Evening's golden light shimmered on the Wall, as Jon sat in the yard of Castle Black, polishing Dark Sister's smoky blade in the waning light. He examined the rippling steel and deadly sharp edge, trying to catch a glimpse of the creature he'd hewn in two with it. Those piercing blue eyes were still glaring at him in his mind's eye, and his biceps still ached from warding off its hacking blows. How could they defeat an army of such powerful beings?
Longclaw lay beside him in its black leather sheath, the garnet eyes of the pommel staring at the clouds overhead, patiently waiting for its turn for cloth and oil. The bastard sword was so long he'd do better to sling it over his back than carry it at his waist. Perhaps he would return the sword to Bear Island once the wars were over… in the meantime, he didn't mind having a spare Valyrian steel sword for Dany. Gods, I hope she never has to use it.
He'd only just emerged from their chambers, the fresh brisk air welcoming after spending much of the day inside. Dany had taken little Aemon to the library where Gilly and Craster's
babe would be. His stomach turned to think of the boy left for dead on the forest floor.
The heavy iron gate of the tunnel leading to the Haunted Forest remained closed. It would be a few days before Edd, Grenn and the others returned. It wasn't right, them marching back on foot while he'd been able to return to the keep in a mere matter of hours.
"You saw a white walker!" Arya shouted as her slight frame came bounding to him from across the yard.
Jon laughed, returning Dark Sister to her scabbard. "I killed one, little sister."
"Gods, I wish I could have seen it!" she lamented, sitting on the ground beside him. "I am not staying back next time."
"If you'd have seen it, you'd be begging to stay behind."
"What did it look like?"
Jon thought for a moment. Though he couldn't shake the image from his mind,the monster was hard to describe. "It was tall... sort of old looking but not… made of ice…"
Arya was unimpressed. "Tall and made of ice? That's all you can say?"
"I don't know how to describe it. Ask Daenerys. She saw it too."
"Where is she?"
"She and Aemon are in the library with Gilly and Craster's babe."
Arya leaned closer. "What was it like to fight it?"
"It was brutally strong," he replied, muscles throbbing again. "It knocked me around like I was nothing… but Dark Sister… she cut through it like butter."
Arya's eyes grew as wide as saucers. "My brother slayed a white walker… Did you bring its body back with you? Can I see it?"
"No, after I killed the thing, it shattered into shards of ice. I was lucky," he said. And that was true. "It was sort of toying with me… like it didn't think I could kill it… and without Valyrian steel, I don't think I could have."
Arya's eyes darted to Longclaw, and she picked it up, fingers running over the white face of the direwolf pommel. "This is Ghost. Where did you get this?"
"It's called Longclaw. Commander Mormont had wished to gift it to me."
She pulled it out of its sheath far enough to examine the blade, and her jaw dropped. "Valyrian steel. You have two Valyrian steel swords!"
"Dark Sister belongs to Daenerys now," he said. She would be the second Targaryen Queen to wield it.
"Needle was a good sword," Arya replied as her whole body shrugged.
His heart sank. "Aye. I was happy to give it to you. I tried to imagine you practicing somewhere in King's Landing… like I was there with you."
"Father found me practicing with it," she said wistfully. "I thought he would take it away but he found me an instructor instead."
Jon smiled but a heaviness washed over him. Arya didn't often talk of her time in King's Landing nor did Jon ask. "He knew you were wild," he said, messing her hair. "It couldn't be helped."
"I miss him."
"So do I."
"I think he understood I was never going to be a lady… not like Sansa. What do you think he'd think of me being here?"
"I've only been a father for a short while, but I think he would want you to be happy, lady or not."
Arya wrapped her skinny arms around him, a tight little hug like the ones she used to give him before the world fell apart.
All of a sudden, there was a flash of black feathers as Mormont's Raven landed on Jon's shoulder and squawked, "Lady! Corn, corn, corn."
Jon was growing used to the mysterious bird and produced a handful of yellow kernels for him to peck at.
Arya's eyebrows rose on her forehead. "Are you carrying corn around in your pocket like an old man?"
"Aemon likes to feed him," Jon said defensively.
"Funny, I don't see Aemon here."
Jon ignored his sister's words as Mormont's raven crowed, "Aemon, Aemon, Aemon."
Jon stroked its smooth, black feathers. "Shall we go find him then?"
The raven remained clasped on his shoulder as he rose to his feet, throwing Longclaw over her shoulder.
"Who is that?" Arya asked.
Two strange men were standing in the yard with Ser Alliser. A large man in red robes, standing out like a wilting rose growing out of a patch of dirt, and a slight man with red gold hair and a black satin cloak covered in stars. The smaller man locked eyes with Jon, and soon both men were both crossing the yard to greet them.
"Arya Stark," the man in the starry cloak greeted his sister with a bow. "And you must be Jon Snow, or is it Jon Targaryen now? We saw your dragons flying overhead as we travelled north. A sight I never dreamed I'd see."
Jon eyed him carefully. "Have we met, My Lord?"
"No, but I knew your father. He was an honorable man. I am Beric Dondarrion, and this is Thoros of Myr." The man in the red robes nodded at his introduction.
"I saw you at the Hand's Tourney," Arya said.
"Then you saw me unhorse this one," Thoros said with a smirk.
"How did you know my father?" Jon asked.
"Which one?" asked Thoros. "I knew them both."
"Ned Stark commanded us to detain Ser Gregor Clegane and bring him back to King's Landing for justice," Beric stated.
"We were unsuccessful, of course," Thoros added. "But we gave the Lannister men hell in the Riverlands."
"We heard justice found Ser Gregor Clegane anyway," Beric stated approvingly.
"That he did," Jon replied grimly. "What are you doing here?"
"Only passing through," Beric answered, looking towards the black gate. "In the morning, we will head out beyond."
"Why?" Arya asked. "What are you looking for?"
"We don't know for certain," Thoros said with a shrug. "We only know what the Lord of Light shows us in the flames."
"It's dangerous out there," Jon told them. "Even for the most seasoned rangers. Many who go out, do not return."
"We go by the will of the Lord of Light," said Thoros with a bow. "Valar morghulis." Then the two men headed toward the common hall.
"He looks different from when I saw him in King's Landing." Arya said. "Sansa and Jeyne were swooning over him at the tourney. Now he looks like a haggard old man."
"War changes people," Jon said, but couldn't shake an eerie chill that crept up his spine.
"War," squawked the raven from atop Jon's shoulder. "War, war, war." And then he flew off toward the rookery. They both watched it go.
"Come on," Jon said to his little sister, ushering her away.
Little Aemon was sitting atop a dark brown fur near Dany's feet, his toy direwolf made several shades darker by his drool as he gummed it intently. Sometimes he took it out of his mouth long enough to study it for a moment, before lodging it back inside again. Cutting teeth was tiresome work, and he'd been wailing for his mama more often than usual that day.
Towering shelves stacked with books and piles of scrolls were all around them, the smell of parchment and mildew filling the damp vaults of Castle Black were il-lit, devoid of natural light, and the cold was as inescapable here as it was above ground.
Craster's last son lay dreaming in her arms, his tiny body offering some comfort from the crisp air. Small and utterly helpless, Aemon was so big in comparison to this new babe. The little thing had narrowly escaped death or worse, left squalling on a frozen forest floor.
Gilly sat across from them, nursing her own son, Little Sam. Shortly after they had returned, Sam had told Gilly of Craster's babe, and she had been insistent that she should care for the child. Her family after all. She was a small girl, quiet and watchful like a rabbit who could dart away at any moment.
"Have you been able to manage taking care of both of them?" Dany asked. "Are you sure you don't need a nursemaid?"
Gilly's eyes were wide and uncertain. "I can manage… m' lady." She spoke the last word slowly, as though she were making sure to get it right. "He's my sister Nella's boy. This would be her seventh son."
Seven sons born and seven sons lost. How cruel fate could be. "You must be very brave, leaving your family, running here. It's a hard thing to leave the only home you've ever known…" Viserys' angry, violet eyes bore into her mind. "No matter how unpleasant."
Gilly tucked away her breast as her son finished nursing. "I miss my sisters but I had to for my boy. I'm all he has."
Dany nodded in understanding, sure she would do the same for her own son.
Little Aemon began to cry, eyes red and chubby hands balled into fists, his direwolf tossed aside in rebellion. Dany lay Nella's sleeping babe in his bassinet, stopping for a moment to scratch Ghost behind the ears before scooping Aemon up into her arms.
She assured him with soft words before letting him latch onto her breast. His eyes blinked slowly until they closed as she stroked his forehead.
An icy fear ran up her spine as the memories of events from the night before came creeping back. She looked at Gilly again. "The gods Craster would make sacrifices too… these were the white walkers?"
"We never called them white walkers," Gilly said. "To us they were cold gods… white shadows… ones that come in the night."
The hair stood up on the back of Dany's neck. "That's terrifying," she admitted. "My dragon, Dreamfyre, is fiercely protective of me, and yet he wouldn't go near… he couldn't go near."
"Old magic," Gilly replied. "I don't know much of these things, but I'm glad to be on this side of the Wall."
"Yes, old magic," Dany said in realization. "It was said that Queen Alysanne could not coax her dragon, Silverwing, to pass beyond the Wall."
Gilly only stared at Dany for a moment before returning her attention to Little Sam. The girl was skittish and so Dany ceased her questioning.
Aemon had fallen asleep, and Dany cradled him in her arms as she ventured into the next room, Ghost padding silently beside her. Samwell Tarly was sitting before a table covered with dusty maps and tattered books. Some appeared so old, their corners were crumbling away.
The room was dim and cavernous, books piled all around them. She was used to visiting Uncle Aemon here, but he was somewhere above meeting with Ser Alliser and Bowen Marsh to begin preparation for the process of picking a new Lord Commander.
Sam's great round body jerked nervously when he saw her come in. He was always nervous.
"I've never seen so many books before," she said. She'd become acquainted with numerous libraries since she crossed the Narrow Sea, but this was the most dilapidated and decayed. It'd take far less effort to set this room ablaze than it did the library in the manse.
"Y-yes," he stumbled. "Thousands… some text so ancient, not even the Citadel has them." He gestured to a book open before him. "Here is a book on the language of the Children."
Dany moved around the table to get a better look. The document was covered in strange markings that were unintelligible to her, the print beginning to fade. "Remarkable," she whispered. "What have you read of white walkers?"
"Not as much as you might hope," he admitted, glumly. " And nothing you don't already know. The Children allied with men to fight them centuries ago."
"Jon said they would gift dragonglass daggers to the Watch… Why would they do that? I thought humans were their greatest enemy."
"We were, but the white walkers became a greater threat still… to both sides."
Dany wished she would have asked Ash more questions when they were at Greywater Watch. "We met one you know… a Child of the forest."
"That must have been incredible."
"It was," Dany replied, remembering the strange being. "And unnerving. I wish we had more answers… So many stories, visions, and prophecies and yet we know so little. Old Nan tells a tale about a thing that comes in the night… it would kill brothers at the Nightfort, and no one could quite describe what it looked like."
"W-who is Old Nan? Some kind of priestess?"
"A wet nurse Winterfell."
"Oh…"
"After hearing Old Nan's tales, I thought these creatures must be undead," Dany said, feeling colder still. "But it didn't feel dead… It looked like a man frozen through, radiating cold hatred. You saw one as well?"
"I agree, whatever it was, it was not a dead man. The Others can somehow animate our dead, and command them, but they are something different altogether."
Ghost's ears perked up at the sound of approaching footsteps, and he rose to greet his master as Jon walked in, with Arya, his skinny shadow.
He pressed a kiss to her forehead as he joined her. "Is Sam boring you with his love of ledgers and ancient maps?"
Sam was unamused. "These boring ledgers and maps could hold the key to defeating the white walkers."
"Have you found anything?" Jon asked.
"No," Sam admitted.
Dany met Jon's eyes. "We need to go out there."
Jon sighed. "Of course, you think so."
"Do you disagree?"
"No," he said, picking up a frail map. "If we go on dragonback, it should be safe enough, especially if we take a couple of brothers with us. Ones that went on the ranging with the Lord Commander."
"That's a brilliant idea," Sam said. "You'll be able to see Mance's movements as well and get us news far sooner than scouts."
Arya put her hands on the table, pinning her brother with her similarly dark eyes. "I'm going with you."
"Arya..." Jon started.
"I can help you!" she insisted desperately. "I'm quiet and quick and I can take care of myself."
Conflict was plain on Jon's face, and Dany could almost read his thoughts. He harbored guilt for all his little sister went through after fleeing from King's Landing. Jon cast her a glance to which she returned a quick nod, and Arya's eyes went wide with anticipation.
"Alright," he conceded. "But you're not going to leave my side, and you'll do as I say."
Arya grinned triumphantly, and lept into her brother's arms.
"You're not exactly a seasoned ranger…" Jon said, setting Arya back on her feet. "We'll need someone who's good with a sword. That leaves you out, Sam."
Sam was offended. "Hey, I killed a white walker, same as you."
"Are you offering to join us, then?"
"Well, no," Sam said quietly. "What about Edd? Without him, I'd never have survived the Fist of the First Men. Once he's returned, that is."
"Yes, Edd," Dany agreed, brushing her fingers against the frayed edges of a map. "That will give us ample time to prepare."
One might have thought the wormwalks beneath Castle Black would have offered a reprieve from the bitter cold above but down below, the chill seeped deeper into Jon's bones. The stale smell of damp earth brought up memories of the crypt back home, but there were no statues to glorify the lord commanders of days gone by.
In one hand he held a torch to light their path, and the blunted blade of a sparring sword in the other. Dany kept up with his steps behind him, moving more stiffly than usual, impeded by perhaps more bulky wool armor than was necessary. He'd no intention of striking her, but all the same he would ensure she wasn't harmed.
"This should do," he said as he hung the torch on the wall.
"It's hard to see," she replied. "Perhaps we should have stayed in the yard."
"Nonsense, this is perfect. Battles are fought in the dark too."
She nodded resignedly, inspecting her own sparring sword. Dany exuded confidence in most everything she did, save when she had a sword in her hand, and with the wars to come, that would need to change.
"Are you ready?" he asked.
"I can barely move in this armor and I'm still cold," she said, rolling her shoulders.
"Good. Armor is the difference between life and death more often than not." He stepped back to inspect her in the flickering orange light. "Alright, show me your stance."
The corners of his mouth lifted as she stood at the ready. She was such a little thing, puffed up from her armor.
"Good," he assured her. Coming around her, he gently kicked her feet into place and adjusted her sword arm. Satisfied, he readied his own weapon. "Alright, show me what the Mormont girls taught you."
Uncertainty transformed into a determination across her face as she lunged at him. A better move than he expected, but he stepped back and blocked her blow easily. "Not bad. You're already much better than Samwell Tarly."
She glowered at him. "That doesn't sound like a compliment."
She came at him again in an effort to take him by surprise, and he countered her strike, knocking the hilt out of her small hands.
Huffing in irritation, she shot him a glare.
It was an effort not to find her adorable, and he bit his cheek to keep from snickering as he retrieved her sword off the packed earth floor. "Move your feet next time," he instructed, returning her sword hilt first. "Or I'll knock you on your little arse."
"Fine," she said, pursing her lips to hold back a grin of her own.
"Again."
He was mildly surprised when she lifted the sword above her head as if to strike him, and made to kick him in the groin. Before he could think, he caught her ankle, the clang of her sword echoing around them as she fell hard to the ground.
"Seven hells!" he cursed, dropping to his knees beside her. "Are you alright?"
Laid up on her back, her face was hidden in her hands while she laughed uncontrollably.
He laughed then too, and pulled her hands away, revealing her cheeks were flush, but her smile was true.
"Alysane taught me that one."
"I bet she did," he said, tugging her into a seated position. "A worthy move when you're able to land it."
She pressed her silver head against his shoulder with a sigh. "This is pointless, Jon."
"You're just feeling sorry for yourself now," he told her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Come on, get back up." She grumbled but let him help her to her feet. "I'll tell you something Ser Rodrick taught me- know your opponent. You're expecting me to underestimate you. And I know better than that."
He attacked first this time, going through the motions, but with much less force behind it, and it was a relief to see her present a decent block. "Good work," he told her sincerely and a sunny smile bloomed on her face. She wasn't ready for war, but it was something they could improve upon.
They continued trading blows, Jon testing how much force he could put behind his strikes, perhaps he was going too easy on her. He made mental note of each time she left herself open, aware of the grim reality of what would happen if she did the same with the enemy. When she did it again, he swept a side stroke against her ribs, a feather-light tap compared to what he might give another man in the training yard.
"Ow!" she cried, eyes wide in disbelief.
"Sorry," he said, sheepishly. "You just keep leaving yourself open. Do you think a white walker will treat you more sweetly?"
Letting her sword fall to the ground, she made to punch him in the arm, but he caught her and spun her about, arms wrapping around her body and trapping her against him. "You're in trouble now, Dany," he said. "And you've lost your sword. What are you gonna do-"
His words were halted by a painful kick against his shin. Oddly comforted by her show of self-defense, he released her from his hold and she was the picture of self satisfaction.
Unwilling to resist any longer, he pulled her close and tasted her mouth. Her fingertips left tingling trails along the line of his jaw. "That's enough for today," he said, tearing himself away. "We'll go again tomorrow."
"Is that so?" She replied before kissing him deeper. "Don't I have a say?"
"No," he said straight-faced, only half joking.
She laughed lightly, a playful sparkle in her violet eyes."Do you plan to rough me up everyday?"
"I plan to teach you how to defend yourself."
"My very own master at arms. Very well, I'll agree to it so long as you help me with my cuts and bruises afterwards."
"I'm at your service."
"Good," she answered simply. "You can start by getting me out of this armor."
Aemon was a toasty little bundle against her chest, rosy cheeks and silky midnight curls. Sleeping peacefully, innocent to the dangers all around. Blissfully unaware that in the morning they'd be leaving him in the care of his newly acquainted uncle and a nursemaid. Ghost and Ser Barristan would provide fierce and formidable protection, but still the thought of him missing her tore at her heart.
His cradle sat empty, as she was unable to part with him, growing desperate for more time. Fat tears rolled down her cheeks as she rocked him and held him tighter. Ghost laid his heavy head in her lap, offering her his silent support which only weakened her resolve, until her tears flowed in a steady stream. What kind of mother was she to leave him in this cold and lonely place?
Footsteps in the hallway and the deep timbre of Jon's voice greeting the guards outside the door had her wiping her eyes. She had wanted to come here, insisted, and here she was weeping about it. Jon had been reluctant to agree in the first place, he couldn't be pleased she was so willing to desert their precious son. They'd both suffered childhoods without mothers. Was she setting her son up for a fate she'd wanted to spare him?
She couldn't face her husband when the door creaked open, and she slammed her eyes shut, focusing on the soft weight of her babe, and the sweet smell of him. Jon was quiet as his wolf as he approached, a crisp chill emanating from his clothes, his hand coming to rest on her knee.
"He will be alright, Dany."
"I know," she said, drying her eyes one last time before opening them. "I just wish it didn't have to be this way."
He gave her knee a gentle squeeze before rising, holding out his arms in silent request. Reluctantly, she gave the babe's forehead one more kiss before passing him into Jon's arms. Her eyes followed sorrowfully as Jon rocked around the room, studying little Aemon's face as if to commit it to memory. Finally he pressed his lips against a tiny fist and lay him down in his cradle.
"We should get some rest," he said softly, and she took his offered hand. "This will be our last night in a comfortable bed for a while."
Burrowing under the furs, she snuggled against his chest, her troubles were always further away in his company. "Do you ever wish I was different? That I was more like a true lady? One who sews and sings? Who stays home and safely on the ground?"
His eyes narrowed with skepticism. "Is this a trick?"
"Sometimes I wonder if it would be easier that way," she said, searching Jon's eyes. "Better for Aemon perhaps."
"Home and safe does sound tempting…," he replied, surrounding her in a warm embrace. "But if you weren't the brave, stubborn, fire wielding girl you are, we'd never have come this far."
The consultation of his words was short lived. "I don't want him to suffer the way we did."
Tilting her chin up, his gaze was steady and serious. "He won't. One day soon, he'll have a castle of his own for a home, and a mother and father at his side, watching him grow… surrounded by ten brothers and sisters."
"Ten?" Dany laughed in surprise. "Presumptuous are we?"
His eyes shined as he chuckled. "One day, all of this will be behind us."
"It's hard to imagine that when there's an army of dead men out there somewhere."
"Aye, there are dangers still to come."
"That's how it has been since I met you, Jon Snow. Running from one peril to the next."
"I seem to recall you wanting an adventure," he said, the indignation in his voice making her giggle.
"An adventure is certainly what I've gotten."
"It hasn't all been bad," he grumbled against her neck.
"No, it hasn't," she replied, her fingers slipping through his. "Do you think we'll grow bored one day? When all our adventures are done and we're ruling from the Red Keep?"
"I don't know. Boredom doesn't sound so bad right now."
"Do you think you'll tire of me? When I'm old and my body's grown soft from carrying your numerous sons and daughters?"
"You're full of questions tonight," he answered through a yawn. "But, no. That's never going to happen."
"That's what you say now," she teased with a playful nudge. "Until you're a king, and lords parade their pretty daughters in front of you."
"You trying to get rid of me?"
"Don't think I'd make it so easy."
Morning had arrived too quickly as it often did for difficult days. Jon wasn't sure he'd slept at all or if he had laid awake all night, staring into the pitch. He mentally rehearsed every scenario that could go wrong in that harsh and untamed land.
He berated himself for agreeing to take Arya. Gods, what had he been thinking? What they needed was another brother in case they were taken by surprise by Wildlings. But who was he trying to fool? If he didn't take her, she'd probably sneak off on her own, feral as she was.
They'd brought little Aemon to his uncle in the rookery, hopeful the ravens would distract him enough to abate any tears when they'd turn to leave. Arya kissed his cheek and delicately ruffled his soft, ever sprouting hair, and Dany rocked him lovingly, whispering promises into his ear. She had maintained her composure although being parted from him wounded her greatly.
Leaving him was harder than Jon had imagined, but he reminded himself he would be well protected. Ser Barristan and Ghost would watch over him, and there was no one else he trusted more than his direwolf to guard his son.
Edd was dutifully waiting for them in the yard, grim and long faced. The sky was as cloudless as they could have hoped for as they stepped out into the light of day. The yard was all but empty with Dreamfyre and Rhaegal looming large at the gate, saddled and waiting restlessly. Viserion would stay behind.
Jon spied Greyjoy sulking near the barracks, conversing with a man Jon didn't recognize. "Who's that Greyjoy is talking to?"
Edd followed Jon's gaze. "Name's Locke. New recruit. He was sent to us along with a few others from the White Harbour."
He glared at Theon until he slunk off like a sly fox. "I should send him back to Winterfell. He's no use to us here."
Arya groaned and rolled her eyes. "He came to help. What's wrong with that?"
It aggravated Jon that even Arya was blinded to Theon's sordid nature. "When have you known Greyjoy to do anything that wasn't entirely selfish?"
His little sister didn't respond, a glazed expression coming over her eyes.
"She's right, Jon," Dany said, patting Dreamfyre's snout to calm him. "You aren't boys anymore. It's time to put your rivalry aside."
They didn't understand. Dany pitied him and Arya romanticized their childhood together at Winterfell. Everyone assumed Jon's dislike of the Iron Islander was superficial. A ward and a bastard, destined to compete for the slim scraps of attention and favor they were afforded, but it ran deeper than that. Jon could read people the way Sam could read books, and he always understood that Theon was dubious at his best.
It didn't matter now. He'd worry about Greyjoy another time.
Coming alongside Dany, he followed her lead, patting Rhaegal's massive maw. Then he cleared his throat and spoke so only she could hear. "I've only known Edd to be an honorable man, but…"
Dany raised an eyebrow. "But if he's not, he'll go plummeting to the cold, hard ground," she said definitively, a corner of her mouth lifting at the end.
He'd much rather Arya rode with her, but their journey was not without danger. "If anything should happen or if we're separated, I'd feel more at ease with you being with a capable swordsman."
"I know," she said, squeezing his hand before turning to the steward. "Are you ready to fly, Edd Tollet?"
Edd grimaced, tilting his head up at Dreamfyre's horned head. "He won't attack me, will he?"
"No," Dany replied, also casting a glance up at the dragon. "No, I don't think so."
"Hmmm," Edd murmured skeptically. But after Dany had seated herself, he climbed up, both dragon and black brother keeping a wary eye on one another.
Arya bounded up on Rhaegal after Jon, displaying an unnatural ease with the lethal beast. Thankfully the swift green dragon seemed to like her. Her eyes were shining like they had when he'd agreed to take her to Castle Black in the first place, and he didn't regret bringing her with anymore. Reaching into a massive saddle bag, he retrieved a gift he'd longed to give her.
"I've got something for you," he said, handing her the long bundle. Her mouth fell open and she laid it across her lap, fingers working swiftly to unwrap it. Tears welled in her eyes as she beheld the small sword with the thin blade.
"If I somehow manage to find a third Valyrian steel blade, it will be yours, but I hope this will do for now."
"It's just like Needle!" she chirped happily. She wrapped the blade back up before throwing her arms around him.
"Try not to lose this one."
The day was long, hours of flying over a vast dark and tangled forest. The black branches of ironwood trees were reaching upward as if waiting for an opportunity to pull them from the sky. They passed over the charred remains of Caster's keep and all was eerily quiet. What had become of Craster's daughter-wives? Stopping only once at midday, evening was approaching when they reached the sloping hill that held the stone ring wall of the Fist of the First Men.
The ancient walls were only chest high, the hills surrounded by the thick trees of the Haunted Forest. Edd managed to look even more dour as they touched down and set up camp, having barely survived an attack in this very place against the army of dead men. Though many brothers were lost here, there was no trace of their remains.
Tired from riding, the group was mostly quiet, though Edd was sure to warn them of the potential presence of caltrops after the Watch had made their stand here.
They built a small fire and sat huddled around it, eating a dinner of oats and berries. Dany rested her head on Jon's shoulder, still unused to the cold. Jon was thankful for a clear sky and a bright moon, the ancient ruined fortress offering the ability to see far and wide all around them. The dragons remained close by for now, allowing for a quick escape if necessary, but they'd soon need to hunt.
Having had to pack light, they wouldn't have the luxury of tents, but only bedrolls and an open sky. Jon and Edd would take turns keeping watch, and in the morning they'd journey farther to find what they could.
Jon took the first watch while the others slept by the fire. He surveyed the tree line, and the world all around under a star filled sky. It was a pity to be here without Ghost's penetrative wolf eyes. What might he find in the wood below? One might expect the place to be teeming with life with the thick trees and brush, but the night was extraordinarily quiet.
After hours of trying to penetrate the reticent trees, he awoke Edd for his shift. The steward did not complain as he rose to his feet and plodded toward the edge of the wall.
"You can see for miles around up here," Jon remarked. "When the dead came, did you see them make their approach?"
Edd was quiet for a moment. "Before the dead came, there was a blizzard that whited out the world, and biting gusts of wind that made it hard to breathe. Even if we see them coming, we'll probably die all the same."
"Well, at least if we see trouble, we'll have dragons to escape with."
Edd cast a glance over his shoulder, to where the dragons were nested further down the hill. "That dragon wants to roast me alive," he said, gesturing to Dreamfyre. "I can see it in his eyes. I don't know which way I'd rather go. Pulled apart by the dead or burnt to a crisp. I suppose if I die by dragon fire, I'll get to experience a little warmth before the end."
Dany sat up, pulled out of her sleep by the call of some unknown creature. A forest had grown around her and even in the black of night, the red leaves of the weirwood bled against the sky. Bone white trunks of countless trees gave a ghostly glow as she examined each gnarled face in turn. How many there were, she couldn't guess.
Jon had taken her to the grove of weirwood trees outside the gates of Castle Black and the mangled and tortured faces of those hallowed trees had left her feeling strange, almost frightened. But these trees filled her with wonder.
She rose to her feet, the world around her silent, as she lay her palm against the milky bark. It was warmer than she expected, and if she was not mistaken, she could feel it breathe. What a queer tree. She would have to tell Jon and Arya.
Daenerys. A voice hushed through the tranquility, so soft she might have missed it, but so strong she couldn't ignore it. She spied a slender weirwood she had not noticed before and as she drew nearer she saw kind, red eyes welcoming her. This tree had a boy's face, familiar and yet unplaceable. Had they met before?
No, but we are kin.
Peering closer at the human face, she saw no trace of Targaryen features, though she'd met so few. She circled the tree until the unmistakable stench of death made her choke and she recoiled.
Don't be afraid. The dead aren't here now. Not yet. Come to the cave of the three eyed crow. Bone white fingers reached down and touched her and the grove was gone.
She sat up with a start and took in the crumbled ruins around her, curling her arms around her knees as she took steady breaths.
"Dany? Are you alright?" Jon whispered. He sat up beside her, throwing an arm around her shoulders, and she was suddenly shivering from the cold.
"He said, 'come to the cave of the three eyed crow,'" she said.
Squinting at her, he looked around. "Who did?"
The glamor of the vision had begun to fade and her words were peculiar to her own ears. "I dreamt of a boy... who was a weirwood tree."
Jon nodded as though he was trying to understand her nonsensical mutterings. "A dream then? Well, I suppose you've had worse." He laid back down and lifted the edge of their blanket, inviting her back in. "Come on, let's go back to sleep. It's not long until morning. We can talk of weirwoods then."
She'd not refuse more rest, and crawled back into their cocoon covers for warmth. While the vision was a mystery, the boy, who was a tree, would help them.
