Chapter Ten: The Wolf and the Mockingjay

"Snow?" I echo, in an embarrassingly small voice.

The name conjures up images not of wolves, but snakes. Paper-white hair and roses, blood on a handkerchief, blood dribbling from thick lips into a full white beard as the effects of his poisons finally take their toll. None of this matches up with the man standing before me, smelling like smoke and crisp winter air instead of blood and perfumed roses. Not a small, thin, ugly old dead man, but a young, dark beauty. The contrast almost disorients me.

We're in an entirely different world, I have to remind myself. There can't possibly be any relation.

My sudden expression change must've been obvious because I see his face fall, just a fraction, but with resignation in his eyes like he's somehow used to it. I immediately feel bad; his name is not his fault. I thought he'd be a Stark, but this Lyanna woman must've had the misfortune of marrying a Snow.

"Sorry," I say. "It's just… back home, the last name Snow has a negative association tied to it."

He gives a weak chuckle. "It's no different in Westeros, I'm afraid."

"Really? I thought maybe it was pretty common around these parts." I gesture to the piles of snow in the corners of the courtyard.

He glances around at the snow, then back at me consideringly. "It's the name given to a bastard who was born in the North," he says at last.

"Oh, well, where I come from, it's the name of a bastard who was born in the Capitol," I say, smirking wryly at my own joke.

I hear Beetee losing it in my ear and realize my devices might prove to be a distraction, so I turn off my earpiece for the time being, disguising the gesture by brushing a lock of hair behind my ear. Of course, Jon has no idea what or who I'm talking about, but he does manage a curious, confused little half-grin. At least the humor has returned to his face.

"So, you mean 'bastard' as in, born out of wedlock?" I ask. "So, in the North, if your parents aren't married, they just give you the last name Snow."

"Is not how it's done in…" He puzzles briefly before looking to me for help.

"District Twelve," I finish for him. "In Panem." His brow furrows more deeply in thought, but before he can tell me what I already know, that he's never heard of such a place, I continue, "And no. Illegitimate children just take their mother's last name."

Jon nods, eyes darkening in solemn reflection. He's the brooding type, this one. He turns to walk away and I sense I'm meant to follow.

"I never knew my mother," he tells me, staring straight ahead with a frown. "My father never even told me her name."

This briefly catches me off guard. "Not Lyanna?" I ask, which causes him to stop in in his tracks and wrinkle his brow at me in confusion. "They mentioned your uncle Benjen had a sister, Lyanna. I just assumed she was your mother."

"She was my aunt," Jon corrects, and we resume walking. "My father was Ned Stark, their older brother."

I shake my head at myself, feeling sort of stupid. "Right. People can have more than one sibling."

Jon chuckles appreciatively. "Is that also uncommon where you're from?"

"Not at all," I reply. "My… a former friend of mine has three. Two younger brothers and a little sister."

"I had five," says Jon.

"Five!" I can't help but note that he keeps using past tense, but currently I'm trying to wrap my mind around six children. I remember that Rue was the oldest of six, but still. "I could never have that many kids. I still don't know if I could stomach having one."

"You don't like children, then?" Jon comments, sounding faintly surprised, though I sense no judgment in his tone.

"I like them." Posy's sweet face springs to mind. I miss her as much as I miss Prim. "I just… grew up in a world that wasn't safe for them."

"I understand," Jon murmurs. "Our Night's Watch vow has us swear to take no wives and father no children, so I'll never have to worry about that. But it also kept me from coming to my brother's aid in this war. The last time I saw him, or any of my younger brothers and sisters, was before I came to Castle Black. Now my brothers are dead, and my sister Arya as well. As for my other sister, Sansa, there's no word of her."

This slows me, as if my feet are encased in cinderblocks. My heart feels just as heavy. "I'm sorry," I say softly. The loss of one sister left my spirit in utter ruin. I don't think I endure a pain five times that.

His aunt, his brothers and sister, his lover, presumably his father… all dead. His uncle, too, but now I feel even more certain I should keep this to myself.

No wonder he and Benjen look so grim.

"Too many lives have been lost to this war," he says at last. "I'm going to introduce you to a friend of mine who will help you get situated. There's someone I need to speak with before nightfall comes."

I nod, adjusting my quiver on my shoulder, and keep up with him as he leads me across the courtyard. We stop in front of a stout, round-faced man, who is talking to a small, doe-eyed woman as she sits at a table doing needlework. I say "man" and "woman," but they don't look much older than I am. They both have gentle, sweet faces, not as severe as Jon's or Ser Alliser's.

"Sam, Gilly," Jon says, getting their attention. He nods in my direction. "Someone I'd like you to meet."

"Katniss Everdeen," I tell them.

The man – Sam, I'm guessing – brightens in recognition. "Oh, like the plant!"

I relax, relieved that's the only association he has with my name. "Yes. Good to know you guys have it in Westeros too."

"Honestly I've never heard of it," Jon admits.

"You would have if you'd read the library's botanical books," says Sam. "They're also known as Sagittaria, or arrowheads. Very fitting," he adds with a chuckle, gesturing to my bow.

"Are they safe to eat?" Gilly asks, considering.

"Aye," says another voice. I turn to find an older man with a full grey beard and friendly brown eyes standing there. "Their tubers are. You can eat them like potatoes. They're quite good, actually. King Stannis himself could tell you that. They were among the foodstuffs I smuggled into the castle when he was besieged at Storm's End."

There's something very endearing about him. Maybe it's the warmth in his voice, or the fact that he's a self-professed smuggler. "My father used to tell me, 'As long as you can find yourself, you'll never starve,'" I say.

"Your father sounds like a wise man," he says matter-of-factly.

I smile faintly. "He was."

He nods to us and briskly walks away. I decide I like him a lot better than Ser Alliser.

"My father named me after the gillyflower," Gilly says. "I'm not sure if you can eat it."

"It's beautiful," I assure her. "You're like my little sister. Her name was Prim, for the primrose."

Gilly smiles. "Prim," she repeats. "That's pretty."

"I'm Samwell Tarly." Sam laughs nervously. "It's not any kind of plant, but… you can call me Sam."

"Nice to meet you both," I say. "After almost a week beyond the Wall, it's good to see another living human aga—"

A harsh sniffing sound, coupled with Buttercup's anxious growl, forces me to look over my shoulder. Right behind me, nosing intently at my game bag and trying to get it open, is a gigantic white wolf with blood-red eyes. I whip around and stumble backward with a cry, shifting my game bag and clutching it to my chest. Buttercup hisses angrily and pokes out a paw, swatting blindly.

"Ghost!" Jon scolds, stepping forward and holding out a hand like commanding a dog to stay. "Ghost, no. Back off."

I can't believe what I'm seeing. The wolf comes up to my chest, enormous and intimidating, but it stops sniffing my bag to cock its head at Jon like a confused puppy. It licks its chops hopefully.

"Back off, boy," Jon repeats.

"It's okay, he probably smells the rabbits," I offer, trying to avoid direct eye contact with the wolf. To my credit, I think my breathing and heart rate are slowly returning to normal.

Buttercup growls again, and Ghost retreats to Jon's side.

"Is that a cat?" Sam asks.

I lift the flap and let him peek his head out; he's probably furious with me by now. "My sister's cat, Buttercup." Looking at Jon, I shift my grip on the bag. "Ghost won't eat him if I let him out, will he?"

"Don't eat him, Ghost," Jon says firmly, running his fingers through the wolf's fur.

Satisfied, I loosen my grip, and Buttercup scrambles out and runs away. I'm vaguely concerned but I'm done chasing him for today. "Stupid cat."

Jon continues to stroke Ghost's fur, perhaps holding him back from chasing after Buttercup and making a fluffy orange snack out of him.

"Maester Aemon will want to meet her as well," says Jon. "Keep her company and get her settled in. I'd do it myself, but I need to speak to Mance and there isn't much time."

With that, he rushes off in a hurry, making his way towards another wooden platform of stairs that lead up to part of the stone castle. He passes the pyre that the men have been building, which is starting to look more like a stake for burning witches.

Uncomfortable with the sight, I glance back to Sam and Gilly. "Who's Mance?" I ask. He must be important if Jon doesn't want to keep him waiting.

"Mance Rayder," Sam clarifies. "You've never heard of him? He calls himself King Beyond the Wall. King Stannis and his men took him and the wildlings prisoner yesterday."

"Oh." I think of the thousand hoofbeats I heard in the forest. "Then it must've been his camp I stayed at last night."

"If you don't mind me asking," Sam says earnestly. "The way you speak… where exactly do you come from?"

"I've never heard anyone talk like you north of the Wall," Gilly notes. To Sam, she adds, "I think she sounds very interesting."

I smile, knowing explaining will be fruitless. "I'm from Panem. District Twelve."

"District Twelve?" Gilly repeats, with the expected amount of confusion.

The best thing to do is probably to keep talking like it's a lesser-known part of this world. "Panem's made up of twelve – thirteen districts," I explain, trying to sound informative but casual. "I'm from Twelve. The coal-mining district."

"I've never seen Panem on any maps," says Sam, though he sounds friendly and not untrusting. "It must be very far away."

"It is," I agree. "To tell you the truth, I'm not even sure how I got here."

Which is, in fact, the truth, as I still have no idea how Beetee accomplished multidimensional travel.

"That's a lovely pin," Gilly says, changing the subject as she finishes her needlework. "The bird."

I brush a finger over it reflexively, only now remembering it's there. "Thank you."

"Is it your house sigil?" Sam asks.

"House sigil?" Does each individual house here have a sigil? Maybe I should learn the customs of this world while I still have a harmless teacher. "What's that?"

"The symbol that represents each house – do you not have houses in Panem?" Sam asks.

"Well, we live in them," I offer feebly.

Sam smiles appreciatively. "The Great Houses are the noble families of Westeros, and there are also many vassal houses, families who have sworn fealty to the Great Houses. All the houses have mottos and sigils to represent them. Symbols they put on flags, shields, and even pins like yours." He gestures to me. His pale eyes seem to grow brighter as he shares information. "For example, House Tarly's sigil is a striding huntsman – an archer, like you. Red on green. The House words are 'first in battle.'"

Gilly beams at him with loving pride. "Sam's a true warrior. He killed a white walker and a Thenn."

I don't know what a Thenn is, but she puts more emphasis on it than a white walker, so it must be pretty dangerous. Sam's tougher than I thought.

He's also modest, as he blushes at the praise and briefly smiles into his lap. I think if these two had a baby together, their child would be just like Delly Cartwright. "Then, for House Stark, it's a grey direwolf against a white backdrop. Their words are 'winter is coming.'" I glance over at Ghost, who has found something else to sniff and chew on besides me. I'm guessing that's what a direwolf is, a wolf of terrifying size. "I don't suppose you have anything like that in Panem. Houses and sigils, I mean."

"Nothing for families. We have Seals for each district, but it's not as creative as House Tarly," I answer. "Basically, it just represents each district's industry. Carved into stone. No colors or anything. District Twelve is coal mining, so our Seal has train tracks, two pickaxes, and a mining helmet."

"Oh," Sam says in fascination, perhaps at least pretending to know what I'm talking about. I haven't seen any railroads yet, but then again, I've barely been beyond the Wall.

Gilly, however, wrinkles her brow and dares to ask, "What's a train?"

Of course, Sam is flummoxed, so I cover for him by answering first. "It's a mode of transportation, like a cart or a wagon or a carriage, that runs on wheels across a path of wooden planks and metal rails on the ground. We burn coal for fuel, and it travels pretty fast."

Gilly looks enthralled. "How fast?"

I shrug. "Faster than horses," I tell her. "Like the wind."

"Can you ride them?" she asks, her wonder persistent. She's very determined to learn things. A good thing for Sam, but potentially risky for me.

"You can ride in them," I say.

She looks satisfied, but thoughtful. "I want to ride in a train…" she says decisively, then does some finishing touches with her sewing before she looks back up at me. "What do you think your house sigil would be if you had one?"

Her question takes me by surprise. "I… I don't know."

"You should come up with one!" Sam says encouragingly, sounding excited. "And your House words, too! Davos Seaworth, the Onion Knight who spoke to you about the tubers, his House is rather new. He founded it himself."

"I think your sigil should be the bird on your pin," Gilly informs me. "What kind is it?"

"It's a mockingjay," I say. I unpin it from my coat and hold it out for them to see. Sam gently takes it and inspects it. "A cross between a mockingbird and a jabberjay, which is a rare bird from Panem."

"Is this gold?" Sam asks in amazement. When I nod, he traces it gently with a finger before handing it back to me. "It's finely crafted."

"Mockingjay…" Gilly repeats slowly, savoring the word. "Do they sing like mockingbirds?"

"They do." I think of my father, singing back and forth with the mockingjays as he walked through the woods. "They're known for their ability to mimic any vocal sounds. Any melody you sing to them, they can whistle back to you."

I gaze down at the pin in my hand, running my thumb over the circle and the bird's wings.

"House Everdeen would be a mockingjay," I say. "Orange like the sunset, with a forest green background. An arrow in its beak."

Sam's and Gilly's expressions show immense approval. "And your words?" Sam asks.

This gives me pause. Words, words, words. First in battle. Winter is coming. "What are some more examples?"

"Well…" Sam leans back, thinking. "House Targaryen is 'fire and blood.' House Baratheon, 'ours is the fury.' House Tully, 'family, duty, honor.' House Tyrell, 'growing strong.'"

Those are good words. Concise and memorable. I try to mull over the sayings and phrases that mean anything to me.

May the odds be ever in your favor. No, those would be the words of the Capitol.

As long as you can find yourself, you'll never starve. No, that's too long. Not punchy enough.

Stay alive. More condensed, but I should save it for House Abernathy.

Fire is catching. Almost there. It just sounds too similar to 'winter is coming.'

Then I think of them. The words that aren't too long, too vague, or too personal. The ones that, in any world, can have power and truly mean something.

"House Everdeen," I repeat, pinning the sigil back on my coat. "'If we burn, you burn with us.'"

A/N: I've officially caught up with myself on this fic! Chapter 11 is still in the works, so this may be the last weekly update for a while. I'll try to keep at it, though. Thanks so much for reading this far! And for all the faves, follows, and reviews!

~Caroline