Note: As before, parts of this are taken directly or hardly changed from A Song of Ice and Fire by George R. R. Martin, who owns it instead of me.

I decided to update again today since the last chapter was so short. Thanks to everyone who has expressed interest in this story, and of course, reviewed! It's greatly appreciated!

CHAPTER 8: Blood Enough to Die

Jon and Ygritte were riding hard to the small, mostly crumbled building that was nearly hidden by the large trees and bushes that loomed up on either side of it.

"Here! I'm here! Jon! Jon!" Bran was yelling, and Jon could barely see his head in the building. As if in slow motion, he saw Bran's head turn to Jon's left, and his face turn from elated to terrified. Jon turned to look to, but he was too slow.

There, running toward them was a Thenn Jon knew by sight but not name.

The wildling was tall and heavy set, but despite this was moving fast toward them. He had seen Bran at the same moment Jon had, but Jon had been far off towards the house, and he was too slow to move. The wildling would get there before him, it was a sure thing. And worse, there was a bow near as tall him in his hands, and arrows on his back. Jon watched, his mouth opening to shout with Bran, as the Thenn loaded it, and took aim.

Seconds, and Bran would be dead.

His poor brother, the one Jon had known in his heart was here—dead, seconds before Jon could see him. Agony seared in his heart as if he'd been stabbed.

But the Thenn was slower than Ygritte.

Behind him, she had wedged a foot underneath herself on the horse's bare back and braced her other leg against Jon so she could half stand up. Jon knew what she was doing and bent over the horse, hoping to give her enough room. There was a hiss as she fired the first shot, and Jon looked to see where it had struck.

He looked in time to see the Thenn crumble to the ground, an arrow sticking from his eye. Ygritte shot another, quicker this time, and it pierced his neck. The man was on the ground, but not yet dead. Jon rode harder, nearly unseating Ygritte behind him.

Not taking his eyes from the Thenn, he threw a hand behind him to grab her around the waist and keep her on the horse. This almost proved too much for him, and he pushed harshly against the black at the edges of his vision.

Remarkably, they arrived by the Thenn in time to see a direwolf—Summer— stream out of seemingly nowhere and rip the dead man's throat out.

If her arrows had failed, that killed him. He collapsed in a pool of blood and didn't move again.

Jon pulled the horse to a stop, clutching her mane and Ygritte to him. He hadn't pulled up in time and the horse screamed at the sight of the wolf. Jon let her retreat, swooning back and forth as he searched for his brother.

"Bran!" Jon yelled. Though the man was dead, there was still a horrible fear deep in his heart and throat. The weariness he'd felt for a few nights was almost gone, though his hands shook hard. His vision was still tinged black, as though he might pass out once more.

"Jon! Jon!"

Then Jon was off the horse, and he was trying to run. But no, he had forgotten his leg. With a slight scream, as soon as he put weight on his wounded leg, he collapsed bodily to the ground and stayed down, breathing hard. Hard fought, he managed to gather his arms under him and push himself up. He didn't dare move his leg.

He heard Ygritte snort as she too vaulted off the horse, keeping hold of her with a piece of rope he'd made with his cloak last night.

"You have t' be more careful, Jon Snow," she said as she fetched a walking stick from a nearby dead tree for him. He heard concern in her voice though.

"I know," he gasped, dizzy from the pain. There were tears racing down his face and he knew this had been too much for him; too much for his leg and too much for his confused mind. He looked to the building Bran was in, just a seconds run ahead.

"Bran!" he shouted. His throat tore and he coughed for a moment. "Are you okay?"

"Yes," came the reply. "Just give us a moment, we'll be right out! Are you okay?!"

"Yes," Jon said. He'd meant to yell it, but he didn't think he had. His head had dropped without his noticing, and his eyes had slid shut.

His mind was reeling; he conjured up the last image he had of Bran, a pale, drawn child unconscious in his bed. That had been after he fell, Jon remembered. Lady Catelyn had been there as well, some jumble of sticks she'd been making into something in her hands as she glared at him.

Old wounds flared up in his heart, but Jon felt only confusion and pain. Why was he thinking of this? Where was he? The sun was glaring down at him… and it was much too warm to be Winterfell.

A direwolf padded to him and licked his face. Jon first recoiled then smiled.

"Ghost," he murmured. He reached a hand out to touch the animal, but his hand didn't find it, and when he opened his eyes to look, there was no wolf there. "Oh," he said, his voice slurred. Then Ygritte was there, and he smiled at her. She didn't smile back, but was staring at him with a drawn, tight expression.

Jon could feel both her hands on his arm, then shoulder, pulling him up. He didn't understand why… and he felt so heavy…

"Stand up," she told him, but it sounded as though she was a long way off. He tried to, but black danced over his vision again, and he stayed down. He thought he felt her hands under his arm again, but then the world was spinning, and he was falling… falling…

"Jon! Jon!" he heard a woman call. It sounded like Ygritte, but she had only ever called him Jon Snow, never just Jon… or had she? His mind groped for the memory… but he didn't find it. He wasn't falling so much as already there… and black stopped dancing his vision as he saw nothing but darkness once more.


Ygritte hadn't seen Jon Snow fall off the horse— she had been scanning the area for more Thenns— but she did see him collapse onto the ground and stay there, holding his head and swaying slightly back and forth from the ground.

She gasped sharply. Ygritte winced and wondered how he had fallen so badly ill in such a short time.

Dread cooked up fear in the pit of her stomach as she eyed her wounded lover. He had told her he'd taken an arrow to the leg in the chaos at the kneeler's house. He'd removed it, but the wound was deep and high on his leg. He'd lost a lot of blood, if the heavy, dark brown stains on his pants and from his hands to elbow on both arms were any judge.

Seeing no more enemies, she pulled him down a walking stick and tied the horse to a tree. She remembered last night and felt ill. When Jon had fainted from either pain or blood loss at her bed, Ygritte had hauled him back to his horse and slung him over it before climbing on herself.

She still felt a flicker of impressed satisfaction that no one had woken up to see her do it, nor see them leave. She had ridden this way. Something Jon had said to her, about staying in that old man's stone house before she had killed him made her do it. And she wanted nothing to with the crows at Castle Black. Jon wasn't theirs anymore, he was hers, as he had proven.

Putting aside her anger at him had been difficult, at first. But now he was wounded, and he had come back for her anyway…

Ygritte took in the sight of him on the ground with a hard, scared face. She thought it was probably too soon for any corruption in the wound to be causing this, so she thought it was probably blood loss. Jon had assured her last night he hadn't lost that much blood. But she was as unsure now as she had been then.

"No, no," he had told her when he woke up last night. She had asked if he lost enough blood to kill him. Then he had given her a lazy, slanted grin she hadn't seen from him before. The sight of it, and his pale face scared her badly. In a drunk voice, he said, "'m fine, 'm fine… I bandaged it up and washed it to."

She had looked at the bandage, and grudgingly thought it was fine. She wondered now as she had then if he had passed out after removing the arrow before he bandaged his leg… if he had he might have lost more blood than he originally thought.

But Ygritte didn't think he'd die of it.

At least not now. If he was going to die from lack of blood surely it would have been last night? Or if he indeed had passed out, he simply wouldn't have awoken if this wound was going to kill him. She didn't know. She didn't know.

But now was not the time to think on it. She crouched next to Jon Snow, put her hand under his arm and made to pull him to his feet.

"Ghost," he murmured and stared next to her shoulder. His eyes closed a moment later, and he smiled as if he were drunk. Her heart dropped—the white direwolf was beyond the Wall still, lost to them.

"Stand up," she told him.

A moment later he had gone completely limp in her hands and his eyes were closed.

"Oh no," Ygritte whispered under her breath, face stricken and eyes wide. She'd meant it as a curse, but her voice was faint with horror instead.

She let the walking stick drop to the ground. Jon wouldn't be walking—or limping—anywhere for a while.

Ygritte stood there for a moment, not daring to make a sound. Jon stirred once, but that was it. She knew he was alive; she could see the rise and fall of his chest. She supposed this was no more worrying than when he had fainted last night… but it felt worse, in the light of day. He certainly looked worse, in the light.

Footsteps turned her hands to her bow and arrow. In a second, she had loaded it. Immediately she took a step over Jon's crumpled body toward the threat and stayed there protectively, a foot on either side of him.

The man who had been walking toward them stumbled to a halt, eyes wide. By far, he was the biggest person besides a giant Ygritte had seen. In his arms he carried a small boy, dwarfed by the bulk of the man. At their side padded a wolf.

Ygritte gave it a quick glance, knowing in a fight it would be the first enemy she took down. (She had seen Ghost fight enough times to know that.) Then she looked to the man, and then to the boy. He was small. His legs dangled uselessly, and Ygritte thought he probably couldn't use them. There was no muscle there at all, unlike his arms which were thin but seemed strong enough.

Jon had told her, sounding drugged, of his brothers and sisters... although they may have been his cousins. Jon himself differed on this point twice as he told it to her. All of them, anyway, kept wolves like Jon kept Ghost. His brothers were Robb and his Grey Wind, and Bran with Summer. He might have had another brother named Shaggy Dog—but she thought this was a wolf's name. He didn't say anything about a third brother. Jon had two sisters as well, a Sansa with her Lady, and an Arya with Nymeria.

Looking at the crippled boy, she knew she was looking at Bran. Even his face looked surpassingly like Jon's own. Her every instinct telling her not to, she lowered her arrow from the face of the huge direwolf. She took a breath and then another.

"Bran," she said and smiled at him. He was Jon's brother after all… and Jon was her's, so she would protect this small boy as well. The wildlings would have killed a crippled child as a kindness, but she understood the men South of the Wall didn't behave like this. Jon himself had a gentleness to him; she thought wryly then of the old man he had refused to kill.

Bran's eyes were wide, afraid.

Ygritte had never had to assure someone before, and her voice was unsure and her words clumsy as she said, "I… I won't hurt you, Bran. I know you're Jon's brother. Half-brother." She almost said cousin, but was pretty sure brother was a surer thing. The free woman continued, cautiously, "I know your wolf's name is Summer. I know you have a brother named Robb, and two sisters named Sansa and Arya."

Bran was looking at Jon. He seemed to take her at her word then, or perhaps concern for his brother won out over fear for her.

"What happened to him?" he asked, and she was unsurprised to hear his voice tremble.

"He took an arrow through the leg," she answered. "Who is the man with you?"

"Hodor," Bran said, and the name was soon taken up by the man himself.

"Hodor, Hodor," he said, his voice afraid and small. He was staring at her, afraid even though she had lowered her bow. She thought of taking a step back to soothe him (a fearful person would attack), but it would mean putting Jon between them and her, and she wouldn't do that. She tried to make her face less fierce though.

She didn't think it worked. He didn't seem less afraid, certainly.

"It's alright, Hodor, it's okay," said Bran.

Ygritte stared.

Hodor said nothing and Bran turned to her again.

"What's your name?" Bran asked her then.

"Ygritte."

"Are you a wildling?"

"That's what your people call me."

"Oh. Is Jon?"

The truth made her mouth twist. No. But she said defiantly, "He's one of the free folk. As am I."

"Oh."


After that Bran was put inside the same building he'd come from. He had called it a Ghost Tower and that made Ygritte's skin prickle with unease. She almost balked and told them that they would ride away from the place, with Jon unconscious or no. But looking at his still, pale face made her change her mind.

She had tried to move him into the Ghost Tower herself but couldn't. She thought of using the horse—surely she could get him onto it again as she had done last night—but before she could do anything the large man Hodor had come over.

"What do you want?" she had asked warily. Again, she had stepped over Jon to protect him, but even she was aware that this man could likely kill them both if he wanted to. Still, she scowled at him and gently let her hand drift to her bow.

"Hodor just wants to help. He knows Jon," Bran called from inside. She looked at him. His Summer was resting beside him with his head in his lap. The wolf took no interest in her, unlike Ghost who had liked her quite a bit.

Ygritte looked doubtfully back to Hodor. A single blow, and she'd be dead. Another, and Jon would join her.

"He just wants to help," Bran repeated.

Ygritte hadn't like that at all, not one bit. She had stood standoffishly in front of Hodor for a moment before reluctantly, she stood aside. Bran was Jon's brother after all, and he'd been nothing but concerned. Still, every muscle in her body was tense and after a few moments felt on fire. She took a deep breath and watched as Hodor gently picked up Jon as if he was nothing.

"Be careful!" she couldn't help but say when Jon let out a low groan as Hodor shifted him.

Hodor made no response but stilled for a second to watch Jon before continuing. Then a moment later, he was putting Jon next to Bran.

Ygritte didn't enter the tower. Instead, she cast here eyes to the sky, which was rapidly growing dark. She looked at Bran, suddenly noticing how large his eyes were in his head. Despite herself, a small flicker of concern made her sigh. Her gaze turned from Bran and lingered on Jon. Still unconscious, still sick.

"How long has it been since you last ate, Bran?"

To her complete lack of surprise, he dropped eye contact with her quickly and shifted uncomfortably. "I had some stores built up from when I was with Meera and Jojen. Meera could catch rabbits and Jojen knew which plants to eat sometimes… but I haven't seen either of them in weeks."

He seemed distraught. Without changing her face, Ygritte said, "So how long has it been?"

"A few days, I guess. But we have water, Hodor fetches it from a little river nearby and it rains most nights, too."

Ygritte could certainly believe that from the clouds that were brewing in the sky.

"How long have you been here, Bran?" she said, looking out around them. She didn't see anyone.

"About a week, I think."

She nodded. It should be safe again. If Bran hadn't been found by the Thenns earlier or anyone else for a week she doubted he'd be found while she was gone.

Ygritte turned to Bran, suddenly matter of fact. "I'm going to go hunting then. I'll take the horse with me and stash her in some trees a while away. Are you okay to stay here?"

Ygritte had no idea what she would do if he said "no" and she supposed it had been an idiotic question. But being around children seemed to do that to her. She thought of her own half-brother, although she had never thought of him like that, just her "mother's second child".

He was three right now, while Ygritte was 22. She had never spent much time with him, but when she had it had been awkward. She found herself looking at the weak body of a young child with some horror. What was to keep it from just dying? Her? Only her?

At least until Jon was better, it was just her.

But Bran was nodding, looking somewhat put at ease by her suggestion. "Are you any good at hunting?"

"Yes. Do you have… a weapon of some sort?"

He smiled. "Just Summer."

She wondered if he was a warg as Jon was. But now wasn't the time to ask so she simply nodded. Then she turned and walked away, feeling odd doing so. The dead Thenn was disguised enough in the tall yellow grass, so she left him where he lay and strode to the horse. She mounted it, took one last look around the area, and then to Jon and his brother, and then rode away.

But she would be back.


When Jon woke his head was pounding. His body was slick with sweat. There was a rock jutting into the small of his back. All over he felt ill. Jon smiled, feeling much better than he had earlier. He sat up and looked around. He had been dreaming he was Ghost again, far away from this place, and his surroundings confused him for a moment.

Dusk was rapidly fading around them. Light was slipping into darkness, and Jon had squint to see. There was no one around him, but he could see figures outside the ruined stone tower he was in.

"Hello?" he called, his voice hoarse.

Immediately one of the blurry figures turned to him and a moment later Ygritte was there. She looked immensely relieved to see him awake.

"How do you feel?"

"Alive," he said. "Better. Is that food I smell?"

She handed him a small, roasted bird in response. Jon was hungry, he realized, and he quickly began to eat it. "There's water as well."

He nodded, then looked at her in sudden alarm. "You didn't start a fire, did you?"

She smiled wryly at him. "Yes, but not anywhere near here. And no one showed up either, so likely the Thenns have pressed on. That one we killed must have been a fluke."

Jon remembered there being a Thenn fuzzily, but when she said it, it came back to him. He sat bolt upright, hardly noticing the pain in his leg hindering the movement. "Bran? Is he—where is he?" he asked with wide eyes.

"Outside with Hodor and Summer," she said. "I caught plenty of rabbits and birds."

"Oh," Jon said, nodding. He sat back against the wall. A rock jutting out from it rubbed uncomfortably, but he felt too heavy to move again. "Is… is Ghost here?"

She shook her head, wordless.

Jon nodded and squinted in thought as he tried to remember. "I… I think he will be here. Soon."

She nodded. "I think your brother's a warg, just as you are. I had a look at your leg while you were asleep, and I think it's fine. Do you feel dizzy still?"

Jon sat still for a moment, then moved his head side to side. "No," he said and grinned. "Not at all."

"Good," Ygritte said, looking relieved. "I think you were just dehydrated and woozy from blood loss, that's why you passed out. If you feel better now, I'll bet it's passed. We were pouring water down your throat while you slept. Good." She looked at him, her face fading from relieved to grave. "What are we going to do now, Jon?"

"I…" his voice felt thick. "I need at least to warn the Night's Watch about the attack."

She looked at him, then outside for a moment. He waited, tense for her anger.

But all she said was, "Aye. I thought you would say that."

"And my brother Bran needs to be returned to his mother. She's with Robb. I don't know where they'll be, but I can send them a letter from Castle Black."

Ygritte stared. She opened her mouth to speak, but a voice from outside said loudly, "No, you can't!"

Jon and Ygritte looked at Bran together, then at each other.

"What do you mean?" Jon said, looking again at Bran. The boy's face was thinner than Jon remembered, and he wondered if that was from his recovery after his fall, or from being in the wilderness for who knows how long.

"I… Jon, I have to tell you something." Bran looked miserable.

Jon listened in horrible silence as Bran told him what had happened when King Robb marched for Riverrun. He listened as Bran explained how Theon had been sent to treat with his father, the new King Balon of the Iron Isles. But when Bran said Theon had returned and marched North with an army of Ironborn to take Winterfell, Jon hadn't believed it.

"Theon wouldn't do that," he said stupidly. Theon had never liked him, but he had always been close to Robb. They'd been as brothers.

"He did," Bran said miserably. "And made me tell everyone not to fight him, or he'd start killing people."

Jon cast his mind back to when he, Robb and Theon had been boys at Winterfell together. His mind brought up the image of Theon's simmering anger, and how his face sometimes contorted jealously when he was faced with perceived slights… maybe he could believe it of Theon after all.

"Wow," he said heavily under his breath and sat back against the wall.

Bran continued. He spoke of how they had slipped out of Winterfell by hiding in the crypts, then fleeing the castle with Hodor and Osha, a wildling woman. Jon thought he remembered her vaguely, but he wasn't sure.

Ygritte shrugged when she heard this part and felt questioning eyes on her. "Plenty o' us slip that wall o' yours and fly loose in the south."

"This isn't the south," Jon had said, smiling slightly. "And neither is Winterfell."

She had shrugged again, a smile of her own tugging at her mouth. "Everything south of the Wall is the South."

"We usually just call it the North," Bran said. He seemed to have warmed to Ygritte while Jon was unconscious.

Ygritte seemed to have warmed to him, as well. "Past the Wall is the true North, Bran."

Bran continued his tale. Jon developed a headache as he did. There was so much he had to do, and perilously little time. More than likely the assault on the wall had begun.

"And now it's just me and Hodor," said Bran anxiously, "and we're running from Theon. I think he'd kill me if he heard where I was, just like he killed those two baker's boys."

Jon nodded tiredly. He'd have to leave Bran with Ygritte while he finished his business on the Wall… and then… he didn't know what he would do. Return Bran to Lady Catelyn and Robb and hope he and Ygritte weren't murdered by them? Probably that, he supposed, and just avoid Catelyn and Robb… that would take care of that, he thought… then he and Ygritte would be free to find some small place to live in safety. He smiled. But first, before that, he had to go to the Wall.

That night he told Ygritte of his intentions, and she grudgingly agreed. Then, sleep came to him quickly and Jon was spinning away…

He was Ghost again.

The direwolf welcomed his presence in his mind, and they rejoiced for a moment together.

Jon as Ghost prowled through trees and bush and snow that was as high as his shoulders in places on four legs instead of two. The difference didn't feel odd to him at all. Ghost knew where he was going… on and on they went… for Jon it seemed to go by as a flash, and then he was staring at a small house. Craster's Keep he realized.

So, Ghost was heading to Castle Black, he thought in a small part of his mind.

Ghost hunched down to the ground, his pelt doubtlessly blending in seamlessly with the snow. Something was wrong with the scene before him… the Keep was on fire, Jon realized after a moment. He could see black cloaks moving around feverishly and hear their shouts.

A large man came careening out of the burning house. It took a moment for Jon to recognize him through Ghost's eyes, but when he did a shock went through him. It was the Old Bear!

He ran to where four horses were tied to a tree, near where Jon as Ghost was crouched. With a slash of the sword in his hand, Mormont freed them and grabbed the lead of the once nearest him. In a moment he was on the horse and staring back at the burning keep. Jon couldn't see what his face looked like, but he could smell the blood coming off the man and he knew it was probably bleak.

Under his breath Ghost's alert ears barely heard him say, "Is there anything so grim as a mutiny?"

Then he wheeled his horse around and was away. Jon urged Ghost to follow Mormont, to stay with him the way back to Castle Black and Ghost had stood up to do so before Jon caught a smell that had Ghost back down in the snow, watching. Samwell Tarly stumbled out of the thick smoke, coughing and retching.

After a moment he found his feet and looked around wildly. There were a few people fighting, Jon now noticed, and some were approaching the wooden keep with buckets of water produced from seemingly nowhere. Despite the copious amounts of smoke, he suspected it had to be a relatively small fire if they were even attempting to put it out. He suspected it would be out soon, and he watched Sam with growing unease.

Sam was still looking around. In his haste he tripped, and Jon tensed. But none of the fighters paid him any mind. The Old Bear had indeed been right, Jon thought, about a mutiny when he saw it was brother fighting brother. Sam looked still from the ground and must have seen what he was looking for because a half second later he was on his feet and running.

Jon bid Ghost to follow; Ghost slunk through the trees with his red eyes on Samwell. They watched together as Sam found a woman clutching a package to her chest. Together they stumbled into the forest and headed the same direction Mormont had.

Jon whispered to Ghost, Follow them, follow them. He knew Ghost would, and hopefully he could run up and fetch the Old Bear and bring him back to Sam. Yes, that's what he would do. Without words, he told Ghost of this, in case Jon wasn't around to do it. Jon didn't hear so much as feel Ghost's agreement. Ghost had always like Sam, anyway.

Then, the night having passed, Jon was pulled back to the world of the waking.

Scarcely an hour later, he left, alone on the mare, to ride hard for the Wall.

"I'll be back within a few days, I expect," Jon said nervously to Ygritte and Bran and Hodor.

"You know nothing, Jon Snow," Ygritte said. Her eyes were wide as he'd ever seen them, and she looked almost afraid. She embraced him then, uncharacteristically worried.

"I know I will return," he said, staring into her eyes.

She nodded slowly. "Yes. I know that as well."

Then she was kissing him, and then he was gone. His heart was behind him, though, with Ygritte.