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.

38. Chapter 38

THE RED WITCH

Men cursed all around her, losing patience in their quest to bring fire to this cold land. Here among the tall pines of this great forest named the Wolfswood, there was little dry wood to be found. The kindling stores packed away for the journey had been begun dwindling some days ago, which only added to the men's frustrations.

Melisandre could have helped them in their trials. Begging R'hllor's blessing for a simple charm and bringing flame to the wet logs was a trick she'd mastered years ago. That charm amused her in how often it beguiled common born men. Yet now she remained idle, merely holding a pile of timber herself, as the men bound for Winterfell continued their struggle against the harshness of the northern winter.

Weeks of travelling through winds, snows and storms had brought their journey to a standstill at times. With each passing day the pace became slower, their supplies scarcer while their distance from the Wall grew.

My power weakens as well, she thought, that man-made wonder gave me clearer visions than I've ever had.

There I could set fire to the thralls of the Great Other with but a gesture. Now I cannot start a spark without risking my glamour.

The Lord of Light's blessing held though.

For the men around her saw no red priestess here, only one of the many wildling women seeking the safety and comforts of Winterfell. Despite her weakening strength Melisandre was thankful no one had noticed her. She took it as a sign that she was on the right path, the one R'hllor had set out for her.

Still, she prayed that Winterfell might offer a touch of the same power the Wall had given her. It was told that Brandon the Builder had raised both in his day so there was more than a chance. The days felt endless as they travelled through these bitter storms and shamefully she'd felt her faith waver slightly in the face of such cold. On those days the ruby she wore about her neck burned hot, struggling to keep the illusion going and Melisandre hidden among the unbelievers.

The ruby was hidden beneath the layers of clothing she wore to maintain her glamour. Truly Melisandre felt suffocated by so much fabric. The heavy furs and hides of the savage woman were bulky and smothering compared to the lace and silks she preferred. When Devan had stolen these garments for her, she'd told the young squire that it was a test. His father had stolen through a blockade to relieve the siege at Storm's End. Surely the son could sneak within a wildling's chambers and steal some of her clothes.

She smiled to watch Devan now, joining Aldred Hilgard and some Stark men at trying to start a fire.

Stealing some clothes was a far easier task than starting a fire in these conditions.

Yet I have faith in you young Seaworth, or else I would not have tasked Richard with bringing you.

That faith was not misplaced. A short time later Devan gave a shout and Aldred began laughing at his shock. The squire was overjoyed to see the flames poking up through the makeshift cabin they'd made. As dusk fell upon the camp, other fires began to brighten the darkness, showing just how adept these northmen were at surviving in these terribly cold lands.

Only a fool would think it starts or stops at that though.

It is R'hllor that sparks the flames and lights our way. My lord guides us to the great fire I've seen in my visions.

He leads me to Winterfell… he pushes me to the white dragon.

"Hey!" Aldred called to her then. "Be useful woman! Bring us more wood!"

She did as she was asked, handing the wood down to Devan and smiling when his bare hand touched hers. His youth showed through when his cheeks reddened from her touch.

Men were often predictable beasts and Devan was not alone in eyeing her as a possible escape from the cold. Jon Snow understood this weakness well for he'd given over his own pavilion to the use of the Kingsblood daughters, Val, Gilly and her babe. They had all protested against the treatment, shouting of free folk women not needing such coddling, but the ser had his way in the end.

At first it had been a gesture of courtesy but it eventually proved practical. For it was much easier to set men to guard one large tent than several small ones. They had been maybe a week and a bit into their journey before one man, drunk and starved for a woman's attentions, thought to warm himself using one of the them. His affections were for the middle of the three Kingsblood sisters, Gunhilda was her name, caught at the edge of their camp gathering wood. His charm had included a dagger and a threat in the shadows to be quiet.

Unfortunately for him the snows had fallen thickly that night and Gunhilda's escort had been well hidden. Quiet and fierce, Ghost had dropped the northman with nary a growl while the would-be raper had screamed something terrible.

"Let me take an eye." Gerrick had demanded when they all gathered around the man, clutching his mauled and broken arm.

While the father had murder in his eyes Ghost remained almost serene as the wolf licked the man's blood off his snout. The wolf's master stood beside him, petting the beast with a cold expression on his face.

"An eye? Really Gerrick?" Tormund had laughed. "His arm is worse off than yours was when you tried to steal Alfyn's sister. Is that not enough for you, or are plucked eyes the price for wedding a princess now? Har!"

"This is not funny Tormund." Jon's tone had been harsh and quickly drove the grin from the wildling's face. "Whatever your people's ways were Beyond-the-Wall, you are in the Kingdom of the North now. We do not abide the rape or kidnapping of women. If any of your people try to steal a woman here they will meet the justice of House Stark."

"I serve the Starks!" The man had said, his beard crusted with snow and frost. "From the Green Fork to the Twins, from the Moat all the way to the Wall! King Robb himself once said I was brave! I haven't had a woman in half a year marching with you lot! They're wildling savages anyways, they probably-"

"What!? What are you about to say!?" Gerrick had shouted and Aldred needed to pull him back from striking the man.

"I just meant… a man gets lonely…"

"You were lonely?" Jon asked and Ghost had bared his teeth in a silent threat. "All the other men here had enough honor to endure their loneliness without turning to rape. No, whatever your service to the Starks, there is no excuse for this. All that's left for me is to consider your punishment."

"Geld him." Richard had suggested.

"Slit his nose." Aldred added.

"An eye I say!" Gerrick had demanded again before pulling a dagger, an action he regretted when Aldred pulled his axe and Richard his sword.

She'd watched Jon carefully in all this. He made no move to draw his own blade. Like her true king, the knight used his eyes as a weapon. With simple glances he bid both his axeman and Gerrick to sheathe their weapons. Richard did the same but only after she gave him a small nod, one she hoped that no one saw.

"Get him up." Jon ordered. "It's a shame to punish a man who has fought under the direwolf banner for so long. If you can conduct yourself as a man of honor for the rest of the journey south I will forego cutting on you. You are forbidden any wine to dull the pain of your broken arm. Nor to ease the knowledge that this will be your last visit to Winterfell as Stark man."

"Eh?" The man had asked. "I'm banished?"

"No. You are a fighting man and we still have use for those." The knight pointed north then. "Especially at the Wall. As soon as another group travels from Winterfell to Castle Black you will join them and say the vows."

"Going back? After travelling all this way?"

"After we reach Winterfell. Had we the men and food to spare, I'd have you riding back to the Wall at dawn. Of course, I wish to be fair. If you prefer to be gelded say so now. I'll have my squire heat the blade immediately."

"Which blade?" The squire had asked, unaware that he was being used in the ser's mummery. "I don't think we have the ones the stable master uses for gelding stallions… I've a curved dagger but it's hard to cut straight with that. That meat knife we have might work but it's quite dull-"

"I'll take the black!" The man had cried.

Jon had nodded and waved him away, seemingly furious that the whole affair had happened at all. The man was stripped of his weapons but given a staff to help defend the group.

This whole time the wildling women had been watching as a group, Melisandre among them. It was them the knight sought next, singling out Gunhilda. She held a gloved hand to the part of her neck that was nicked by the man's blade and Jon gestured to the wound.

"May I see your hurt my lady?" He sighed.

"My lady he says!" Gunhilda had laughed. "I thought you said no to me being your lady? All three of us!"

The sisters all laughed until they caught the glares Val and Gilly sent them. After that they'd quieted and the wildling let the knight inspect her cut.

"Tis nothing Jon Dragon." Gunhilda said. "I've had worse happen. Had stronger men than that come for my hand and none have stolen me yet."

"You're making your own man a crow?" Gylda asked before looking to the eldest sister Gerda. "I thought you told me only the worst southron monsters get sent to the Wall? He only made a small cut!"

"Not for the cut alone." Jon had shaken his head and offered a rag from his cloak to Gunhilda. "I am the lord here and I have offered you all safe passage to Winterfell. I failed in my duties however and must beg your forgiveness. I acted harshly so that my men would see the value I place on your safety and care."

"A southron lord begging your forgiveness Gun, imagine that!" Gerda pinched her sister's bottom, sending Gylda into a fit of giggles. That ended when their father broke in once more, arguing that the best way for the knight to ensure his daughters' care was by marrying one of them. All three sisters had paled then and fled back to the tent.

Melisandre remembered seeing the knight leave alone afterwards, a practice he did often. He would walk at the edge of their torches for hours, half bathed in light and darkness. His only company would be the direwolf at his side, a practice that annoyed his sworn men and the wildling women equally.

Everyone was busy now, the wildling women setting up their tent for the night and young Gylda watching the babe. Melisandre saw her chance and informed Aldred Hilgard that she was leaving to gather more firewood for him and Devan.

She found Jon far within the piney woods. If not for the glimpses she had of the Haunted Forest from atop the Wall, she might have considered the Wolfswood to be dark and frightening. Yet this forest held none of the frozen evil she'd glimpsed Beyond-the-Wall, and Melisandre imagined the worst dangers here to be wolves and bears, creatures she did not fear.

Nor did she fear Ghost as he lay beneath the fallen trunk of a great pine, his white form nearly hidden in the snowy background. The wolf's red eyes betrayed him in more ways than one. Her powers fooled the beast's every sense, even the one he should not have. There was a power to the direwolf she did not like or understand fully. She'd noted him having sixth sense of sorts. One that warned him of threats that most remained ignorant of.

Just as the knight he protected remained clueless to her approach. While Ghost sat below the felled tree, Ser Jon sat atop it, leaning back to take advantage of what light still fell through the gaps of the canopy above them. He was leafing through a book with interest, indifferent to the cold.

Books… he turns to books in these dark times while scorning the truth of R'hllor.

What makes this foolish man so worthy of the one true god's visions?

I might have forsaken Stannis's cause, all for for a knight who will not forgive what I have done to follow him.

Melisandre realized then that she had forgotten herself. She was moving too silently to be noticed, unlike the woman whose visage she wore. So she stepped on a twig, allowing the snap to announce her coming to the knight.

"Who's there?" Jon jerked up and off the tree, hand over his sword hilt. When he caught sight of her his hand fell away from his weapon. "Oh… hello. I didn't hear you coming."

"I'm sorry." She lowered her head. "I should've called out. I didn't mean to scare you my lord…"

"You didn't scare me." The knight showed his youth then. "I was just surprised is- oh damn."

Jon scowled as he bent low to retrieve his book from the ground, brushing the snow off with his gloved hand.

"Is it ruined?" Melisandre asked, daring to take a few steps forward.

"No, despite my stupidity it seems fine." Jon scratched his head and glanced at the cover. "I should have known better than to try and read it out here. There's no snow falling now but it was still foolish to chance it."

"Why not read in your tent where it's bright and warm?"

"The warmth would likely put me to sleep." The knight offered her a small grin. "Though perhaps I should. I haven't had a good night's sleep in some time."

"Is it bad dreams? I have those sometimes."

"I imagine we all do, whether we're born north or south of the Wall. In that we are the same." He gave her a warm smile and she wasn't sure whether she should smile back or look shyly away. "In truth though, I haven't had a foul dream since we left the Wall. It's my squire, the one I share a tent with. Lad's a horrid snorer."

He was making a jest so Melisandre decided it was alright to laugh. It was a tittering sound that she had practiced for many days at the Wall before they'd set out. When she'd had to act her part and secure her passage south.

"That's our fault isn't it?" She asked. "Us that took your grand castle tent? I'm sure the other girls wouldn't mind if you sought to bed there once more-"

"I would mind." Jon said awkwardly before changing the subject. "You might find the tales in this book interesting actually. It's mostly about stories from Beyond-the-Wall and wildli- er, I mean the free folk."

He opened the book again and she saw that the pages and the leather binding were very new but poorly made. She instinctively started to read some lines before she caught herself. The wildling girl wouldn't be able to read most like.

"Sam made it for me to give to the Starks. He actually pulled the best parts from a few different books. He copied down some chapters from The Watchers on the Wall by Archmaester Harmune and what parts of History of the Kings-Beyond-the-Wall by Maester Herryk that was still legible… I mean that he could still read. It puts me to shame how much Sam knew about the North after reading these. I didn't-"

"Those be old tales though." Melisandre pointed out. She wanted him to see the folly in seeking answers from written words rather than her flames. "Words written by some men, told to them by others who weren't there, 'bout things long ago. It would be better if we could just see the things happening, see the truth."

"Perhaps, but these words are like a torch. If we are to fight a war with the Others, if we are to endure another Long Night, I'd prefer something to help me light the way."

To hear him speak of misguided parchments in such a way while continuing to ignore the Lord of Light, it almost set Melisandre to scolding him and his arrogance. Yet she held back when she remembered herself and acted interested when the knight tapped his fingers on a page of interest.

"This one tale talks of Joramun, a King-Beyond-the-Wall who roused the giants from the Earth and led them against the Night's Watch… I've heard from your people that he sounded a horn to bring the Wall down…"

"The Wall stands." She shrugged. "The story is wrong then."

"Still…" Jon snapped the book shut. "It'll be good to give the Starks this book. Winterfell lost its library during the sack and a good many of its books, and we need wisdom now more than ever. Princess Sansa has a sharp mind and there's enough tales of battle here to keep Princess Arya and the king entertained for moons. I hope to sing Sam's praises enough to convince the royal family to fund his trip south to Oldtown and begin forging his maester's chain at the Citadel."

"Maester's chain?" She asked, feigning ignorance.

"Oh, maesters are men of learning and letters. They learn history and crafts and advise lords on matters. They take care of ravens, like Maester Aemon, remember?"

I do. Your kin. A wonderful sacrifice.

"Yes, he was a good man."

He nodded before taking note of the camp and the many fires that were now burning. The knight seemed to be only now noticing how dark it was becoming in these woods.

He shows no fear of the darkness.

Is that ignorance? Or has the Lord of Light given him some weapon against it?

"I came to tell you that the fires were burning." Melisandre was only half lying. "They'll be brighter soon I think. Brightest at Winterfell I hope."

The knight ran a hand through his hair then, a sign of his irritation. There was pressure from the group to reach Winterfell soon despite their trials.

"I fear it will be many days more before you can see the truth of that. The snows have stopped for now but these skies make me wary." He gave her an apologetic look. "If I had known how bad the weather was going to be I would have spared you this journey."

"I wanted to come, I didn't feel safe at the Wall anymore." She repeated the same lie that she'd used the last time she'd spoken with the fat steward. "Not with them Others still about and those great giant fires."

"Nonetheless, I apologize for the dangers facing us on this journey." Jon gestured back towards the camp. "Sam would be worried to know you and your son must still face so many trials Gilly."

That woman's trials are ended,Melisandre thought, and I have no children save for those I birth from shadows.

She forgave Jon Snow this mistake for it spoke to the success of her glamour. Taking the wildling Gilly's appearance had been a complicated affair, one that involved skillful acts on her part and those of her sworn men.

The Lord of Light had shown her the faces of those wildling women who would witness the inferno to come. To take the form of Gerda, Gunhilda, or Gylda was too risky. The sisters were always together and she knew too little of them to attempt her mummery with one.

Val was the most likely choice. Proud and intimidating, Melisandre could easily mimic her ways around menfolk. Yet she was always under guard and watched by Lord-Commander Reed. To reach her would have been a fool's errand.

In the end the best choice had been Gilly. Alone save for her child and the lovelorn Tarly man, she had freedom of movement about the castle and few took notice of the unassuming and shy girl. Gilly hadn't even seemed to notice the clothes Devan had stolen from her chambers during the battle Beyond-the-Wall.

That was the extent to which she involved Devan however. While he was a good and earnest boy he was no true follower of R'hllor. He could not be trusted to put the will of the true god above his own foolish conceptions of what was right and wrong. For that task she'd needed a harder man, a man of more fervent faith and stern character.

A Warrior of Light.

So R'hllor gifted me one. In the darkest of moments before the battle, Ser Richard came forth from the Nightfort.

With his belief in the Lord of Light restored after being saved by Jon Snow, he did what was needed to be done.

Even if it wasn't in the manner she had willed him to.

After she left Devan's side that fateful night, she'd donned Gilly's furs and an unassuming cloak to evade any who watched her.

The fires at the edge of Castle Black were still burning bright, the embers and ashes of the glorious dead floating up into the stars to be embraced by R'hllor. In the shadows she watched as the stewards dragged body after body to be burned. It was grim and silent work for the men but Melisandre felt great satisfaction at it all. Fire was the cleanest death to ensure R'hllor's favor.

Most were quick to escape back to the warmth and better smells of the castle, so few took notice of her there. No one saw anything strange about a large black-cloaked figure carrying a body in his arms.

"My lady?" Richard had called, his eyes searching the dark for any sign of others among them.

"I am here." She'd come to stand beside the knight, taking notice that the man's usually stoic face was pale and drawn. "You went unseen?"

"None took notice of me." Richard spoke hoarsely. "I have not been followed since the battle. Apparently I proved myself to these men… they think I am worthy of some measure of trust."

"That is why R'hllor tasked you with this." Melisandre nodded. "A warrior of light who would not balk at the noble quest set-"

"Noble?" Richard hefted the bundle higher in his arms so he could look down at her face. "She was going to do her washing… I saw her child's clothes in the basket… I heard her singing to him through the window and… and she was humming still when she walked by-"

"Yet she is so quiet now." She'd taken notice of that, of how the body did not move in his arms. "And so still… did you use the cloth soaked in the mixture I gave you? The potion to rob her of her strength?"

"I did not." Richard met her eyes then, his own shining with defiance. "I have seen men burn. I have heard their begging and their screams. I know the suffering that comes from a death by flame."

Melisandre had wrenched the cloth away from Gilly's face to see the girl's eyes shut as if in a peaceful sleep. Yet in the cold of the night, she could not see the wildling's breath in the air. Laying her hands on the girl's face and neck Melisandre quickly recognized what had happened.

"Her neck is broken. You killed her!" She'd been angry, perhaps even furious at Ser Richard then. "She was meant to go into the flames alive! She was our sacrifice for a safe journey south-"

"I will protect us in that." Richard looked away from her towards the flames. "You said you needed her blood and for her to be gone, not that this girl needed to suffer. I spared her that."

The knight hefted Gilly's body up again, as if the weight of her body was hard to bear.

"I've killed many men this way. There's no pain, no fear… it was over before she knew what was happening… she was humming… a sweet sound…"

She shook her head at his words, glancing about to make sure that no one noticed what she'd done next Pulling the dagger from her cloak, she took Gilly's arm in hand and sliced it so that rivulets of blood started to run down her fingers. The blood was warm at least. She ran the blood over her ruby choker and chanted the prayers, beseeching the Lord of Light to bless her in this grand undertaking.

When the blood spell was completed Richard had moved to do away with the body.

She paid that matter little mind, for there was no life left in Gilly to properly sacrifice to their lord. That was until the knight had gasped in pain. Unlike the black brothers, who had just tossed their brethren within the fire, Richard laid Gilly's body gently upon the flames. The effort caused his gauntlets to grow so hot they pained him.

After burning some for her, Richard had watched as the body of Gilly the wildling disappeared into the flames. Soon enough a new Gilly stood next to him, this one watching the flames rather than burning within them.

One who had a far greater calling.

Afterwards Melisandre had not returned to her own chambers but to the Hardin's Tower where Gilly and Val took residence. The wildling princess had barely looked her way when she arrived, save to ask where the washing had gone. Melisandre had lied and said she left it without before taking a look at the slumbering babe in the poorly made cradle. The boy was larger than she remembered him being.

Gilly had done her a favor in weaning the child, though she had to admit, she had been curious as to whether R'hllor would grant her the milk needed to nourish the babe.

As it stood, a goat they dragged on the long ride had sufficed, the beast doing a duty it wanted no part of. Much like Melisandre had to do when tending to the child, and the feelings of the fat steward.

In most ways Samwell was the easiest to trick. Batting her eyes, saying kind things, and listening intently was all that was needed in deceiving the normally shrewd steward. Happiness and love blinded him just as well as leaner men. When she made missteps in regards to previous conversations, forgetting something Gilly and Sam had spoken on before, she'd just feign distress and worries over the Others.

There had been no fooling the child though. The moment Gilly's son opened his eyes and saw Melisandre standing above him he'd begun wailing. Her glamours wouldn't work on him. His world revolved around the mother who'd birthed, fed, and loved him. There was no spell she could work at his age to blind the babe to who she truly was.

She was intrigued with the idea that somehow the child had felt the loss of his mother.

That thought stayed with her as she pondered ending the suffering of Gilly's son. With all the noise the screeching babe made in his cradle, she worried he'd betray her glamour. Acting as a loving mother was something that Melisandre had little experience at, but a grieving mother… that she felt confident she could portray. She was about to rest a pillow across his face when Val had saved them both.

"Gods Gilly, what's with the little monster lately?" Val had asked before hefting the babe up into her arms and rocking him until the tears ran their course. "It's a sad day when a man has to come to me for tenderness. Even one as tiny as this."

Val's tenderness had been exactly what was needed for her plan to work. Gilly's child had grown accustomed to the wildling princess and whenever the babe seemed ready to wail, Melisandre would find some reason to be away so that Val would be driven to nurturing.

That was how Jon Snow and Melisandre found the pair when they arrived back in camp. The Kingsblood sisters had sought the warmth of the pavilion while Val was leading the bundled up babe around a fire. Grasping his small hands, she held the small boy straight so that he could walk about, giggling to kick at the snow.

"He grows strong Gilly." Jon said as if Melisandre should take pride in that. "I daresay that he might steal some hearts when the princesses see him."

"Is that the dragon wolf I hear talking about stealing hearts?" Val called out, smiling and leading the babe towards them. "Hear that monster? The knight doesn't know what he's supposed to be stealing. Or maybe he's jealous of all the attention you're getting. Let's show your mother how strong you are."

Jon laughed to see the babe kicking through the snow in a hurry so she did the same, crouching down to act as a proud mother would. She had learned some words the Westerosi used to coddle their infants and put them to work now.

"Come on now love." She spoke softly, beckoning the child onward. "Come sweetling, come to mama."

When the babe's eyes met Melisandre's he betrayed her. He came to a stop and began to whine loudly. Val tried to urge him onward but the little one began to whimper with his lower lip stuck out, gazing with sadness upon the woman wearing his mother's clothes.

Come now you little abomination, she willed, your mother bedded her own father yet you somehow find me repulsive?

"Ghost!" Jon spoke up suddenly, drawing attention to the direwolf coming up behind her. "Get out of here! You're scaring the babe!"

"Yes…" Melisandre nodded, rising as well. "Sometimes he gets nervous around Ghost, I did too once."

"Oh he's braver than that." Val picked the babe up but thankfully offered him to Jon Snow rather than her. "Go on then! If you can lead men into battle you can hold this little monster."

Jon backed away with his hands up, shooting a pleading look to Melisandre.

"I haven't washed in weeks, I don't think he'd like-"

"Yes we all heard from that Willem man of your smell." Val persisted, finally forcing the knight to take the babe into his arms. "There, you see? He likes you."

The knight still appeared nervous but he looked to Melisandre and she nodded. It would be helpful if more people could take mothering duties away from her. Val brushed a gentle hand over the babe's face then, causing it to giggle and smile. Jon looked at the wildling princess like she had done some sort of great magical feat before she grabbed his hand to do the same. The knight's touch however made the child whine a bit.

"He doesn't seem to like me as much."

"Give it time Jon. You'll grow on him… you have that way." Locking eyes with Jon's in a challenge of sorts, she smiled. "Besides, he's a man. How can any man know what he likes until he's really tried it?"

Jon looked to Melisandre for help but she shook her head, quite happy for him to hold the child until it fell asleep so she wouldn't have to deal with it. Some attempts at caring for the child went better than others. If the babe was fed enough or tired, he would accept her care without fuss. Like now, the babe seemed to have tired himself out from walking in the snow and laid his head down on Jon's shoulder.

"Now how can that direwolf scare him?" Val asked, running a hand down the child's back. "He seems happy enough to let a dragon wolf hold him."

"Please stop calling me that." He said softly, rocking the child back and forth.

"Make me." Val shot back, warming her hands with her hot breath.

"Has he been fed?" Melisandre decided to play the role of a mother then, when things were well in hand. "He shouldn't sleep until he has…"

"Yes, yes, Gylda did it while you were off…" Val's eyes narrowed on them both for a moment. "What were you two doing out in the woods together?"

She thinks I've bedded him, or at least that Gilly has. How foolish.

Yet she's closer to the truth than she knows.

"I was reading when Gilly came to tell me of the camp preparations." Jon glared right back at Val. "And this is my command, I ask about the comings and goings of its party. Not you."

The wildling's face flushed as she took a step towards him but whatever retort she had prepared was cut off by the arrival of Richard. Melisandre hated how the knight's grim face would twitch whenever he caught sight of Gilly's babe. It was a betrayal of her as much as the child's wailing was.

"The horses are sheltered-" Richard began, only to be hushed by Jon and Val in unison while gesturing to the babe together.

"Ah… yes." Richard spoke quieter. "We grow low on fodder and have only enough kindling for two more days. Your outriders doubt we'll find any more on the ride."

"Then we'll burn clothing if we need to." Jon replied. "Or arrow shafts if we must. We cannot survive out here without fires for long."

"There's other ways to stay warm-" Val offered but Melisandre stepped in front of her to speak.

"We need the fire m'lord. My son needs it… is there any way to reach the castle sooner? To move any faster?"

Richard gave her a dark look while Jon's face twisted in guilt. In one fell swoop she'd shamed Richard for denying her their sacrifice while also pushing their leader to reach the great flames she'd foreseen. She had hopes that he would decide to take their fastest mounts on ahead to send word to Winterfell of their coming, with her and the babe at his side, yet she couldn't outright propose such.

The knight disappointed her.

"This child will not lack for a fire Gilly." Jon patted the babe's back. "If it comes to it, I'll even burn that book of mine to see him warm."

That is not what I want to see burn, nor is it the fire I seek.

"Oh thank you ser." She smiled. "My son would thank you too."

"Hey, speaking of that." Val almost pushed her aside to get closer to Jon again. "It's becoming that time isn't it? How old is the little monster? Nearing two isn't he?"

I've no idea, she thought, clearly Val does so I'll agree with her.

"Yes, in a moon or so." Melisandre lied, scanning the faces around her to see if any detected her lack of conviction.

"Best be thinking of a name then." Val crossed her arms. "Don't be naming him after that father of his though. He deserves a stronger, more befitting name."

"That's right." Jon nodded. "Sam told me about that. The free folk wait two years to name their children… I think the princesses will have about a hundred names to offer you Gilly. Sansa will likely pull ideas from tales of handsome princes and heroes. Arya will offer you brave warriors or storied kings of lore."

"I'll be happy to hear them." Melisandre said as Jon walked towards her, offering the babe to her arms. She cradled it as she always did, tightly, so that it could at least be comforted by her warmth. "But if they're so good with names, why haven't you chosen one yet?"

The knight paused, looking into her eyes with a curious expression. She thought perhaps that she'd erred then, that the words would be strange to hear from the likes of Gilly. Melisandre lowered her eyes in embarrassment as Jon reached out to take the babe's little hand in his own, giving it a gentle shake.

"I actually have chosen a name for my house." He said. "One offered to me by Ser Willem Royce. A name I hope to one day pass down to my children. I've decided to go with Whitefyre, in honor of both my father and mother's families… and in memory of a good man."

That bid Melisandre to think of her vision once more, the only one she saw now when she glimpsed into the flames. A sorrowful woman covered in blood, the castles of wolves howling and the great inferno burning outward, one that burned so brightly it turned white.

"A good name." Richard said simply.

"That's the name you want to give your children?" Val asked, hands on her hips, chin in the air. "Doesn't their mother get a say?"

"I… well… it's my name." Jon shook his head at the challenge before walking away. "No matter, I go to seek Aldred. To see how many arrows we could spare if it comes to it…"

When the prince R'hllor had bid her to follow left, Val did as well. The wildling princess peppered the knight with questions the whole way despite his protests. Melisandre had heard the woman was wild and she clearly wished for a fight.

"The true fight is elsewhere." Melisandre said, shifting the babe in her arms as Richard stared at its sleeping form. "And the greatest battles are yet to come."

"I welcome them." The dark knight replied. "To fight a true battle. To fight nobly… to act as a knight again…"

"We all have a part to play in this." She passed a hand over the child's face, causing Richard to straighten quickly. "The next time I bid you to act in R'hllor's name do so fully and completely… we have wandered too long in these cold lands… a sacrifice may be in order still…"

With that she looked to the babe and left the knight standing alone.

"To see us through the snows."

"A precious sacrifice…"

SANSA

Mya brushed some snow off her woolen cap, her cheeks red in the cold air.

"I've never seen so much snow." Mya said. "The Vale gets its fair bit and there's usually some in the high mountains but never like this."

She joined her friend in gazing up at the battlements ringing the godswood as men brushed and shoveled the walks clear, some of the cleared snow falling down into the woods itself. That only added to the great amount already collected in the sacred woods, some drifts standing higher than Sansa herself.

Shaggydog, unlike Mya, was not the least bit intimidated by the snow. Only the direwolf's head and upper half were visible as the he bounded through it, his black coat painted white.

"Shaggy you look like Ghost!" Rickon laughed as he ran ahead on the path leading away from the heart tree, his favorite cloak dragging behind.

"Rickon do not leave the path." She chided gently. "You have places to be and you're damp enough from your prayers!"

"What about Jeyne?" Mya asked, glancing back at the girl still kneeling before the weirwood. "She's going to be frozen if she doesn't finish up soon…"

Jeyne had been at prayers since before Rickon and Sansa had arrived at the godswood to say their own. Surprisingly Rickon had not complained once and fidgeted only the smallest bit this morning so the siblings had lingered longer than usual. Even with that added time Jeyne still outlasted them, continuing her communion with the Old Gods while others came and went, as she was wont to do.

She prays longer than Ser Calem, the most devout of our Sworn Guard… replace the heart tree with a sept and Jeyne acts as pious as Septa Mordane once did.

I would likely pray so vigorously if it eased all my worries… alas so many of them come from the weirwood itself...

"Rickon!" She called again, the memory of Bran's voice drifting from the weirwood made her want her little brother close then. "Rickon walk with me please!"

Sansa pulled her cloak tighter as she hurried her steps to catch up with Rickon and Shaggydog. The direwolf soon began shaking the snow free of his fur, sending a great amount of it onto their king's person.

"Ah Shaggy!" Rickon fought back by filling his hands with snow and hurling it back at the wolf. "Take that! Smelly dog!"

The direwolf was clearly in the mood to play for it knocked Rickon back into a drift and wagged its tail while nipping at the edges of his cloak. The pair of protectors awaiting their coming further up reacted to Shaggydog's behavior quite differently. Ser Rayland looked ready to spring forth to defend Rickon while Morgan Liddle, used to such sights, chuckled and held out a thick arm to bar the knight's path.

"I'll get you!" Rickon struggled out of the drift, hands filled new ammunition. "I'm not supposed to get wet!"

"Yet wet you will be." She sighed, taking his hands in her own and willing him to loose the snow there. When Shaggydog came to nip at her too Sansa hissed and waved the wolf away. "Away with you! Off now Shaggy! Be gone before I decide you need to bathe as much as Rickon does."

Both wolf and boy protested loudly at that but only Shaggydog could escape her grasp, running on by the Sworn Guard and out of the godswood.

"I don't want another bath." Rickon pouted as Mya and she bent to clean him off. "This wasn't my fault…"

"So it would seem… fine, no bath. Yet you'll need new clothes, Mya could you go fetch Rickon's maidservants? Tell them to help my brother dress again and then please come and join Medrick and I with the others."

"Of course." Mya nodded before dabbing a bit of snow on Rickon's nose and setting him to swatting at her. She laughed as she took off, leaving Sansa to tend to the King in the North, who didn't look happy in the least.

"Don't be mad at me Rickon, not today. You're to tour the battlements with Rodwell and your Sworn Guard and cannot wear damp clothes to do so. You'll catch a chill just as Podrick did…"

"Why did you take Shaggy?" Rickon asked as he looked at her strangely.

"I didn't take him, he was full of too much energy and I just sent… I sent him away." She answered, only now realizing how strange it was that the wolf had heeded her in what she asked.

"He did what I said."

"No, you took him. I remember it, I was dreaming the secret dreams…" Rickon whispered as he glanced around to make sure no one would hear. "I was dreaming I was Shaggy again. Arya and I were sleeping and having the summer dream but then I felt strange. Like someone wanted me to wake up… to leave Shaggydog. It was you…"

Rickon pointed at her accusingly before whispering his accusation again.

"You took him, I could feel it was you. You wanted to play with Shaggy and I let you… but it was rude. You say always ask to share and you didn't ask. Asking is polite, see I listen!"

While Rickon prided himself on remembering their courtesy lessons Sansa barely remembered the night he was speaking of. The dream was even foggier yet she was certain she'd come to the godswood. Something had called Sansa there, bidding her to find a place to shelter her in the cold night.

To find a direwolf to welcome her.

Shaggydog let me in… I heard Bran through his ears… our ears…

"Rickon… I… I never meant…"

"I'm not mad." Rickon kicked at the ground, dragging his foot about in it childishly. "The gentle sister died… she was your wolf and she died. It's not very fair… it makes me sad you're all alone at night. Shaggy's mine so we can share him sometimes… it's okay if it's only sometimes."

Rickon shook his head then, chuckling as some snowflakes fell lose of his bright hair. While her brother was delighted at creating his own little flurry Sansa was left quite speechless at the whole exchange.

She could barely remember that night she dreamt of Bran.

Arya's arrival at her chambers had helped her recall some of Bran's words since they were still fresh in her mind. Most other things remained a blur though. Each snippet of a memory came attached with feelings of strength and confidence, of a deep longing for distant loved ones.

Sansa understood now why Arya and Rickon enjoyed skinchanging so much, being the wolf had filled her with a sense of power she enjoyed.

The longing had come from sensing… feeling… perhaps even knowing that Jon was close. She'd felt Ghost and him through that bond and it had been a joyous thing. Had it not been for Bran's dire warnings Sansa never would have wanted the experience to end.

"Sansa." Rickon took her hand in his. "I'm not mad. We're supposed to be with the wolves. Jon and Arya, Bran and me… and you. You're one of us. Shaggydog wouldn't let you in if he didn't love you. I love you too so it's all okay."

With the snowflakes falling lightly around them Sansa knelt beside her brother. She put her hands up his face and brushed hair away from his eyes, hair so much like her own.

"You are a sweet boy." She kissed the rosy cheek before her. "And I love you too Rickon, so dearly…"

She gazed into his eyes and, despite meaning to reflect on Rickon's kindness, she found her thoughts drifting back to Bran.

The little brother still lost to her, the one whose eyes had been so much like Rickon's. She remembered them as kind and lively, brimming with an earnestness he'd had even as a babe of two, clutching at her skirts to be held. It hurt to think of those blue eyes while remembering a dream she'd once had of a terrible red eye glaring at her in the dark. Somehow, deep down, she knew Bran was near that eye and it scared her so.

She didn't wish to upset Rickon but a tear crept down her cheek before she could stop it. Her little brother took care of it for her, catching the tear with his finger and wiping it away on her cloak.

"Don't cry Sansa, I'm here. I'll protect you." He kissed the tear line away. "I'm the king, that's what a king does. I can do it, I can. So when Arya and Jon get back we can all be happy again…"

"What?" She caught hold of his shoulders at that. "What did you say?"

"When Arya finds Jon and they both come home we can all be a family again."

"How did you know Arya was gone? Who told you?" A panic built up in her, for Arya's departure from Winterfell two days past was a closely guarded secret.

"Nymeria." Rickon shrugged. "Well she sort of told me… Shaggydog knows where his brother and sister are. Oh and if Arya was really sick and in bed you'd let me see her a little… you two aren't very good at lying…"

Hearing his explanation did little to ease her mind.

The story Sansa and a select few had spread throughout the castle was that Arya and Lyanna Mormont had taken ill following one of their misadventures running about the cold castle grounds. As far as most of Winterfell knew the two young women shared a sick bed in Arya's chambers. A place of rest and recovery where only Medrick, Jeyne and Sansa herself could attend them.

Lady Lyanna was fine of course, save for her boredom at being cooped up in Arya's room. Sansa had made it plain that Lyanna's part in this mummery was her penance for having helped Arya perform her Yoren foolishness to begin with.

A mummery her sister was now undertaking once again. Sansa had watched as Arya rode out into the thick snows and perils beyond the safety of Winterfell's walls, a truly hard thing to endure. To everyone else watching Arya was just a young archer named Yoren, just another cloaked rider among the seventy or so men going forth on a quest to find Jon.

A search Ser Kyle and Brienne had been content enough to undertake until Sansa had revealed to them who would be guiding their way through the snows. The knight had paled and the lady became red-faced with anger, both at Arya's role in the plan and to learn the truth about the night of Myranda's murder. Both had protested vigorously but in the end Sansa had decreed Arya and Nymeria would be taking part in the quest, no matter their views.

Afterwards Kyle had chosen three Sworn Guard to accompany the riders besides Brienne, namely Marlen, Ser Calem and Rossett Locke. Brienne had demanded even more but Sansa knew that would raise too many questions. Instead she allowed the lady to recruit Ser Gendry, Lord Edric, Anguy the archer and Podrick Payne to join them.

"I'd have Anguy's keen eyes to spot any threats Nymeria may miss." Brienne had spoken glumly. "The others… well Gendry and Ned would both rather die than see Arya come to harm and Podrick has already proven much the same… I believed he abandoned his duty that night. All along he'd done as I asked, protected Arya and I punished him for it…"

When Sansa had tried to offer the lady some comfort Brienne had begged her leave, preferring to assist Kyle in selecting the best and most loyal of the men to leave with them the next morning.

That night though, despite the tense mood of all who knew Arya's involvement, a small celebration had been held in the Great Hall. Planned in advance as it was Sansa believed postponing the celebration would have been suspicious, perhaps even taken as a slight to the man throwing it.

"To Lord Wyman!" Bronze Yohn had raised a cup at the high table, toasting the large lord sitting to the other side of Sansa. "To all the members of the esteemed houses of Manderly and Mallister! May the union between Ser Patrek and Lady Wynafryd be a happy one! May Seagard soon be blessed by the coming of many young merman heirs!"

"Eagles my lord!" Wylla had called back. "My sister was born under the merman banner but she is an eagle now! May her babes soar high!"

"Above the rest!" Wyman raised a cup and slapped his large belly playfully. "To my granddaughter! Lady Wynafryd Mallister!"

"Here here!" Sansa and the rest of the hall answered, most draining their cups of wine while her siblings and she only sipped of theirs. Arya wanted her wits about her for the morning and Rickon was too young for more than a sip or two. As for herself, Sansa had lost her taste for wine after watching Myranda die.

Jon disdained wine after the Twins for noble and gallant reasons.

Not out of fear and failure like me.

Putting aside such thoughts Sansa had plastered a smile on her face and done her best to share in Wyman and Wylla's happiness. The raven announcing Wynafryd's arrival at Seagard and of her wedding there had been glad tidings. Beneath the romance of it all she'd spotted the fear motivating the swiftness of the wedding. Lord Jason had almost lost his son and heir once; with war and winter inflicting great harm upon the realm the Mallister lord appeared unwilling to chance the end of his line. Thus Ser Patrek quickly found himself married and Wynafryd Manderly became a Mallister and the Lady of Seagard.

Like it shall be for Jon and I, she'd thought, he will be my lord husband and I shall be his lady wife.

The Lady of the Dreadfort is not the most romantic of titles but he is worth it, I'd be the lady of anything if it meant he was the lord.

It had been easier to smile with such distractions coming to mind. When she left her seat and moved about the crowd of celebrants she found more to keep her worries at bay. Wylla had demanded Marlen and the crannogmen take up playing a song so that she could drag Larence Hornwood out for a dance. Larence had been embarrassed, Wyman annoyed yet Wylla had glowed in the young lord's arms.

Edric Dayne had looked just happy when Arya joined him in dancing, Sansa proud to see her sister showing him the kindness of agreeing to one. When her eyes scanned the crowd for the knight most likely to be jealous of the young Dornishman she found Gendry standing with his back to the floor, deep in conversation with Mya of all people.

Intrigued to see the half-siblings together Sansa had moved closer, feigning interest in an argument Ser Evan and Ser Rayland were having over jousting techniques. She was far keener to hear Mya and Gendry speaking of their shared sire.

"He was around some when I was a little girl." Mya had said to Gendry, pulling at her hair as she did so. "A few times here and there, some memories I like to think on. I'm not sure how many I imagined or dreamt up myself, you know, to make up for when he wasn't there..."

"I think I did that with my mother." Gendry had nodded. "Never had any other faces to think on really."

"So you don't remember him at all then?"

"Saw King Robert a few times about the city, never came to see me personally. Not like a father should." Gendry shrugged in a manner that reminded Sansa far too much of Mya. "Had King Stannis not named me one of Robert's bastards I'd never have known he was my father… I surely don't mourn him as such."

Gendry's words were harsh yet Sansa could not expect much better of him. As far as she could tell Robert Baratheon had been as poor a father as he had been a king. What her own father had ever seen in the man made her wonder. Perhaps it was what she saw in Mya or what Arya saw in Gendry, something Robert Baratheon had lost over his years of drinking and opulence.

"He was never really a father to me either I guess." Mya admitted sadly. "Even if he was still alive I don't think I could count him as family. My family was my mother and Myranda, the friend who loved me. Now they're both dead."

"I lost my mother too." The knight spoke softly, his eyes as sad as Mya's were. "She was kind… a lot like Lady Myranda was. When we first arrived I remember the lady danced with Pod…"

"Pod?" Mya laughed, looking at the dour faced squire sitting beside an equally downtrodden Brienne. "Oh the poor boy, Randa always did things like that to the shy ones. She thought it was funny."

"It was. Lad looked about ready to piss himself." Gendry laughed himself then and it was a welcome sound, Sansa wished he'd do more of it. Mya had a different reaction altogether, a strange smile pulling at the corners of her mouth.

"Your laugh, it sounds like his… our father's. I remember that much for sure, he would laugh that way when he'd toss me in the air. I liked that laugh. It was the most honest thing about him I think, no lies or false promises there. If there's a good thing to have from Robert Baratheon, it be his laugh. It made a little girl happy… he gave me that at least."

"Gave you this too." Gendry gestured to their black hair, then their eyes. "These as well. He's dead and gone but we still have his looks I guess. All the same I'd rather have had a family…"

"Me too." Mya answered and Sansa could stand no more. She broke away from Ser Evan in the midst of him going on about stirrups.

"You have family." She'd said to the Baratheon brood. "The both of you, and I don't just speak of how the Starks treasure you both. I talk of the brother and sister I see before me. Robert Baratheon had many failings but in siring you he did us all a courtesy. For you are two of the most genuine people to grace this hall in my life."

Gendry and Mya both shared the same burning cheeks at her words but Sansa would not be deterred. With families breaking apart and falling all around the realm she'd take a chance at bringing one together here.

"Think on it, think on the strange design that has seen both of you befriend Starks and find your way here. I pray you see how much you share in common beyond that, and I'm not just speaking of your looks." She touched Mya's shoulder arm and Gendry's arm. "Your good hearts. Your loyalty. Your strength…"

"I am glad I've met Mya your grace." Gendry spoke to her but his eyes were for Mya. "She's every bit the person you describe and, well… sorry I'm bad at this… I'm alright being Robert's bastard because of her. I had it in my head we were all a tainted bunch, I mean I'm pretty sure I met another one of our father's bastards and that didn't go well. Mya's nothing like Bella, about as different as different can be… I'd rather Mya as a sister any day…"

"I've never met any besides you." Mya raised an eyebrow. "Never had a brother either… or a sister really. How was this Bella girl different? Did she act a proper lady, wearing gowns and all that? Did she live in the capital too?"

"No, in the Riverlands, at a Stoney Sept inn. Bella did wear dresses but she didn't act a lady." Gendry scratched his head. "She worked as a… as a whore..."

"Your grace!" Ser Evan interrupted, clearly askance at the turn of conversation. "Surely you need not be hearing such talk-"

"Surely not." Sansa agreed with a smile, for Mya had begun laughing at Gendry's awkwardness. "For I intruded on a private conversation. A family matter and for that I beg forgiveness."

She'd left Mya and Gendry to their moment, a task made easier by the great commotion coming from the dance floor at the time. It appeared Arya had followed up her dance with Edric by demonstrating a courtesy Sansa thought beyond her. For it was Lord Wyman himself Arya was now dancing with and her sister looked every bit a princess as she did so. With the crown on her head and the green gown catching the light just right Sansa saw a young woman where her little sister once stood. That somehow this radiant girl would become a grubby, cloaked archer in a matter of hours didn't seem possible.

Just as Arya would use filthy clothes and horsehair to hide herself Wylla Manderly used the distraction caused by her grandfather's lurching dance steps to steal away from the hall. Sansa's own curiosity had gotten the better of her and she'd followed Wylla away from the festivities, towards the side room they'd welcomed Bronze Yohn within.

There was little light there so Sansa only just made out the pair kissing in the darkness. Wylla's bright yellow dress stood out in the dim light, showing her to be in the embrace of a young man with cedar locks Sansa knew by sight.

"I should be going…" Larence said between the kisses Wylla was stealing of him. "I should be riding with the others… to find Ser Jon…"

"No, not you…" Wylla pulled away, leaving the lord kissing at the empty air. "Not if you truly love me. You spend too much time riding out in the snows, patrolling, gathering men…"

"I'm proving myself a good man. A lord worthy of a fine lady." Larence frowned. "Your grandfather hates me Wylla, all he sees is the bastard I am… he doesn't care the Starks named me a Hornwood…"

"You could be named mud and I wouldn't care." Wylla kissed him again, with a passion that caused Sansa to think back on her last night with Jon. "And my grandfather is why you should stay. Warriors and the smallfolk see your worth but he is not out there with you. So act a lord here in the castle a while, sit in council, let him know you and he won't deny us. He can't. With Winny marrying her eagle grandfather's so happy I'm tempted to ask him to let me be your wife right now…"

"Wylla…" Larence warned and the girl had laughed, kissing away his frown.

"I know, I know. A promise is a promise, the Lord of Hornwood will ask for my hand himself. Promises are very important to us Manderlys or haven't I told you that story…"

Witnessing the forbidden love between Larence and Wylla made her think of the moments Jon and she had stolen just like that. All knew the truth of Jon and her love now so she cherished the thought they could soon kiss openly. With everything else going on she clung to that dream more than ever.

It helped her deal with Bran being lost somewhere in the dark, haunting their dreams. Of knowing Jon was out there in the storms and Arya riding out to meet him. That Rickon now knew of Arya's secret departure.

Even though no others were near enough to hear Sansa remained thankful Rickon had spoken so quietly.

"Rickon." She lifted his face so their eyes met once more. "Rickon you are right, Arya has gone from Winterfell and it is to seek Jon. I'm sorry we didn't tell you but it is a secret. A secret you and I must keep between us, and no others. Not even Osha. There are bad people in the world and some want to hurt us…"

"Like they hurt Myranda." Rickon snarled. "And Maester Luwin and Robb. Mother and father. I won't tell nobody. I don't want Arya and Jon to get hurt. I want them home with you and me."

"They will be." She embraced Rickon to her, burying his sweet face in her shoulder and hair. "All of us, back together in Winterfell. As it's meant to be."

Rickon made a noise of agreement as he nuzzled against her hair, breathing in deeply with a wide smile crossing his face.

"That's how I knew you took Shaggy." He said softly. "It's the sunshine."

"What?"

"When I was in Shaggy and you wanted your turn, I couldn't see you… I just knew… because of this." Rickon held up a handful of her hair. "The way your hair smells, that's how Shaggy knows you. When we came out of the crypts and left the castle, I remember how it smelt to be in the sun again. That's what you smell like."

"Thank you my little king." Sansa kissed his head. "You can be quite charming when you want to be, one day you will make your queen very happy."

"Yuck." He made a face. "Why is that charming? It's the truth. You smell like sunshine… everyone has a scent to the wolves…"

"Oh, and what's Arya's?"

"Fun!" Rickon laughed. "Sweat and fun and pine trees! That's Arya for sure! Jon's got one too! His is different, it's like Winterfell after it snows."

With that her brother held out a hand and caught a few of the small snowflakes falling lightly around them.

"Not like the big storms with the cold winds, just the nice snows like this. When everything is calm and quiet and we can play or just walk around… I like it."

"So do I." She brushed some snow from his hair, thinking she owed Rickon a treat later for just how helpful he'd been to her.

Their time alone together lasted only a little longer, for Jeyne had finally risen from her prayers and come down the path to join them.

"I thought you were meant for the crypts?" Her friend asked, reminding Sansa of the summons Mya had brought during their prayers.

"Yes, yes of course." She patted Rickon's back and pushed him on towards Morgan standing in the distance. "Go on Rickon, let the maids change your garb and listen to Morgan and Rodwell when you visit the walls. Remember to act the king I know you to be."

"Uh huh." Rickon grunted and took off, happy to see his cloak flying behind.

"Might I join you?" Jeyne asked, shivering and clutching some at her slight cloaked form. "Going into the crypts that is. I wanted to ask when Mya came but I couldn't break my prayers. Finding you still here makes me think I'm meant to…"

"Jeyne you're always welcome by my side." She took Jeyne's arm in hers and felt how cold she was. "Wouldn't you prefer to seek the comfort of the keep though? You're half frozen…"

"It's warm where you're going, I remember hearing talk of how hot it gets the deeper the diggers go. If that's where Medrick and Osha want you I should be fine."

Sansa could not argue that but resolved sometime later to discuss with Jeyne the cost her piety might be taking on her health. While Lyanna Mormont could be allowed to feign a fever for Arya's sake Sansa had no desire to see Jeyne fall prey to a very real one.

Ser Rayland escorted them both to the crypts and on the way Mya joined them, smiling despite the dark journey ahead of them. When they began their descent down into the depths of Winterfell the knight held a torch to guide their way and Sansa spotted bits of dragonglass glittering upon the ground. Not large pieces mind you, merely the shards that had fallen off loads brought to the surface to aid the war against the Others.

When they were far past the tombs of all the Starks Sansa could name by sight Mya bent down to pick up a piece of the dark glass. As Mya held it up to her face Sansa saw it was about the size of a small stone.

"For something so dark it catches the light well." Mya said appraisingly. "When Gendry gets back you should see if he can make a necklace from this. He's quite good with such things…"

Sansa smiled to hear Mya take pride in such a thing as Jeyne seized upon her suggestion.

"Oh Sansa it would be a fine thing to wear, borne of Winterfell just as you are."

"That's big enough to be an arrowhead." She pointed out. "A weapon sorely needed at the Wall. I'd rather have it there than on my person."

I can't rob the brave defenders of the Wall of something they need just because I want it.

Mya shrugged and stuck the dragonglass in her pocket anyways, turning to smile widely at her.

"Well they won't be needing your bridal gown at the Wall." Her friend gave her a wink. "The very gown I saw finished and ready on my way back from the keep…"

"Truly?" Jeyne asked, sounding almost as excited as Sansa felt. "I was supposed to help Wylla with the last of the embroidery after my prayers."

"Did it all by herself I guess." Mya said. "That lady's all about weddings now. What with her sister's happening and Sansa's coming up. I think she's even more eager for your big day than you!"

It's her own wedding she likely thinks of, just as I did when Lyra Mormont married.

When Jon and I shared a night as husband and wife… but the next time it will be for real.

"I'll have to try it on when we reach the surface again." She felt the heat rising to her cheeks. "I want it to be perfect before Jon arrives…"

"You act as if he'll ride through the gates and straight to the godswood for the wedding." Jeyne snickered and Mya joined her.

"That's not how you northmen do it. Randa told me how it is, everyone crowds around the groom and the heart tree so the bride comes to him."

"I guess it is my turn to do so." Sansa smiled. "He's always come to me… I think this once he'll let me do so for him."

"Don't worry, I bet he'll be running to that bedchamber after." Mya's jest reminded her of Myranda then, for it shocked Jeyne and caused Ser Rayland to look back in surprise.

Soon after they came upon some men who nodded at their coming, pointing them down a passage she knew to be recently opened. As deep below Winterfell as they'd travelled it was hard to figure where exactly they were yet hints began to appear. For piercing the earthen roof and walls around them were roots, a great number and variety of roots. Truly strange looking ones indeed.

Sansa touched one and found it to feel more akin to rock than any root she ever knew. Far warmer as well, for the earth around them had grown hotter in these tunnels and she wondered if they were nearing the hot springs that heated Winterfell's walls.

There were less torches lighting the walls here and more debris than she'd come to expect from the parts she'd toured. Ahead, in the dim light of their own torches, stood the three people Sansa had expected to find down here.

Maester Medrick, Osha and Kurt, their head miner, were engaged in a heated discussion until the maester caught sight of her.

"Princess!" Maester Medrick shuffled forward. "I was afraid my message had not reached you! There is something you must see!"

"It's not like it's going anywhere." Osha grumbled. "Bloody thing's been here thousands of years…"

"Hush, I've had enough of your comments." Medrick snapped back and it was plain the time the pair had spent deciphering the mysteries below Winterfell had not endeared them to one another.

"I apologize for taking so long." She said, trying to ease the maester's annoyance. "These tunnels are far different than the ones the drawings were found in. Have you found more here?"

"No, these tunnels are strange indeed." Medrick shook his head. "Although I've begun to come to some conclusions about the meaning those ancient works might hold-"

"You did?" Osha strode forward, sneering at him. "You old thinkers speak more than you listen. Them drawings were warnings! Of wrongs done long ago and how we'll all pay for them."

"This from a woman who cannot even read the runes of her own people!"

"I know what some of them mean! More than you!" Osha was now snarling and it fell to Kurt and Ser Rayland to ease the wildling woman back. "Acting like you know so much, explain what's down that way then!"

"First tell me of the drawings." Sansa asked, for the queer appearance of the ice dragon on the wall bothered her still, since none could explain how it had gone unnoticed for so long. "They told of the building of the Wall? Of the Long Night and the Others."

Medrick nodded.

"Yes. That much is clear. Or at least how the people who painted the glyphs viewed those events as happening. I must add my studies at the Citadel contradict much of…"

"Bah! Fool!" Osha interrupted. "Ignoring what you see with your own eyes! Them pictures talk about the Long Night and what sorcery went into ending it and raising the Wall itself! Dark magics!"

"The Wall was built by my ancestor." Sansa pointed out. "Brandon the Builder, a great hero, not some villain."

"Not to us he left Beyond-the-Wall! My people! And the giants! The ones he used to build the fucking thing…"

"Mind your tongue." Ser Rayland pressed back at Osha. "You're speaking to a member of the royal family."

"I'm speaking to a Stark! Kin to the one who used the dark magics them drawings are all about. You can't use powers like that and escape all the evil that comes with them. Don't matter how long it takes, sorcery's like a sword without a hilt, it'll cut-"

"Silence!" Medrick was seething now. "I've had enough of your ravings! You take all that from some pictures you barely understand!"

"Begging your pardons." Kurt spoke up, cap in hand. "Begging your pardons maester, princess, but seeing what I seen back there I can't see how anything but magic could explain it. I've been poking around in the earth for most of my life and I've never seen something like that."

"Sorcery!" Osha declared. "Like I'm saying!"

The three began to fall into their bickering again and Sansa felt more confused than before she first came down here. Whatever they had found was keeping her away from the world above, where a castle and kingdom needed to be run.

Where a bridal gown had to be seen and tried on.

"Show me then." She decided. "You summoned me here for a reason and clearly it was not to discuss the drawings, so show me."

"It's this way your grace." Kurt pointed, before kicking at a hardened root and some stones at his feet. "Careful though. This whole way has much to trip upon. This tunnel was blocked off with stones and clearing them was a bloody mess."

"I thought the older tunnels were stronger." Mya said. "That they didn't see many cave ins.'

"Wasn't no cave in." Kurt answered back as he led the way on down the dark passage. "Someone walled it up. A few times over. Thought we'd find more dragonglass this way, and there is some…"

Sansa could see veins of it running along the walls, but none near where the roots poked through, which seemed to frame the tunnel now. Growing thicker the deeper they travelled within.

"We are below the godswood." Medrick added. "Of that I am certain. I've measured the distance using lengths of rope and I would put the doorway just before the weirwood."

"Doorway?" She asked, thinking she'd misheard.

The glances between her three guides were half hidden by the darkness but worrisome all the same.

"You'll see." Osha answered. "It's just around this bend… don't get scared when the torch grows dim."

"Don't let it go out then." Mya gave voice to Sansa's thoughts as Ser Rayland scowled, hefting his own torch higher. Sansa was sweating it was so hot now so she couldn't imagine any cold or draft draining the flames away.

That was until Osha's words proved prophetic.

After rounding a bend all their torches began to dim at once. No breeze filtered down the tunnel, nor had the fuel run low, from what she could see the flames just began to die. Soon they were only a flicker in the darkness and Jeyne grabbed her hand in fear.

"Sansa… we shouldn't be here."

"Girl's got that right." Osha whispered, coming to a stop. "Neither should that."

Even with the flicker of their torches Sansa saw that something barred the tunnel ahead. Her first thought was of another rock wall yet she was as wrong as she could be.

For it was just as the maester had said, a doorway blocked their path, a doorway unlike any she had ever seen before.

One that sent shivers of terror through her body.

"Mother light the way…" Mya's words were as low as the torchlight, Jeyne frozen in fear herself at the sight before them.

The door was bone-white, so bright it glowed in the darkness around them. Rock roots had grown so thick around the thing that no earth could be seen. The only real wood belonged to the door itself, which was carved from weirwood bark as far as she could tell. That made sense considering how the door reminded her of those trees.

For a great face had been carved into the door. A pale face, shrunken and wrinkled as if with age, its eyelids closed so tight lines were etched around them.

Why would there be a doorway so far beneath Winterfell? So far from the rest of the crypts?

"What's on the other side?" She asked and Kurt shook his head vigorously.

"Can't know." He pointed down at a ruined pickaxe. "Two strikes and the thing fell part… and the door says it won't open for us."

The door says?

Doors do not speak… and I see no writing on it…

With that Sansa moved closer, practically dragging Jeyne along with her.

"No Sansa… no that's not for us… please…" Jeyne begged, her eyes wide and fearful. Her friend had paled so much she became clearer in the darkness.

That was when Sansa realized Jeyne had truly become brighter as beams of light burst forth from the doorway. The door's eyes, no longer clenched shut, had opened to bathe the dark tunnel and them in an eerie white light. Mya and Jeyne cried out and she choked back a scream as well.

And did so again when the door spoke.

"What are you?"

Its voice was hollow and ancient, Jeyne's scream was high-pitched and terrified. Her friend pulled free then, rushing back into Mya's arms and wrapping around the larger girl's waist.

"Sansa get away from it!" Mya cried while Osha shook her head.

"It won't hurt her… just tell it what you are Stark… maybe it'll be different for you…"

Sansa could barely keep her knees from buckling when the voice came again.

"What are you?"

"S-s-sansa St-stark." She answered, backing away. "Of Winterfell…"

Silence followed that pronouncement and Sansa continued backing away until Mya and Ser Rayland enfolded her in their grasp, the knight shaking in his armor.

"Stark of Winterfell you are."The door boomed. "Yet you do not see… you do not see…"

"I see." She protested weakly.

"They must see…"

That final whisper heralded the closing of the door's eyes. Soon after the great glowing thing returned to its unassuming slumber, darkness embracing them again save for the glow of the weirwood and the flicker of the torches.

For a time the only sound that came from the group was Jeyne's fearful breathing and the clattering of Ser Rayland's armor.

Until Osha spoke, with an air of wisdom she seemed sad to speak to.

"No Stark, you don't see… we're as blind as can be."

"Blind to what's coming."

JON

These were the dreams he liked.

He ran free over dark lush fields and glens, with the moon high above and the stars shining brightly. He relished the feeling of cool grass beneath his paws, the air was warm and there were sounds of life all around him.

In his dreams they were free of the winter, free of the endless snows and the deepening cold. It was an escape from the loneliness that they'd endured for so long now.

Better still his pack shared this moment with him.

The wild sister to his right, the savage brother to his left, the three that were once six ran together through the summer night. Not hunting, not fighting, just running. Running as a pack.

Like the family they were.

And would be again.

The man's family was here too. The wild girl and the fierce little boy were both hidden behind the eyes of the wolves, happy and warm in his mind. They would all be together soon. He knew that without knowing.

As the dream wore on, the other two fell away, both rising to greet the new day in different places. He caught glimpses of where each awoke and it was the sister that gave him the most hope.

The girl awoke amongst a group of many others, camped in the wintery wilderness like they were. Men tore down tents and readied horses while the girl hid within her own, wearing hair and clothes that weren't hers. The eyes were the same though.

She closed those grey eyes as she whispered.

To him.

"Jon… I'm coming… "

They could almost reach out and touch each other but their bond weakened as others called to the girl to come forth for another day.

Meanwhile the boy had risen from a warm and soft place, covered in furs. The man memories remembered this place. It was a bed. One he had spent his last night in before journeying away to the cold North, a place where everything had been safe and good. With her.

She was still sleeping. Her face was at peace with the world as the boy began to squirm free from her grasp. They'd been curled up together, and he remembered that she would do that whenever the little one grew fearful. He wasn't scared now though. He was jumping up and down by the girl's head, cackling happily.

"He's close! He's close!"

His love was shaken from her slumber. Her soft protests were the sweetest sounds he'd heard in some time. With those blue eyes open, her pale skin framed by her bright, auburn hair, he wanted to tear through the dream to be beside her.

Yet the scene was rapidly falling away. The wolf he was began to stir as well, waking from the dreams they shared.

Then Jon wasn't in a field anymore. He wasn't a wolf or a dragon. He wasn't cold or tired.

He was a man again. He was in Sansa's warm embrace once more. Seeing her in the wolf dream had brought all their moments together back to him. They were alone in her room, her body bare and beautiful as she came to him, pulling at his own clothes. Jon wanted it to be slow, he wanted this to be tender, to savor it, but her hunger for him was too great. She pushed and grabbed at his body with a passion that she rarely showed.

All his willpower disappeared when her hot breath and lips found his neck. He was lying back with Sansa atop him, kissing and touching places that hadn't been treated so in far too long. Even through his clothes he felt the heat of her bare naked body. She placed his hand over her breasts and they felt fuller than he remembered. She moaned when she forced him to cup her breast more firmly. He felt her gripping his manhood with the other hand, stroking it quick and hard, making him groan.

She silenced him with her mouth and tongue. The kiss was different than he remembered. She bit at his lip in a harsh way as she stroked him harder. Despite all the pleasure and lust flooding his mind, something felt wrong.

The kiss was wrong. Sansa had a taste, a sweet, warm taste. He lips were always soft and welcoming, not harsh and demanding. Now she tasted of sweetened milk and the wild itself. The smell was wrong too. Her hair should have smelt of daylight after a long summer snow but instead it smelt of leather and horsehide and honey.

His eyes opened slowly, expecting to see that sky-blue color that he would willingly lose himself in over and over again…

… and Jon found himself staring into different eyes altogether.

Pale grey ones.

A beautiful smile shined down on him then from the dim light of his tent.

"Hurry." Val rasped, jerking his breeches lower. "That boy will be back from his walk soon. I'd rather he not watch-"

"Val!" Jon gasped. He pulled his hand away from her breast, only for her to pin the hand down by the wrist next to his ear.

His mind stopped moving when he saw the wildling woman was completely naked, save for his bed furs around her shoulders. Jon could see how attractive her lithe body was, her breasts were high and larger than he would have thought, shaking sinfully from her frantic movements. He could even see her sex, topped by a honey-blonde thatch of hair that she rubbed against his thigh.

"Fighting is fun..." She smiled, moving to kiss him again. "We can do that..."

"Stop! Fuck!" Jon cursed, jerking his leg and entire body away from her.

He looked about and saw that the tent was indeed empty except for Val and her nakedness, a state she took no shame in as she thwarted his escape. She straddled his groin and pushed down on his chest forcefully, pressing hard against him.

"Things are all backwards in these lands." She grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled his face roughly up to her own. "I wanted you to steal me first like I dreamed, but I'm done waiting. I've stolen men before and I'll do it again… I ache for you Jon…"

"I said stop!" Jon pressed his forearm against her to push away the next kiss and shifted their weight to roll over. Unfortunately, that didn't stop Val from thrusting against him again, moaning once they were in the new position. In fact, he could swear that there was a gleam of excitement in her eye, now that he was on top.

"Act a man Jon." She wrapped a leg around his waist to keep him from pulling back. "Ser. Lord. Dragon. Whitefyre. Whatever you need to call yourself. Act a man and take me like you're aching to. Make me yours. Do it now."

With Val pinned below him, writhing against his cock as she was, his lust was almost suffocating. She was a breathtaking sight, both in face and body. Her breasts shook with her movements, her nipples hard and much darker than the pale skin around them. A part of Jon screamed to just give in. To fuck her until they were both screaming and he'd sated himself. To finally subdue the quarrelsome woman from ever challenging him again.

"Take me." Val smiled, gazing down to where their bodies met. "It's what I came here for… I want you Jon… please…"

"No."

Jon finally freed himself from her leg and moved back to rest on his knees. Val came to attack him again but he pushed her back by the shoulder.

"I will not Val." He rasped, grabbing at some more furs nearby and throwing them at the naked woman. "Cover yourself and touch me no more…"

"Why the fuck not? You want it." Val almost snarled, grabbing at the evident arousal in his breeches before he brushed her hand away. "I want you and you want-"

"Sansa Stark." Jon answered for her, re-lacing his undone breeches and shaking his head to clear it of his impure thoughts. "You heard it the same as everyone else… I love her. She the one I want. It's Sansa who I will marry…"

That their whole company now knew the truth of Jon and Sansa's betrothal was neither his choice nor his doing.

Days after he'd made his promise to Gilly, to keep her child warm no matter what, the old gods had answered his prayers. They'd met a logging party out of the Winter Town who offered up their camp and fires to the ailing party eagerly, that is until they'd learned who led these Stark men home.

Apparently during his absence, much had happened which Sansa had been unable or unwilling to share with him at the Wall. The loggers Ben and Heck had related the news of Myranda's death, shaking Jon to his core. To hear that someone had poisoned the dear lady in an attempt against Sansa's life had enraged him.

After the news, he began worrying for the safety of Arya and Rickon but the loggers acted sure that the two remained healthy and hale at Winterfell along with Sansa. They were quick to note that the royal regent had been busy lately, unable to visit the Winter Town as much as she had done in the past.

As she was busy planning their wedding.

To hear a simple logger speak such a secret so casually had left Jon speechless for several moments. Some of the Stark men in his party had laughed to hear it at first but the laughter died away when Jon had not joined them. The laughs and jests became whispers of surprise and disbelief when he confirmed the truth of the logger's claims. Ben and Hek as well acted a bit colder to Jon when they found out who he was, but he'd not been able to spare them a thought truly.

Learning that Sansa had informed the lords of the North of their betrothal without any word to him caused Jon some annoyance. The idea that she was planning their wedding even now made his head spin, but all of that aside, part of Jon felt relieved.

Now when I ride through the gates I might hold Sansa… perhaps even kiss her…

Our love won't be a secret anymore. It'll be something we can share with the realm.

She'll be my wife.

"Yer wedding a Stark?" Tormund had pulled on his beard with a look of admiration. "That be brave of you dragon wolf. Even the free folk know not to take the direwolves lightly. Even when the Watch failed to stop us, the Starks were always there to give us the sword and grief."

"What? I am not going up against her." Jon had protested. "I won't be taking her or any nonsense. As a knight I will protect her. As a lord I will shelter her. As a husband I will love her. That is all I want from her."

"Stop… stop…" Tormund had dabbed at his eyes mockingly. "You'll make me weep shiny southron tears, your words be so pretty! Har!"

"I see now!" Gerrick had nodded, gesturing to his crestfallen daughters. "No wonder you refused my own brood! You had a Stark bride awaiting your coming, a fine prize. You hear that girls? He's not a boy lover after all!"

"Har!" Tormund and Aldred laughed for a bit at that but they were the only ones. Gilly's babe was wailing in his mother's arms as she gave him a rather intense look. Val hadn't acted much better, actively scowling at the news.

"You're a dragon lord who fought against the Others! You battled them man to man, and you choose a girl who hides behind castle walls?" Val had spat. "That's what I think of your southron flowers. You so-called Northmen need stronger brides who will bear you hearty children that can survive the coming winter-"

"Exactly. Winter is Coming. Those are the Stark words Val, no one heeds that lesson better." He'd waved away yet another one of Val's attempts to provoke him. "And my betrothed knows that better than most. She's survived where others would have fallen. I've met few with as much courage as her. I will be hers and she will be mine."

Jon had turned his back to her then just as he tried to do now. He didn't want to have to look at her nakedness.

Val showed no interest in helping him do that. Rather than dressing, she took the opportunity to press her breasts against his back and wrap her arms under his and around his chest in a tempting and possessive way.

"After my Jarl died, I could have chosen any one of a hundred strong men, some who were stronger even than you." She whispered in his ear, sounding more vulnerable than he'd ever heard Val speak. "Dalla let Mance steal her because of his big talk. He was a cunning man, aiming to be king of this land and everything beyond. You're like him a bit… a leader… but you're not greedy and foolish, you don't let vanity and pride cloud your eyes to what's important."

He turned slightly to look at her, a mistake he quickly realized. She pressed her lips against his and Jon did not pull away quick enough to escape the teasing of her tongue. As he cursed she smiled at her small victory.

"You're a man apart from all the others Jon, I could see that from the beginning… northmen, crows, free folk… this dragon answers to no one… you want more from this world but you deny yourself that. Like you deny wanting me right now. I say be the free man you are, cast your doubts aside and embrace that part of yourself Jon… don't let the Starks make you something that you're not…"

Her hand slid up from his chest to run across his recently trimmed beard, tugging on it in distaste.

"You could be a great man Jon, we could be great together. Fighting for one another, fucking until the snow melted from the heat of us. I'd not make you trim and prim or take names you don't want." Val kissed at the healing cut on his neck. "I want that for you. I want you so take me. That's all you have to do. I would bleed for you Jon, let us bleed together-"

"I've already bled for her." He took Val's hand and pulled it free from his face. "If you think I'm some great man, it is only because I've done everything I can to be a man of honor. A man worthy enough to serve House Stark. A man worthy of her."

"Jon-"

"Get dressed Val. Get dressed and take leave of my tent." He spoke coldly, his fists clenched. "I'll forgive the liberties you took here but only if you go right now. If not, I would remind you of the man who couldn't control himself on our ride and of the punishment I decided for him. Don't think I won't send you back to the Wall."

Val cursed, wrenching away from him and beginning to move about the tent, gathering her clothing. He should've closed his eyes, but with her in such a foul mood he thought better of that. She dressed as she was bid but he noticed that she moved slowly, highlighting every part of her body that he had just denied himself from enjoying with her graceful movements. She turned to look at him one last time as she bent over to pull on her white leather breeches, but he kept his face cold and impassive. She stopped trying to tempt him after that and scowled.

"Don't think that this is over Jon." Val shook her head, tying her cloak about her shoulders. Even fully-clothed and burning with fury, she still looked beautiful. Beautiful and dangerous, a tempting sight for any man to behold. "I know who you are deep down, even if you don't. I will have you, I promise you that."

"Get out." He answered.

"I'm disappointed in you." She said with goading tone. "A man would have fought to make me his."

"I'd rather fight to be hers."

Val left after that, leaving him with angry thoughts. He was angry at her for attacking him, invading his sleep and laying hands on his body. But he was also angry at himself for responding to her touch and for being as tempted as he was to take Val.

His desire for a woman's touch was stronger than ever after all these months, but he also wanted more than that. He wanted Sansa's warmth and kindness, to take away the pain of all that he'd endured and lost at the Wall. Lying with Val would have helped ease his pain he knew, his burning desires, but only for a short while. It would have been an escape akin to what wine gave him.

Drunkenness made me weak. I fell to its charms because of pain and yearning.

So close to Winterfell, so close to home again, I won't succumb to that pain now.

What I truly yearn for awaits me there.

A family. A wife.

As he began to dress, Jon noticed a small trail of blood seeping down his neck. He sighed as he pressed a cloth against his neck to staunch the bleeding, his thoughts wandering from Val and on to another wildling woman who had vexed him recently.

When they'd settled down to camp with the loggers, Jon had set Coll to securing him a pail of water and some shears. Hearing that his wedding to Sansa was at hand reminded Jon of how poorly he'd managed his grooming on the road. His beard was thicker and longer than Sansa liked and he hadn't washed properly in some time.

With a fire burning before him and a pail of cold water at his side, Jon had stripped his furs, leathers, and tunic to leave his chest naked to the cold. Coll had stared wide-eyed at his scars while Aldred had met his eyes and offered a small nod, perhaps of respect. He was grateful that neither saw fit to ask about the old wounds and Jon began wetting a cloth from the bucket to scrub away some of the sweat and grime from his travels.

"Ever trim a man's beard Coll?" Jon had asked when he finished with his wash. "Don't rightly trust myself to do it without a looking glass."

"I haven't ser." Coll admitted, holding up the sheers and beginning to cut the air in practice. "I'll do my best but maybe Al would be a better fit."

"That's genius lad." Aldred used his remaining hand to point at his stump. "Thinking I can use my feet to steady my cuts?"

"Ow!" The boy hissed, somehow managing to cut himself in the few moments that he'd been using the sheers.

"Um…" Jon had said. "Aldred, are sure you wouldn't want to try?"

"I can do it ser." Gilly's voice had broken in, the wildling girl smiling as she offered her squirming son over to Coll. "I'd be happy to help after everything you've done for me and mine."

Jon happily accepted Gilly's help, even though he felt awkward when she knelt before him between his legs rather than standing. Her touch was gentle, her use of the sheers quite adept, and he found himself wondering if she'd ever done such duty for her father, the wildling Sam had called Craster. Coll had denied her babe a bit of the wine he'd been drinking, which apparently set the child to wailing. Gilly ignored the child completely, too focused on the work she was doing.

"You're to marry the Stark princess then?" Gilly asked, eyeing him queerly. "Lord Jon becomes Prince Jon?"

"No… wait, yes." He'd jerked some but Gilly had guided his face back to the position she wanted. Her touch felt hot and strangely familiar, but he figured any would feel so warm compared to the cold around. "I will wed Sansa Stark but I am not sure if that quite makes me a prince. I'll be her lord husband first, her consort second."

"But you're a prince anyway, aren't you?" She stared into his eyes rather than at the blades. "None call you it, but that's who will ride through Winterfell's gate? Your father was a prince I hear-"

"My father and his family wrought nothing but death and misery onto the Starks, the family I chose. Of his name and title, I want nothing. Let the Targaryen crown stay buried as far as I care." Jon thought then of what was buried at Winterfell, waiting for him. "My uncle and cousin, men whom I loved, they lay at rest in Winterfell's crypts. Their statues stand silent vigil and I will visit them when I return... I want them to see me… to see what I've become…"

He'd paused then as Gilly cut closer to his neck, wondering why he was speaking so freely with the young woman. It had felt good to do so, especially when her eyes gazed into his with such strange warmth. He wanted to unburden his soul to her in a way that he had only ever done with Sansa and Arya, though he couldn't quite put to words why. It was something about her presence.

Perhaps this is why Sam is so smitten with her.

"Eddard Stark raised me as his son and set me forth on a journey to become my own man. I want to return to him as such, as a knight who earned his spurs honorably. He never wanted me to be a prince… he feared what fate might await me if anyone learned the truth of my birth. So I will be a knight instead… I hope Lord Stark can rest peacefully knowing that… I pray he does…"

"Your blood is more powerful than a knight's." Gilly had whispered with an odd intensity. "Son to a dragon prince… born of a Stark who shared blood with the Kings of Winter. That makes you royal blood on both sides…"

Gilly's eyes had caught the firelight then, flashing in a way that played tricks on Jon's mind. He felt a sudden sharp pain then as Gilly nicked against his neck in a wide, accidental cut. He'd cursed and made to check the wound himself, only for Gilly to beat him to it by pressing a cloth to his wound, mumbling apologies.

"No harm, no foul." He'd said, backing away from her touch and moving so that Coll could bandage his neck. Gilly's work was finished anyways and he was strangely thankful to be away from her.

It wasn't just embarrassment at speaking so freely in front of her. For half a moment he'd been frightened by her eyes. As foolish as it was to admit, he'd thought they shone red in the firelight, as red as his blood on the cloth that she'd used to tend to his neck and clean the sheers. The wildling girl had done good work though, his face clean of hair, and Jon thanked her as she took away the soiled linen.

Jon dressed and brushed his hand against the shaving Gilly had given him. The hair had grown in a bit since that day. It was still short though, to a length that Jon knew Sansa liked, and he was eager to get to Winterfell for her to see it.

And he was not the only one eager to ride on to Winterfell. There was a general commotion and noise all around as tents were being taken down and horses foddered. He saw his tent was the last to be taken care of and he paused with a thought of dread, that perhaps someone had seen Val enter his tent in the early morning and leave disheveled later.

Yet his fears were for naught. The only eyes set upon him or his tent belonged to a friend who could not speak thankfully. Ghost ambled towards him through the busy groups of people and Jon swore the direwolf had a smile on his face.

"Good dreams old friend?" He asked as he pet the wolf's head. "I don't know why, I don't know how, but your sister is out there somewhere. Mine as well. I'm thinking we'll see them soon Ghost. I have a good feeling about today."

Ghost didn't answer save to lick his hand. Together they set to rallying everyone for the day's journey.

The party set out within the hour, Jon riding at the front and avoiding the part of the line where Val and the other women usually rode. He missed Willem's company dearly in that moment, as both a friend and a riding partner. Willem would have listened to his troubles over Val's behavior that morning, and likely would have even had a good jest or a story to pass the time. Jon's current party wasn't without its entertaining distractions though.

"Can you sharpen your axe?" Coll asked Aldred. The squire was curious of late as to what tasks Aldred could do without a second hand.

"If I step upon the whetstone, yes." Aldred grumbled back, obviously annoyed at the endless line of questions. Tormund and Jon on the other hand were quite amused at the whole exchange.

"What about putting your pants on?"

"Well who the bloody else would put them on me?!" Aldred snapped back.

"What about taking them off?"

"That's what a woman's for! Har!" Tormund laughed so loudly that some of the horses startled. "Gods lad, the man can hold an axe and his own cock for a piss, what else in life really matters?"

"Holding both at the same time?" Coll answered and everyone went quiet and gaped at the squire. Tormund's faced turned a bright red before another roar of laughter tore free, louder than ever.

"Har! The boy's a keen one! No matter what them giants say!"

Jon was chuckling as well while Aldred tried to throttle Coll with his stump.

"We will have to do something about that arm though Aldred." He said seriously after Coll had managed to ride out of the sworn man's reach.

"Ser?" Aldred's face darkened. "I can fight one handed, I swear I can. I'm still a better warrior than half these whoresons-"

"Hey!" Tormund broke in, jerking a finger at the tall youth riding behind him. "My boy's mother was no whore. There's not enough gold in the world to get a woman to do battle with my member unless she wants to!"

Before Coll could ask what that meant, Jon waved Aldred over to his side.

"I know you can fight Aldred, I do not doubt that. I'm just concerned about you surviving a fight." He glanced down to the man's one hand, clutching at the reins of his mount. "On a horse you're vulnerable. You've no free hand to wield a weapon or a shield. To fight against a spearman afoot is a distinct disadvantage."

"I'd rather my axe than a shield…"

"I'd rather you have both. When we reach Winterfell, I want you to meet a knight named Ser Gendry. He was trained as a blacksmith and is quite a good one at that. I've seen his skill with armor myself. If there's a way to rig a shield onto your left arm, I believe he can find it. That way you could defend as well-"

"How though?" Aldred glared at his stump balefully. "Any shield worth holding would be heavy, and a strap would shift with the weight…"

"Have faith. You might have heard about how Prince Bran was crippled and unable to walk? Well a device built at Winterfell helped him to ride again. If such a thing is possible for him, surely there's a way to protect my sworn man."

Aldred appeared to think on that a moment and Jon found himself reflecting on Tyrion Lannister as he did so. A man by all rights that Jon should hate, but he couldn't help but view the Lannister as another friend lost to his travels. Tyrion and Jon had once shared this very journey back from the Wall. At the time they'd discussed Bran's riding device, just as Jon and Aldred did now, and the memory was a good one for Jon.

Gods, imagine if we'd known then that we would both end up wed to the same woman?

Tyrion wouldn't have shut up about it…

That Tyrion had wed Sansa did not upset him truly, for she herself had said that the lord never laid an ill hand on her during their time together, their marriage going unconsummated. It filled him with shame to think that Tyrion had shown such care for Sansa's feelings even after Jon had betrayed him. He'd named the lord a friend and Tyrion had pushed him towards the knighthood that Ned Stark had wanted for Jon.

"I've known many knights and I think you'd make a fine one."

"A somber one for sure, but truer than most."

Now I'm a lord as well and you Tyrion… well, wherever you are, I hope you earn the rewards that you're owed.

"It can't be that big!" Coll's voice broke into his thoughts.

He turned to see Tormund holding his arms out to his sides, Coll shaking his head profusely the whole time.

"I swear it lad! Mance said if the horn didn't work, that it would be up to my member to batter the Wall down!"

"Gods Tormund…" Jon ran a hand down his face. "You can't speak like this in front of the king and the princesses…"

"Afraid I'll be stealing your pretty she-wolf away?" The white-haired wildling smiled widely even as Jon nervously glanced back to see if Val could hear any of their conversation. "Don't worry dragon wolf. I've days to practice being a southron dandy like you and stumpy there."

"Stumpy?" Aldred bristled.

"It might be that we have hours, not days. Riders from Winterfell are on their way to meet us even now and…"

Jon caught himself in mid-blunder. What he'd just spoken to was not something he'd learned himself, but knowledge that Ghost had shared with him through their wolf dreams. Something he had no right speaking to. Even now, the direwolf was moving far ahead of the party, fighting against the blowing wind in an attempt to get south all the faster. There was something in that wind he sought.

A scent. A memory.

A sister.

"Eh?" Tormund looked to the others who seemed just as confused. "Since when? Did a rider come in the night and no one told me? Toregg! You've got two jobs! Watch that moth knight and let me know what's going on! I'd beat you bloody if not for your mother! She was the best, finest, steaming piece-

"Tormund!" Jon interrupted as Coll repeated the word 'steaming' awkwardly. "There was no rider! I'm sorry that I didn't say anything earlier but… well… the loggers! The loggers weren't there by chance. They were sent out to watch for us and to let me know that another party was due to arrive, one meant to escort us back to Winterfell…"

As he was performing this mummery, Jon took notice of something truly strange. Mentioning the logging camp caused him to look back at the way they'd come, farther north. Rising into the sky were black plumes of smoke, several of them in fact, as if a great many fires had been lit.

"Is that from the logging camp?" Aldred asked, following his gaze. "Fools are supposed to gathering wood, not burning the whole forest down."

"Maybe they're burning the brush away." Coll offered. "Lots of twigs and worthless shrubs in the way…"

"Or maybe they just didn't like all that shit we left in them pits we dug." Tormund chuckled, riding up to smack a hand on Jon's back. "Thought we was trying to be all close and friendly like Jon. Not telling me about your Stark riders ain't very friendly."

"It's not like that." Jon pointed to the sky and did his best to lie. "I just didn't want to get everyone's hopes up if the snows came back and slowed us down."

Tormund stroked his beard in consideration and Jon's gaze returned to the rising smoke coming from the logging camp. A sense of unease came over him. They'd finally left the woods after weeks of riding and he liked being back on the open road, yet these lands were made of rolling hills. Little of what lay behind or ahead of them was clear, giving them poor visibility to any threats. When he looked to Ghost, he half-expected to see the direwolf as fretful as he was, but Ghost was singularly focused on driving ahead.

So Jon did his best to do the same, chiding himself for letting his nerves get to him when they were almost home. Tormund continued to lecture Coll on the size of his member. Aldred and Toregg discussed which was best way to cripple a man for a death blow. Not long after Ser Richard rode up to join the front, ignoring glares from the others to enjoy a welcome word from Jon. The knight would offer little in conversation, but it was always good to know where he was.

"Those fires behind us, they are large." Richard said blandly. "Burning for some time I would say."

"I agree. We were discussing them earlier… they could just be fires, but they trouble me nonetheless."

"We should make for that ridge then." The knight pointed to a particularly large hill ahead of them. "Or at least we should send some riders. Get a view of the lands around for a ways. I could lead some now."

Jon was considering that as a good idea, yet he wasn't sure if Richard was the man to choose for such a duty. Ser Richard was an excellent rider, but on snow-covered ground it might be better to send someone who was used to riding through difficult terrain on their northern garrons.

That was when a sound came floating down through the wind that drove all of Jon's other thoughts away.

It was the long, echoing sound of a wolf's howl.

As distant and faint as it was, Jon knew he'd heard correctly, for another wolf soon joined it. Ghost was standing ahead, his head pitched back in a loud howl that sent shivers down Jon's back.

"What's he on about?" Tormund asked. "Found a lady friend?"

"No… not a friend…"

A sister.

Through their bond, Jon felt Ghost calling out to Nymeria. After Ghost's howl, Nymeria answered the white direwolf's call, though this one was different.

This sound held not only Nymeria's voice but the spirit of Arya as well.

Jon could almost feel his little sister's arms around him she was so close.

"We press on!" He yelled, ignoring Richard's suggestion in his excitement. "There are friends ahead! Push the horses and mules hard! Winterfell has a welcome waiting!"

"Hurray!" Coll yelled. "Aldred, didn't you hear? Yell 'hurray' with me!"

"I heard! I'm not yelling 'hurray.'"

The howl came again, closer now than it had been, and Jon felt as elated as Ghost acted. The direwolf was bounding through the snow, heading further down the low lands they'd entered with Jon and the party following behind. The ridge Ser Richard wished to seek was near but Arya was too close for Jon to care.

So near that Ghost could smell her on the wind. A great many people were with her as well. Armored men. Men in leathers. An escort none could question.

"Is there a direwolf ahead ser?" Aldred asked and Jon laughed in answer.

"I believe so! The Starks come and they bring many friends!"

"Yell hurray Al!"

"Shut up!"

Jon was at the lead of the party, determined to be the first one to glimpse Arya coming over a hill or a drift. He'd scold her and yell at her for being out in the snows, but only after he'd hugged her half to death. Ghost was almost lost to his sight, the wolf had run so far ahead yet he forgave his friend that.

Another howl from Nymeria was even closer and his heart pounded in his chest.

The shouts coming from behind him only adding to his excitement.

"Riders!"

"Horsemen!"

"Where?" Jon called, scanning ahead for any sign of Arya and her men. ""Where are they?"

He saw no sign of them, only Ghost coming to a sudden stop and turning back towards Jon and their party.

"Behind us!"

"To the north!"

"By the gods!"

Behind us? To the north?

No, Arya's coming from the south…

The trumpets blew before he'd fully turned to see what all the commotion was about. When he did, he saw just how right he was. Arya and their welcome from Winterfell were coming from the south.

The ambush was coming from the north.

His breath caught in his chest when he saw hundreds of riders forming a long line along the high ground behind them. Scores of the men were armored, with long, steel-tipped lances pointed high at the sky. The rest were less well-equipped but still far better prepared for battle than Jon's men were. Jon himself was only in his leathers and a cloak. The only armored man in the column was the one riding hard up the line towards him, Ser Richard's cloak flapping in the wind.

"The banners!" The knight yelled. "The banners! Trust them not!"

The banners were what Jon took notice of next. He saw quite a few ragged standards flying in the wind. Three brass buckles on blue. A purple and white knight standing combatant with swords. Three black ravens clutching red hearts on white.

A stag encased in a flaming heart.

Buckler... Farring... Corbray... Baratheon…

No… no, no, don't let this happen… I was going to settle things… we were going to have peace…

"It's an attack!" Ser Richard called as Jon's own men barred his path. "Against R'hllor's will!"

Before he could make sense of that, Ghost reached out to him, for the wind had changed and the direwolf smelt the threat before them. The men on the ridge wanted blood. They wanted death.

The direwolf's howl was almost lost in the sound of trumpets blowing along the line of Stannis's men.

"Oh, fuck me." Aldred said before biting his reins and drawing his axe. "Ser, get out of here!"

"Bloody southron bastards!" Tormund roared, pulling a blade of his own.

"To me!" Jon shouted, kicking at his horse and riding down the line. "Give the women time to flee!"

"No!" Ser Richard shouted as he rode by. "It's not them they want!"

The trumpets gave three short bursts and then a great cry went up from the onslaught of steel and death riding down towards them. Over a hundred men giving voice to the same, rage-filled chant.

"The dragon will burn!"

"The dragon will burn!"

It was a dragon they called for. So Jon answered the challenge, kicking his horse and drawing his sword.

Riding on to meet his foes.

Like a knight would.