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Chapter Thirty-Five: Dear Jon…

Only slowly did Winterfell appear through the thinning morning mists. From the base of the curtain walls, to the tops of the towers and turrets still lost in the haze. For a moment, Jon had to stop his horse just to take in his first sight of home in so many years. It looked the same as he had seen it hundreds of time before; like his memories had been taken from his head and made real right in front of him. He half expected to see his father riding out through the barbican surrounded by his men. Jory Cassel, Vayon Poole and old ser Rodrick. But he knew they were all long gone. Ghosts forming an echo of the life they once lived within those walls. Beside him, Sansa also looked misty-eyed. He thought she might be thinking the same as him.

"Welcome home," she said, turning to face him.

He managed to raise a wan smile. "You too, sister."

It wasn't that he was unhappy. He had been anticipating his first glimpse of home since arriving at White Harbour. It was only the knowledge that nothing was really the same that grounded his enthusiasm. The bricks and mortar were the same, but the faces had been erased a long time ago. Shielding his eyes from the morning sun, he noted the direwolf banners flapping in the wind alongside the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen. A nice touch he hoped Daenerys would approve of. A welcome home to not just a son and daughter of Winterfell, but of a long-exiled Queen. As the outriders charged ahead, Jon looked back to see if he could find her.

Daenerys was hard to distinguish against the snowy background, mounted on the silver charger gifted to her by Khal Drogo. Riding with Lord Manderly's granddaughters, charging across the open countryside. She rode as well as she flew her dragons, he thought. He'd been surprised by that, at first. When he saw her take flight with Drogon, she looked like she was born to fly. Like her feet should never touch the ground again.

When she drew level with him, she was pink-cheeked and breathless, with a stray snowflake melting into her eyelashes. "This is Winterfell? This is your home?"

Jon nodded. "Aye, your grace. Looks like my sister-by-law has been expecting us for a while."

From the corner of his eye, he could see Sansa regarding them approvingly, a half-smile on her face. It seemed she had developed a liking of horses and chose that moment to go galloping off and leaving Jon alone with Dany. When they were alone, Daenerys reached over and took his hand in her own.

"The biggest castle in all of Westeros," she stated. "Before we leave, you really must show me around. I'd love to see it."

"Of course," he replied, squeezing her hand.

'Remember your vows,' said the voice at the back of his mind. Once more, he felt those invisible fetters biting into his flesh. Above them, the dragons glided amongst the clouds. Jon could hear them calling to each other as they swooped and dived, ducking in and out of sight. It was strange to think that they loved each other.

"First we need to get there," she said. "If it's all right with you, we should ride in together. The two of us."

Jon saw no reason to disagree. The others were far behind them. Lord Manderly was being carried to Winterfell in an elaborate litter and his granddaughters, Wylla and Wynafryd, would be keeping pace with him. He saw no reason for loitering in the cold to await them. So, he nudged his horse's flanks, setting a genteel pace and aiming for where Sansa had come to a rest up ahead.

"How long will it take to get to Castle Black?" she asked.

"Four turns of the moon, at least," he said. "It is imperative we set out again as soon as we can."

He would have given anything to be able to stay awhile, but it was looking like two or three days at most. Enough time to replenish their own supplies while organising more for Robb's forces when they got there. Without answering, Daenerys dismounted her horse and motioned for him to do the same. As he slipped down, the overnight snowfalls cushioned his feet as they hit the ground in front of her. Hidden between their horses, she brought her cold hands to his face and pulled him in close for a brief and hurried kiss.

His protest was a feeble one. "We can't keep doing this."

"You've been released from your vows by two kings and now one Queen- "

"It's not that simple," he said, avoiding her gaze. "The Watch … the war…"

He couldn't finish either sentence. He didn't need to.

"When the war is over? If we both survive?" she said. "I need an answer, Jon. I need to know where I stand. Where we stand."

'If we both survive?', he repeated to himself. And there was the point he found himself stuck on time and again. The only certainty they had was colossal death and destruction and this was their only real chance. It was a gamble he was increasingly reluctant to take.

"Just kiss me one more time." It wasn't the answer she was looking for, but for now it was all he could give.

A single blast of the horn heralded the new arrivals. That and the three dragons that had already flown over the castle. Margaery watched them, turning her gaze to the skies only briefly and clutching Cregan tight to her chest. No one moved, no one said a word. But the tension was palpable. The staff shifted from one foot to another, nervous and on edge. She had given all the assurances she could that the Targaryen girl hadn't come to burn them all. But among those old enough to remember the Mad King and the fate of Brandon and Rickard Stark, those assurances meant little and less. Now that the moment had arrived and there was no going back, she found her own doubts quietly creeping up on her.

Unaware of how tightly she had clutched her son, Cregan had begun to grizzle. But it was only when Jon rode through the gates that she relaxed somewhat. He was flanked by two women, Sansa who she knew better than a sister and a silver-haired girl who could only have been Daenerys Targaryen. Still no one moved, but it dawned on Margaery that neither Jon nor Sansa would willingly have brought a fire breathing lunatic into their home. So, before the formalities of name and title announcements could begin, she extended the hand of friendship first.

With Prince Cregan balanced on her hip, she strode forwards with a smile painted on her face. Realising what was happening, Arya hastened to follow but made straight for Jon and Sansa. While they become reacquainted, Margaery greeted Daenerys as she slid down from the saddle of her horse.

"Queen Daenerys, Winterfell is yours," she said.

"I thank you for your hospitality, your grace," Daenerys replied.

Their tone was equally brisk and formal. They then eyed each other for a moment, as if both were deciding what the next step should be. But it soon passed, a spatter of awkward laughter dissipated the tension and they kissed each other's cheek, embracing awkwardly over the large infant still bouncing on Margaery's hip. Sansa soon came to the rescue, sweeping the babe up into her arms and cuddling him close as she got to know her nephew.

Now that they were alone together, Margaery showed her into the common hall. All the fires were lit, platters had been laid out for the tired and hungry guests and places set at the lower trestles. Behind them, everyone else followed at a distance into the hall decked out in the banners of houses Stark, Tyrell and Targaryen.

"Lodgings have been prepared for you in the north tower," said Margaery as they took their places at the high table. "But… the dragons… we were not sure what best to do."

Daenerys was gracious about it. "Jon said something about a broken tower that's uninhabited. I think he was planning on putting them there. And it won't be for long, we'll be leaving in a few days."

Margaery couldn't deny that she was relieved. The size and scale of the creatures had taken her by surprise and she thought the few cattle they had slaughtered to feed them was no woefully inadequate. Besides, her people still feared being roasted alive as they went about their business. The sooner they were gone, the sooner they would all settle again.

"The King wrote to me a week ago, the army of the dead are at the wall," she recalled. "Ser Jaime saw it for himself and he tells me… well, should the wall fall or should they find a way around it, we're all in trouble. And I have Cregan and now I have…"

The rest of her sentence trailed off and Daenerys' lilac eyes briefly flickered downwards. "Soon you will have another. But the wall will not fall, your grace. The wights will not pass."

No, Margaery thought to herself. She was right. The wall stood for millennia, it would stand for millennia more. It was more than ice, more than engineering. It was magic and ancient spells wrought by the Children of the Forest. Aeons passed, threats came and went, and the wall still stood.

"Is that Ser Jaime Lannister, Tyrion's brother?" Daenerys asked.

She nodded toward the man himself, nursing his golden hand as he made his way to the high table. It seemed Tyrion himself had finally arrived, which mean Lord Manderly wouldn't be far behind him. They had travelled together in a litter borne by Manderly men at arms. However, as to the Queen's question, Margaery had no real need to confirm it.

"I know this must be hard for you," she answered. "It is hard for us all, given recent events. After he murdered your father, we all had to swallow our pride and make peace with the Baratheon usurper."

Daenerys' face lightened into a smile, her posture relaxing as she turned to face Margaery properly. "Forgive me, I forget that House Tyrell remained loyal until the end. Beyond the end, even after my brother was murdered."

"Don't get me wrong, your grace, we made our peace like all the others," she said, striking a note of caution. "My brother Loras made a lot more than peace with Renly Baratheon, I can tell you that."

"What do you mean?" she asked. But before Margaery could pass her off as a bit of an innocent, she cottoned on. "Oh, you mean they were a lot more than friends?"

Margaery opened her mouth to reply, but a newcomer got there first as she leaned down between them to pluck a strawberry from a platter. "Nothing like a little sword-swallowing between friends, is there?"

Daenerys almost dropped the goblet of wine she was holding as the elderly lady casually bit into the fruit. But Margaery was more than used to it. "Your grace, may I present my grandmother, Lady Olenna Redwyne."

"She talks as if I'm some blushing debutante," Olenna said, pulling up a chair and placing it between them. Turning to Daenerys, she added: "How do you do, dear? Welcome home."

Daenerys looked at Olenna as if she were the first person to say 'welcome home'. She smiled and softened again, shuffling her chair aside to make room for her. "I don't think many of the others share your sentiments."

"They'll warm to you, don't worry," Olenna replied. "Figuratively speaking, of course. Resist any and all temptation to introduce them to those overgrown bats you flew in on and things will go smoothly."

"Grandmama!" said Margaery.

But Daenerys remained placatory, even amused. "Honestly, it's fine. I've heard them called worse. And me, for that matter."

Momentarily, Margaery turned her attention to the room at large. The Manderlys had arrived now, the old Lord accompanied by his two granddaughters. A few Glovers were still hanging around, waiting to be either summoned home to Deepwood Motte or sent north to the Wall. They mingled easily with the few Lords of the Vale left behind, among them Harry the Heir. Even now, he was still making eyes at Sansa. But it was Jaime Lannister who caught her eye, slipping through the backdoor with Tyrion in tow.

The Bay of Ice, the Fist of the First Men, the Skirling Pass and the Frostfangs. All of these names were familiar to Robb, and more besides. He could reel them off, reciting from memory and point them out on a map. He could probably have done that while blindfolded. But never in all his years and more could he have imagined these places. The size, the emptiness and the desolation of the landscape. An endless vista of mountain, valley and gorge. Lethal passes that, with one false step, could send an unwary traveller plummeting into the depths of hell. Already, one of Lord Glover's men – a lad Robb knew from his old campaigns in the Riverlands – had sustained a serious ankle injury while descending a steep mountainside.

Meanwhile, swollen rivers, engorged by heavy snowfalls, swept through the tundra. Powerful and rapid, they had to be mindful of how they forded them. Drowning in freezing waters was about as appealing as falling to one's death. Vast lakes, covered with thick layers of ice, reflected the iron grey skies above them. Most were strong enough for the horses to walk over. But already they had misjudged one and the ominous snapping of ice had rent the air moments before five men and two horses crashed beneath the surface. Several days later, and Robb could still picture the lantern light vanishing beneath the depths. He'd gotten so close the water sloshed over his boots and Ser Garlan had had to drag him away.

Come nightfall, shadowcats stole down the mountainsides and roamed the edges of the forests in search of prey. Even direwolves thought twice before taking on a shadowcat and Robb sure his camp gave them a wide berth as they pressed westwards. What they hadn't seen were wights. When they left Castle Black, they had still been gathered there. Countless thousands of them, or so it had seemed. Their journey kept them within sight of the wall, although it was small on the southern horizon, Robb still expected to run into them at some point.

Instead, they had come across abandoned villages that had once been home to large groups of free folk. Some of the buildings remained standing, but most were ruins. Stone circles remained where cook fires had once been, a spit was still propped over one of them with the charred remains of a mountain hare still skewered on the stick. The people who had lived there could have fled only days ago, but it was impossible to tell when they really left.

"At least there's no dead here."

Robb turned to find ser Loras at his side. A few weeks ago, he had still been the most stylish of knights in the army. Now he was wrapped up in sealskins and swathed in furs on top of that. Anything to ward off the biting winds and endless snows that continued to unleash themselves on this forsaken land. All of them had grown straggly beards that collected the snow and froze, making them look like well-armed vagabonds.

"Yes, but if there were any dead here, they would have got up and moved on by now." It would never stop being strange to say such things.

"Either way, there's nothing to see here. We need to keep moving," said Garlan. "The very absence of those creatures is making me nervous."

Robb understood what he meant. When the enemy were mounted on horseback and charging down the battlefield, when there was no place to hide, it was one thing. But out here, the Others passed by night with their armies of the dead hidden from view, taking advantage of the terrain they knew so well. For them, the southern soldiers, the danger was always lurking just out of the range of their vision, lurking in the shadows of the vast forests or dwelling just beneath the perfectly still surface of the lakes. It was all around them and, when the enemy showed itself, he had feeling they'd be completely surrounded.

"We cannot let those fires go out," said Robb, looking back down the line. "No matter what. Jon says it's the only thing that kills them."

They were lit torches carried by the men who normally acted as standard bearers. Grouped in pairs or trios, they ranged out front by a good few yards. If they saw anything suspicious, their partner was to sound a horn to alert everyone else. One blast for living humans, two for wights and three for the Others themselves. And it was the latter that made Robb's stomach churn in apprehension.

Overnight, they set up camp where they could. That night, they found a steep ravine down which they could take shelter and remain hidden from ground level, while watchman where set up along the pathway that ran by. It was there that they all huddled together and tried to sleep. No sooner had Robb drifted off than he woke again, his bladder uncomfortably full. Keeping his curses to himself, he removed himself from the others to find a suitable spot to make water.

Finding a suitable tree, he sent up a silent prayer for the old gods to keep the shadowcats at bay as he relieved himself.

"More than two shakes and you're playing with it," a voice called over.

It was only Garlan, but it still caused him to jump and accidentally piss on his boots. Suppressing a curse, he made himself decent again and laced up his breeches. He glanced over his shoulder to where his brother by law was keeping watch. "I'll get you back for that, one of these fine days."

Garlan's laughter was quiet, but supremely satisfied.

As he looked back, he caught sight of a lone figure standing a small distance off. But it was only the lad who fought for the Glovers. No doubt, he had come hobbling to the edge of the woods for much the same reason Robb had. A late-night call of nature. But there was something about the way he stood there in a small clearing, illuminated by the light of the full moon, just staring vacantly into space that made Robb look again.

Cautiously, he approached a few steps closer. "Are you all right? It's Hadwyn, isn't it? I remember you from the Whispering Wood."

No answer came. Nor any other sign the man had even heard him. And Robb noted he was standing firmly on what had been a badly injured foot. The plan had been to get him to Hardhome and on a ship to Eastwatch.

"Look, you need to come back to camp. Come with me, I'll hold you up."

Robb took another step forward at the same time Hadwyn lurched towards him. He wasn't limping now, he moved fast and his dead blue eyes burned like dying stars. Robb spun on his heels, trying to get away but the wight was too fast. Cold hands grasped the back of his furs and he tripped, sprawling through a tangle of bracken and gorse.

"Garlan!" he called out. "Garlan, get over here."

Ice was already drawn and he sliced the blade right through his attacker's arm, cutting it clean off. It made no difference, compelling Robb to kick as hard as he could. The creature that had been Hadwyn was so close, he could smell the flesh and see his own self reflected back him in miniature in those burning blue eyes. The kick was enough to put a little space between them, but it wasn't until a flame arced through the night air and hit the wight that Robb was safe again.

Breathless and dizzy, he scrambled upwards and staggered straight into ser Garlan's arms. His brother by law caught him and held him steady.

"He must have died in his sleep," said Ser Garlan. He still kept Robb in a tight hold, but his eyes were fixed on the burning wight. The sound of its flesh crackling and melting was pitiful.

"He was definitely alive when we set up camp for the night," Robb said. "Never mind that, how did he come back? It must have been the Others."

Could they do it from a distance? Or had one entered the camp without their knowledge? No one knew how they raised the dead, or at least no one had told him. Now he felt his flesh crawling with apprehension as he looked up at Ser Garlan.

"I don't know," he said, voice below a whisper. "One must have been nearby, your grace."

"Either way, we cannot take any chances," said Robb, righting himself. His heart was still racing, but he had Ice in his hands. The Valyrian steel had no effect on the creature, even the arm he sliced off was still twitching on the forest floor. Both of them were watching it as they slowly backed away.

"Raise the others," said Garlan. "We should scout the area and move on as fast as we can."

Robb nodded his head. "If we get separated, we should all head for Hardhome. We can convene there again and set up this base, as planned."

He had hoped it wouldn't come to this. However, in reality, he knew it was a miracle they'd made it this far before running into trouble.

"You killed our father." It wasn't a question. Just a bald statement of fact. Deep down, Jaime knew why he was raking it all up again. Because ever since Tywin's murder, he'd felt rudderless. An empty vessel drifting from one disaster to another with that steadfast anchor, holding him in place.

"He tried to kill me," replied Tyrion.

Regardless of how he felt about the death of their father, Jaime was glad Tyrion remained unapologetic. Insincere and empty apologies, made merely for the sake of peace, would only have made him hate his brother.

"I wanted to kill you," he said, looking into those mismatched eyes. "I think I might have, had I found you."

Tyrion's expression was unreadable. But Jaime thought he detected a crestfallen slant to that scarred visage. His eyes clouded as they lost focus, travelling down from Jaime's face to somewhere just over his left shoulder. Without looking, he reached for the bottle of wine and topped up his goblet. They had left the main feast, and found themselves in a badly lit alcove used only by servants. Outside, it grew dark and cold.

Finally, he spoke and all his laconic wit had left him. "It pains me to know the only Lannister who ever loved me-"

"I didn't say I don't love you," Jaime cut in. "I just wanted to kill you. The two feelings are not mutually exclusive."

Despite the gravity of the situation, Tyrion laughed. "So, what's stopping you now?"

"I need you," he replied. He drew a deep breath and sighed heavily. "Seven hells, Tyrion. We need each other."

"The two of us, just like old times."

"Three," Jaime corrected him.

Now Tyrion's expression hardened, his small face twisting into an ugly grimace. For a moment, Jaime thought he might vomit. "You cannot possibly mean Cersei?"

"Four, if you count Tommen," Jaime continued. Leaning across the table, he prised the goblet of wine from his brother's fingers. It was all very well their sister lapsing into hopeless alcoholism, but he wasn't about to watch his beloved baby brother do the same. He would end up as useless and stupid as her. Ignoring the hangdog look on Tyrion's face, he continued: "The Lord Commander told you about the army of the dead, did he not?"

"Yes. I don't know what to think-"

"I'll tell you," Jaime cut in. "Because I've seen it, Tyrion. It's worse than any man can put into words. Hordes of them. Wights amassed by the thousand, all marching in one direction – south, right towards us. Me, you, Cersei and Tommen. And every other living thing between the wall and the Dornish coast."

That got his attention. "And if wights exist, so do the White Walkers."

Just a few years ago, they had sat in these very halls and jested about the white walkers. A caper to make Myrcella and Tommen laugh.

"Come with me, Tyrion," he said. "I'm going to King's Landing on behalf of King Robb. Tommen was always fond of you, you were more a father to him than anyone else could have been."

"More than you, you mean," said Tyrion, laughing drily. "Cersei wants me dead. She'll have my head as soon as I'm through the gates."

"I know the truth of what happened to Joff," Jaime countered. "It was Baelish who did it, not you. And Baelish is dead. Come with me, and you talk to Tommen while I talk to Cersei."

He knew that look. It was the look of a man resigned to his fate. Inwardly, Jaime exulted at his small triumph. Meanwhile, there was someone else he wanted to bring along. Later, he found her. Silent and visible by her very size, Brienne of Tarth stared vacantly into a cup of honey mead. After what seemed an age, she looked up and her beautiful blue eyes found him at last. Just for a moment, he could have sworn he saw her smile.

As promised early that morning, the guided tour had begun in earnest. Starting with the Broken Tower, where they harnessed the dragons and moving steadily through the castle via a detour in the crypts. Together, Jon and Dany paused before the statue of Eddard Stark. Newly added, since Robb had returned his bones, it stuck out among the moss-covered older inhabitants. Positioned between Lyanna and Brandon, Jon doubted this was a good idea after all. But if Daenerys was uncomfortable, she showed no sign of it.

"Ser Barristan tells me he was a true nobleman," she said, looking into Eddard's stone face. "He must have been, to raise you as his trueborn son among his other trueborn children."

"He was," Jon replied. "I couldn't have asked for better. No one could."

Deciding it was for the best that they skip over Lyanna, Rickard and Brandon, Jon hurried her along. But not before she got their names. After that, nothing else needed to be said. She merely touched their effigies, muttering what sounded like an apology. She was not her father; she was certainly not her brother.

From there, they walked the galleries and chambers where he slept as a small boy. Up to the Maester's turret, where he once studied the stars. Memories came flooding back to him, things he thought he had forgotten. Arya pretending a knitting needle was a sword; Sansa singing sweetly in her chambers, the sound her song carrying up the turnpike stairs. Any minute now, he thought, Catelyn could appear down one of the stairwells, thin lipped and disapproving.

"You must have been so happy here," she said, as they strolled the stone bridge to the main keep. "All of you, I mean."

She had never known a home. Just one house with a red door and lemon trees in the garden. Beyond that, he knew, there was nothing but fleeing from city to city. By comparison, his own childhood was the stuff of dreams for her. But she was not bitter, which was the one thing he thought he admired most about her. She was never bitter, so long as she knew something better existed.

Once they were over the bridge and into the keep, Jon led her up a turnpike stair to the solar. He took the key he borrowed from Wolkan and turned the lock.

"And what's in here?" asked Dany, looking up at him wide-eyed.

"Father's old solar," he said, nudging open the door.

He followed her inside and closed the door, sealing them in. No one would interrupt them here, he thought. Sharing those thoughts, Dany closed the gap between them and wrapped her arms around his waist. For a long moment, they were content to stay that way, just holding each other and savouring being alone together. Something they so rarely got to do. When they parted, he moved to sit behind the desk. The same place Eddard Stark once sat to sort out his papers and run his little empire.

"Have you thought any more about what I said?" she asked.

Jon nodded. "I'm staying for the war, I'll lead my men as best I can. But I'll tell them I'm no longer their Lord Commander."

Daenerys breathed a sigh of relief, colour rising in her cheeks again. But she was happy. So very happy and it showed, and it made him feel happy too. In that moment, the uncertainty of the future didn't seem to matter so much. "Can I have that in writing?"

Jon smirked as he reached for the drawer and pulled it open in search of some writing materials. "It that's what it takes."

She waved a dismissive hand. "I jest, truly I jest."

Before he closed the drawer, an envelope caught his eye. His own name emblazoned across the front, he assumed it was a letter from the Watch that Robb forgot to leave out for him. Picking it up, he turned it over to look at the seal. It was Robb's. Robb had written to him before he left for the wall. Margaery must have forgotten to tell him. Thinking nothing of it, he folded it away in his pocket and turned his attention back to Dany. When they stood up, they held each other tight and kissed deeply.

Later that night, alone in his chamber, Jon broke the seal on the letter. Carefully, he pulled out the message inside and read it by the light of a lantern.

'Dear Jon,' it said. 'I have written this letter fearing I will perish beyond the wall before I ever get the chance to explain its purpose to you in person, and I cannot afford to take that risk. So, forgive me for this hasty retelling of all I learned as I visited Greywater Watch to collect father's remains. This is, to the best of my memory, an exact retelling of everything Lord Howland Reed related to me, as pertaining to the circumstances of your birth…'

I made you all wait for six months for the last update. Therefore, it's only fair that I make you wait a few days for this one. I hope it's ample compensation.

Thank you again for reading; reviews would be lovely if you have a minute. Until next time…