Chapter 7

The largest portion of the population of the Free Folk was sent to live in Mole's Town after they crossed the Wall. There, a camp was set up by Val who had to painfully organize it from scratch. For the structures south of the Wall were very different from where they usually set up camp. She had placed the children, mothers, and those who couldn't protect themselves in the stone and wood buildings, while the rest set up tents of hide, skin, and felted wool in order. They were currently riding through one of the straight pathways the tents created, Val could see flashes of the white pelts that made up the biggest tent in the camp.

"Are you alright?" Jon asked when she faltered.

Mance's tent. Val and Dalla had sewn that tent from the pelts of snow bears Mance and some of his closest companions had hunted. Dalla's boy was born there. Dalla died in there holding her hand.

Val nodded, but she saw in Jon's eyes that he didn't believe her.

She distracted herself by watching the people around them. The Free Folk smiled, waved, or called out her name as she rode into the camp, and Val felt warm inside. They still love me. But as they noticed the man riding next to her, Val noticed some stared at him with the same devotion they had shown Mance. They didn't call him out or wave, but they would peer at him and then would look down to their feet.

Before she could process the almost sacred way the Free Folk were gazing at her love, a woman called for her immediate attention. Climbing off her horse, Val walked towards her.

"Emma," She called her, but her eyes were on the almost two-year-old sleeping in her arms. "How is he?"

"Stronger by the day," Emma said in a stern, but proud tone.

The woman was all steel and with the same strength. One of her oldest companions, Emma was a decade older than Val. Once, she had been Dalla's closest friend, and that above all, made Val pick her to watch over her nephew. A face marked by years of harsh weather and a hard life, Emma had lost her spearwife to the cold and her young brother to the Wall, and with them went all her smiles. But Val saw that caring for the boy lightened some part of her soul.

"He's bigger as well," Val said, a strange feeling coming over her. She missed him, she realized. It had been four moons since she last held her nephew, but it felt like a lifetime ago.

"Heavier too," Emma commented drily as she passed the babe into her arms.

Her nephew had Mance's brown hair and thin lips and Dalla's amber eyes and long nose, but Val liked to believe there was something of her in him as well.

"You can go, Emma. I'll take care of him now," Val said.

Emma nodded, and they went their separate ways.

At the front of the tent, Jon and the Free Folk leaders awaited her.

"Is that Mance's boy?" Jon asked, with a strange look on his face. "He's grown."

"I can almost name him," Val said, unable to keep from smiling.

"Do you have any idea?"

Val nodded but didn't say anything else, her small smile still settled on her face as she walked inside the council's tent, the boy resting in her arms.

.

.

Val took the place closest to the fire, softly rocking the boy back and forth. Despite the noise of arguments around them, her nephew didn't wake once. A heavy sleeper. He got that from Dalla. Mance could awake earlier than Val who rose with the sun.

Or she used to, at least. Sleep was evading her. She and Jon dozed most nights for a couple of hours, and she couldn't even say it was because of their lovemaking. It came to the point that the two of them would wake up to train.

Val hadn't trained in archery this much since Stannis confined her to a tower in Castle Black.

"We made an agreement, Dim."

Dim Dalba was one of the elderly warriors that survived the Battle of the Wall, and a member of Dalla's tribe… Val's now. He had accompanied Jon to Hardhome at her request, and survived it too.

"Yeah, Val. We said we'd fight with King Crow when the time comes and we meant it, but this isn't what we agreed to. These aren't White Walkers. This isn't an army of the dead men. This isn't our fight."

King Crow? When did Jon go from Lord Crow to King? That Val and Jon were lovers or married was something that was going around the tongues of her people for moons, but when Val came to see the camp, they would call Jon, Lord Crow or Val's husband. King Crow?

Is their loyalty placed in Jon now? Then why King Crow and not 'King Jon' or 'Our King'?

"They made it our fight," Val countered. "That Bolton lord made it clear with the letter he sent to Jon. He will come for us, mark my words."

"Because of King Crow. If not fer him, we'd be safe." Soren replied sourly, while gesturing at Jon.

Val knew Soren would be the hardest to convince, but she had not expected the old man to go against her. He was the closest she had to kin besides the boy in her lap.

"If it weren't fer him, none of us would be here," Tormund replied, without his usual cheer. "All of you'd be meat in the Night King's army. And I'd be a pile of charred bones, just like Mance."

"Remember Mance's camp, Val?" Dim spoke, mostly ignoring Tormund. "It stretched all the way to the horizon. And look at us now. Look what's left of us. And if we lose this, we're gone. All you've worked fer. Dozens of tribes, hundreds of generations. Be like we were never here at all. We'll be the last of the Free Folk. Is that what you committed your life to?"

Val looked at the babe in her lap. Dalla had desired a little one for so long. She and Mance lost two before, and to be blessed with their hearts desire only to never actually see him for more than a few heartbeats... The Gods were cruel, Val knew it well, but they were truly cruel to her kin.

Val had once lost a babe. He had white hair and pale blue eyes with hints of red... Val had been so scared when she saw him. Albinos, she learned, were blessed or cursed by the Gods, depending on the tales, but they were instruments of Them either way.

The Red Woman had caused Val sleepless nights when she first saw her. Not just because of her power, but those eyes. Melisandre may say she was from Asshai, but Val knew the eyes of one of the Gods' representatives.

Red.

Like blood.

Like Him.

Val had been an instrument of the Gods and wanted nothing to do with it. She remembered the corpses, the dreams, and the Greenseer. Lady Shiera had shown her how dark sorcery could be... She wanted nothing to do with it.

Jon's voice brought her back. He was saying something, but she only caught the last part.

"It's not the deal we made. But I need you with me if we're gonna beat them, and we need to beat them if you're going to survive."

"The Crows killed him because he spoke for the Free Folk when no other Southerners would. He died for us! If we're not willin' to do the same for him, we're cowards. And if that's what we are, we deserve to be the last of the Free Folk."

"We aren't the last of us," Val said with a conviction her people were lacking with each passing day. "Gods willing, we shall have babes to tell our songs to, and their babes will have babes as well. We might no longer be living as we once did. Perhaps some of us will wish to stay here. Maybe others will return to the lands of their forefathers. But we won't be the last of the Free Folk," she gazed sternly at the clansmen and then back to Dalla's boy. "We have a choice if we fight with Jon Snow. The Boltons won't give us a choice besides the sword or the rope."

At the end of her speech, Wun Wun stood.

.

.

Val found Tormund in his tent, sharing a drink with Soren. They both looked at her, but neither spoke. She took a seat next to them and poured herself a mug.

"I went over our food supplies. Everything is ready to go," Val said to the two men. "Dim and his men will come with me. And Sigorn already left with his. The two of you will be left in charge of the attack on the Umbers, as planned..."

"The pale-haired boy, what did he want?"

"He came with a letter from Ser Davos," Val explained to Tormund. "Some of Stannis' men took refuge at Queenscrown. They will fight for us. The boy is a lordling, so I'll take him with me. He is to be Jon's squire."

He's a Velaryon. I want him under my watch.

"There were some good men in Stannis' camp," Tormund offered.

"Let's hope those are the surviving ones," Val replied, then turned to the silent one of the duo.

"Where is your crow?" Soren asked.

"Training, like he does every morning."

Val didn't speak of the restless nights. Jon would turn in their bed, his siblings' names on his lips. Sometimes, he would whisper Ygritte's name too. Once, Jon said no name at all but woke up with frightful eyes and something savage in their depths that chilled her. He was colder than a winter's wind when he held her against his body. Val, fearing him turning sick, began stripped their furs hoping her warm body would help him, but he just kissed her forcefully, with a passion that merged with desperation. Between those kisses, he whispered her name, bit her neck, and held her. Eventually, his shaking stopped, but then, instead of getting up, he kissed her until the sun shone outside their tent and they had to move.

"He's a good fighter. I'll give ya that."

Val raised an eyebrow sardonically. They were there in the camp for four days, and Soren had fought him the day before and lost.

"Fine, he's bloody good with that blade of his. I wouldn't wanna to cross him on the battlefield."

"He wasn't always that good. Once Mance beat him with ease." Val muttered while remembering the event.

And the next day, Mance took Jon aside and trained with him. He saw something in Jon that day, perhaps since they first met in that tent that was too fine for Val to rip to pieces.

"What do the Free Folk think?"

"The man died, Val. Many of our trusted saw it. You saw it," Soren said seriously. "He came back. His wolf is alive. How can the Gods not have chosen him as Their champion?"

"You sound like the Red Woman," Val said, shifting in her seat.

"Perhaps she just picked the wrong King."

"And Gods," Tor added. "But you already knew that, didn't ya Val? You've set your eyes on Jon Snow the moment you saw he came to us. You might have ignored him until the Wall, but I saw how you would somehow end up near 'em, but far enough not to have anyone notice." 'Except for me, Tormund's eyes were sharp as he looked at her. It was easy to forget how astute Tor could be. And Val, like most, forgot that.

"Jon's generation of Starks all have direwolves. His is the only one who has white fur and red eyes." Val looked at the cup. "A Stark with Blackwood blood. Bael's blood. With a wolf with red eyes. I knew he was important the moment he walked in the camp."

I felt it. It was the man of her dreams. The white wolf, with a bard's blood and the darkest of eyes. He was missing the crown of blue and red gemstones, but she knew it. She had dreamt of him for years, after all.

As a girl, she had believed him to be her soulmate. Time taught her that the Gods care little for who you loved, and much more about their Games. The white wolf was important, not what Val did with him. But when she saw him, fresh-faced but the potential for so much more, Val wanted him. Ygritte's clear claim over him made her stop and watch from the sidelines.

Thank the Gods that I did it. I would have bedded him for his blood and his destiny. Not for love. Love grew between them during the long moons at Castle Black.

"Blackwood?" Soren asked, looking confused.

"A bloodline of powerful skinchangers and greenseers," she replied.

His bloodline. "Bloodlines are something our people care little about." Unless it's Bael's. Hers. Jon's. "Our people see him as a King."

"No. They see you as their King," Soren corrected. "Jon Snow is a god amongst men."

"Do you believe that?" she asked, while her brows knit in curiosity.

Soren's eyes were fixed on hers. "Once, a little girl told me she dreamt 'bout a green and blue lady coming for her and to take her to see big 'ole castles and long caves. Dreamt of a great army of Free Folk and a man in a cloak of black and red leading them. Of death rising. Of stags on fire killin' our people. I ignored most of it as childish dreams. Until she left and then came back. And all of it came true, and I never again ignored her words."

"Those dreams left the girl a long time ago." she retorted softly.

"Did ya dream of Jon Snow?" Tormund asked her. "Is that why ya told Mance ta bring him under his protection?"

Val nodded at her most trusted. I dreamt much more about Jon Snow. Of pleasures, of pains, of pretty boys from the oldest of towns, and a woman with moonlight in her hair. She dreamt of direwolves, stags, birds of all types.

And dragons.

"Marry the boy Val," Soren urged her. "You let Dalla have Mance when ya shoulda been the one who we called Queen. Don't be lettin it happen again."

"I fought for the respect our people have for me," she said fiercely, "I don't need a King by my side anymore."

"No, not a King," he said warningly, "You need Jon Snow."

.

.

As Jon walked inside the tent they gave him and Val -he almost blushed at how natural Tormund had said it - he found Val sitting on an assortment of pelts and singing softly to the boy. She was stroking his hair as she sang, but the boy was distracted by Ghost. His direwolf was very gentle, for someone who had a child pulling on his fur. Jon stopped to watch the scene. Occasionally, the boy's eyes would gaze at Val with childlike innocence and curiosity then back to Ghost.

It was an image out of his dreams. A dream he never imagined would turn real. Did my mother ever get to hold me? Did she sing to me?

Val eventually ended the song and turned to him, nodding for him to approach. Jon sat next to them, and soon Mance's boy was trying to climb onto him. Jon looked to Val for help, distress written all over his face.

"You can hold him, you know." Val teased him while holding in laughter "Or don't you know how?"

"I used to hold my youngest siblings," Jon said without thinking, then turned somber.

"Your brother Rickon, the one the Boltons have. He is the youngest?"

"Yes. I thought him dead, like Bran."

Val came closer, hugging him and laying her head on his shoulder. "Tell me about them, Bran and Rickon."

Jon spoke for what felt like hours as Val eventually guided him and the slumbering boy to their sleeping furs. He kept on speaking as he held her hand, and their arms protected the boy between them.

Then as he finished his tale, he watched Val's soft gaze and blonde curls through the light of the fire. She is lovely, he thought for the thousandth time. Then he remembered the confident way she spoke at meetings, and how she was the logistic leader of the Free Folk. Val could count, read and write. If the books she picked said something about her capacity for literacy, she was smarter than some lords he knew.

Lovely and lethal. And clever.

For some reason, Jon's mind went to Tyrion Lannister's words. He hadn't seen the Lannister in many years, but his words were still clear in his mind, clear like it was yesterday.

'A mind needs books like a sword needs a whetstone'

"I should have taken Stannis' offer," he confessed. Val only blinked. "I should have taken you as my wife. We could have taken Winterfell by now. Rickon would be the Lord, and I would help him rule as I should have Robb. We might have a son by now," Jon looked at the boy between them. "We would've fostered Dalla's boy and raised him as our own. He would grow up with our children as brothers. And Rickon's too, once he was old enough to have them."

Val's eyes shone. "We still can, Jon. We still can. There are no vows to stop you from it now."

"Would you?" His voice was shaky. "You would marry me?"

"Of course I would, you idiot."

.

.

Val was going over the perishable cargo they were to take with them when two horses arrived. She held her hand up to stop whoever was talking to her and ran to meet them.

"Princess Val," the handsome man bowed. She knew him well, for he had tried to marry her before Stannis rode out. Ser Justin Massey.

Her eyes, however, were on the smaller horse and the two younger folks atop the bay. The tallest, a boy - Ser Davos' son, the one who left with King Stannis, Val knew as soon as she saw his face - helped the smaller one climb off the animal. The frightened, trembling one, with a dress that was torn apart in some places, a fur cloak dirty and too large for her was...

"How?" Val asked, perplexed. "We got word from Ser Davos about Queenscrown, but... How?"

She looked at the girl's blue eyes. Scared, but broken in a way she wasn't before. The girl looked back not to her, but Ser Justin like he was a savior out of tales.

"The Red Woman, she tried... Ser Davos was at the Wall, and they were all agreeing. I... I couldn't let them."

Val looked at the girl with a scarred face and kingsblood. She knew what he was trying to say all at once.

Author's Note:

SibealDeEpona: Thank you for your kind words.

The great gamer: Contrary to D&D beliefs, Jon has had a brain from day one. I am glad to show it from time to time.

ParadoxTheory374: Well, I know my story isn't for everyone