them… but I doubt she would lead others if she did so. Nymeria is not a hound Arya. She cannot be relied on to stay with Ser Kyle and the others. Perhaps Ghost could've done it, but Nymeria and Shaggydog are too wild."

Sansa's words sounded an accusation but she ignored that, for she still had hope for this plan.

"Send Brienne then! Nymeria likes her! You can send Gendry and Ned as well!" She blushed to name those two and Sansa raised an eyebrow at her words. "Not- I- not just them stupid! Pod too! It's not like she would leave them-"

"Not likely, but not for certain. Speak truly now Arya. Has Nymeria ever done anything like this? I know you have some control over her, but have you ever tried controlling her for such a long journey?"

Arya hated that Sansa had a point then. She'd spent time skinchanging as Nymeria while awake, but the longest she'd ever been in the wolf's skin was a few hours. If they broke apart, even for a moment, Nymeria might very well abandon Brienne and the others to seek out Jon on her own. The only time the direwolf had ever stuck with men for a long period of time was when she travelled with Arya herself.

Of course… that's the only way. I've been training for a year. This is the time to use it.

Jon rode out to me when I came back to Winterfell… I can return the favor now…

"What if I could promise that Nymeria would stay with them?" She asked and Sansa started looking hopeful again. "That I swore she wouldn't leave them? That she couldn't leave them? That I wouldn't let her?"

"You could control her in such a way?" Sansa's eyes were alive and Arya shrugged.

"I could for certain… if I went with her."

The pause that filled the air was a heavy. Sansa's face alternated between several expressions all at once. Confusion, understanding, worry, fear, anger…

Then finally pure rage.

"How dare you make me so hopeful!" Sansa snapped, pushing away from her. "Like I would ever allow you to ride out in this weather! Are you mad!?"

"Jon is in danger Sansa!" She shouted, grabbing onto Sansa's arms again. "I've travelled through war torn lands and worse still, and I still managed to get back here. Send as many men as you want with us! Protect me all you want! I don't care! Just know that I can do this! I can find Jon for us!"

Sansa still shook her head but Arya could tell her words were getting to her. She must have seen that Nymeria was their best chance to find Jon before anything bad happened. Arya's mistake was forgetting that Needle was not at her side. She went to lay her hand upon it and ended up fumbling in the air awkwardly. An action that drew a scowl from Sansa.

"Arya… I can't." Sansa sounded heartbroken. "Even if I wanted to, Jon would never want me to risk the little sister he loves so much. That I love so much. I would die if something terrible befell you. You're so strong, but you're still a little girl-"

"I'm not a little girl!" Arya snapped. "I'm as good a fighter as half the men you send out to battle! I'm trained by Brienne of Tarth! I'm a water dancer taught by Syrio Forel, the First Sword of Braavos! A direwolf of the North! A Stark of Winterfell-"

"Arya-"

"I'm a woman flowered!"

The words tumbled forth before she could stop them. Sansa and she just stared at one another for a long moment. Her eyes were filled with something that Arya didn't recognize, like she was seeing something she'd never seen before. Arya hoped that she saw the woman that she was now and not the little girl she was leaving behind.

She has to see me… for Jon's sake. For my sake. For hers.

"Oh Arya, little Arya… when?" Sansa asked softly, walking towards her with her hands held out in comfort. "Why didn't you tell me?"

She shrugged off Sansa's attempts to hold her, keeping her fierce gaze locked on those softening blue eyes.

"Last night, this morning, I don't know." She said. "I saw the blood and I came here. Not because I was scared or that I had questions but…"

Sansa waited patiently for her to continue and Arya knew this was her best chance to convince her.

"I came here because Jon needed me to. Let me go help him. Gods Sansa, I just found out you can commune with the wolves like the rest of us! Bran spoke to us from the trees for the first time in months! I got my moonblood, today of all days! It's a sign, a sign from the old gods! The bloody gods themselves! I'm supposed to do this! Please Sansa, please!"

Sansa took a step back in surprise but her hands were still held out in comfort. Arya could see that her sister was struggling with the decision while also fighting the desire to comfort her during this life-changing event.

I don't need comfort, I need permission!

"I would allow it Arya." Sansa said finally, but not in a tone she liked. It was the same tone she used on lords during council meetings before crushing their aspirations with cold reasoning. "I would, if not for all those lords in the North currently unhappy with me. What if someone saw you leave Winterfell and sent word to a lord wishing to see me overthrown? If they took you captive, I would surrender in a moment… leaving Rickon under the power of someone else..."

"I'll leave at night then!"

"Arya, you can't promise me that you wouldn't be seen…"

I could if I wasn't me…

Oh bugger. Oh shit.

She didn't hear the rest of Sansa's words. Her mind was suddenly overwhelmed with memories of the last time she'd left the castle unseen. Of all the bad things that had followed; Myranda's death, the raper's touch all over her body, Pod getting sick…

Yet no one had seen her leave.

I have to tell her. Pod, you're going to kill me, and I'm so sorry but I have to.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Shit, fucking shit!

She hesitated only a few moments before accepting that it was all for Jon. The brother she loved him so much that even blood hadn't changed them.

"What if they didn't know it was me?"

Sansa had looked at her queerly and Arya sighed in defeat. The irony was not lost on her that she'd been yelling about how bad it was to keep secrets from one another only moments ago. Yet if Arya had been angry about her sister's secrets, Sansa had taken on a murderous fury to hear of the truth of Yoren and her night in the Winter Town. The yelling became so loud that Duncan and Ser Rayland asked if all was well through the door and Sansa had screamed at them in turn.

Not stupid enough to argue back on her own behalf, Arya plunked down on the bed as Sansa raged and screamed. It was different than when Pod made her feel guilty. Sansa was ten times better at it. She ranted about how much danger Arya could have been in, how no one in the castle would have been able to forgive themselves if Arya had been killed.

Including herself.

Sansa's anger only subsided when Arya tried to tell her why she should spare Pod any punishment. She explained how the squire had saved her, but to do that she'd had to tell the truth about the raper. Arya was hugging herself and staring at the ground by the time she was done. The yelling ended soon after that. Sansa stared down at her with an expression of fear and regret, tears coming to her eyes.

"You kept that hidden?" Sansa sat down the bed beside her, not trying to touch her. "After what that horrible man did to you? Arya, I could have-"

"Please, I don't want to talk about that." She said quickly.

"I'd understand if you did though-"

"No you wouldn't!"

"No Arya. I understand more than you think-"

"None of that matters!" Arya argued. "My point- is that no one recognized me in all that time! If I dressed up as Yoren, all anyone would see is an archer riding out with an armed party. So there goes your reason for saying no! Just admit it so we can save Jon. That's what's important!"

They were both quiet again after that. Sansa was deep in thought while Arya was wracked with worry and guilt. The worry was mostly about if Sansa would say no. The guilt was for breaking her promise to Pod.

Arya's hopes sailed as Sansa began nodding.

"I'll allow this Arya… but only if Ser Kyle and Brienne share leadership." Sansa's eyes regarded her sister carefully. "Despite all the risk I now put you in, I will not add to it. I trust Brienne to call a halt to any action she feared would endanger you. I can rely on her love for you, but I'm also sending two more Sworn Guard and-and a force of my choosing as well! You'll have every fighting man we can spare-"

"That'll just slow us down-"

"Silence!" Her sister snapped. "Keep your mouth shut right now or else I might change my mind! You will keep your head down until you are far away from the castle, understand? Only reveal yourself when it is safe to do so and only to those you must. Swear upon it Arya!"

"I swear." She placed a hand on her heart. "I swear on my heart, on yours, on Jon's, I'll do all that you ask. I'll bring him home."

That was when Sansa reached forward and pulled her into her arms. Her hold was strong and her face was bent down and pressed into Arya's neck.

"You can come to no harm." Sansa sounded as if she was praying. "I could not bear it. This is a woman I want know more about. One whom I want to comfort, to hold, to scream at… to have at my wedding… "

Arya felt wetness upon her neck, and it took a moment for her to realize that Sansa was crying. They couldn't be more different in that moment. Unlike Sansa, she was smiling.

For she would be riding out to protect her brother, just as Jon had ridden out to protect her.

We're coming Jon. I'm coming for you.

And this time you can run home to me.