DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN GAME OF THRONES OR ANY ASSOCIATED CHARACTERS

So I have finished a full timeline for this story, and I know exactly where it will end, as well as how it will get there. Chapters should come more frequently now, as obviously I have nothing better to do. Anyways, drop me a review and enjoy!

Chapter 25

As the cold wind whipped at his face and hair, Jon couldn't help but wonder what had pushed him to this in the first place. He'd wanted to join the Night's Watch since he met Benjen for the first time. He'd heard of the stories and honourable deeds of the Night's Watch, but now that he was one of them, he realized that they'd all been embellished.

He couldn't lie, he'd never felt more free than when the wildlings cut his bonds after he'd killed Qhorin Halfhand. The ranger had said a man within the wildling ranks would be worth a thousand guarding the Wall, and Jon was determined to carry that out. Or so he thought, until he realized just how free the Wildlings seem. His will was being pulled by both his duty, and his infatuation with a wild mane of red hair.

They still wouldn't return his sword, he supposed so that Mance Rayder could determine his loyalties before they put Longclaw back in his hand. The one who calls himself Lord of Bones seemed to be the leader of this particular troop, and he was a very strict leader. He had a narrow mind, and Jon was nearly executed by him until Ygritte had told him Jon was Ned's son.

And so, Jon found himself being led into the largest encampment he'd ever seen. It stretched for miles over the horizon, and was abuzz with activity. At one point, out from behind a tent, a figure at least twenty feet tall appeared, carrying a large, wooden post that would've taken four men. It set the end on the ground and wordlessly began hammering away at it with its bare fist, pounding the wood into the ground.

Seeing Jon gawking, Ygritte rose an eyebrow. "First time you seen a giant, Jon Snow?"

Jon nodeded, mouth still agape. "Well don't stare too long, they're shy. And when they're done being shy, they get angry. And when they're angry, I've seen them pound a man straight into the ground like a hammer on a nail," Ygritte detailed.

As if on queue, the giant turned its head to stare directly at Jon. The Night's Watchman bolted when the giant growled, a deep and low sound that vibrated the ground underneath his feet. Catching up to Ygritte, he felt the sting of something impacting his neck. With no warning, rocks and sticks began flying, bouncing off of his fur armor and sinking into the snow.

Ygritte stepped forward and knocked a few of the boys down, and the stones stopped. Nevertheless, a pathway had been made, lined on either side by wildlings, leading him directly to the largest tent in the whole encampment.

"You're wearing the wrong color," Ygritte pointed out.

Jon didn't look at her. "Mance was a ranger."

"In your hearts, all you crows want to fly free."

"And when I'm free, will I be free to go?" Jon asked.

Ygritte laughed, a pleasant sound to Jon. "Aye, and I'll be free to kill you."

She smirked, winked at him once, then turned and led the way towards the tent. She swept the flap aside and let him in, stepping in after him. She held Longclaw in her hands loosely as Jon surveyed the inside of the tent. Seated directly in front were several wildlings, huddled around a fire, eating meat straight off the bone.

The largest one still had his back turned, so all Jon saw was a mane of fiery red hair that matched Ygritte's. "I smell a crow," he said gruffly.

The Lord of Bones stepped inside, next to Jon. "We killed his friends. Thought you'd want to question this one."

"What do we want with a baby crow?" the large man asked.

"This baby killed Qhorin Halfhand," she said. "He wants to be one of us."

At the mention of the former ranger, the large man rose to his feet abd approached Jon slowly. "That half-handed cunt killed friends of mine, friends twice your size."

Jon stared upwards, directly into the pale blue eyes of the red-haired man. "My father taught me that big men fall just as quick as little ones if you put a sword through their hearts."

"Plenty of little men tried to put their swords through my heart," the big man pointed to himself. "And there's plenty of little skeletons buried in the woods. What's your name, boy?"

"Jon Snow."

As if Jon finally realized who he was speaking to, he dropped to one knee. "Your Grace."

All in assembly laughed, including the big man, who laughed the loudest. "Your Grace? You hear that? From now on, you'd better kneel every time I fart!"

In the shadows behind the big man, Jon saw movement. A smaller man, with jet black hair ducked under a wooden beam. "Stand, boy," he called as he walked up behind the big man.

Jon slowly rose to his feet as the big man moved aside to let the black-haired man through. "We don't kneel for anyone beyond the Wall. So, you're Ned Stark's bastard. Thank you for the gift, Lord of Bones, you can leave us."

Ygritte placed Longclaw down next to the tent entrance before stealing a longing glance at Jon. With that, she turned and ducked out of the tent. The black-haired man nodded in her direction. "The girl likes you. You like her back, Snow? That why you want to join us?"

The big man chuckled at the alarmed look in Jon's eyes. "Don't panic, boy. This isn't the damned Night's Watch where we make you swear off girls."

"This chicken-eater you thought was king is Tormund Giantsbane," the black-haired man nodded to the big man.

Tormund paced around Jon. "Can't believe this pup killed Halfhand."

The black-haired man stared Jon in the eyes. "He was our enemy, and I'm glad he's dead."

He extended a gloved hand slowly to Jon, who looked down at it. Jon gingerly took it, surprised at its firmness. The black-haired man pulled Jon in and moved his face closer. "He was my brother once. Back when he had a whole hand. What were you doing with him?"

"The Lord Commander sent me with the Halfhand for seasoning," Jon replied instantly.

"Why?"

"He wants me to lead one day."

"And here you are, a traitor," the black-haired man said simply. "Kneeling before Mance Rayder, the King Beyond the Wall."

"If I'm a traitor, then you are, too," Jon said coldly.

Mance glanced to Tormund, who clearly wanted to kill Jon on the spot. "Why do you want to join us, Jon Snow?"

Jon glanced to his feet. "I want to be free."

"No," Mance shook his head. "I don't think so. I think what you want most of all is to be a hero. I'll ask you one last time, why do you want to join us?"

"We stopped at Craster's Keep on the way North. I saw…" Jon trailed off.

"You saw what?" Mance pressed.

Jon looked up at him. "I saw Craster take his own baby boy and leave it in the woods. I saw what took it."

Mance flitted between Jon's eyes and Tormund's. "You're telling me you saw one of them? And why would that make you desert your brothers?"

"Because when I told the Lord Commander, he already knew. Thousands of years ago, the First Men battled the White Walkers and defeated them. I want to fight for the side that fights for the living. Did I come to the right place?"

The corner of Mance's mouth turned upwards in satisfaction. "We'll need to find you a new cloak."

For the several hours after leaving King's Landing, Austin was in a stupor. The impact of Bronn's blow had left him reeling, the pounding in his head never having stopped, even after he regained control of his body. Each bounce of the horse sent a new wave of pain behind his eyes. There was also nothing to take his mind off of the pain, as his traveling companion had said scarcely a few words since leaving the capital. When they stopped for a drink at a nearby stream, though, Austin decided to make his move.

Removing his helmet, he ducked his head underneath the surface of the icy water, the cool sensation helping relieve the pain in his skull. The Hound took several long draughts out of his water skin before refilling it. Austin sat back on the cool grass, shaking his head and sending water in all directions. Running a hand through his hair to straighten it, he glanced over to the dark-armored warrior.

"I thought you were dead."

The Hound cupped water in his hands before bringing it to his face and washing the dried blood and grime off. "No, not yet. I'm a big fucker and I'm tough to kill."

"Robert hit you in the head with his hammer."

"Aye, had a headache for a few days."

"Why?" Austin asked.

"What?" the Hound growled.

"Why leave? Why save me? Why take me with you?"

The Hound glared at Austin with fire behind his eyes. "Because fuck the king. Fuck the Lannisters. Fuck every cunt who isn't me."

Austin rolled his eyes. "Thanks."

"I saved you because I was leaving that shit city, and you're the only one who can get me a pardon from Ned Stark."

"Why do you want a pardon from Ned?" Austin pried.

The Hound shot to his feet. "For fucks sake, one more question and I might just forget the pardon and kill you."

Austin threw his hands up in surrender, picking his helmet up off the ground and returning to his horse. Tying the steel helm onto the saddle, Austin patted the horse on his neck, thanking him for staying upright through the night and most of the morning. When the two mounted up again, Austin trotted up next to the Clegane.

"The last time I left, the Northern forces had just won the battle of Oxcross. If I had to take a guess, they would have moved east after Tywin left Harrenhal. Or they could have pressed their attack on the Westerlands."

"Which do you think?" the Hound asked.

"I would have pressed my attack, but Ned and I do not exactly think alike. So knowing my luck, he'd move for Harrenhal."

"Make up your mind you dumb cunt."

"Harrenhal it is," Austin said, smiling at the angry Hound.

The Clegane rolled his eyes and set his jaw tightly. "Assuming I don't kill you before we get there."

"Give me a few days to get rid of this headache and you can try," Austin dared the larger man.

As Bran bounced along, as had become his customary day to day life, he contemplated the recurring dreams he'd been having. Whether it be on the back of Hodor or on Osha, Bran was always subjected to being carried by someone else. But he found this new way of life quite peaceful, as it gave him more time to think.

"It had three eyes. Told me to come with him, so I did. We went down into the crypt, and my father was there," Bran recounted to Osha.

"Your father's not down there, little lord, not for many years yet," Osha said, a twinge of uneasiness creeping into her voice when they passed the crypts. The wildling woman was clearly unnerved.

"You're afraid," Bran pointed out. "Just like Hodor. You've been beyond the Wall, what's there to be scared of? I'm a crippled boy and I'm willing to go."

Osha looked up at him and begrudgingly descended the steps to the crypts beneath Winterfell. As they passed each one, Bran told her of each of his dead family members. When they passed Lyanna, Bran nodded to one of the empty culverts. "That's where I saw my father. He was pale and sickly, laying on a bed."

"You see? He's not here," Osha said, seemingly trying to convince herself more than Bran.

As they watched, a shadow began to move in the darkness, followed by savage growling. The beast leapt forward as the two fell to the ground, Osha shielding Bran until a high-pitched voice called the beast off. "Here, Shaggy Dog."

"Rickon!" Bran cried.

"That beast is supposed to be chained in the kennels!" Osha exclaimed.

Rickon shook his head. "No, he doesn't like chains."

"What are you doing down here?" Bran asked.

"I came to see Father," Rickon said matter-of-factly. "I saw him last night when I was sleeping."

Bran turned his head to stare at Osha, who was also wide-eyed. "You're not telling me something."

When the two emerged back in the courtyard, Osha relented. "There is a legend among the Free Folk. It tells of a Three-Eyed Raven who remembers all that has ever been. Why he's appearing to you in your dreams, I do not know."

"What does it mean?" Bran asked.

Osha looked up at Bran, her eyes hard and masking. "I don't know. Something bad."

Arya crouched next to Gendry in a secluded corner by the forges. Gendry had managed to procure three swords, stashing them here without anyone noticing. With Tywin having left already, there were few left but a skeleton garrison, meaning fewer guards at the gates. Hot Pie sat on a barrel behind the two of them, ranting about the crusts of pie and how he longed for a warm oven.

"Shut up," Arya snapped. "What did you bring?"

"A wheel of cheese. Some nice sausages, too," Hot Pie nodded.

Arya turned back to watching the gate with Gendry. "What is it he wants to do about those guards?" the smith asked.

Arya shook her head. "He didn't say. He just said walk through the gates."

"What about the guards?"

"He didn't say anything about the guards," Arya repeated.

"Oh, he just left that bit out? That's a pretty important part, don't you think?"

"We have to trust him," Arya said firmly.

"I want to go back to the kitchens," Hot Pie complained, rubbing his arms from both fear and the slight chill in the air.

"Shut up," Arya snapped again. "Stay here if you're afraid."

With that, Arya stood and began her walk towards the gates. Gendry quickly rose to follow, the two of them keeping their heads low. Hot Pie groaned and followed the pair, waddling as fast as he dared. As they drew closer to the gates, it seemed odd that they hadn't been stopped yet. Two guards were clearly on duty, but they hadn't spoken up yet. Perhaps they were asleep?

As they drew closer, Arya noticed that the men seemed propped up. Blood dripped out of their armor, and they were impaled, fastened to the cobblestones behind them. Arya looked back to Gendry with a smile, and led the way out of the gates, free for the first time in months.

"Jaqen got us out of Harrenhal, so why are you complaining?" Arya demanded from the irritated smith.

Gendry shrugged, leading the way with his sword drawn. "You could have ended the war."

Arya stopped with a sigh. "Where are we going?"

"North."

"If we were going North, we would have come to the Red Fork river by now."

"Maybe we already passed it?" Hot Pie offered, leaning on his sword.

Arya looked at him deadpan. "It's a hundred feet wide. How could we have passed it? If we hit the Red Fork, we can follow it west to Riverrun. My mother grew up there. My grandfather's the lord, he'll protect us."

Suddenly, the three of them heard singing on the road above. They sprinted for a low cobblestone wall for both a better vantage point, as well as a hiding place. "It could be a minstrel," Hot Pie said, but Arya simply shoved him along.

Arya bent low and peered through a hole in the stones, spying several armed men emerging from the treeline. Even as she watched, the men drew closer. One carried a fine long bow, fingering an arrow. Arya ducked away at the last second, pressing her back to the stone wall, staring at the arrow that had nearly ended her life.

"What's lurking behind that wall?" she heard the singer call. "A lion? A wolf?"

"Loose a few more shots," another said.

Arya quickly stepped out of hiding. "Don't!"

Two men approached. One was the archer, the other the singer. "Put the sword down, girl," the singer said, taking a swig from his animal skin that Arya had a feeling didn't contain water.

Arya responded by taking up her water dancing stance. "You go on down the road. Just keep on singing so we know where you are. Just leave us be, and I won't kill you."

The entire band, perhaps twenty in all, chuckled collectively. "Generous. You're a dangerous person," the singer complimented. "I like dangerous people. Why are your friends so shy?"

"What friends?" Arya asked as innocently as possible.

The archer smirked. "The fat one to your left and the lad beside him."

Made, Arya glanced left, and Gendry and Hot Pie stepped from behind the wall to stand next to her, both taking up fighting stances. The singer vaulted over the wall, flanked by his men. He studied them, both hands clasping the skin in front of him.

"Three young ones on the run, carrying castle-forged swords. Have you escaped from Harrehnal?"

"Who are you?" Arya asked.

"Thoros of Myr," the singer declared proudly. "And the fellow here with the bow is Anguy."

"No, who do you fight for?" Arya asked.

Thoros stared at her. "The Brotherhood Without Banners. Now come along, I want to hear how two boys and a very dangerous girl escaped from Harrenhal."

"The Brotherhood? I'm not going with them. That's who the Mountain and them were looking for. They'll bring us back and put rats in us," Hot Pie warned.

Thoros shook his head. "You've got nothing to fear from us, son. The lords of Westeros want to burn the countryside. We're trying to save it. Now come on, we'll talk some more over brown bread and stew. And then you can go on your way."

When none of the three escapees moved, Thoros glanced back to Anguy, who drew another arrow. "Here's the thing, fat boy," he said as he released it straight into the sky. "When I'm done talking, that arrow is falling down on your fat head. So I advise you move, because I'm done talking."

Hot Pie, eyes glued to the sky, jumped a foot to the left, said arrow landing exactly where he'd just been standing. Thoros stepped forward, holding his hand out, motioning for them to get moving. Reluctantly, the three escapees climbed back up onto the road, the Brotherhood soldiers following. Thoros took the lead, his drunken, melodic voice once again disturbing the silence of the woods.

When Austin dismounted underneath a grove of trees, he was sore all over. He hadn't done much riding over the past few weeks, and it had taken its toll on his body. The Hound seemed to be in equal pain, though he did a better job of disguising it. The Clegane simply unsaddled his horse, tied it to a tree, and opened a wineskin.

"Really? You're serious?" Austin asked.

The Hound took one look at Austin. "You're too honourable to murder me in my sleep."

"You're right about that, but what if any Lannister men show up?"

"Drunk or not, I'll always be able to kill Lannisters."

Austin sighed and unsaddled his own horse, making sure to give the animal plenty of space to graze before he laid down, using the hard leather of the saddle for a pillow. Despite the harsh conditions, Austin fell asleep within moments. It was a fairly peaceful sleep, at least until he was roughly awakened by being hauled to his feet by unknown assailants.

They'd disarmed him of his sword, so Austin fought them with his bare hands. He struggled and thrashed about, landing a few good shots before a kick to the back of his knee sent him to the ground, where they forced his hands behind his back. After they'd thrust a sack over his head, Austin could hear the same being done to the Hound to his left.

Evidently, the larger man was putting up much more of a fight than Austin did, for it took nearly a minute for the Clegane to be subdued. Assuming that both of them had been bound and sacked, Austin growled.

"I fucking told you, Clegane."

"You're a cunt, Dayne."