I
Robb sees them before they see him, and he calls out to them but not before making sure he has the advantage in the situation. He and Val have the high ground and the cover of the tree line, and the crows have not seen Winter though their horses are acting skittishly.
"Ho there, valiant men of the Watch!" he calls out.
"Wildlings!" the big one hollers, drawing his sword.
"Peace, friends!" Robb says, holding his palms up. "I am Robb Stark of Winterfell, lost in these lands three years ago and have now come to return to my ancestral home."
"That so? Dirk," the big man asks, swiveling around to face his tall, gaunt companion, " Isn't Robb Stark that Winterfell brat what went missing in a snowstorm years ago?"
"I believe that is the one, Karl," the man replies in a cheerful tenor.
"I thought it must be," Karl says, turning back to him. "Tell me, Stark, how many of you are there?"
"Only myself and my wife."
Val steps from the tree line and draws back her hood, her honey blonde hair framing her beautiful face. "What say you, Crows? Care to escort your lord's son back home?"
The big man's eyes go wide at the sight of her, and then narrow a bit as he smiles. "Stark's not my lord, woman. Never been, in fact. Back when I wasn't tethered to this freezing shitpile, I called the Beesbury "m'lord." Now, I don't call no one that. Except maybe the Lord Commander, but that's alright because I call him a cunt, as well." His smile broadens as he lays his sword across his lap. "You see, lass, the Night's Watch takes no part, serves no lord, so all I see in front of me is a wildling boy in need of a gutting…" he raps his knuckles on the blade, "...and his wildling whore in need of a nice, fat cock." He turns to his companions, both of them leering at Val. "What say you, Dirk? Garth?"
"Robb Stark, my arse," the gaunt one says while the other pulls his bow free.
"Please, friends, it does not have to go this way."
"I'm afraid it does, Lord Stark. You should have kept your mouth shut," he said, digging his heels into his horse.
"Aye," Robb says softly before giving a sharp whistle. Winter dashes out, intercepting the horse and causing it to rear and spill back down the slope on top of the ranger. The archer nocks an arrow, but Val is quicker, flinging the dagger in her belt in a practiced overhand motion that sends it end over end until it finds purchase in the man's neck. The gaunt man makes to leave, but Winter lunges at his face, forcing him off the horse as it gallops away. He rolls with the fall and rises quickly, but Robb is already on him. He is a hard man, this ranger, and a good sword, but for the past three years Robb has fought with and against the greatest fighters in the lands beyond the Wall. It is over within a dozen parries when Robb checks a blow, pivots, and slams his heel into the man's knee, staggering him. A quick downward cut when the gaunt ranger is off balance takes off his sword hand. Grabbing his stump, the man falls to his knees with a curse that ends in a gurgle when Robb thrusts the blade through his throat. He wrenches the sword free and turns, thinking the big man may have gotten up, but Winter has already ripped his throat out and is now busy tearing into the horse.
"Damn," he says, looking at the bloody scene.
"These Crows were blacker than their namesake," Val replies, retrieving her dagger and wiping it on the dead archer's cloak. "Mourn them not."
"They were men of the Night's Watch." He cleans the sword on the man's cloak before sheathing it.
"They were swine. Swine who would have murdered you and raped and murdered me."
"True. I should have let them pass."
"They would have found our tracks and doubled back on us. It was good to kill them when we had the advantage. And now we have a garron," she says over her shoulder, approaching the archer's animal, working at a tuft of grass nearly fifty paces away.
"Maybe two if we find the one that bolted," he calls back, shouldering their packs and following. "Though we will have some difficulty explaining what happened to the brothers at Castle Black."
"Crows can't hear the truth?"
"These three couldn't. I worry that there are more like these than like my uncle." He catches up to her as she strokes the beast's hair. It whinnies softly and accepts her touch. "And I worry for you, my love," he says, as he drops their packs and wraps his arms around her waist.
"None of that now, Lord Stark," she says, though he can almost hear her smile as she says it. So he presses tighter against her and buries his face in her neck and hair…
...and receives a sharp elbow into his ribs for his trouble. "Oomph!" he coughs out before realizing that there is a dagger under his chin.
"I said none of that. There is too much daylight left, and I'll not waste it just because your blood is up and your cock is stiff."
He grins and dips his head for a kiss, the knife digging deeper. She gives him just enough to hover over her mouth before she presses a bit harder and breaks the skin. "Ouch," he says as he flinches back. "Alright, alright, you harridan."
"Harridan? Next time I'll give your little prick a little prick instead of your chin. Now let's go find the other horse," she says, sheathing her blade in her furs and grabbing the beast's bridle.
He put one hand over hers, and the other over her stomach. "I'll not risk taking you and our babe to Castle Black now. Especially with these horses."
She kisses him full on the lips then, slipping her tongue into his mouth. He kisses back and goes to put his arms around her, but she pushes him away. "Let's find that other horse, Lord Stark. There are other ways past the Wall."
II
The journey takes them the better part of a moon's turn. With Winter's help, they skirt the Shadow Tower and cross over through the Gorge next to Westwatch-by-the-Bridge. They follow the coast down to the northern edges of the Wolfswood, the sparse northern population working in their favor. Once they reach the great forest, Robb's memories take over, and he is able to guide them past Ironrath, through Birch lands and Bole. Winter, belly swollen now with her own pups, keeps them aware and away from other travelers and holdfasts, and hunts for them when they cannot. Soon enough, they find themselves staring at the great castle and the Winter Town outside its gates.
III
Winterfell. His home is bathed in moonlight, the great towers and walls black against the soft glow, the green moors now grey, but illuminated enough to guide his way home without trouble. All he has to do is step forward, yet he finds that he cannot. Nevermind that Val, who he pledged himself to before the great heart tree north of the Antler, is holding his arm and whispering her love in his ear, or that he killed over half a hundred men in battle despite his age, or that he is the true heir of Winterfell. At this moment, he has never felt such a stranger, even in the first months of his captivity by Mance. The Wintertown, while familiar, does not look warm. The Castle, despite being the centerpiece of his childhood, does not look inviting. Would it be the same for his family? Would they look only familiar to him, strangers who resembled people he once loved? Would he be the same to them?
"Should we ride to the gates and give them a knock?" Val asks, bemused.
"We should have made camp by the Little Knife. It's nearly midnight. The Castle will be sleeping."
"What about the town?"
"There are inns about, but we've no coin to spend for a room."
"We've the garrons," she replies.
"That would buy us lodging for a week," he says, trying to remember their rates and do the calculations in his head. "Maybe more if they aren't full."
She puts a hand on his cheek. "Or we can knock on the gates and have you declare yourself."
"I...the castle looks strange, Val. I can tell you the name and history behind each tower, tell you where the godswood lies inside the walls, tell you what the kitchens smell like at dawn, but...it doesn't look like home."
Touching his cheek, she kisses him deeply before pulling away and asking, "What is home then, my love?"
"You," he says immediately, his forehead touching hers. "You are home. And the little one inside you." Winter gives a small whine then, to which Robb answers, "Yes, you as well, wolf. You are all my home."
"You are mine, as well, kneeler," she says, eyes wide and her tone serious. "I followed you across the frozen north, followed you into battle against other Free Folk, followed you south of the Wall. The babe and I need only you, my love. Not a castle or a lordship. Only you. If you choose not to be Robb Stark, Lord of Winterfell, we will be happy with Robb Stark the sellsword or farmer or fisherman."
"What of Robb Stark the wildling?" he asks.
She gives him a curious look. "I fell in love with him long ago. He has ever been enough for me. Now come," she says, breaking away and mounting her garron. "Let us see if he is enough for your family." Her horse begins cantering away.
"Aye, my love," Robb replies, mounting his own garron and urging the beast into a trot to catch up to his wife. They are less than a quarter mile away from the gates when they see them open and riders pour out.
"The moonlight gave us away," Val tells him.
"I believe you are correct," Robb responds, dismounting. Winter is silent as she glides up next to him, but her hackles are up. As he watches the riders approach, torches aloft, he scratches behind the old wolf's ear, and feels the tension ease.
"Declare yourselves," the lead rider says, reining in his horse, as the others array themselves around them. Their horses catch Winter's scent and one rears, spilling its rider.
"Gods," another of the guards cries, "that's a direwolf!" Winter bares her fangs, but Robb keeps his hand on her head, calming her down. Val doesn't move, and neither does he. Their garrons have grown accustomed to Winter's presence.
The rest of the men draw their swords, but the lead rider throws up a mailed fist. "Hold!" he bellows out, a commander's voice, Robb thinks, but also a familiar one. "Declare yourselves!" he repeats. The torch illuminates a lean, strong young man, with dark hair to his shoulders and a long, clean shaven, and solemn face. Though the light was too low to tell, Robb knows that the man has grey eyes, much like Val's. A northerner, through and through.
Tears fill Robb's eyes as he says, "I declare that it was my idea to scare the girls in the crypts when we were eleven, but it was yours to cover yourself in flour. I declare that I nearly broke your shoulder when I tackled your blindside in a snowball fight, that you punched my last baby tooth out when we quarreled over the last arrow during archery training, that there is none in this world I would have stand beside me against anyone or anything. I declare that you are my best friend and my brother, and these last three years have brought me very few moments of joy greater than this."
The young man dismounts, eyes narrowed, but glistening in the torch's orange glow. He moves forward, paying no attention to Val or the giant wolf or to his men surrounding them. The torch angles close to Robb's face, and for one moment, he despairs that his brother will not know him through the scars and the beard, but then he sees recognition in his eyes. They widen, and he gasps. "Well met, Snow," Robb chokes out, his tears now falling as he embraces his bastard brother, Jon.
IV
"A-and you, Stark," Jon replies, his own voice hitching in emotion, his arms tight around his lost brother, unable to believe that he is holding him. "What? How?" he asks.
"It's a long tale, Jon. One best told by fireside, I think."
"Ser Jon?" one of his men says.
Jon breaks the embrace, clears his throat as he is blinking away his tears, and turns to face his man. "Falmer, ride back and wake Lord Stark and Lady Catelyn."
"No," Robb cuts in, "let them sleep." The guard's look is incredulous, and he quickly places a hand on his sword, affronted by a wildling giving him commands.
"Calm down, Falmer," Jon says before turning to Robb. "You would leave them ignorant of your return?"
"We have traveled far and are weary, Jon. Our tale is a long one. If you wake my father and mother, we will be forced to tell it, and I would rather not deprive my wife of her rest for another night," he finished by placing his hand on the wildling woman's belly. She is still in the saddle, but places her hand over Robb's and smiles down at him.
Jon looks at her and then back at his brother before offering a hesitant smile that he turns on the woman. "My lady," he says, bowing, "I am Ser Jon Snow, Knight of Winterfell and bastard brother to your husband."
She takes down her hood and Jon hears the muffled gasps of the others. The moonlight bathes her face and her furs, making her look like some sort of primitive northern goddess. A quick glance at his men tells him that they have a similar impression of the girl. He, of course, knows better. She is just a wildling. A rare beauty, to be sure, but a wildling all the same.
"Yes, Ser Jon. I am a wildling," she says, answering his unasked question. "I am Val of the Free Folk. Your brother has spoken often of you these last three years."
Jon's smile fades as he looks back to Robb. "I am glad to hear it, my lady," he returns before eyeing the giant direwolf. "And who is this?"
"Winter. My wolf," he explains.
Jon nods as if that explains it all. "Falmer, you and the rest of the boys return to Winterfell. Find one of the maids to make up a room as quickly as they can." He pauses before turning back to Robb, "Will your wolf sleep with you tonight, or should I wake Farlen to clear out a section of the kennels?"
"No, she sleeps with us, though we will need the kennels for when she whelps."
"Aye," Jon replies and turns back to Falmer. "Go now. One of the larger rooms for our...guests."
When the guards had galloped away, and they were making their own way to the castle, Jon asks, "Will I tell Lord Stark of your return in the morning, or would you rather surprise our father at breakfast to see him choke on his porridge and bacon?"
"It could be funny," Robb replies, smiling that old wicked smile he'd don whenever they got up to mischief.
"Still the same boy looking for trouble," Jon says with a laugh.
"Still the same boy who follows me into it," Robb shoots back
"I'd follow you anywhere, Stark," he replies, nudging his horse into a canter.
"Even to the Lands Beyond?"
Jon is silent for a long while. Long enough for Robb to try for an apology. "Jon, I am sorry. That wasn't fair…"
"No," Jon says, cutting him off. "It was. I tried to join the Night's Watch when we got back to Castle Black, but father would not let me. He said I was just a boy and that grief clouded my judgment. I raged against him. Raged because I knew he was right. Because I knew that with you gone, I would have no place in Winterfell. I told him that. A stupid boy full of selfish feelings railing at a man drowning in grief. I thought he might hit me. Hoped he would, in retrospect. But he didn't. He just looked weary, old. Shrunken in a matter of a fortnight. Lord Stark, no longer, only a man who had lost a son. He told me then...about my mother."
"He told you about your mother? Is she alive?"
Jon shook his head. "She isn't. What he told me was...eye opening. But it only made me want to join the Watch even more. So he made me an offer. He'd write to Lord Manderly and ask for his youngest son, Ser Wendel, to take me as squire."
"Hence, Ser Jon."
"Right," Jon replies. "After my apprenticeship was completed, if I still wished, I could join the Night's Watch, but pirates took over the Sisters soon after."
"Pirates?"
"Aye, the Borrells and Torrents allied with them and killed Lord Sunderland and his seven sons and killed all of the Longthorpes except their daughter. She was wed by force to one of the pirate kings. They tried to make it seem legal, claiming they all died in a bad storm, but the truth came out."
"War?"
"War. In our first battle, I nearly drowned...should have been gutted thrice over. I thought of you then. Thought of that fight in the snowstorm. Thought of you dying. It became easier then, the battle. In all that chaos, I was able to think clearly, see clearly. As if it all just made sense in my head. I killed half a dozen and saved Ser Wendel's life. He knighted me on a sinking ship."
"I understand," Robb says.
Jon looks over and sees that he does. Those who have seen horror can always find others who have seen it, as well. "Ser Robar sailed in with half of the Royce levies after that. It took some time, but we deposed The Borrells and Torrents. Some went to the Wall, some were beheaded. The pirates we cleared out not half a year past. I never stood my vigil during the war, so I did before the heart tree in Winterfell a fortnight after...and I'm to leave for the Watch after the next moon."
"No," Robb says, "you're not."
Jon smiles and gives him a friendly whack on the shoulder. "We'll talk about it later, Robb. Now," he says, turning to Val, "tell me why a beauty such as yourself became tethered to a horse's ass like my brother."