Bran

"Bran, someone is coming."

At the abrupt announcement, the formerly-paralyzed Stark spun on his heel to face his betrothed, a panicked look on his face.

"What?"

No animal came close to this place, unless it was being ridden, warged, of was dead in Summer's jaws, and Summer had been absent from the cave for the last three days. There were no Freefolk left this far North, having all either died or been let through the Wall by King Jon (was it King? Lord? Black Brother? Brother? He was not sure), and the last he had checked, the only living things in the vicinity were him, Meera, Hodor, and the last Children of the Forest. At least, they should have been the only living things around.

And yet, rushing to the cave's entrance and making his way to Meera's side, Bran could indeed see someone mounted on a steed, making their way towards them.

"Is it them? The White Walkers?" she asked, but even as she did, Meera seemed doubted the answer was yes, and Bran agreed with the sentiment."...No, I don't think so. It hasn't gotten any colder, and that's not Summer, so… a horse?" He squinted into the snow, and Meera did the same, attempting to shape the approaching mounted figure

It most certainly isn't Summer...

"It looks alive, as far as I can tell," Bran added, though his hand fell to the obsidian hunting knife she'd given him some time ago. "And, the Children don't seem alarmed. Not that the statement says much, considering how they've been for the past few weeks…"

Meera grimaced at since the Bloodraven's death, the Children of the Forest had taken to hushed conversations with each other, speaking in a mixture of the Old Tongue and an even older language not spoken by human tongues or understandable by human ears, though they spoke so quickly that not even Bran, who had been the Raven long enough that he spoke Oldnhor better than any man living, could pick out even the Old Tongue words. It had been that way for at least a fortnight (it was hard to keep track of the days when they all blended together) and they had showed no signs of stopping, periodically disappearing into the tunnels below the cave to do whatever it was they did down there, only emerging to give the the three of them food.

And yet… Bran has a point. The last time the Others came this way in our last life, the Children knew in advance. Was that because of the Bloodraven or their own magic?

...No. Leaf would be able to sense them, wouldn't she? She was responsible for their creation, after all, however unintentional. Bran did not blame the Child for her actions, for he knew, if he had been in the same situation Leaf had been… he would have done as she did within a heartbeat-

Something flickered in the distance as something seemed to rear its head momentarily, and the Stark froze.

Wait.

I recognize that steed.

As the figure- nay, the man- rode closer to the Great Weirwood Tree and the cave below it, his features became more and more clear. The horse he rode was a dark brown, almost as black as the cloak he wore over the furs of the Night's Watch-

Black steed. Black cloak. Beyond the Wall. The Night's Watch? What is a Black Brother doing all the way out here?

From within the cave, he heard the Children emerge from their root tunnels, though Bran cared little for them at the moment, not until Leaf came to his side and began to sing, her soft voice seemingly melding with the howling winds outside.

"Night gathered, and then his watch began," she seemed to whisper. "It did not end until his death. He took no wife, held no lands, fathered no children. He swore to wear no crowns and win no glory. He lived and died at his post. He was the sword in the darkness. He was the watcher on the walls. He was, and is, the shield that guards the realms of men. He pledged his life and honor to the Night's Watch, for that night and all the nights that came after. And now his watch his ended."

Besides him, he heard Meera inhale sharply as she recognized the song, the oath, for what it was, and then the man for who he was. "Is that-"

Then the man pulled the cowl from his face, and Bran almost wept with joy.

"UNCLE BENJEN!"

Jon

When Ghost had abruptly left his spot padding alongside Jon and Sansa, the former King in the North had stared in confusion, an emotion that only grew more so by the sheer elation he could feel coursing through his bond with his direwolf as Ghost ran for the gates to Castle Black. Apparently, Sansa felt the same, for she turned to him with a puzzled expression. "What's gotten Ghost so riled up?"

"I… I'm not sure…" Jon started, "but I can try to find out." With that, he dismounted and let himself fall into the mind of his direwolf, just for a moment. And, although Jon had only warged into his companion before returning to his own body for a moment, that moment had been enough for his thoughts to grind to a halt.

"...Shaggydog?"

At that, Sansa's head snapped towards him, dumbfounded. "Shaggydog? At- at Castle Black?! But that means… Rickon…"

There was a tense silence for a split-second before Jon abruptly remounted his horse, and the two Starks set their horses at a gallop towards the Wall, their minds racing.

If Shaggydog is there, what of Rickon?

They found their answer upon their return to the ancient keep, for as soon as Jon had ridden into the courtyard and dismounted again, he was tackled to the ground by a a direwolf not unlike his own, and Jon found himself being assaulted via tongue to the face by Rickon's direwolf. He lay there for a moment on the ground before he let out a laugh and reached upward rubbing Shaggydog's head. "Hello, boy. It's been a while, hasn't it?"

Seemingly agreeing with him, Shaggydog let out a cheerful bark before relenting his licking and turning on Sansa, who had similarly just dismounted her own horse, and she'd not even the time to shout in surprise before she was on the ground as well, laughing alongside him. "Gods, it's been so long!"

Sitting up, she wrapped her arms around the direwolf's neck, before turning to face Jon, smile slowly fading as her gaze moved around the courtyard, searching. "Shaggydog is here… but I don't see Rickon," she murmured, and Jon was suddenly brought out of his joyful state, he too standing himself up to do as Sansa had. Finding no trace of his youngest brother (cousin), Jon turned to his cousin, a question on his lips-

-only for said question to be left forgotten when someone wrapped him in a hug from behind.

"Crow!"

Chuckling, Jon clasped the arms of his new attacker. "Tormund. Seeing as you're back, I assume you finished what I asked?"

The Freefolk chieftain set him down, nodding. "Aye, that we did. There was no one to fight, actually. Boring, if you asked me. The kneeler girl, the one kissed-by-fire, she just came with us as soon as we arrived. Didn't put up a fight. Though, she's been gettin' along fine with one of the chieftains. Sigorn, I think." Tormund shrugged at that, and both Jon and Sansa, who had joined the men by now, shared a surprised look.

Alys Karstark and a Freefolk chief? Odd, but not the oddest thing in the world.

"The boy, on the other hand-" Tormund continued obliviously, "-he fought well for a boy of ten. Nearly gouged out the eyes of one of the climbers, heh. 'Sides him, nobody else really tried to stop us. Guess you were right."

Jon nodded at the news. He had been quite confident when he had sent his friend to retrieve the children of the traitor lords to hold hostage that such an endeavor would go well- as far as he could remember, both the Smalljon and Harald Umber had taken all their fighting men with them to Winterfell, leaving their keeps, and children, vulnerable.

The fools.

Jon knew, objectively, that holding children hostage was not an honorable thing to do. His un- father, while having been given custody over Theon, would never have done so had he been given the choice. He had been vehemently against it, siting it as dishonorable.

Dishonorable as it was, Jon found he did not quite care. With Alys Karstark and Ned Umber in his custody, he might be able to dictate how many men Ramsay could field, and that was not an advantage he could afford to give up. Not this time.

He had made that mistake before.

Never again.

To his side, Sansa caught sight of someone, and her face suddenly fell into its neutral mask.

"Tormund, who is that woman?"

Turning his head to look where Sansa had indicated, Jon, to his surprise, saw the woman the Lady Stark spoke of, which, in of itself, was rare enough within Castle Black's walls- the Freefolk women tended to stay within their camps in the Gift (not that it stopped the occasionally Black Brother and spearwife from coupling every once in a while), Melisandre kept to herself, and Brienne was off attempting to recruit the Blackfish. Though, her presence within the walls was not what caught Jon's attention, no- it was the fact that she was nonchalantly scratching behind Shaggydog's ears, and the fact that Rickon's direwolf was letting her.

They know each other.

Glancing at the woman, Tormund eyes lit up in recognition. "Aye, I was going to introduce you, anyways." Waving to the woman, who seemed to sigh and make her way over, Shaggydog right at her side, the Freefolk chieftain waited until she arrived before announcing her. "This is Osha."

Both Jon and Sansa eyed the newcomer warily, before Sansa nodded slightly. "Osha. A pleasure to meet you."

The woman snorted. "A kneeler lady happy to see me is somethin' I find hard t' believe." Then Osha's eyes softened abruptly, to both Sansa and Jon's surprise. "...but you Starks are a different breed of kneeler, aren't you? The little lord proved as much to me."

There was silence for a moment as the two Starks shared another shocked look before turning back to Osha with such speed that the woman flinched slightly. "'Little lord?' You speak of Rickon? You know where my brother is?!"

"I do, aye. Winterfell, I think." And, before either Jon or Sansa could think to question her as to why she and Shaggydog were here but not Rickon, she answers the unspoken query for them. "Woke me in the middle of the night, the little lord did. Told me to take his wolf and run to Castle Black, and was mighty insistent that I go without him. I didn't want to, but… he made me promise to seek out his family, what's left of it, I suppose." She gave a sad shrug. "So, here I am, askin' the last of the Starks to march south and save him."

The four of them stood in a melancholic stillness as they digested the Freefolk woman's words. Oddly enough, though, Jon felt his sadness at the loss of his brother slowly replaced by firm resolve.

Rickon… does he have memories of our old lives? He sent Osha and Shaggydog here, yet remained with the Umbers. He could have saved himself had he come with them.

But, the more pragmatic side of his mind spoke, had Shaggydog done so, there would have been nothing stopping the Umbers from marching here to take him, and Sansa. The Watch's barely recovered from the last few battles, and the Umbers have men of higher quality- we wouldn't have managed to hold them off long.

So he gave himself up, binding the Umbers to Winterfell, allowing us time to assemble a host large enough to take them on, like last time.

Unconsciously, Jon's grip on Longclaw's pommel tightened. Rickon knows. He remembers.

He remembers, yet… he allowed himself to be brought into captivity so we can reclaim the North.

His brother had intentionally given himself up to the man that would kill him, all in the hopes that they would win a battle the Rickon had never even lived to see to the end.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jon noticed that Sansa was trembling, a fiery rage in her eyes. She's realized what's happened just as I have.

"Gods damn them," she growled, suddenly moving from her spot, pacing to and thro. "Gods damn the Umbers to the Seven Hells for this! I'll tear down their keep to the last stone, just as father did the Tower of Joy!" Then, just as abruptly as her anger had erupted, it fled, and Sansa's shoulders slumped. "Gods, Rickon... what have you done?"

He had no answer to that, and Jon hated himself for it. All he could do was wrap Sansa in a warm embrace, and he felt the woman shudder against him and sigh. "...We've traveled far, and sundown is fast approaching. We should settle into our chambers for the night, I think. Alys Karstark and Ned Umber can wait till tomorrow."

And to that, Jon had no objections. He was tired- they both were, after their travels during the past few weeks. And the realization that Rickon had most likely voluntarily remained behind to stall Ramsay's armed response against them had only made him more weary. Gods, will this torment never end?

He did not voice those thoughts, however, opting only to nod in agreement at Sansa's words. "Aye, there's truth in that. A room and bed will be a welcome change from the last few weeks."

"Mm. Yes they would."

They had only taken a few steps towards the keep's entrance before one of the sentries on the southern wall blew his horn, and Jon immediately moved to shield Sansa from Castle Black's gate, Longclaw leaping out of its scabbard before he abruptly turned to the Freefolk chieftain behind him. "Tormund, keep Sansa safe."

"Aye, crow," the man nodded, and before the woman kissed-by-fire could a raise the protest he saw building behind her lips, Jon ran for the battlements and up the stairs, almost running into Edd as the new Lord Commander burst out of another room, sword drawn. "Fuckin' hells, your back!"

"Aye, but it seems like we've been followed," Jon hurriedly replied, and with that, the two Brothers made for the top of the walls, the sound of thousands of hoofbeats propelling them faster. Gods be good, that sounds like cavalry. But it can't be the Boltons, they should be at Winterfell! Gods be good, don't let it be the Boltons.

It was not the Boltons.

Upon reaching the turrets of Castle Black, both Jon and Edd, along with every other Black Brother on sentry duty, stared down in astonishment at what appeared to be hundreds of men mounted on shaggy beasts approaching from the east

"What the fuck are those?!" Edd murmured, and again, Jon had no answer.

Although, he need not have bothered to.

"Those, Lord Commander, are unicorns."

Jerking around, Jon found Sansa panting behind him, accompanied by both Tormund and Osha. The Freefolk chieftain had a What was I supposed to do? look on his face while Osha seemed indifferent, and Jon sighed. Parting his lips, he was about to berate Sansa for her lack of self-preservation (Gods damn it, Sansa, what if they were the Boltons, or some other enemy?) before suddenly pausing.

"Wait… unicorns?"

If what he remembered Sansa informing him was correct… "Then, that means-"

And Sansa grinned.

"Aye, Jon. The Skagosi have arrived."

A/N: I ain't dead yet.

Apologies this took so long, but I've been busy. Exams and stuff.

...I keep saying we'll get to Queenscrown next chapter and yet it never happens. At this point I'm a pathological liar, I'm sure.