Val never understood the southron appeal in living in a castle with thick walls and iron gates everywhere. Where was the fresh air? The pleasure of cooking at an open fireplace whilst staying warm in winter? You couldn't get fresh air or the joy of staying warm and cooking at an open fireplace while being holed up like an animal in a grim castle.
The only other matter Val disliked more than being imprisoned in a castle full of stale air was the flurry of servants who were forced to call those supposedly of higher rank than them, "Milord or milady." It reminded Val of the skirmishes that she'd fought in against the crows and their noble allies. Some of the lordlings had been cut down shouting, "My lord!" or "milord!"
"Come on!"
Val's ears pricked up at the hushed whisper. Lately she'd been spending most of her time lurking in the courtyard, watching and waiting for news. Nothing else had really happened at Winterfell. Gloomy Lord Snow hid himself away in either his chambers, Stark's solar or some other place in the castle; the Giantsbane was often spotted lurking near the kitchens or kennels, probably hunting for a bold or loose-moral girl to fuck; and the majority of the Stark people kept way unless it'd been absolutely necessary to speak to her or Tormund.
"Are you sure about this?" hissed an uncertain female voice.
"Yes!" Val recognised that the voice belonged to the first whisperer. "Don't be a craven, Gwen! You know Mother is too occupied right now. Just because Robb's taken most of the good weapons to war doesn't mean we should slack off! Where is Meera? I didn't see her come out with us."
"She's with Jojen…"
As stealthy as a shadowcat, Val silently pursued the whispers, careful not to be seen by either the speakers or anyone else who happened to be about or looking out a window. She did not want to be accused of stalking by a mistrustful servant or the prying old man garbed in grey.
Val couldn't help but smile when she caught a peep of one of the whisperers. It was Jon Snow's sisters: Arya and Gwen. Val quietly walked up behind them. They had opened the door to a squat tower and were about to enter. "So what are both of you doing here?" said Val casually. The little one, Gwen, jumped in fright. Arya was faster and more prepared; dagger in hand, she stood in a defensive position. Val smirked and crossed her arms. Perhaps the women of the North and those of the free folk were not so different after all.
"Oh," said Arya uncertainly, her grip on the dagger wavering. "It's you. I don't think you're permitted to come near here." She stepped aside and Val noticed the room was a mess, with daggers and spears scattered on the ground. Well, well. It must be where the Starks kept their vast collection of weapons.
"Training?" inquired Val.
Arya nodded slowly. "I don't want to wait until the war is done. Wars can last a long time. All of winter or even more." She hesitated. "I'd hoped to practise a lot more with swords, but all the ones that are left are rusty, and I don't really know how to get rid of the rust and sharpen the blade."
Val glanced at the dagger in Arya's hand. "Daggers are as effective as swords," she stated. "Lighter to carry for a small girl like you too."
"They are good in close combat," Arya agreed. "I'm not really good at tossing them at a target though. No one would help me – or Gwen – in throwing daggers." She hesitated. "How do you throw a dagger at someone's head?"
"What?" The shocked word escaped Val's lips. "You want to kill someone?" She took a step back from the apparently bloodthirsty Stark girl. "You better go back to your mother," she said decidedly, "or your father, or Jon."
"Come on!" pleaded Arya. "Jon told me that you killed two black brothers with one throw from your dagger! It's true isn't it?"
"Aye…"
"Here." The stubborn Stark girl handed Val a dagger. Val touched the handle of the dagger with her thumb. The handle was quite smooth and created from some sort of wood – probably weirwood. Val glanced at the eager Arya and her slightly more apprehensive younger sister. It wouldn't hurt to educate them in the art of dagger throwing…
Lord Snow won't be happy, a tiny voice in Val's head reminded her. What if he's of the thought that you are fighting his little sister? He won't be brooding Jon Snow anymore; he'll be Jon the honourable knight. Or honourable fool. What of it though? I've fought against him before and I stole him. Surely I can win against him for the second time? She wasn't so sure. If she was honest with herself, when she'd stolen Jon, he was already wounded and exhausted. This was Winterfell, Jon's home. He would know the layout of the castle at the back of his hand, and with motivation of fighting for his sister, he would be quite the difficult adversary. Jon Snow can't kill you, Val reminded herself. You are his wife.
"Well?" said Arya impatiently.
Val shrugged. "Why not? Where's the target?" Flipping the dagger into the air and catching it, she followed the two Stark girls into the courtyard. Arya pointed to the line of mock warriors stuffed with straw at one end of the courtyard. "They are the targets," she said helpfully.
Fighting against straw men? How was that useful?
Dismissing it as another odd custom of the North, Val stepped back and giving the target a steady look, threw the dagger at it – right in the head. She smiled as it sunk into the mock warrior's head. Perfect throw.
"Stand here," Val ordered Arya, before striding to the mock warrior and with a firm tug, yanked the dagger from the straw mock warrior's head. She strode back and handed the dagger to an eagerly waiting Arya. "Hold the tip of the dagger like this," said Val, moving Arya's thumb to one side of the blade. She adjusted Arya's other fingers – except the smallest – to the other side. "The target is quite close to us," Val told Arya, who nodded seriously. "Bend your wrist back. It will allow the dagger to turn over in the air swifter – you'll need that as that straw man target's very close to you."
"What if the target's far away?" asked the younger Stark girl, who was viewing the little lesson a short distance away.
"You keep your wrist unbent," replied Val. "It'll keep the dagger from turning a lot in the air. You don't want the dagger to spin so much at a distant target."
"How do you know so much about this?" Gwen Stark crossed her arms. "I don't think free folk like you have a master-at-arms or a maester beyond the Wall. How do you know so much about dagger throwing? Actually throwing daggers I know you can learn from your father or mother, but the theory behind it? I do not think it is a tale passed down from father to son."
"That itself is a tale for another day," said Val mysteriously. She flashed a smile at the frowning Gwen Stark and turned back to Arya. "Stand like this." She placed her weight on her right leg and stepped forward with her left foot. "You use your left hand," Val commented. "Step forward with your right foot. You don't want to feel unbalanced. Raise your sword arm in front of you and bend at the elbow so the dagger's raised alongside your head. A little further away – you don't want to cut yourself when you swing to throw." She nodded approvingly as Arya adjusted her pose. "Relax your grip. Practise this a little." She grasped Arya's forearm and gently swung it forward and back. "Understand?" Arya nodded solemnly. "When you feel comfortable, swing your arm like that and once you are pointing at that straw man, your wrist straight, release the dagger." Val released Arya's arm and moved next to Gwen Stark.
Watching Arya practise swinging her arm reminded Val of her own childhood days. As a child of the free folk, there were no lazy days. There was no day of rest or recreation. Every day from dawn to night, there were new skills to learn and a good deal of the day was dedicated to training and hunting. There were no straw men to practise with, oh no, it was hand-to-hand combat with other children the same age as her, under the watchful eye of a grown man or woman of course. It's been so long since I sparred with a comrade, contemplated Val. Dalla…Dalla was my sister and my first training partner. We'd throw daggers, practise with swords, hunt…Dalla was an excellent hunter. Her patience often won us more meat. It was at the end of a hunting day when she met Mance Rayder after all. Marriage did not stop Dalla from hunting; pregnancy did.
And now death.
Val shook herself from her thoughts. Now wasn't the time to dwell on the past. She observed Arya take a deep breath before swinging her arm and at the precise moment, release the dagger.
For a first attempt, it was a good shot. Val walked up to the mock warrior and pulled the dagger from its stomach. She gave it back to Arya, her grey eyes round with shock at what she did. "Good throw," Val said with a small smile. "If that was your enemy, you would've wounded him, or even killed him!"
Arya managed a tiny grin. "I would've!"
"Val!"
Still looking as solemn and guarded as ever, Jon Snow marched up to Val. Val flashed him a smile. "If it isn't my lord husband," she said breezily. "Here to join a little training session with us women, Lord Snow? I was just teaching your sister Arya here, the art of throwing a dagger. She did a bloody good job, throwing that dagger of hers right into the straw man's stomach."
Jon's long face didn't break into a new expression. "You aren't supposed to be training her, Val. Arya already has enough training."
"No I don't!" Arya protested.
"We'll be leaving tomorrow at dawn," Jon said to Val, ignoring Arya. "We have a lot of ground to cover between here and the Wall. It wouldn't take us as long to get there as we spent coming here, due to the fact that we'll be travelling with my father, but it will still be at least a week. My lord father stated that he'd rather be at Castle Black early than sit here waiting for a raven."
"Fine," said Val, secretly relieved at the news. She had no desire to stay here a day longer. "Does the Giantsbane know?"
"Not yet. I haven't started looking for him. He will show up for dinner anyway. Tormund Giantsbane never misses supper."
"Well!" Val rubbed her hands together. "I've never unpacked."
Jon nodded. "Good. You'll help carry extra furs and stores with us on the trip." He glanced at Arya and Gwen. "Your mother's been looking for you," he informed them, his tone unexpectedly emotionless for a caring brother. "Apparently there is still a basket full of unfinished sewing to tend to?"
"Jon," groaned Arya. "Val's teaching us something useful. Can't you tell Mother that Gwen and I'll finish sewing later? We spent all day yesterday sewing! Mother was with us! She knows how much I hate sewing!"
"It's not that bad," said Gwen hesitantly. "It's calming at times."
Sensing a family argument about to explode, Val quickly said, "Those warriors here won't be disappearing on you overnight."
Arya stared at her incredulously. "You like sewing too?"
Val laughed. It was a tale to tell another day – if it would ever be told to a Stark.
A light shower of rain sprinkled down on Val's blonde hair as she secured the bags of supplies on the back of one of the horses. Lord Stark was kind enough to provide an extra three horses to carry the luggage. "We'd arrive at Castle Black a great deal quicker if our horses do not have to carry that much luggage as well as us," Lord Stark had decided in the brief meeting last evening. "I'll ride in the lead with two of my men and Tormund, and Jon and you Val, will ride behind me and in front of the baggage horses. Four more of my men will ride behind the horses. Between them and another eight of my men will be more baggage horses."
"Fourteen men's enough?" Jon had questioned with a frown.
"If we take more, it will take us too long to reach Castle Black. If we happen to need more men, we'll send a rider back and Ashara will arrange for more men to join us. I want this Northern matter resolved swiftly."
Remembering that conversation, Val wondered how fast she, Jon, Giantsbane, and Stark and his men could journey to the Wall in the rain. Though it was only a light sprinkle now, it could turn into a heavy downpour in a matter of seconds. It would muddy the tracks and be a major hassle for travelling.
Tightening the straps on the horse, Val felt a heavier drop of rain attack her. It seems we'll be journeying in wet weather. Well, thank the old gods snow was very slow this winter. On the journey to Winterfell, Val was surprised that most of the roads and woods south of the Wall have not yet been covered in snow. According to Jon it was already quite cold and it wouldn't be long before they are graced by the presence of snow.
Speaking of Jon…Val glanced around. There he was, immersed in a discussion of sorts with a bleary-eyed Arya. Catching her eye, Jon Snow stopped talking and after giving Arya a quick hug, strode up to her. "Ready to go?" he inquired.
Val smiled. She pulled up her hood. "This horse is ready to go, as is mine. What about you, husband? Ready to return to the Wall?"
Jon darkened. "The sooner the better."
"For once we are in agreement!"
One of Stark's stable men hurried up to Val with her horse. "Your…your horse m-milady," he stammered. "Lord S-Stark said you n-need it."
Val almost rolled her eyes. How else was she to travel to Castle Black? By foot? Now that would take months of journeying. She patted her horse who neighed at her happily. Horses were rare beyond the Wall as many did not survive the harsh and often cold climate. The ones that did were extremely precious and would oft be stolen by enemy clans as prizes along with weapons and food. Val herself had stolen her horse from a rather aggressive and unwanted suitor a number of years ago. The poor horse had suffered under her former owner's weight and seemed a great deal happier after Val killed her undesired suitor. Now the horse was Val's, and she intended to keep it that way.
Mounting her horse, Val waited for Lord Stark to take the lead.
It wasn't very long before Val felt the icy wind slap against her face and gloved hands as she rode further away from the looming castle of Winterfell and closer to the large forest in front of her and the rest of the riding party. She recalled Jon calling the forest the wolfswood. Val stared ahead as the sight of trees thickened within her view. With the rain splattering everywhere faster and louder, it was a lot harder to have a conversation, but even if there was rumbling thunder, it was still possible to hear Tormund Giantsbane chortling and booming to those next to him, which was precisely what he was doing right now.
Val snickered. Poor Stark must be tired of listening to the Giantsbane's rather questionable stories already.
"This is a trap isn't it?" Lord Snow's low voice interrupted Val's thoughts. "By chance, are there more of the free folk hiding in the wolfswood? Will there be an ambush and will Lord Stark be killed?"
Val glared at him and said scornfully, "Still suspicious of me, aren't you? If you don't mind me saying, you're like a different man here in the south. All this…this suspicion. You had none when you were in my tent. Is your pride wounded when your friends discovered you're married to me, a wildling?"
Jon's guarded expression softened slightly – for a second. "Are there free folk waiting for us at the end of the forest?"
"No," said Val promptly and honestly. "Not to my knowledge or Mance's or the Giantsbane's. If we somehow become involved in a skirmish with some men and women of the free folk, we three have no knowledge about it. What'll our motive be, Lord Snow? We brought you here to help bring peace, remember? Having the Lord of Winterfell killed in a wildling skirmish doesn't seem the way to bring up the desire of peace."
"What about the Crowkiller? You think he'll settle for peace?"
Val gave Jon an exasperated look. "You've known the Crowkiller for months! It isn't years I admit, but come on Jon! You think Alfyn Crowkiller will patiently plot and wait? He's one of our best warriors, but a thinker he's not. If Crowkiller plans to sabotage Mance Rayder's peace overtures, he would've tried to kill us before we even left the camp. Good killer but terribly reckless. At times when he was in a fighting frenzy, he killed a few of his own men by accident." She smirked as Jon looked a little queasy. "Not a few," she corrected herself. "More like a dozen. That is what I heard and seen."
"How do his men trust him still?"
"It's the Crowkiller. He's a powerful leader. Rather be his comrade than enemy, don't you agree? You don't want him dismembering you alive."
"We'll keep riding!" Stark called out. Val could hardly hear him due to the loud splashes of rain. "We won't stop riding until the rain ceases!"
What if the rain never stops? Will we keep riding till our horses die? Val hoped not. Stark would probably offer her one of his horses, but the thought of owning a horse given to her as a gift was…strange. Strange and uncomfortable.
"Let's hope the rain stops," Jon Snow commented. Val glanced at him. "We can ride further without being hindered by rain," he explained and then paused. "The sooner we arrive at Castle Black the better," he said shortly. "Who knows? If the peace talks are somewhat successful, this might be the last journey the two of us take together. We might never see each other again."
"I'd raise my cup to that, Jon Snow. I'll return to my home and you'll settle in a large piece of land as Lord Snow at last."
"I'm not Lord Snow, Val. I told you that already."
"You'll be Lord of Queenscrown. Lord Snow of Queenscrown."
Jon's lips pursed. "There's never been a Lord Snow and there'll never be one in our lifetime." He hesitated and looked at Val straight in the eye. "Once the wars in the south and the Wall are over, Father said he'll request for my legitimisation. If I do end up ruling over Queenscrown, I'll be Lord Jon Stark. As my wife, you'll be Lady Val Stark." He smiled.
Val scowled. "You can be happy as Lord Stark, but I'll never be Lady Val Stark." Suddenly angry, Val spurred her horse ahead, away from Jon Snow.
You cannot avoid being a lady forever. You might hate Jon Snow and never see him again, but you cannot escape that infernal title. In the south, you'll always be Jon's Lady of Queenscrown; in the north, you'll be remembered as the lady tied in marriage to a southron enemy. Val silently snarled at her own thoughts.
The journey from Winterfell had been long. It wasn't as strenuous as journeys Val embarked on before, but it felt long. Day after day, the view remained almost the same: trees. The solemn Stark lord spoke to everyone – including Val – when it suited his fancy, the Giantsbane would tell raunchy tales when they supped in the open, around a crackling fire, and Jon Snow would mostly stay silent, though once in a while he conversed with his father. He'd attempted to speak to Val once, but it was her choice to ignore him.
As for the rain, it'd stopped for a day or two – only to reappear at night in vast torrents. The torrential rain would not cease until early morning. That lasted for the majority of the journey from Winterfell.
"We are approaching the Gift," Stark informed Val as the forest finally seemed to come to an end. Gazing ahead, Val spotted more trees, open fields and buildings similar to those in the town outside of Winterfell. It looked abandoned. Not far from her was an upturned bucket lying on the ground. "Plenty of fertile land here but largely unattended to. Once the war is over and you and Jon become Protectors of the Gift, I'm certain it'll return to its once prospering state."
"The northerners won't trust me," Val heard herself say flatly. "I have no wish to be a protector of this land."
"Not even for peace?" Stark's mild tone bothered Val. "You'd rather thousands of your clansmen, kin and allies die in an endless war because you refuse to this? My men and allies will die as much as yours. The bold men will think me craven for wanting peace, but what will happen to them when the true enemy comes?"
Val looked at him strangely. Had he gone mad like Mance? What was with the two of them and this true enemy business?
"The true enemy," said the Lord of Winterfell, nodding ahead, "lies north. Only together we can survive."
"Who is this true enemy?"
Now it was the Stark lord's turn to stare at Val strangely. "Winter of course."
I really enjoyed writing this chapter. I thought Val and the Stark girls could have a lot in common with their martial interests and decided to give them a scene together. As Val is Jon's wife, it won't hurt for her to win some Starks onto her side :)
Ted Hsu, I haven't actually read 'Will of the Will-O-Wisp' but it sounds really interesting! I'll have a look at it one day when I don't have work, uni, assignments, exams...so hopefully soon! :D
