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Everything.
Chapter Seventy-One: For the Watch
Jon
The men were unhappy and restless. They did not like that he had let the Wildlings through the Wall. They did not like that some of them remained at Castle Black. And, he was sure, that many of them still did not like that he had been named Lord Commander. He had never had many friends at the Wall, but he had even fewer friends now. Sam, Edd, and Olly were all he had.
Those three and Tormund. The tall red haired Wildling had seemed to like him all those months ago when he traveled with the Wildlings North of the Wall. And after Jon had saved Mance from burning to death the fierce Wildling seemed to respect him even more.
But a Wildling for a friend would do Jon no favors here.
Perhaps he should have forsaken his vows, perhaps he should have let Stannis Baratheon name him Stark and give him Winterfell.
He was pulled from his thoughts, his regrets, his what ifs when Olly burst into his chambers without knocking. Jon stared up at him, his brows furrowed wondering what could have his young steward in such a rush when the boy spoke. "Lord Commander," he said, at least remembering to call Jon that. "It's one of the Wildlings. Says he knows your uncle Benjen. Says he's still alive."
Jon's chair scraped against the floor as he rushed to stand, his fingers gripping the edge of his desk as if it were the only thing keeping him tied to the world. He couldn't believe it. Benjen had been missing for so long, and now to hear that he might still be alive, that someone at Castle Black had seen him. It was almost too good to be true.
"Are you sure he's talking about Benjen?" Jon asked, forcing himself to stay behind his desk. He did not want to get his hopes up. But it was too late, he could already feel it bubbling up inside of him, warming his chest, thrumming through his veins.
He had lost almost everyone. And now Olly was telling him that his uncle could still be alive.
"Said he was First Ranger," Olly confirmed with an earnest nod.
There was nothing holding him back now. He allowed the hope to continue rising as he pushed himself away from his desk and started to run. If Benjen was still alive somewhere North of the Wall he would need help. And soon. Jon would take the Rangers out himself to look for him. And they would not return until they had found him.
"Said he knows where to find him," Olly continued as he followed Jon, keeping pace with him as he had done ever since he had arrived at Castle Black.
Thorne was waiting for him in the courtyard, Jon didn't need to ask, all the Brothers of the Night's Watch had been saddened by Benjen's disappearance. And all of them, even the ones that did not particularly like Jon understood his desire to find his uncle. "Man says he saw your uncle at Hardhome during the last full moon," he explained as he led Jon to where the man was.
If he hadn't been in such a hurry that would have surprised Jon, many of the Wildlings he had let pass through the Wall had come from Hardhome and none of them had mentioned his uncle. They had to know he was looking. Why had this man kept it a secret for so long?
"Could be lying," Jon told Thorne, if only to temper his own hopes. Still, as he said the words he prayed to every god he could think of. The Old and the New, and perhaps even the strange fire god that Stannis had brought from across the Narrow Sea. He prayed to them all that the man wasn't lying, that he had seen Benjen. And that the man was still alive.
"Could be," Thorne agreed. "There are ways to find out."
"Where is he?" Jon asked as they rounded a corner in the courtyard. They were approaching a group of brothers. Edd was not among them.
"Over there," Thorne told him, nodding toward the group and letting Jon move in front of him.
The brothers stood in a tight circle in the dim torch light. It was hard for him to make out who was there, but they all recognized him. They moved out of his way, none of them barring his way toward the center of their circle. None of them seemed particularly excited about the news, Jon wondered if Thorne had not shared it with them.
When he got to the center of the circle he saw it, the thing Thorne had sent for him to see.
Except, he realized as his steps faltered, it wasn't a Wildling.
It wasn't even a man.
It was a cross bearing the word traitor. And as his breath caught in his throat he realized that it was meant for him. He stood for a moment staring at, wondering when the first blow would come. Will you stab me in the back, Thorne? he wondered, his inner voice almost taunting.
He had thought about death many times since joining the Night's Watch. And each time he had imagined panic and fear. Never had he ever thought that he would mock the man who meant to kill him, even if only in his head.
He would not die with his back turned to his murderer. For one more long moment he stared at the word. Traitor.
Am I a traitor? he wondered. He didn't think he was. He knew many of his men resented his treatment of the Wildlings. They believed him too friendly with them. They thought that his time with them had made him soft. But he believed, after meeting them, after spending so much time with them, that they were not the enemy the Night's Watch had been created to fight. They were people, just like him. Just like Thorne. Whose ancestors had had the misfortune of living on the wrong side of the Wall when it was built. And if that made him a traitor, it was a name he would bear proudly.
With that, he turned to face Thorne.
He expected the older man to say something. He expected condemnation for his supposed crimes. But Thorne only glared at him as he stepped forward, one hand on Jon's shoulder to keep him still as his other hand rammed forward, a knife in his fist, and stabbed him in the stomach. Thorne kept his blade in Jon as he leaned closer. "For the Watch," he announced, his voice quiet and harsh.
Jon gasped as Thorne pulled the knife out of him and stepped away. Jon followed, taking a few shaky steps forward before he was grabbed by another one of his brothers, Bowen Marsh. Bowen stabbed him in the stomach as well, "For the Watch," he growled as he stepped away.
One after another, they each came forward. Three more to be exact. Each of their knives slicing through his leather vest and cutting open his stomach. Each of them announcing "For the Watch."
Until Jon, no longer able to stand, fell to the wet, melting snow at his feet. It was then that the crowd began to part. Olly was walking toward him, tears in his eyes, his face red and blotched. Jon's chest tightened, he hated to think that the men had done this in front of the young boy. Olly had already seen so much death, so much blood, he hated to add his own to the list. He hated to know that Olly would have to live the rest of his life knowing that these men, these traitorshad tricked him into luring Jon to his death.
He watched the men through narrowed eyes, wondering if they would attack Olly too. Wondering if they would use the boy's death as one final means to torture him before his own.
But as they let him pass through he realized what it meant. Olly hadn't been tricked.
He had known all along.
He tried to stand, but could get no higher than his knees as he turned to face Olly, determined that the boy would have to look him in the eye. He was not angry at the boy, he knew that Olly felt betrayed, he knew that the young boy could not see that Jon had the right of it, that the Wildlings he had let through the Wall were not the same ones that had killed his parents. He did not blame the boy, but he would not let him off easily either.
For a moment they remained still, staring at each other, with Jon on his knees they were almost the same height. Olly sobbed and Jon thought that perhaps he would change his mind. But he could see it in the shaky set of the boy's lips. In the way he tried so hard to look strong and older than he was. He would not change his mind.
"Olly," Jon whispered, not sure what he meant to say next. Was he begging Olly not to do it? Or was he trying to tell him that he understood, that he forgave him. Even Jon didn't know.
Did it even matter?
Olly sobbed again and shook his head slightly, before his arm extended, his knife cutting through his vest, his skin, stabbing him in the heart. "For the Watch."
They left him then, turning their backs on him as they walked away, not a single one staying to watch. They left him alone, as perhaps he had always been.
He had been alone at Winterfell, the bastard that was always on the outside.
He had been alone at Castle Black, a noble bastard among criminals and thieves.
When he was with the Wildlings he had been alone, spying on them for the Watch.
Always alone when he was alive.
It was almost poetic that he would be alone when he died.
The snow was cold on his back, despite his blood melting it. The sky above him was dark except for a thousand stars that littered the vast expanse. He took a deep breath, perhaps his last one on the earth.
This was not the worst way to die.
-.-.-.-.-
Sansa
She could not let go of Arya. She held her sister's hand as their growing group continued to walk north, heading toward Castle Black and Jon. When they stopped to rest she would pull Arya down to sit next to her, as close as she could, practically in her lap. When they slept she curled herself around the younger girl, unable to sleep unless she could feel her sister warm, breathing, alive in her arms.
There was no doubt in her mind that Arya thought that she was a fool. Her sister laughed at her constant worry, she made light of it. But Arya never fought her on it. She was so strong, the younger girl, but she must have needed Sansa's comfort as much as Sansa needed hers. Because she never pulled away. She never went far. And in the mornings when she would spar with either the Hound or Brienne, she always made sure to stay within Sansa's sight.
"If only they could see us now," Arya murmured one evening as the sisters sat by the fire, finishing their supper.
"Who?" Sansa asked, raising her eyebrows as she turned to look at her younger sister. "If only who could see us now?"
"All of them," Arya answered. "Mother, Father, Robb, the boys, our septa that was always scolding us for fighting. They wouldn't believe their eyes. The two of us together and happy about it? It would be unthinkable to them."
Sansa placed her plate on the ground, her hands falling to her lap as she turned to study her sister for a moment. "They would have to be alive for them to see it, Arya," she told the girl. "And none of them are." She wasn't sure how much Arya had heard about what had happened to their family while she was on the run. For all the torture and humiliation she had suffered in the capitol, at least she had always been privy to the latest news.
"I know that," Arya told her, her voice too bitter for such a young girl. "I was there for Father, at the Sept of Baelor, I saw it all. The crowd, Joffrey, Ser Ilyn Payne chopping off his head with his own sword." She shook her head, "For months, I saw it over and over every time I closed my eyes. I saw it. And I will continue to see it until the day I die."
Sansa lifted her hands from her lap, reaching out toward Arya and wrapping her arms around her shoulders. She expected Arya to fight her, this was the first time they had spoken about Father and she worried that they had avoided the subject because Arya blamed her for their father's death. But there was no running from it now. "Oh Arya," she whispered, blinking back the tears that stung her eyes as she pulled her sister closer to her, her fingers running through the uneven strands of her dark hair, making quick work of untangling every knot and tangle she found. "I'm so sorry that you had to see that."
Arya's eyes closed as she leaned her head closer to Sansa, allowing her access to more of her tangled hair. "I'm sorry that you had to see it," she told Sansa, her eyes still closed. "I saw you that day, all dressed up and smiling." Sansa closed her eyes, unable to watch her sister as she continued. Arya's voice was quiet, there was no anger or betrayal in it, but perhaps there should have been. "They promised you mercy didn't they?" Arya continued. If she noticed that Sansa's fingers had stopped running through her hair she did not mention it. "The bastard Joffrey and that bitch Cersei."
Sansa gasped, "Arya," she scolded quietly. "You can't talk like that! Even here, it's not safe!"
Arya scoffed, not feeling the same fear that her older sister carried with her every day. "I can talk however I want," she assured Sansa. "It's the truth. Joffrey was a bastard. They all were except for Lenora. And Cersei was a bitch, and a whore. She's no more the rightful queen than I am. And they promised you that they would be merciful to Father, they promised. And then just to watch you suffer Joff had him beheaded instead."
Sansa was quiet for a moment, she should have continued to scold Arya. There was no where they could go where Varys' little birds couldn't find them. Even in the northern woods. It was unsafe to talk as her sister had, even when surrounded by friends who would sooner join in the conversation than betray them. But she couldn't because every word Arya had told her was the truth. Joffrey was a bastard, in more ways than one. And Cersei was a bitch. And they had promised mercy only to go back on their word. She shook her head, her chin bumping against the top of Arya's head where it rested. "He called it mercy," she told Arya as her fingers set back to their work on her hair. "Joffrey. He cut off Father's head and called it mercy."
A tear fell from her cheek and landed on Arya's scalp.
She felt Arya stiffen beside her as she shook her head. "The little shit would call it mercy," she agreed bitterly.
"Arya!" Sansa gasped, once again alarmed by her sister's new language. "You have spent too long with Sandor! Ladies don't talk like that!"
Arya pulled her head away from her, glancing around them. "And last I heard ladies weren't knights, but Brienne is one of the best I have ever seen. And ladies don't lead armies, but they said that Lenora rode at the front with Robb whenever they marched. And ladies don't give up all the comforts of the capitol to camp in the woods, but here you are." She shrugged her shoulders, leaning back into Sansa and allowing her to continue with her hair. "So what if ladies don't talk like that. I never wanted to be a lady anyway, that was always your lot. I was never anything more than Arya Horseface."
Unbidden Sansa felt her lips turn up at the corners into a smile. She could remember the days when their family had been safe, whole, complete, and living together at Winterfell. When she had been so cruel to Arya, taunting her with the nickname. She had been horrible. And now, she thanked the Gods, the Old and the New, that she had the chance to apologize. "You remind me of him, you know?" she told Arya, her voice little more than a whisper. "Father. You have his eyes, his seriousness, his face - you have a Stark face, I was always so jealous of that."
"You?" Arya asked, not believing a single word. "Jealous of me?" She shook her head, "That's ridiculous! You were ... you were perfect. And I could do nothing right."
"But you were a Stark," Sansa told her, hoping her sister would understand how she had felt all those years ago. "Whenever a traveller came to Winterfell they always said how much you looked like Father and how much I looked like Mother. I loved Mother, but I was a wolf, with fox coloring."
"He loved you," Arya assured her. "Father. No matter what you looked like."
"I know," Sansa agreed. "I know that. But he was always different with you. Gentler, more patient. If I had come to him and said I wanted a sword he never would have given me one. But he let you learn."
She could hear the smirk in Arya's voice, even though she could not see it, "I didn't give him much of a choice," she argued. "I was determined."
"Something else you got from him," Sansa told her. She was quiet for a moment, focusing on a particularly difficult tangle before she continued. "He always told me you would be beautiful," she told Arya. "Every time he heard me call you Horseface, he told me that one day I would have to eat my words. That you would grow to be beautiful."
Arya laughed, bitter and humorless, "That's a joke," she argued. "I will never be beautiful."
"You already are," Sansa disagreed. "It's not an obvious beauty, but it's there. Stubborn and strong, and quiet, just like you. He was right. And he would be so proud of you."
Arya was quiet for a moment, "I know you probably don't want to hear this," she said softly. "But you remind me so much of her right now. Of Mother."
Sansa smiled, lifting one of her hands from Arya's hair so that she could wipe angrily at the tears that were still sliding down her cheeks. "It's that I'm running my fingers through your hair," she supplied. "Mother used to do that when you were upset, for as long as she could before you grew too impatient to sit still."
Arya smirked, "I was never very good at that," she agreed. "I suppose that is how we both survived, isn't it?" She turned, smiling at Sansa's raised eyebrows. "I would never have survived in the capitol. I never could have sat, forcing smile and courtesies, patiently waiting beside that bastard until I could make my escape. And you never would have survived in the country." She was echoing words that Sansa had thought to herself not long ago, before she had learned that Arya was still alive. "I'm glad you're alive," Arya whispered, her gaze drifting from Sansa's face, embarrassed by her words.
Sansa pulled her closer, "I'm glad you're alive," she whispered back, unashamed. "And I'm never going to let you go again."
Arya smirked, "You're going to have to," she warned her sister. "We can't be attached at the hip for the rest of our lives."
Sansa pressed a hard kiss against the top of Arya's head, "Watch us," she argued.
...
She waited until Arya had fallen asleep, halfway through her strange list of names, before she moved away from her younger sister to sit beside the Hound on the outer edge of the fire. "I must thank you for taking care of my sister, Ser," she told him softly, her gaze landing on Arya so that she could ensure that her sister was alright.
The Hound glanced away from the fire he had been watching distrustfully to look at her for a brief moment before his glare returned to the fire. "How many times have I had to tell you, little bird, I'm no knight."
"You are though," Sansa argued, reaching out to take one of his hands and hold it between both of hers. She could tell that the man was going to argue with her so she continued before he could. "I have heard the vows, Ser, and you live by them better than most." She continued staring at her sister, but she felt his gaze on her when he turned to watch her. "You defend the weak and the innocent, I saw it in King's Landing." She nodded toward Arya across the fire, "You protect women and children. You have more honor than our king had."
"I didn't obey my liege," he argued, grasping at a straw. "And when I did, I ignored all the other oaths."
"You weren't perfect," Sansa agreed. "But none of them are."
"What about your precious knight of the flowers?" the Hound asked her. "You once thought that he was perfect."
"I was stupid once," Sansa told him. "You were always better than him. At the Battle of Blackwater -"
"I ran because I was a coward, girl," the Hound growled. "Not because of honor."
Sansa shook her head, "Fear made you run, but honor made you try to rescue me first," she told him, praying that one day he would understand her point. She squeezed his hand, "And you saved my sister."
Out of the corner of her eye she saw his gaze turn across the fire to Arya. "She's a strange sort of lady," he told Sansa. "With her sword and her list."
Sansa nodded, a strange sort of pride burning in her chest as she thought of Arya and her dreams of revenge. Sansa wanted revenge as well, the difference being that Arya might actually be able to see it happen. "Where will you go now?" she asked Sandor quietly. "You're welcome to continue to the Wall with us, my half brother," she shook her head, that was wrong. There were so few Starks left that she could not separate him. "My brother Jon would welcome your assistance."
The Hound shook his head, "I will find the little princess," he told her. "The Lannisters have won the war, soon they will regain control of the North. If I want to survive, I will need their gratitude. Returning the princess will save my life."
"And if the Lannisters ultimately lose?" Sansa asked.
The Hound smirked, no doubt thinking that she was a fool. "Then you will remember that I saved your sister."
Sansa nodded, "Don't let her hear you say that," she warned him. "No doubt she believes that she never needed saving."
The Hound smirked, "Perhaps she didn't," he told her, his gaze still on Arya. And Sansa realized that she was not the only one around the fire that was proud of her sister.
-.-.-.-.-
Lenora
Theon came for her again past midnight, when the castle was quiet and still. She was ready for him, dressed as warmly as she could. "They're gone?" she whispered to him as soon as he had knelt in front of her to undo the chain around her ankles.
He nodded, "He left some," he told her, "a small garrison to defend Winterfell if Stannis should somehow be able to attack. But he has left with the majority of his men."
"How long ago?" she whispered, her fear and worry from earlier that evening had disappeared. She did not much care what happened to her once she left the castle, if she was attacked in the woods, or died from the cold it would be far better than whatever Ramsay had planned for her.
"A few hours ago," he assured her. "They plan to march through the night. You'll be hours behind them."
She nodded and started to follow him from her chambers, pausing for a moment to reach for his hand, "Are you sure you won't come with me?" she asked him.
He hesitated for a moment before he shook his head, "I will stay," he told her. "I need to stay."
She did not ask why, sure that he would not tell her anyway. Instead she nodded and followed him out into the corridor. They could talk no longer, the keep was quiet, near empty, but not completely. Ramsay would have told the men that stayed to watch her, to keep her there. If she meant to get a head start from the castle, she needed as much time as possible.
It felt like hours, their slow, quiet creep through the corridors. They stuck to the shadows, the corners, darting from one to the next, hugging the walls when they heard voices and hiding in doorways when they heard footsteps. It felt like hours, but could not have taken more than one before they were in the courtyard.
The cold hit Lenora like a slap across the face, bitter and sharp. She had not dressed warmly enough and they were only in the courtyard. She wrapped her arms around herself, hugging tightly against the cold and the snow, she stepped around Theon, hoping that moving across the courtyard would warm her up. But Theon was faster than her, his arm darting out and catching her across the stomach. "Stick to the edge," he told her. "We must head toward the East wall. There's a rope there, I tied it to one of the ramparts, that's how you'll make your escape."
Lenora nodded, waiting until Theon dropped his hand from her stomach before she started walking again, this time hugging the walls of the courtyard instead of walking across the middle. Theon moved quickly, walking in front of her to make sure their path was clear. "Where will you go?" he asked her, his voice barely a whisper. "Where will you run?"
Lenora hadn't thought of that. In the hours between when Theon had promised her that he would save her and when he came to get her, she hadn't made any plans. Half afraid to jinx it, and half afraid that she had dreamed of Theon's promise to save her.
"South, I suppose," she told him as they walked. "Where I was supposed to end up after the Red Wedding."
He did not stop walking, but he turned to stare at her. "That's a thousand leagues away," he whispered to her. "And winter is coming. Do you expect to walk the entire way?"
She hadn't. She had thought that once she was well enough away from Winterfell she would try to find a horse. She would ride south to White Harbor. Get on a boat and sail to King's Landing. "Where would you suggest that I go?" she asked him.
"North," he told her. "Jon is at the Wall, he's Lord Commander."
"The Night's Watch is sworn not to take part in the realm's politics and battles," Lenora argued, shaking her head as they approached a set of stairs that would take them up to the ramparts. Theon would climb first, to make sure that there was no one on the wall and then she would climb after him.
He paused, turning fully to look at her. "Jon will not care," he told her. "Perhaps they won't fight. But they will protect you. They will feed you. He won't let any harm come to you. And once Winter has ended he'll send you back to King's Landing. You'll be safer heading North toward the Wall than you will be heading south."
"Ramsay is marching north," Lenora argued.
"He is marching northwest," Theon assured her. "Head northeast, stay off the main roads. Walk in rivers and streams as often as you can. And when you hit the wall, head west until you reach Castle Black. It will take a week, at least, but that is far less time than it would take for you to go south."
Lenora watched him, her eyes scanning over his face, "North," she finally agreed with a nod.
Theon nodded, "Tomorrow I will sneak away, I will head south, leaving a trail. When they notice you missing, they will head south."
She wanted to thank him, she wanted to beg him once more to come with her. But he turned away from her and climbed the stairs, taking them two at a time. A moment later a rock dropped from above, a silent signal that it was safe for her to join him up on the ramparts.
She gathered her skirts and climbed, taking the stairs three at a time. When she reached the top Theon grabbed her hand, pulling her toward the right, rounding a corner to where he had tied the rope for her escape. He was in front of her so she was unable to see ahead of them, but when he stopped suddenly, she crashed into his back.
"Stay behind me, Nora," he ordered her, his lips barely moving with his whispered words.
"Come now, Reek," she heard a girl sneer, Myranda, she recognized the voice. "Do you really think you'll be able to protect her?" She laughed, high pitched and teasing. "Why, all I have to do is shoot you."
Theon shook his head, his hand still closed tightly around Lenora's wrist. She tried to move around him, to face Myranda herself, but he pushed her back. "I won't let you kill her,"
"She won't kill me," Lenora argued, finding her voice and wrenching her wrist free of Theon's grasp. She would not let him die for her. She pushed her way around him, coming to stand in front of him. Myranda was standing no more than four feet away from them, her bow drawn, arrow trained on Theon's chest. "Ramsay still needs me."
Myranda smirked at her, "Very true, Princess," she sneered at her. "Though I suppose he doesn't need all of you. Only the parts he'll use to get an heir or two off of you." She shifted her aim, her arrow now trained on Lenora instead of Theon. "I don't think he'd blame me for having a bit of fun with you before I return you to your chambers."
Lenora's eyes narrowed as she watched Myranda change her aim. For a moment the arrow was pointed at her eye, the next her shoulder, a moment later her stomach, her breast. She did not allow her gaze to stray from the girl's face for a moment, afraid to give away her thoughts as she looked around the ramparts out of the corner of her eye, searching for something, anything to use against the girl.
"Where should we begin, Princess?" she sneered. "Do you have a preference? I know I would like to start with that lovely face of yours."
Lenora forced a smile onto her lips as she inched closer to the wall, her movements so careful, so quiet that Myranda barely seemed to notice them. She did not have a sword, she did not have a shield. But there was a bushel of arrows to her left. Keeping her eyes carefully on Myranda she moved faster now, lunging toward the arrows, grabbing one and rushing, low to the ground, toward Myranda.
She was too close, Myranda could not keep the arrow trained on her, she could not loose the arrow with any sort of accuracy. She released it, trained on where she was standing, but by the time the arrow clattered uselessly against the stone floor Lenora was no longer there. Instead she was behind the girl, one arm wrapped tightly around her neck, pulling her until her back was pressed against Lenora's chest, the arrow still in her right hand, the point pressing sharply against the girl's pale skin. "How about we start with you?" she whispered in Myranda's ear as the girl dropped her bow, her hands lifting for Lenora's arm to try to pry it away from her neck so that she could breathe.
For one brief moment Lenora felt sorry for her, she could still feel Ramsay's hand around her throat. She could remember what it felt like to be fighting for air, the little she was able to get never being enough. She could remember it all, she had been in Myranda's position not long before. The difference was, that Ramsay had been unable to kill her, while there was nothing stopping Lenora from killing Myranda.
She turned, quickly to the right, and pushed Myranda away from her, the girl stumbled, tripping over herself, no doubt unable to see straight. She realized a moment too late that she was headed for the edge of the rampart. "No!" she screamed just before she broke through the wooden railing and fell to the courtyard below.
Lenora quickly followed her to the railing. Theon following her, reaching for her hand and pulling her from the edge. "You must go!" he ordered her. "They'll have heard her. You won't have time! Go!"
Lenora shook her head, "Not yet," she hissed at him. "I have to see it. I have to see her." Theon did not let go of her wrist as he followed her to the edge. He allowed her to look down at the bloody mess that Myranda had become on the courtyard floor.
"You've seen it," he told her. "You've seen her. Now, you must go, before they see you."
She allowed him to steer her back toward the ramparts, to the rope that would bring her to freedom. She stooped at the wall, grabbing Myranda's bow and arrows. She would never be completely comfortable with the weapon, but it would do until she could find a blade. She turned to Theon and offered him a small smile, "You taught me how to use this," she reminded him.
He nodded, his eyes dancing over her face and the bow. "I pray I taught you well enough to protect yourself," he told her as they came to stop in front of the rope.
She nodded, "You could come with me," she whispered, reaching out to grab his hand. "Theon please, you won't be any safer here than I was. Please."
Theon watched her for a moment. "I would take you all the way to the Wall," he told her, his voice a broken whisper. "I would die to get you there." She felt tears spring to her eyes, he would not come with her, he was saying goodbye to her. "But I will serve you better here than I will out there."
She nodded, staring at him for a moment before she threw her arms around his shoulders and pulled him into a tight hug. For a moment he tensed, and then his hands dropped to her waist, encircling her and pulling her tight. He pressed a kiss against her temple and nodded. "Go." he ordered her. "Now."
...
She was freezing, her skirts and cloak heavy with water and ice from the last river she had crossed. It was hard to move. The snow was falling more steadily. She could not feel her fingers or her nose. She feared frostbite, but she could not stop to light a fire to try to warm up. She had been walking all night, hoping it would get warmer when the sun rose. But come morning the sun had risen weak and grey and the snow had continued to fall.
She avoided main roads as Theon had instructed her, instead she stuck to the woods, at times walking through snow that was almost knee deep, struggling to keep upright the entire time. She had thought that she was making good time, she had thought it would work. But early afternoon the next day she heard them, the men and the hounds. Theon had not been able to fool them, they had found her. And they were gaining.
Her heart raced in her chest as she tried to run. She tripped over her feet, cursing as she fell to the ground, catching herself with her hands and plunging them into the already cold snow. She would not allow them to take her back alive, she refused. She continued to run north, trying to put as much distance between herself and Ramsay's men as she could, but knowing that she would never be able to outrun them.
She found a tree that had fallen over, its roots ripped from the ground. She had at best a quarter of an hour before they found her. She could not hide from the hounds and it wasn't long, but perhaps it was just cold enough for what she had planned. She dropped down onto her hands and knees and crawled into the tangle of roots, her cloak snagged on a root and instead of freeing it, she untied it and let it fall from her shoulders. Once under the roots, hidden from sight she untied the laces of her dress and took it off, the second dress she was wearing soon followed, and the third. Soon she was wearing nothing but her shift.
The dogs were closer now, she could hear them, louder and more clearly. She curled into a ball, sinking deeper into the snow. Her heart was beating in her chest. The snow was cold and wet, she knew that, though she could not feel it. Her shivering stopped. When she had been running her heart had been beating quickly, but now it slowed. It was almost relaxing.
Robb had told her about people who froze to death in the North during winter. But he had never told her that it would be this painless. She had expected pain. She closed her eyes, trying to ignore the sound of the horses and the men as they approached her. "I'm coming, Robb," she whispered, she knew that he could hear her. She could feel him, beside her, waiting for her. "I'm only sorry that it took me so long."
She could hear them now. They were in the clearing, the dogs and the men. They would find her soon. But it would be too late. "Lady Bolton!" one of the men called out to her. "Come out, you'll freeze to death!"
"Perhaps that is her aim," another man suggested.
"You want to be the one to tell Lord Ramsay that we lost his wife and let her freeze to death?" the first asked, rounding on the second. The dogs got closer, growling and barking at the roots of the tree. They could still smell her. "Over there!" the soldier ordered. "Pull her out by her hair if you have to."
Her heart beat sped up again, perhaps she had not been as close to death as she had hoped, as a man's boots appeared in her line of sight. Another pair appeared, and soon a third. And then one of the men was reaching between the roots, he grabbed her upper arm and yanked her out, chuckling darkly when he noticed that she wore nothing but a shift.
Lenora should have been watching him, she should have been watching all of them, it was how her uncle had trained her to fight. But there was someone approaching behind them. Two men on horse back and a giant wolf running at their side. "Robb!" she gasped, barely a whisper. Now she knew she was dying. And Robb had arrived to take her hand and lead her out of the world that had been so dark since he had left it.
The soldier that still had his hand wrapped around her upper arm turned to look at her, "What are you on about, you dumb bitch?" he asked her. "Robb Stark is dead."
Lenora shook her head, he was wrong - the soldier. Robb wasn't dead. He and Grey Wind had come to get her. They were approaching quickly, his sword raised. Her eyes narrowed as she watched him, his hair was the wrong color. It was not the auburn she was accustomed to. But light. Golden. She shook her head, it wasn't possible. There was no reason that he should be there, in the North, with a direwolf. "Gods," she whispered, struggling against the soldier that still held her close. "Uncle Jaime?"
The men turned, too late for some as Jaime and his companion rode through, their swords swinging. Jaime headed straight for the one who held onto Lenora. His sword making quick work of the man's neck and separating his head from the rest of his body.
His grip slackened and his body fell to the ground at her feet. For a moment Lenora remained frozen, standing still as a statue, as Jaime, the dark haired rider, and the wolf ran around the clearing, going after the Bolton men.
She wasn't going to die, she knew that much now, and she would not return to Ramsay Bolton. Her heart beat in her throat, she could hear her pulse in her ears. She could feel the blood moving through her veins. It was cold again. She bent, her movements a bit slow and sluggish and unsheathed the dead soldier's sword.
And then, wearing nothing but her shift, she joined the fight.
-.-.-.-.-
Jaime
He watched her, his beautiful niece, as she moved through the fight. Her skin was pale, too pale for comfort, her fingertips tinged blue. He did not know why she was wearing nothing but her shift, but it was wet and now it was covered with blood. When she had first picked up her sword her movements had been slow, jerky, as if it had been many months since she had picked up a sword. But like him with his left hand, it did well enough. The first soldier she came in contact with, swung his sword, aiming for her face. Lenora, holding the sword in both hands brought it up between her face and her attacker, blocking his swing and stepping back, away from him. The trick he had taught her years ago, to make her attacker believe she was on the run, to have him make chase, and then to attack when he least expected it.
The man moved closer to her again and Lenora stepped out of his way again, this time her sword swinging up, aiming for his face. He blocked it and her blade slid along his, the sound of steel moving against steel filling the air. At the last moment, using all of her strength, she pushed her sword down, toward the ground, and dislodging the soldier's grip on his own sword, sending it falling to the ground.
She grinned, and stepped forward now, her sword easily sliding up under the rim of his helmet and slicing its way through his neck. She withdrew her blade from his skin and stepped away, not even watching as the soldier fell to the ground. That first kill did it for her. As she moved away from him, ready for the next attack her movements were more relaxed, more fluid.
She was finding herself again.
And it was beautiful.
...
She fell to the ground when the fight was over. Her skin whiter than her shift, her grey eyes standing out like the clouds over a snowy field. Tears spilled down her cheeks. The wolf approached her first, sitting beside her, leaning into her as a human would have, lending her his warmth. Jaime watched her as her hand lifted to the wolf's fur, absentmindedly running over it before she turned, her grey eyes widening as she took in the wolf. "You're really here," she whispered, her voice little more than a breath as her eyes ran over the animal beside her. "Truly." Her gaze turned to Jaime. "And you too?" she asked quietly.
He smiled at her, moving a step closer. The wolf tensed, growling for a moment before he settled. "My sweet girl," he whispered, dropping to his knees in front of her. "I'm here. Truly. And so are you." He reached out for her, meaning to pull her close to him and wrap her in his arms, to warm her until she stopped shivering. She tensed, leaning away from him. "Len?" he whispered. "What's wrong?"
She shook her head, moving back away from him and standing on shaking legs. "What are you -" she asked him, shaking her head and cutting herself off before she finished the question. "Why are you -" she cut herself off again. Finally turning to look at him, more tears sliding down her cheeks and shining in her stormy eyes. "You knew how I felt about him, Uncle Jaime," she told him, her voice breaking with the pain she had been carrying for so long. "You knew how I loved him. You all did. And then -" she cut herself off again, turning away from him.
"Lenora," Jaime sighed, finally understanding what she meant. She was talking about Robb Stark. She thought that he had played a part in her husband's death. In what had happened to her since. "No, Lenora, no. I had no part in what happened to Robb. I respected him, trusted him with you. I wouldn't have ordered his death especially in such a manner."
She turned on him again, her skin still pale, her steps a bit shaky, "Then where in the Seven Hells were you?" she asked him, her voice cracking in a half yell, half whisper. Now that she was standing straight up he could see the cuts and bruises covering her skin - what had the bastard done to her?
"Where were you, Jaime?"
He stepped toward her, both arms outstretched, an apology on his lips that he never got to give her. Her gaze dropped from his face, to his hands, his right hand. "What happened?" she asked him, stepping closer to him, her anger almost forgotten as she stared at his disgrace. "To your hand, Uncle Jaime?" she asked him when he didn't answer straight away. "What happened to your hand?"
He shook his head, quickly hiding it behind his back, "Nothing," he assured her. "Nothing you need worry about, doe."
She was still angry, he could feel it simmering under the surface as she moved closer to him. Her eyes were still stormy and cold, her shoulders still tight. Perhaps she did not believe him when he told her that he had played no part in Robb Stark's death, but she set it aside - her anger, her disgust, her distrust. Her gaze remained resolutely on his golden hand, and she shook her head, her dark hair flying around her, silently telling him that she did not believe him.
If his gaze hadn't been locked onto her, drinking in every inch of her, to make sure that she was truly there in front of him, and while worse for the wear, alive, he wouldn't have noticed the way her hands shook. Slowly, impossibly, dragging his gaze away from her he looked over her shoulder, his gaze landing on Bronn. The sellsword cleared his throat and looked away from them, "I'll just get the lady's dresses, shall I?" he asked before moving away, giving them the space they needed to reunite without an audience.
Carefully, so as not to startle her Jaime moved closer to the girl. Her steps faltered for a moment, as if she were second guessing herself, and his heart broke. In all the months he had imagined rescuing Lenora, he had never thought that she wouldn't want to see him, that she would be angry or hurt. He had pictured tears and relieved laughter as she launched herself into his arms, thanking him for saving her and begging him to take her home. He hadn't expected distance and hesitation, fear and timid footsteps. "Len," he whispered, his voice cracking, his chest tight as he begged her with that one word to trust him.
A sob burst out of her at the word. And she was no longer hesitating. She ran toward him, crossing the small distance between them in a few stumbling steps before she tripped and fell into his waiting arms. "Jaime," she gasped, repeating his name over and over again, her voice cracking each time as she buried her face in his neck. He could feel her tears, warm and wet as they slid off her cheeks to land on his neck. "You're here."
Those two words seemed to be filled with so much pain that Jaime's heart broke again. He could only imagine the months she had spent in this frozen wasteland, believing that she was alone and that no one would ever come rescue her. His arms tightened around her as he pulled her closer to him, giving her as much of his warmth as he could. "Of course I am, my doe," he whispered as he pressed a kiss against the top of her head. He thought back to when he had left her at Winterfell, it felt so long ago, he had promised her that he would visit her, making excuses to travel to Winterfell for the most mundane things. "I needed a new pair of boots," he told her, a bittersweet smile finding it's way to his lips.
A laugh bubbled up in her throat, only to be choked back by a sob. "I wish you had needed boots a few months ago," she told him, making a halfhearted joke herself.
Jaime loved her for it.
He pushed her away from him, not far enough to let go, but enough space to allow him to look at her. To really look at her. "Are you alright, Len?" he asked her, his eyes dating over the bruises that colored her skin. There didn't seem to be a piece of her body that the bastard hadn't marked with his fists. "Did he," he winced, "hurt you?" he finished, unable to think of a better way to finish his question.
"Not as much as he wanted to," Lenora told him, her voice darker and harder than he had ever heard it. Whatever had happened to her in the last few months had given his innocent niece an edge that she had not always had. "I got away before he could do the worst of it."
He wanted to ask her more, but her gaze had dropped to his golden right hand where it rested on her waist. "What happened to your hand, Uncle Jaime?" she asked him again, this time her voice made it clear that she expected an answer.
"One of Bolton's men cut it off," he told her honestly, though he would spare he most of the horrid details. "Before they sent me back to King's Landing as a gesture of good will."
Her grey eyes flashed, angry at his treatment and humiliation. And then her gaze lifted to his face, "And you swear it?" she whispered. "That you had nothing to do with what happened to Robb?"
Jaime reached his left hand up, clumsily cupping her cheek in his palm as his thumb ran across her cheek bone. "I promise, love," he assured her. "I swear it by the Old Gods and the New. I did not know. If I had I would have tried to stop it."
Her eyes were guarded, her shoulders heavy, "It was Grandfather, then," she guessed. "All of it."
She wasn't asking him a question. She knew her grandfather well enough to know that the plot smelled of him. That no matter how much he loved her, he would put House in front of family any day. That he would try for an end of the war, at any cost, before he tried to save her. He heart didn't break, she had suffered too much for that already. She didn't need an answer from him either. She was quiet for a moment before her jaw clenched and she nodded. "We have to get Winterfell back," she told him, her voice brisk and hard, leaving no room for argument.
"You have to go back to King's Landing," Jaime tried to argue anyway. "There's nothing for you here any longer, Len."
She shook her head. "There's nothing for me," she agreed. "But there's something for them. For Sansa, for Jon, for Arya if she's still alive. Ramsay has more men than Stannis, they have more experience fighting in the cold. He will win."
"It's not your fight, doe," Jaime tried again, though he could see by the set of his niece's jaw that there was very little he would be able to say to change her mind.
"Our family," she started before she shook her head, "my family, has taken so much from them. It is my fight. We have to take it back."
Jaime watched her for a long moment before he sighed, "There's no talking you out of this?" he asked her. She shook her head, determined even as the tears continued to slide down her cheeks. He nodded, "Then where do you propose we go?" he asked her.
"To Castle Black," she answered quickly, as if she had already known the answer. And perhaps she had. She had to have been running somewhere when she escaped Winterfell. "To Jon."
Bronn cleared his throat behind them and both Jaime and Lenora slowly turned to face him, each of them hating to take their gaze off of each other, as if they might disappear. "If we're going to go to a castle filled with men who haven't had a proper fuck in years, you might want to put your dress back on, my lady."
Author's Note:
So many reunions in this chapter, you would almost think that this was a happy story instead of one from GoT. What did you think? I hope that I did not disappoint any of you. And I hope that you are all so excited for what's to come. I know that I am. (And it won't even be a surprise for me, I know what's coming and I'm still excited.)
What did you think? Please take a few moments to write a review. They truly make my day every time I get to read one. So, support your local (or not so local) fanfiction author and write a review!
Thank you to everyone who has favorited this story! To those of you that added it to your alerts list! To the wonderful people who have added this story to their communities! You are all rock stars!
And to my reviewers ... thank you.
StarkTeller: Ahhh! I'm so glad that you enjoyed the last chapter and I hope that you enjoyed this one as well! I was sure to include a bit of Bronn in there for you since I know how much you love him! (I love him too!)
And I'm happy to say that as of this chapter, most of Lenora's suffering is over. If we look at the hero's journey, our hero - or in Lenora's case, heroine - is on her way to being back on top. And I'm so glad you noticed that Theon called her Nora. (That was on purpose!)
I had to kill Bran. Even though I knew it would make a lot of you very angry. I had to do it. Partially because I am not following the three-eyed raven story line and partially because try as I might I just could not make him fit with where this story is going. That being said, it opens it up for another Stark sibling to potentially survive. No promises thought.
I figured that you guys would enjoy Jamie killing Roose. We're going to touch on it further in the next chapter. But it felt like coming full circle for Jaime. He was the one who suggested that Roose team up with Tywin, so it felt fitting that he got revenge for his niece. Plus ... the Lannisters send their regards - I couldn't help myself.
What music do I listen to? Umm it depends. Sometimes I listen the GoT soundtrack, sometimes when I want GoT themed music with words I listen to Karline (I think I spelled that right) she has hours of GoT songs that are just a complete treat to listen to. While writing this chapter I was in a completely wonderful, hipstery corner of the internet filled with the Lumineers and Gregory Alan Isakov and it was magic. So it depends on my mood really, but there's always music playing while I write. What do you listen to?
And I owe you my congratulations, my Cavs failed me this Christmas against your Warriors.
G1234: You were right! There was a reunion with a certain blonde haired knight in store and I hope that I did not disappoint you with it! I'm so glad that you loved the last chapter, please say you loved this one too?
bellaphant: I'm sorry about Shaggydog and Summer. But it had to happen, the wolves wouldn't let the boys get captured if they were still alive after all. You have guessed right about why Theon did not tell Lenora about Rickon, and Lenora is going to learn about it soon enough. Lenora did not get to kill Roose, but I promise you, she's not going to be too upset about it for long. I hope you had a fantastic Christmas and New Years as well and hope that this chapter was worth the (impatient) wait!
Gamemaster77: Aw! That is so nice to hear that the last chapter hit all the right points! I hope this chapter continued this trend! Theon's back! I couldn't leave him as Reek forever, I like him too much for that. And I wish that there could be a Stark universe where all the Starks got to live happily ever after, but that's just not possible. So we will have to settle for two happy(ish) sisters on their way to find Jon.
As for Theon and what I (and Ramsey) have in store for him ... you'll just have to see.
This chapter did not include Jaime riding on Grey Wind either, I don't think the wolf would ever really allow that, but they did work together to save their princess, so I hope it's at least a consolation that they are now very much on the same team.
You did bet wrong about who Lenora ran into first. I wanted to give the sisters some time alone, and they're still a bit south of Winterfell. I made the very deliberate choice to have Lenora turn north. She's been apart from her uncle for a bit too long.
Bells: I'm so glad that you love this story! I hope you continue to do so! And you're so sweet! It means a lot that you think I'm a good writer! Thank you so much for your review!
RHatch89: It was a bit of a mix as to how Lenora was rescued. A bit on her own, a bit with some help. But don't worry, the time when Lenora let other people decide things for her is quickly coming to an end. From now on, she will listen to Jaime's (and other's) advice and then do whatever the hell she wants. She's coming into her own now and no one is going to stop her.
Gyb: Thank you so much! I hope you enjoyed this chapter too!
Guest1995: I know, I know, I'm horrible. Everyone is mad at me! But Bran had to die. There were too many happy Starks in the future of this story which meant that Bran had to go. And with me saving Robb ... well I couldn't kill one of the girls. (Plus ... it was a surprise to all of you!)
I hope that you have had a fantastic start to 2018, and I hope that this first chapter of the new year was worth the wait!
janaoliver: Two reviews! I love it just as much as you love this story! I'm so glad that you enjoyed the last chapter and I hope that you liked this chapter just as much! Yes, you were right, the big event was something very good for Lenora, and there's more of it in the future. Her star is now on the rise. (Though it will still be a bit before she runs into Robb.)
It means a lot that you think this story (and me!) deserve two reviews! You really know how to spoil an author. I'm glad that you think I have a knack for finding the balance between canon and my own story elements, it always feels like I'm walking a bit of a tightrope, so it's nice to know that it's working.
Thank you!
LunaEvanna Longbottom: I'm glad that I surprised you with the Theon point of view. I think I've only done one of those in this story if I'm remembering correctly ... maybe two. It was just time for him to come back as Theon, and I couldn't show that change in anyone else's point of view. It had to be his. And I'm thrilled that you guys enjoyed it so much!
HPuni101: I know! It's strange when something heartbreaking (like Bran dying) happens, but you still want to say that it was a good chapter. It's so weird! But I'm glad you enjoyed it in spite of the sad twist. And I hope the same can be said for this chapter. It started off sadly, but I like to think it ended on a good note! I hope it was worth the wait!
Guest (1): Well now it has 670 reviews! (Twenty more than when you wrote your review!) And it is such a compliment to know that you think it deserves more. That really is one of the kindest things you could say to me. So thank you so much! I hope that you keep reading and keep enjoying!
Spidey-phd: Good. I'm glad you were blindsighted by his death. That was very much the point. It was kind of a signal, with the exception of Jon dying/being brought back (which I have a reason for!) and BotB, we are now starting to leave canon far behind and run wild with my imagination. Starting with Bran.
As for Ramsey, I have a plan for him that will be both painful and humiliating and quite a bit of just desserts that I hope you guys enjoy. Reward to anyone who can guess how. I've left hints.
As for where is Jon Snow? Dying alone at Castle Black. But not for long!
writingNOOB: I know, I know, I know! Everyone is so mad about Bran, and I knew that when I decided he was going to die. But I promise I had my reasons! I'm so glad you enjoyed the rest of the last chapter and I hope that you enjoyed this chapter as well!
darkwolf76: That chapter was dark, but I hope I made it up with this chapter. Things are really going to start picking up now.
I'm glad that you enjoyed Theon's redemption arc, it was time for him to stop hiding behind Reek and find his way back again. As for his death, quick or otherwise, you will just have to wait and see!
It's so nice to hear that you think this story line is better than the Dorne plot. (Not that it's hard to be better than Dorne... still, very good to hear!)
BotB getting closer every update! It might be a bit of a problem if the Northern Lords were to name Jon KitN just to have Robb return. So perhaps Robb will return before that. Or perhaps Robb won't want it. We'll all see soon enough!
Yup. A garland that will still up until after the playoffs. My husband hates it, but that's what he gets for marrying a Cavs fan. As for my Jon/OC story, the one hint I will give you is this: it's post BotB and will involve White Walkers.
Happy New Year!
CharlieSamantha: Oh my dear! I'm so sorry! I didn't want to kill you guys! It was just time to really, really start deviating from canon. And Bran was the first thing to change. I am glad that you enjoyed Roose's death, I was very excited about it. As for Jaime, he ran into his niece first! Hope you enjoyed it!
Guest(2): No promises about Rickon. We'll have to wait and see!
Danaren Reid: Thank you so much for saying that! I was pretty nervous about posting the Reek/Theon POV, so it's fantastic to know that you think it was well written!
I had to kill Bran, it was a bit of a signal that we're going to start deviating from canon. And as much as I love the direwolves, they had to die too. They wouldn't let anyone take the boys if they were still alive, you know?
You were right, Grey Wind, Jaime, and Bronn ran into Lenora in this chapter! I hope you enjoyed it!
I hope your holidays were fantastic!
Guest(3): Well, welcome to binge reading club! I'm so glad that you're enjoying this story so far and I hope you enjoyed this chapter as well! It means a lot that you could see Lenora in the GoT story. That is one of the ultimate compliments. So there were several reunions in this chapter and even more to come! I hope you enjoy them!
That's all I've got for now! Thank you guys so much!
Until next time,
Chloe Jane.