Chapter 11

On his way to his chambers, he stopped by to do a final check on Deirdre and the babies. He could hear sounds of distress from the hallway and nearly barreled over the guard in his haste to reach her, but the guard stopped him and put a finger to his lips. Jon glared at him, waiting for an explanation.

"She's been having nightmares since the attack. If you wake her, she won't sleep again. I think your friend, the skinny boy, gave her some dreamwine to help her sleep," the man whispered. "She witnessed a lot of bloodshed and we had to force her to escape. If she had been armed, she probably would have stabbed me, but I had my orders from your brother, the king, and I obeyed."

Jon stood in the doorway, observing her. She'd settled down now and looked peaceful enough. Approaching her, he stroked her cheek to make sure she still wasn't feverish. Gin was asleep in the chair near the babes, and before he knew where his feet were carrying him, he was standing over them. He smiled when he saw that they were curled up together and Brandon was sucking Benjen's thumb instead of his own. He stroked their soft skin, amazed at how much he loved them already. They were a perfect blend of Deirdre and Robb, reminding him strongly of his younger siblings as well. He didn't think it was possible for two babes to be so perfect, but they were. Perhaps the gods are making amends for the loss of so many Starks. Silently, he left them to question the guard again. There were some things about which he was still unclear.

"How did you manage to escape? I'm assuming Lord Bolton's men knew exactly where to find her."

"King Robb insisted that she not take part of the festivities in the camp, wary about how she'd be received. And when we arrived at the Twins, he hid her presence from the Freys and insisted she remain in the camp rather than the castle, much to Lord Frey's disappointment. Now we know why. But Lord Bolton did know she was in the camp, just not exactly where," he explained. "Deirdre wasn't in the tent she normally shared with the king. Whenever he wasn't there, she was moved to a different tent, with only her guards knowing where she was. But a pregnant woman is hard to hide even in all of that chaos, so we had to fight our way out. The king was cautious, but no one could've predicted that they'd butcher us like pigs at a wedding feast." Beneath his anger, Jon saw so much pain. He could imagine that leaving his brothers behind would hurt as well.

Jon couldn't imagine Deirdre in that situation and felt his heart ache for her. Thank the gods that Robb had been so prepared. He couldn't understand why he'd taken her with him to war in the first place, but he'd ask Deirdre later. He studied the guard for a moment before allowing himself to ask what was on his mind. "They said Lady Stark's throat was cut. They're certain it was her?"

The guard was clearly unnerved. " Lady Stark's body was left where she was slain long enough for her brother, to see it before they dumped her naked body in the river. She'd lost too much in the end, having to watch as the king was cut down not ten yards from her, his men dying around him. They say she pled for his life but she was laughing in madness and clawing at her face in the end."

Jon tried not to think about Catelyn Stark. As cold as she'd been to him, she'd loved Jon's father and siblings, and they'd loved her. Jon had often been jealous of the care she gave her children. It reminded him of the love he had never had. He had even tried to hate her but deep down he just wanted her to care for him as well. But he understood her hatred: he was the embodiment of his father's betrayal. Still no one deserved her fate. Reaching out, he placed a hand on Ned's shoulder. "Thank you for keeping Deirdre safe and bringing her here. My brother was lucky to have such honorable guards for her."

"It was our honor. My father fought by your father's side during both King Robert's Rebellion and the Greyjoy uprising. He respected him more than any man alive, enough to name me Ned after him." Ned smiled sadly. "Your brother was my close friend as well as my king. And I love the queen like a sister." Grief flashed in his eyes and he turned away quickly. Stubborn Northerners didn't show signs of their perceived weakness, Jon knew, as a stubborn Northerner himself.

After a few moments, Ned turned around to look at him and tried to hide a smirk as he added, "I was going to ask you if Dacey found you but I could tell by the look on your face when you came in here that she had. Dacey is…" He hesitated, opening his mouth a few times attempting to find the right words. "I know it doesn't seem so but her kindness is like her beauty. When you first see it, you feel like an idiot for not seeing it all along because it's so obvious. Then she quickly hides it again and is extra hostile to you so you don't forget who she is. She and Smalljon were chosen first to be Robb's guards and Smalljon questioned Robb whether it was wise that Dacey was a king's guard. She threw a knife at him from across the table and right in front of the king's face. The Greatjon laughed so hard he almost fell over. Her and Smalljon argued so much Robb threatened to send them into different battles to get himself some peace." Ned chuckled and Jon could see the genuine affection he had for Dacey. "She truly loved Robb. We all did. But she was in the Great Hall when the slaughter happened, she had to see so many cut down, including Smalljon, and she was the only king's guard to escape. She was trying to rescue him when he ordered her to go to help us. She couldn't have saved him but she is ashamed and mourns the fact she didn't die attempting to rescue him."

Dacey isn't the only one of you that is hurting. "Considering all that has happened, anything harsh she says to me, I understand isn't meant to be offensive."

Ned was quiet for a moment then he nodded. "We were all at war the whole time and there were more than a few unbearable days that I will never forget, but leaving the Twins haunts us all. And lying to Deirdre all the time about Robb…" The pain in his eyes showed Jon what a compassion and caring man he was. "She might never forgive me."

"She will. When she understands your reasons, she will be grateful." He looked back to the sleeping babes. "Now you have two new Starks to guard." After another few moments, he excused himself, intending to get some rest. Once he was in his bed, however, he could not find the sleep his body needed so badly.

His family was gone. He'd chosen to remain at the Wall rather than going to Robb and now it was too late to save him, or help him avenge their father. It was too late to bring Sansa or Arya home. They no longer had a home. It was all gone. Bran's dream of being a knight of the Kingsguard had died when he'd fallen, but now both of his little brothers would never even see another summer. They'd never grow up together like Jon and Robb had, beginning every morning in the training yard as soon as they were old enough to hold swords. Rickon would never win his first sparring match against Ser Rodrik. Bran would never learn to shoot a bow from horseback. They'd never have their first kiss or first love. Theon Greyjoy had stolen that from them the moment he'd taken them from the world. We do not sow. No, they reaped and pillaged, slaughtered children and displayed their heads on the wall of their home.

Theon had burned Winterfell, his home for over half his life. The hall where he'd taken his meals, the chambers where he'd slept, safe and warm, all destroyed. He had been a ward in name, but Robb had always treated him like a brother, and Father had treated him more like a foster son than his hostage. They were never close but Father had made certain that Theon was provided for as if he were his own child. Eddard Stark been more of a father to Theon Greyjoy than the man from whose loins he'd sprung; Balon Greyjoy hadn't even returned one of his son's ravens in the ten years Theon had been away from him. It was as though he'd ceased to exist to Lord Greyjoy, yet still Theon had chosen him.

Father and their gods would watch over Bran and Rickon now. And Robb. Tears burned Jon's eyes at the thought of Robb, who'd been his constant companion and closest friend, who he'd never see again. Robb, who'd risen so high and was meant to rescue their sisters and avenge their father. Who'd twirled Sansa around the hall to make her smile and perched Rickon atop his shoulders so he could be taller, who'd always been the first to intervene between Arya and Bran when their bickering escalated into shoving matches or hair pulling. Robb, who'd japed with Theon over a filched skin of wine, yet would take the blame if anyone ever caught any of his younger siblings misbehaving. He'd raced through the Godswood with Jon, their shirts untucked and their breeches muddy, hooting with laughter until they'd fallen to the ground as one and wrestled, their swords thrown to one side and the sun shining through the ancient trees. And it was Robb who'd held him close and told him he was his brother, whoever Jon's mother had been. Robb had been the one to try to make certain that no one ever treated Jon badly, other than Lady Catelyn who he could not control.

Robb had been groomed for leadership and had been supposed to continue to make the north prosperous and strong, as their father had before him. Winter was coming and the north was not ready for it, the people scattered and disordered, weakened by the loss of their liege lords, their men from the war, and now their king. The Ironborn had ravaged the coast, would continue to decimate their food stores and murder their people, and Winterfell wasn't there to protect them. There must always be a Stark in Winterfell. But the only Starks in Winterfell now were the dead kings haunting the crypts.

Robb is gone. Robb is gone and I'll never see him again. Jon's tears flowed freely now as he tried reconcile himself with the unimaginable. Robb was so full of life and Jon didn't want to imagine a world in which he didn't exist. He couldn't, much like Deirdre who clung to hope of Robb's survival with all of her strength. But Jon knew differently than her. He could still remember Robb's smile and hear his laughter. The last time he'd seen him, he was a man newly wed and snowflakes were melting in his hair. Jon had left Winterfell knowing that, despite his own loss, Deirdre would be loved, would be cared for. Robb loved her. He was a better man than Jon, the man she deserved, who could give her everything Jon could not. Robb had made her a queen. He'd made her a mother. And now the Freys and Boltons had made her a widow. They'd taken Robb from her, and from Jon. They'd taken Robb from his sons and had butchered his wolf, his other half. His remains would never be honored with the great Stark Kings of Winter. Winterfell was gone, so it mattered little he supposed, but it still hurt so much, like an ache that wouldn't go away no matter what he did to soothe it. He'd never be able to visit Robb's tomb or show his sons the statues of their ancestors, place a rose on his aunt Lyanna's tomb as his father had done for each of her name days. Those vibrant blue roses of winter were probably all gone as well.

The births of Brandon and Benjen filled Jon with so much hope and happiness despite the circumstances that had brought them to him, almost as much as if they were his own sons. And in some respect, they were his children now. Robb had sworn to Jon to if Deirdre had carried Jon's child, he'd raise it as his own, a Stark and his heir. Now Robb's sons needed Jon to fulfill the promise his brother had once made him. The Night's Watch takes no part and fathers no children.

Men would call Brandon the King in the North. The babe he'd held in his arms, a fragile tiny thing, a king before he could walk. Jon had a hard time wrapping his mind around it all. He had to care for the King in the North, a prince, and Robb's queen. But he was only Ned Stark's bastard, a sworn brother of the Night's Watch…how could he care for them? His life here had no place for them. Why had Robb been so foolish as to send them to him?

Robb had no one else he could trust. I was his last hope. Robb knew that Jon would never turn them away, would care for Deirdre and her children because they were Robb's, even if he hadn't once loved Deirdre. He had to find a way, even if it meant arranging passage for them to the Free Cities, much like the Targaryens had done before them when men were hunting them. No one would hurt those children or Deirdre if he could help it.

As resolute as he was about protecting Robb's family, though, Jon couldn't help feeling wholly incapable. He was a brother in the Night's Watch. They took no part in the affairs of the realm, and let go of their loyalty to their families. How could he abandon his duties here, knowing what was coming, what lay in wait for them? He was honor-bound to defend the realm, and he'd already spent too much time away from the preparations for their defense against Mance Rayder. He shouldn't even consider leaving his duties at the Wall. He'd remained here when they'd imprisoned and then murdered his father. He'd remained here when Robb had gone to war. He believed in their cause and had killed a dead man in this very castle. But Brandon and Benjen needed him. Could he survive if he let their enemies slaughter them like they'd butchered the Targaryen children? If they were murdered like Bran and Rickon had been, burned and beheaded and mounted at a gate? Robb had trusted him with his family, with all that he loved. Ned Stark had put the realm before his children and died, and his children had suffered and died for it. Jon couldn't abandon Robb's sons or Deirdre to the same, and he couldn't abandon the search for Sansa and Arya either. If he turned his back on them, they would die. He'd sentenced Ygritte to her fate as soon as he'd left her side, though his arrow hadn't been the one to pierce her. Was he a man of the Night's Watch, or Robb's brother?

His mind took him back to those final days in Winterfell. Robb's wedding had been such a jubilant occasion, a chance to celebrate something joyous after a fortnight in the shadow of Bran's fall. The sight of Robb so happy had cheered even Lady Stark, however briefly. And he'd been happy, so happy, and Jon had begrudged him every minute of it. The memory of his anger still shamed him. The wedding had been a sham, a sham to protect him, and the bride had loved another, but still Robb had loved her. Jon had seen it in his eyes. And as Jon had seen tonight, she'd fallen so much in love with Robb in turn. The thought that his brother would never again hold his wife in his arms saddened him more than he could bear. And his sons, his beautiful little boys, would never know their father, just as Jon had never known his mother. It was a hole that could never truly be filled.

Furious with himself, he wiped away the tears that had begun to soak his pillow. Jon could not allow his sorrow to consume him. Deirdre was not strong now and Jon would need to help her face what was ahead of them. Her sons needed her. The north needed them. Since Brandon and Benjen were merely babes, it would fall to Deirdre. He knew that once the grief passed, Deirdre would want retribution. Kind and gentle she may be, but she was still a lioness, and Jon had no doubt that she would do whatever it took to protect her children. Gods help those who tried to hurt them. He'd have to make certain that she could restrain her need for blood until he could find a way to protect them from their enemies.

But first he'd face what lay beyond the Wall: Mance Rayder's considerable forces, and the creatures that haunted his dreams. That was where his efforts were needed now, and he could not allow himself to think of anything else. Or anyone.

X-x-x

They had to leave soon. The cottage they took refuge in for the last two days was little more than a shack and the cold damp air blew in to every room so most of them slept in the main room near the fireplace.

"Ser Brynden, everything has been loaded into the wagon and the first group of men have left. I've given the king a large dose of milk of the poppy. Hopefully, it's enough for the trip because out supplies are out," Olyver said, his nervousness apparent.

No one really wanted to make these journeys at night, least of all the Blackfish, but it was too risky in the daylight. Frey and Bolton soldiers roamed this area looking for them. At least this would be the last journey until the king healed.

If he healed.

"Has his bleeding stopped?" The boy nodded his head, glancing back at Thoros. Brynden knew that Olyver had done all he could. Thoros had done…something, although Bryden wasn't certain what it was, other than it had helped Beric many times over. Robb's fate was in the hands of the gods now.

Thoros had been reluctant to do anything initially. As he pointed out, Robb wasn't dead, just nearly dead. He had never healed someone before. But Beric encouraged him to try before Arya had demanded he do it, due to his past loyalty to her father, Thoros still hesitated before she reminded him that he owed her due to the fact he had intended to ransom her not long ago. Her anger drew the wolf to her side, baring her teeth and growling low, so Thoros agreed to try. Thankfully, he had gotten Robb through the last week and two night time journeys. The wounds on his legs were healing but the thrust into his chest, so near to his heart, wouldn't heal completely. But as The Hound had pointed out, Thoros didn't actually heal Beric. He brought him back with his wounds. Brynden was not overly godly, but he worried how Robb might feel about allowing a red priest to heal him. But it was either that or Brynden let him bleed to death.

"Let's load the king's stretcher into the wagon. And watch the wolf. He is very volatile today," Brynden warned. He helped the Hound and Harwin lift Robb's stretcher as gently as possible. Once he was on the wagon, his sister jumped in beside him and covered him with more furs. Brynden had grown very fond of the girl in their time together. Wild and spunky, yet incredibly clever and brave, she reminded him of himself as a youth, but unlike him, she had also had a tender heart and he worried how she would fare if Robb died. If the worst happened, he resolved to personally take her north to Deirdre, assuming the queen and her child had survived and fled to the Wall. That child would become the next king or queen. A horrible thought considering what Robb had gone through as king. He simply wouldn't allow His Grace to die.

Even in the dark, he could see the wolf's eyes on the wagon and hear his low growls, so Brynden backed away slowly. He glanced around for the other one but she wasn't visible. Usually on these journeys she stayed further away from them, guarding their group. And what a strange group they were with an assortment of wounded Northmen, the four men of The Brotherhood, The Hound, and Olyver Frey helping them. But no one Brynden couldn't trust with their lives. If it weren't for Olyver and The Hound, Brynden and the Greatjon would not have been able to get Robb out of the Twins while the other Freys were fleeing the wolves in the hall. And luckily for once, he wasn't speaking metaphorical about wolves.

Now they were on to the Grey Glen, taking them further away from both the North and the Riverlands. He wished he could have found Cat to at least give her a proper burial but he thought his niece would prefer he protected two of her children rather than bury her.

Taking one last look around, he made the signal for them to start the journey. Wolves howled behind them but they tended to follow them from place to place. Arya explained that the regular wolves were part of Nymeria's pack so Robb's group was safe. Unlike Arya, he didn't assume that though. He had often wondered how Grey Wind knew during battle which people were his enemies when he went into battle with the king. And though he was called The Blackfish, he didn't communication with fish or know their motivation for things so he certainly didn't know how Arya or Robb understood these wolves.

Beric and Thoros were talking then held back waiting to ride beside him. "Have you noticed the wolf with the king seems to heal as he does?" Beric asked, glancing over at him. "When His Grace suffers a setback, the wolf gets worse as well."

"Before you found us, The Hound suggested we put the dire wolf out of his misery since he was likely to not make it long. Arya claimed if The Hound killed Grey Wind, he might as well kill Robb himself. She claims their fate is bonded.'

The two men were quiet for a long time before Beric said, "Thoros, you need to try to heal the dire wolf when we reach the Grey Glen."

Thoros jerked his head toward his friend in shock. "That wolf has snapped at everyone who has come near it. It won't let me heal it."

"I must agree with Thoros…"

Beric shook his head with a smile. "The wolf won't hurt you if Arya trusts you. And while she is not overly fond of either of us, she believes in your ability to heal Robb, so she will trust you with Grey Wind."

"Or the wolf will tear your throat out," Brynden added, amused at the look of sheer terror on Thoros' face. "I promise you we'll burn your body if that happens."