"Is everything in order Satin?" Jon asked of his steward and captain.
"Aye my lord, everything has been done for the evening. Every tent is up, everyone rested, fed, and sheltered. I have guards posted at every ten paces. And I see your tent is ready. Do you have everything you need?"
The old Satin would have mumbled his responses, stumbling over what to say, taking time to remember everything, only to realise he'd forgotten something. Now Jon looked at the former brothel boy and saw him stand tall, his eyes meeting Jon's. His voice was clear, his tone calm and assured. Jon smiled, both for how far his right hand had come and to answer Satin's question.
"Aye, I've everything I need. As does Val. Get some rest."
Satin nodded and turned to walk out. Before he reached the tent flap Jon called out to him. "Satin." The golden haired youth turned to look back.
"Well done today. Don't forget to smile. You don't need to impress anyone here. Wait until we reach Winterfell, then you'll need to show off."
Satin grinned and turned to open the flap, revealing the blanket of snow on the ground outside. It was fortunately a calm night, with no new snow falling. Satin marched out, leaving Jon alone in the public section of his tent. It was divided into two parts, one filled bay a sturdy pine tree table covered in maps and empty wooden cups. The other part of his tent was smaller, cosier, and held something far more desirable.
"Are you done out there Jon? Come in and let Helda go back to her sisters."
Val.
Just thinking of her name made Jon feel warm.
He turned away from the table and walked to the large flap covering the private part of his tent. The tent itself was a fine, if plain gift from the king. It was a simple brown cloth, thick and padded for warmth supported by stout poles. Its only ornamentation was a few displays of Jon's new coat of arms - a black shield with a white wolf and stag rampant.
Lifting the flap, Jon saw Val seated on her stool in front of the large mirror, one of the few items of finery she used regularly. Behind her stood her maid Helda who was running a fine silver comb through her hair, another luxury Val accepted, though she tried not to admit her liking for it. What she did admit was how she enjoyed having her hair comb until it was soft and thin before she went to bed. Living north of the Wall gave a women a healthy appetite for cleanliness, or so Jon reasoned
"That's enough Helda. My hair's fine now."
"Is there anything else my lady?" Helda asked with the greatest courtesy.
She seemed to idolise Val, if only out of awe for this beautiful, strange women from the wild north. Val had picked her up in a village in the Gift on the journey south, and since then she barely left her side.
"No dear, that's all. You can go back to your girls. Brigid will be worried about you."
Helda quickly curtsied, placed the comb in Val's outstretched hand and left the tent, curtsying again to Jon on her way. Jon turned to look at her retreating form for a moment, then turned back to Val.
"Brigid?"
"She'd her older sister by about five years. Only ten-and-seven, but she's a full mother to that girl." She turned to look at Jon, smiling warmly. "She needs some help in looking after her."
Jon smiled in return. He didn't need to speak and neither did Val. He knew she was thinking of her youth with Dalla. As if she'd heard his thoughts, Val spoke again,.
"It's just as well Brigid is looking after Mance and Dalla's son."
"She is?!"
Val laughed out loud at his shocked sputter. "Honestly Jon Snow, do you know nothing of the people you lead?" She raised an eyebrow at him.
"I know the men who ride beside me. I haven't met their wives and sisters or whatever, I just have hairy sweaty men, half of them free folk who've never seen a horse before, who I can talk to."
"Well then you lead your men, I'll lead their women. That way our marriage will be perfect." She grinned a wide grin. "Even if it's pointless."
She stood up and walked towards Jon. he was dressed in a plain northern lady's dress, a dark brown like the tent, with only its cuffs and hem rimmed rabbit fur for ornamentation. Wrapped around her she had a grey cloak. In such simple attire, she still shone in her elegant beauty. Jon often wondered what a southern lady, especially one from south of the Neck, would think of his wildling bride. The only thing her complexion had seen was snow, yet she needed no powder for her cheeks, or crushed berries for her lips.
She gently took Jon's face in her hands and leaned in to press her lips to his. Jon smiled into the kiss, placing his hands on her supple yet slim waist. He would have pulled her closer, but he didn't want the dirt of his gambeson and tunic to besmirch her attire. Val pulled back to smile at him again.
"I've missed you today. You've been out scouting too long with those hairy sweaty men of yours. You're neglecting your duties."
As she spoke her right hand trailed down Jon's front, coming to rest its fingertips on the hem of Jon's sword belt. Jon's smile widened and he took her hand in his gloved one.
"I've been attending my duties to my people, my lady. And I have no duties to you until we are married." He brought her hand to his and kissed the back of it. Val simply laughed again.
"You weren't saying that last night. Or the night before, or last week. You haven't said anything like that since we left the Wall, Lord Snow. Or is it now Wolfram? Yes, that's right. Lord and Lady Wolfram of the Dreadfort. What charming names you kneelers make for yourselves."
Jon had to admit he liked the new name Stannis had given him. For his service in successfully bringing the wildlings south of the Wall and under the king's domain, he was allowed a household of his own, far from the frozen Castle Black, and a title. 'Wolfram' came to him when Sam found the name in a history of the highland clans. One ancient warlord, Strungar, had been called the Wolfram for the wolf skins he wore to combat and, so it was said in the margins of the page, the way he took women.
Val found it hilariously appropriate when Jon told her after a night under the furs.
Jon only allowed the mention of the former Bolton stronghold tinge his good mood a little. The late Lord Roose and . . . that thing he had for a son were among the victims of the purge of disloyal and criminal lords of the Kingdoms. A purge that was still in progress. When he came to the throne, Stannis must have made a promise to himself that he would prove his reputation correct by trying to right the wrongs of those he saw as unjust in his new kingdom.
And that was the second reason why Jon loved him and followed him. The other reason leaned forward to kiss him again. They kissed and kissed, and soon they were performing their 'duties' with dedication and enthusiasm.
Val and Jon were riding at the head of the column of their followers, and as they did, she fell into deep thought.
One of the many things Val didn't understand about the kneelers was their need to have their leaders surrounded by large villages wherever they went. They were going south for a wedding, not to war, and yet they had nearly 200 men, women and children marching or riding in strict discipline behind them.
Whenever Jon managed to rouse his followers, be they Northmen, free folk, or former Crows, Val was impressed by the young Crow. It seemed strange to her how a boy barely into manhood had managed to convince the men beneath to accept so many strange things.
First, to let a green boy become their leader. Then they had to deal with a new southern king, a king whom the free folk had never heard of, and had had to come to respect him the hard way. This new king had proven himself generous to Val's people, and the rest of the free folk - she still didn't identify with those from outside her and Dalla's tribe - once they fell in line.
It still left a slightly bitter taste in her mouth. She never once thought the folk would ever kneel to anyone, even after Mance took command. Yet here they were, living and marching side by side with kneelers and Crows. It was a hard change for the folk, and many were still unable to fully adapt. They were still at the wall, or roaming the gift, only hunting, afraid to attack anyone for fear of the kneelers and their brutal king of justice.
The Crows had perhaps had an easier task of moving into the new world. Whilst the Wall still needed defending against the Others, there was a need for change now that the true northerners had come south of it. One day, Stannis told a stunned silent Night's Watch that their vows never to wives were removed.
How was that decision was made? Val would tell you she had no idea. Though she may have seen Jon having an urgent yet quiet, secretive talk with the king one day.
That day had been merely a week after she had finally succeeded in joining him in his bed.
Not that Val was complaining at all.
Memories of that night brought a broad smile to Val's face. Of course Jon had protested, as he had done every time before. Ever since his brothers had failed to stab him, she'd become his nursemaid. All those nights she spent feeding him, cleaning his wounds and bandages, stroking his head with warm, damp cloths. Perhaps it was inevitable she would start to find a place for him in her heart, if only so she could keep on looking after him. Since her beloved sister's death, Val had felt somewhat empty without a gentle soul to look after.
And Jon Snow was a gentle man. Some nights, most in fact, we was hardly gentle with her, and she loved those nights, every last one of them. But that first night, as his protests died on his lips, after several weeks of him refusing her in his bed-ridden state, he simply embraced her and held her close as he kissed her so tenderly.
Val bit her lip as she remembered how slow Jon's movements were that night, and how she had responded in kind, enthralled by this alien form of love-making. Her nights with Jarl and other men had been rough, fast, and over far too soon, usually clad in their travelling furs in a ditch hidden from their companions.
Not with Jon. Even when he took her hard and fast, he made sure her pleasure lasted as long as she could bear. Even then, he was gentle in his own way, with his hands, his fingers, his tongue . . .
"Are you alright Val?"
Jon's concerned voice broke Val's thoughts and she felt far more flustered than she was used to in anyone's presence. It was one of the little things about her new life with Jon that she still had to come to terms with.
"Aye I'm fine Jon. Just thinking about the man I've stolen, and what a fine choice I made. Especially where it matters."
Jon laughed out loud, even as she spoke only a few metres in front of their lead riders. Satin and Sam could probably hear the two of them as they spoke, though if they ever knew what the future man and wife bantered about they never confessed.
"You can't tell my family you stole me when we get to Winterfell. Not that I mind it anymore, enough of the Night's Watch know for the whole North to know." Jon smiled at her but she could tell he was being serious. "When they meet you and me for the first time, they'll be expecting the future Lady Wolfram, a good kneeling woman of honour and decency."
"And to the day they burn my body, or bury me in one of you sad little crypts, I'll never understand you kneelers. You take something simple and make it take far too long. The gods know I'm yours Jon."
She moved her horse over so she rode as closely beside Jon as possible. The black haired youth continued to smile and he took her hand.
"And I'm yours, 'til the day they burn or bury me. But it's important to them Val, and to me. They want me to do you honour. And so do I."
"And pray tell me, why does my honour need you and I to stand under the gods' tree and speak a few words that we already know in our heart?"
Jon sighed, his smile gone. "You know why."
"Aye." Val replied, her smile also gone. "But I want to hear it again. Maybe if you tell me enough times, I'll start to understand."
Jon looked into Val's face, and she looked back. Gods above and below, but he loved this wild woman. Her cheekbones, her nose, her pale skin going red with the cold, her golden hair tied back under her fur hood.
But there was more. So much more.
How many women could fight like her, or nurse him like she had? Who else could accept him for what he was without reserve; a bastard, and a moody, worried one at that. Jon always worried, he'd done little else since Stannis arrived as king and he became Commander. When he looked in the mirror in the morning, before Val had awoken, he could see the signs of growing ripples on his face. The premature appearances of crows' feet and frown lines beginning to mar his youth.
And yet here was Val. Wild, passionate, driven, happy Val. Here she was, by his side, and refusing to go anywhere. He owed her an explanation for his strange kneeler ways.
"In my lands, our lands now" The words and their meaning seemed to impact Val but she said nothing. "A wedding, a man and woman becoming husband and wife, means something. It means a promise. A promise that they'll stay together. No matter what's come before, what there is now, or what there will be, they'll still be side by side. They'll not leave each other for others, and even more they won't betray each other by taking others to bed.
It's another stupid vow I know, but it's one that says to the gods and to all men, 'This is my man or woman. I have chosen them, and they have chosen me, and whatever you do you can't stop us'. I know this doesn't make sense, and I can't explain why it's so important properly. But it's important to me because I'm a bastard. You and I are not well loved in this land south of the Wall, Val. The lords and ladies don't have a place for us in their world.
My father's wife is like them. She has no love for me, she never has. When we see her, she'll throw the name 'bastard' in my face the first chance she gets. Whatever I do won't stop her hating me. But if I marry you, do the honourable thing in her eyes, than it makes her words more bearable."
Val was now simply frowning, and Jon knew his words hadn't helped.
"So you're marrying me because some idiot woman blames you for something your father did?"
"No! It's just, I need this . ."
"So you're dragging me under a tree for your sake?"
"Didn't you agree to it for my sake? You knew all this before."
"Aye, and I still don't understand it. What I understand the least is why you care what some bitch thinks when she couldn't love a motherless child!"
"It's not the same as the north Val, and that's not even the point! Imagine if I left you now for a year, and then came back with another woman's child? You'd hate it, and you'd hate me."
"I'd geld you if you tried to join my bed."
"Exactly."
For a few moments Val didn't speak, and the two of them simply rode, side by side, looking at the road ahead of them, an awkward tension hanging over them. Mostly they were both frustrated. Val still couldn't grasp why Jon obsessed over a woman who hated him, and Jon was trying to find the words to explain.
"There's something you're not telling me, Jon Snow."
Her use of his bastard's title revealed she was serious, and wanted an answer. Fortunately, Jon had one.
"Imagine you're a child again. You're in your home, you have you father, you have you brothers and sisters. They love you and you love them. You're part of a group, a pack if you must. We are our own tribe, we love each other and defend each other. But there's someone else in that tribe. They don't want you. They don't need you. In their eyes, you're a menace, a nuisance, a bad omen. They want you gone, they'd be happy if you were never born. And that someone has power over you, and if you try to fight back you'll be punished, thrown out, or worse. And you're still a child."
Jon's voice was calm, slow, and quiet so that only Val could hear. And she heard every word and each one sank into her mind. It was the first time Jon had spoken about his childhood in Winterfell that didn't centre on his friendship with Robb or Arya. When he told her such things, she saw her handsome, gentle Jon laughing and playing with boys and girls, swinging wooden swords and playing at war. She saw an innocent boy, like the one Ygritte brought north years ago.
This time she saw none of those things.
Jon looked at her again and spoke. "Do you understand? I need to face her. I need to look in her eyes and show her, 'I'm not just a bastard. I'm as good as all your children. You can't treat me like that way anymore. I've won.'"
When Val responded, her voice was just as quiet and it had none of her typical fire. "You've never told me this before."
"I didn't have to 'til now. It's not something I think about these days."
Val looked back at Jon. Her face was a blank picture. She always did that when something caught her off guard and she couldn't find a way to come back. Jon simply stared back, trying to find something to say to make her smile again.
Eventually she did. She reached out and grasped his hand on his reins, a small smile on her face.
"You're a surprising man Jon Snow. And I understand. I'll be your wife, if it means you can spit in Lady Stark's face."
Despite himself, Jon had to smile. "If you do that, then she will throw me out of Winterfell for good, and so will my father."
Val simply laughed gently until Jon leaned over and kissed her.