He felt the gaze of Winterfell's heart tree again. Like before, it was quiet. Not one bird's twitter could be heard. "They are coming…" the leaves of the tall trees hissed warningly. "They are coming…"

The trees of Winterfell would never talk…unless it was dire. The scene shifted. It was no longer the heart tree staring at him. He glanced around and met the stone eyes of the Lords of Winterfell. Tomb after tomb…the furthest being Torrhen Stark the King Who Knelt and the closest Lord Rickard Stark. Lord Rickard Stark had a stern face similar to Lord Eddard Stark's, but much sterner. At the foot of Rickard's statue was a stone direwolf. A roar pierced the air. He turned and saw-

He was near the door of the crypts now. He ran his thin fingers down the ancient door. Made from ironwood, it was old and heavy, decorated with the sole engraving of a howling wolf. He almost jumped with fright as something large and very furry brushed against his knee. He looked down and sighed with relief. It was only a wolf having a good sniff of him.

"The white wolf…" the wind whispered as it snaked around him. "The white wolf is not alone…" No it was not. Other wolves roamed the dark crypts. The smallest of the litter, a little brown wolf, paced impatiently near the bottom of one of the stone statues; the pups, one with dark brown fur and the other a lighter shade of brown, both whimpered and huddled in a cold corner, too frightened to move; a third with the darkest blue eyes pooling with fear, sadness, apprehension and worry to name a few, limped forward – one of its legs was twisted and mangled; and there was one a couple of statues away – the mother wolf.

Before he could think, the vision changed again.

Another wolf…a weeping wolf surrounded by stags and lions in a field glittering with golden roses. "Wolves do not bode well in the south," a voice murmured in his ear. His father's grave voice. "Remember that, my son. The south is never – and will never be – kind to wolves. What is born in the north should stay there."

"What is born in the north should stay there…" the statues of the old Kings in the North and Lords of Winterfell seemed to chant in unison. "What is born in the north should stay in the north…what is born in the north should stay in the north…what is born in the north should stay there…" It was almost like an ancient mantra of sorts. It sounded so familiar...and it was not because Father had said it to him before. The wise folk of the Neck also said it from time to time. What's born in the north must stay in the north. He covered his ears as the white wolf lifted his head and howled – it was the most pained and tormented howl he had ever heard.

It was the cry of despair; of anguish too. The wolf turned and stared at him, one single tear falling from its ruby red eyes…


Jojen's green eyes flew open.

What is born in the north should stay in the north.

Another green dream. With a quiet yawn, Jojen pushed the blanket of fur from him and padded across the room to the high narrow window. Winterfell was the most magnificent castle of stone and granite he had even seen or stepped foot in, but it felt like a cage. The bed he slept in was large in size, the blanket and pillow comfortable and soft, yet he already missed his own bed of woven rushes back at home. In the Neck, a bed of woven rushes was already considered a luxury. With the curtains drawn back, a light autumn breeze touched Jojen gently on the cheek as a mother would to her child. Winter is coming, Jojen thought absently. Winter's already on its way. He glanced at his old satchel on the chair close to him. It was a habit of the crannogmen to travel light – what use is a trunk of silk and clothes to the dangers of nature?

Since Jojen first saw the sight of Winterfell in a green dream, he'd known that a journey to Winterfell was inevitable. Living there as a ward…he suspected that it would occur, but so suddenly…

The door opened and Robb Stark came in. "Breakfast is ready if you are feeling hungry," the Stark heir said awkwardly. "We ah, weren't sure what you and Lady Meera eat for breakfast…" He hesitated. "Why don't the two of you go and tell our cook Gage about your favourite dishes? He is an excellent cook."

"Thank you," said Jojen quietly. "I am happy to try anything new."

Robb nodded. "Did you have a good sleep, Jojen?"

It was Jojen's turn to nod. "It was…good." Was there another word to describe a well-rested sleep touched by a green dream?

"Theon also caught you and Meera a few frogs," Robb added sheepishly. "Gage has never cooked frogs before, but he um, tried cooking it too. Perhaps after you eat it you can give him some ideas for ah, some frog dishes? I'm sorry if it sounds at all rude. We never had many crannogmen guests at Winterfell for long. I don't recall Lords of Winterfell fostering crannogmen children either. I know that one King in the North had taken the last Marsh King's daughter as his wife though. I'd be happy to take you to the Great Hall now if you want."

"That is kind of you Robb Stark." Jojen paused. "King Rickard Stark's wife was Jyanna of the crannogmen," he put in helpfully. "My mother was named after her. Some of my cousins like to believe we were descended from the Marsh Kings. We do not know for sure though."

Robb smiled. "If you are descended from the Marsh Kings, that would make us very distant cousins would it not?"

"It would indeed." Karstarks, Manderleys and Umbers and perhaps the Royces of Runestone would all claim closer kinship to the Starks. "Have your met any of your other Stark cousins?" Jojen asked curiously as he and Robb started heading off to the Great Hall.

Robb shook his head. "My uncle Benjen used to visit when I was little. The last time I saw him was…I cannot even remember when it was. Father often said that we have Stark cousins in the mountains, but we never visited them and they had never ventured from their homes in the mountains. I hope one day I'll meet a few of them. Have you met any of your cousins?"

"Some. My father doesn't much, but I do. Meera does as well."

"What is it like being heir of Greywater Watch?"

Jojen's green eyes fixed themselves on Robb. "Do you mean to inquire what's it like being a crannogman heir?"

Robb bit his lip. "My apologies if I have offended you."

Jojen shrugged. "You have not offended me, Robb Stark. Many people are quite curious about the lives of crannogmen yet are too embarrassed to ask."

"I…see. Do you have many duties to attend to at Greywater Watch?"

"As much as any heir I believe. What duties do you attend to?"

The heir of Winterfell thought for a moment. "I suppose my lessons are almost at an end – lessons with Maester Luwin that is. My father said once that warriors never stop learning in the field. Every defeat is a lesson in itself. Thrice a week I'd sit beside father during meals and participate in his discussions with anyone that wish to speak to him. It could be Maester Luwin or the steward, the cook even. It will not be long before I am required to sit beside Father every day during meals now. When visiting lords or smallfolk come with petitions, I am also present. It is all part of the learning process I guess. What about you?"

"Something similar, though Meera is oft with me."

"Oh?" Surprise entered Robb's voice. "Is there a…reason for that? You are your father's heir are you not?"

"Indeed I am. However, my father thought it would be very educational for her to be present at all the petition sessions as well. Not that there is many of them," Jojen added. "Mostly it's other crannogmen complaining about Freys. It's all quite peaceful at Greywater Watch. You should come and visit one day." His last words were common courtesy. There hadn't been a visiting Stark at Greywater Watch in centuries – almost never in fact.

Robb Stark nodded thoughtfully. "It would be a very interesting experience." A sudden grin appeared on his face. "I should visit after I wed Princess Lyanna," he said with a chuckle. "The king wants us wed at King's Landing, but on our way to Winterfell, we can make a progress of sorts throughout the North. Every lord will want to see the princess and their future Lady of Winterfell."

"A fine idea," said Jojen cautiously. "If you do not mind me saying, wouldn't the princess first adjust to our northern autumns before journeying to say, Karhold? She has not experienced our…cold winds of yet."

"Quite right." Robb nodded again. "Are you betrothed, Jojen?"

Jojen shook his head. "There is no hurry for me to be. I know lords like having their children betrothed whilst still in the cradles, but what is the point when any of them could be claimed by illness and diseases at any day? It would only lead to alliances and pacts disintegrating. When were you and Princess Lyanna engaged? Was it during your childhood?"

"Since we were born actually," Robb admitted, embarrassed. "Well, more like a couple of days after Princess Lyanna was actually born. The king was quite eager to secure his elder daughter a Stark husband."

"That is…quite a long engagement." Was it the new social norm for noble heirs to be affianced for so long? It was a miracle Robb's betrothal with a princess was not broken…yet. As Jojen listened to Robb speak respectfully about his sister the Lady Lyarra's betrothal to Domeric Bolton, he sensed danger. "By chance, will the Lady Lyarra be travelling south at all?" he asked suddenly.

Robb stared at him, astounded. "No, not at all. Well, apart from the wedding of course. All of us but Rickon – there must be a Stark at Winterfell – will journey to King's Landing for the wedding. Afterwards when we return, we'll be celebrating and holding Lyarra's wedding to Domeric at Winterfell. That is the general plan I think. The king and Lord Bolton are both eager for the weddings."

"I see." In the Neck, weddings were more private affairs. For lords, they would wed at home and then journey throughout the Neck to celebrate, visiting a few of the other lords too. Jojen recalled his father hosting Lord Orrell Fenn and his new wife at Greywater Watch. There were no feasts, no dancing and most certainly no tourneys which were apparently popular in southron festivities. Instead of those activities, the Fenns dined with Jojen and his family in the Great Hall, stayed one night and left with a parcel of food that Father gifted them with.

"Ah, Jojen." Lord Stark smiled warmly at Jojen as he saw him enter Winterfell's Great Hall. "Did you have a good rest?"

"Yes my lord," Jojen responded. "I hope you are well too?"

"I am, Jojen. I am. Come and break your fast with us. I am afraid your sister the Lady Meera, had already broken her fast with my daughter Arya earlier. It seems Arya is keen in learning how to hunt…frogs."

Jojen smiled. The little she-wolf. It was easy to remember her. "Lord Stark, I am not surprised the Lady Arya wishes to befriend Meera further."

"Neither am I. It is good for Arya to make more friends and I hope she and the Lady Meera will be good friends in the future."

"I am certain they already are Lord Stark."

Lord Stark chuckled. "I hope you and my sons will be good friends too." Jojen glanced at Robb who smiled back. "I hope so too," Jojen murmured. He waited till Robb took a seat next to his father before sitting down as well. As the servants all quietly placed dishes of food in front of them, Jojen snatched the opportunity and looked around the Great Hall. The vast room was quite different in the daytime. A sense of cosiness and comfort had settled in like a bright beam of golden sunlight through an open window. Though it was not particularly early, there were still a number of others breaking their fast and chatting at the lower tables. Lady Stark was bustling around, speaking rapidly to passing servants and other members of the Stark household, the youngest Stark boy following her around like a steadfast loyal pup. What was his name? Rickon.

A servant placed a bowl of stew in front of Jojen. Jojen studied it. It looked like the stew he would eat at home, but it had tiny bits of…meat? "It's frog stew," Lord Stark explained. "Gage's version of it anyway." Jojen nodded. He spooned up a bit of the stew and began to eat. Mmm. It was good. Then again, after receiving green dream visions, he would often be hungry.


"Reed! How did you enjoy those frogs?" Jojen glanced at the training yard and frowned slightly as he saw the Greyjoy heir grinning cockily at him. Robb and Jon Snow rolled their eyes at him. "Come on Theon!" Robb called out. "Spar with one of us! At least allow Jojen to settle in!"

Jojen looked around quietly as Theon retorted back at him. Watching the four of them a short distance away near the entrance of the Great Keep were Domeric Bolton and Lady Lyarra who were both in riding gear with bags at their feet. The two of them did not seem to want to be disturbed. Jojen returned his attention to the waiting Theon. "The frogs were delicious," he said calmly. "It was cooked into frog stew. Gage is a wonderful cook."

Theon's smirk dissipated slightly. "Raw meat eh?" he pressed.

Jojen shook his head. "Not at all Theon. It was perfectly cooked. I heard it was you who caught me the frogs this morning. Thank you Theon. It was quite kind of you to wake up at dawn to hunt a few frogs for me and Meera."

Theon's smirk turned into a scowl. "Bog devil," he muttered under his breath. Jojen shrugged the insult away. Being called a bog devil was nothing new. He had been called worse names before. Every crannogmen had. Giving Theon Greyjoy a last steady look, Jojen turned to leave.

"Jojen!" To his surprise, it was Jon Snow who ran up to him. "Ignore Theon if it is possible," Jon advised him. "He enjoys tormenting new wards." He paused for a moment. "Well, he enjoys tormenting everyone except Lord and Lady Stark and a few of their children – the younger ones. It is Theon's nature. I'm afraid he would have been more well-behaved and pleasant if he hadn't befriended Waymar back when he was a ward here. Theon has his um, kind side I guess, but he doesn't like to show it much. Listen, if you need help here, do not be afraid to ask. If you want someone to spar with, I'll be happy to spar with you. I know Robb will too. I must warn you, Arya might want to challenge you to a sparring match as well."

"Lady Arya?"

"Oh, don't call her that." Jon laughed. "Arya hates being called 'Lady Arya'. You will find that out when you meet her properly."

"Properly, Jon? I met her when your party returned from Highgarden."

"You misunderstood me, Jojen. That was only introductions. When you're here long enough, you will discover Arya is more like a Mormont woman."

Jojen's eyes met Jon Snow's dark grey ones. The white wolf. Jojen remembered a vision he had seen about a white wolf – could it be about Jon Snow? Yes. But the wolf had red eyes. Jon Snow has the darkest of grey…bordering on black even. Black eyes some would say. "Thank you Jon," said Jojen finally. "Ser Jon, is it not? I heard you squired a year with Prince Oberyn Martell, one of the finest spearmen in the Seven Kingdoms. What was it like?"

Jon smiled. "A good year, Jojen. What I learnt…the spear has its advantages. In battles to come, I'll always value a spear as much as I do a sword." He lowered his voice. "Prince Oberyn had also taught me a little about poison."

"Poison?"

"Unconventional education I must admit, but useful too. Is it true that you and your people prefer wielding spears and using poison during war?"

"That is true. We also prefer fighting in our territory. While you, your brothers and your father's wards train with weapons every day, Meera and I would go and try and memorise the land. That is what all young crannogmen learn, nobles and commonfolk alike. We need to know the land and its surroundings so well till we can walk about blindfolded."

Jon looked impressed. "When you explore the Neck, do you ride horses?"

"No. We walk. There is this special tradition we crannogmen embrace to deem ourselves as true children of the Neck. It also signals we are ready to learn about the Neck's secrets."

"Maester Luwin would describe that as a rite of passage." Jojen nodded. "Yes," he agreed. "That is exactly what it is. A rite of passage. Girls would always be first as they enter womanhood. The night before, we would be given a few supplies to start us off in our journey. Usually the journey would be to Moat Cailin and back. To survive, we must know the swamps and terrain really well or we will die. We must know where frogs and fish can be found, which river is safe to drink from. It is a test of survival. Not all crannogmen return. Some might run from the Neck in fear, only to be caught and no doubt killed for amusement by southroners; others might die of fever, hunger or thirst."

"How do your um, elders, know you actually went to Moat Cailin?"

"We have to bring back a piece of moss. It is said that the moss that covers the three remaining towers of Moat Cailin have special properties. It is said that this certain moss can be used for healing or for poisoning." He couldn't help but note that Jon Snow did not flinch once at the mention of poisoning.


As one of the wards of House Stark, Jojen found himself back in the courtyard at dawn the next morning, bidding farewell to the Lady Lyarra and her betrothed who were to leave for the Dreadfort. When Lord Stark whispered to his daughter and future good-son, Jojen prodded Meera gently in the arm. "I saw the weeping wolf last night," he murmured. "She was crying again."

"That is why she is called the weeping wolf," Meera reminded him softly. "You named her that yourself."

"No I did not. It came to me in the vision. The white wolf, the pups, the mother wolf, the weeping wolf…even the little she-wolf I have not even met yet."

"Lady Lyarra isn't weeping. She looks far from weeping, Jojen. Perhaps you are mistaken, Brother. It could be any Stark to play the role as the weeping wolf. Well, it could be Lord Stark's youngest daughter."

"No, she is the she-wolf. I saw the weeping wolf cry rivers of tears, Meera. She was surrounded by her enemies and was all alone. Lone wolves die faster whilst packs survive. Father told us that many times."

Meera frowned. "Lady Lyarra is travelling north, not south. You know I believe in your green dreams, Jojen. I always will."

"You do not think Lady Lyarra is the weeping wolf," Jojen stated flatly. "When I first saw her, I could not believe it either, but my dreams have not been wrong of yet. Anything can happen between now and winter. Should I at least inform her it is not safe for her to journey south?"

"If it helps? If you wish to do so, you should tell her quickly." Jojen nodded. His heart pounding faster than usual, he stepped forward, ignoring the sudden stares from the other Starks. Jojen walked up to Lady Lyarra who looked astonished. "It might sound strange to you my lady," he said quietly, "but I must warn you: don't venture to King's Landing. You will meet naught but tears there."

Domeric Bolton frowned first as he spurred his horse a little closer to Lyarra's palfrey. Lady Lyarra Stark arched an eyebrow gracefully. "Perhaps tears of joy?" she suggested. "Robb and Princess Lyanna will be wed there soon."

Jojen shook his head. "I saw you there alone, Lady Lyarra. Do not go south. The south holds nothing but misery and gloom for wolves."

Lady Lyarra stared at him, her brilliant purple eyes revealing no sign of fear. "I thank you then," she said at last. "Thank you for warning me, Jojen. I'll keep your warning in mind." Jojen stepped back and watched as Domeric and Lyarra urged their horses to a gentle trot out of Winterfell. She'll forget, he thought sadly. Lady Lyarra will not remember my warning…until it is too late.


I enjoyed writing the green dream vision at the beginning of the chapter. It's pretty similar to the one Howland told Ned in an earlier chapter, but more detailed as it's in Jojen's POV. I'll be happy to hear more interpretations of the dream :) I'm glad you enjoyed reading the previous chapter in Stannis's POV! Now that I know you're happy with it, I'll definitely write another Stannis POV. There wasn't an explanation about Stannis finding out about the bastards born in incest...yet. The next chapter will return to an old POV character (still in the north).