Flashback

The medicine cabinet was locked, but he was not deterred. A set of iron tools below, that were reserved for cleaning teeth, were ideal for picking the lock, and in almost no time, the cabinet was opened.

Three rows of neatly ordered potions lined the shelves. He grabbed a vial labled Nightshade, and emptied twelve drops into an empty glass vial left out. After a quick look around, he found a stopper a capped it.

Jon

Greycap: A poison, usually light grey derived from toadstool. The effects of the poison vary based on the type of toadstool. For most poisonous mushrooms, three pinches of ground toadstool dissolved in liquid are enough to ensure death, though men of large girth or developed immunity will require double and possibly triple dosage. Death can occur anywhere between half an hour and three weeks depending on the fungus.

At long last he had found the entry for Greycap in the Compendium of medicines and poisons.

The poison he remembered, which terrified him to think about, went to work instantly. Jon had seen another book in searching the Winterfell Library titled Plants of the Seven Kingdoms. Quietly Jon put the book where it belonged on the shelf and browsed for the book on plant life.

It soon came to pass that he had found it. He skimmed its pages looking for information on mushrooms, and found the section labeled Toadstool.

In the following pages he read of the mushrooms that grew from Dorne to the Wall. Some were edible, some caused sickness. A few caused death. One such, could only be grown in caves, and was easily the deadliest of those mentioned in the list. It was marked by a sickly green glow beneath the grey cap of the mushroom.

Queer feelings overcame Jon, ones that felt as if someone was stepping over his final resting place.

Calmly Jon closed this book and returned it to the shelf.

He walked away from the library and walked to the feast hall. It was time to eat, and he had not broken his fast this morning.

It was a strange feeling. Jon was used to having one meal a day, since being elected lord commander. His stomach had seemed to moan in discomfort for the past two hours, only now did his mind decide that he could use food. My soul and flesh are two different people, Jon thought.

Soon Jon found himself at a table with a slice of bread, another slice of salted beef, and a bowl of stew before him. The food before him was nothing impressive, but after months of living on incresingly strict rations, it looked like a feast. He started with the beef, which not thawed out enough.

Jon bit down on beef, and it felt almost like biting into a chunk of ice. He decided to see if he could cut up the hardened meat, with the heavy knife beside the plate.

Across the table from him, Robb sat down. A server brought up his dish, from behind.

"What are you doing here Robb," Robb usually ate on the dais, in father's absence.

Robb looked at him as if he was dumb. "Have you been under a rock today, Snow? Father just got back from Bear Island."

Why was Lord Eddard Stark on Bear Island? Jon thought about the answer until he remembered. Lord Stark had taken a trip to Bear Island. It was the journey that had caused Jorah Mormont to flee his ancestral seat.

He forgot about the story as soon as he noticed Robb's plate. On it was a slice of what had to be roast Boar, It smelled of mulled wine and cloves which soaked into the meat. It's delicious aroma nearly brought Jon to tears.

Robb noticed his plate. "Did the cooks not give you some of the boar that father got on the way home?" He poked the hard beef with his fork. "Your meat is tough, was this even cooked?"

Jon shrugged. "It's warm in some places I suppose."

Robb sighed, "it must be my mother then, I saw her by the kitchens just before the boar was ready." Jon felt perplexed by those words and his expression showed.

"That last sparring bout we had, left some bruises on my arm. There's a place near my wrist, that swells like an egg. I'll be fine soon, but my lady mother didn't take it too well." Robb looked around the room as if he was searching for someone, before turning his gaze back to Jon. "It was a good fight Snow."

Jon felt his knife finally cut through a small chunk and heard the scrape of the knife against the plate. In the background, he he could make out the stare of Lady Catelyn.

When Jon was certain that she was watching, he took the cut piece of hardened beef and chewed on it.

Besides that, the meal went on without incident. Everything around him passed like a dream, and he allowed himself to enjoy it. He talked and japed with Robb as if they were the kids of twelve namedays that he wanted to believe they both truly were.

Later as he left, Lord Stark, his father, approached him and warmly embraced him. The joy once again mingled with sadness.

The next time we see each other, we'll talk about your mother, I promise. Jon had never forgotten the promise, and it took him much restraint not to ask about the mother he never knew. Instead, he just returned the embrace.

Jon made his way past the First Keep, and the lichyard in its shadow. Before him lay the entrance to the crypts of Winterfell. He opened the ironwood door, grabbed a torch from the sconce on his left, pausing to light it before he descended into the crypts, which was now completely intact.

Down the serpentine stairwell he went. This was an eriee place, and he would have had a hard time going deeper into the crypts even if he had not been down here before. He had brought a knife with him, and held its cold but reassuring grip lest he hesitate every few steps with his torch in the other hand. Noboby was here, not even Bran was curious enough to see the lower levels of the crypt at five years of age.

Slowly he descended. The hair on the back of his neck was erect. It was hard enough to look on Winterfell above knowing what would befall the place and its people. Down here, nearly every sight served to remind him of just how dangerous this place could be.

When at last he reached the bottom of the stairwell, a long corridor stood before him. Jon could not recall if he had seen this part of the crypts. The light of his torch filled the narrow corridor. On both sides the rough wall was colored a dirty white. John remembered that the wall was white in many places around the springs. As he walked down the hall, he heard the faint sound of boiling water whose sound carried well. The sound made him ill at ease.

At the end of the corridor, Jon found himself on the ledge overlooking the springs and the cavern. He hesistated, the memories came back and hit him full force. Sam had helped carry him on this ledge and down to the springs while he was delirious with poison. The stairs carved into the rocks, descended close from where he stood.

All around the wall, he saw the glowing mushrooms that grew sporadically through cracks in the white stone. They gave a sickly green light that he remembered too well. He had seen other things too. Things that Sam did not also see, but he remembered very little.

Jon moved down the cut stairs cautiously, wondering if his legs might suddenly give out. By the time he reached the bottom, Jon was conscious of the fact that he was sweating and his vision was beginning to blur. He clumsily nestled the torch in a convenient spot between two rocks, tight enough that the torch could stay upright.

Then he simply allowed himself to fall to his knees and took several deep breaths before he felt better. When he was ready to stand, he could see much more clearly and he walked on solid footing to the spring that had brought him back. On the way, he stopped to pluck a mushroom, but refused to look on it after touching it in fear that his courage would melt away.

By the spring, he rested. Only when he was sitting by the waters did he contemplate the sickly green mushroom. It looked inviting, Jon could not deny. He felt a strange urge to eat the thing whole and calmly wait for the poison to take effect.

Instead, Jon set it on the small slab of a rock, and began crushing the mushroom with another smaller rock.

His hand was shaking when he was satisfied with the results, and selected a tiny pinch with his left hand clasped tightly around the wrist of his right. Jon held out his tougue for the poison, and fought to keep it there with the poison on his tougue when he cupped his hands and drew warm water from the springs.

The water soaked his face when he tried to drink deep, but the small amount of poison went down. Jon swept the remainder under a rock and then found a place to lie down nearby and wait for the effects to come and pass.

While he waited, Jon had tried to nap hoping to pass the time before he felt it, but felt uncomfortable trying to sleep down here. he looked around him and took in the sights. Jon looked around and something caught his eye. It was like a giant egg, but it had scales. He was curious and looked closer at the scaly but rock solid surface.

Didn't Sam say something about dragon eggs down here? He was not sure if he had, but what was it other than a dragon egg. The egg was heavy for its size when he tried the pick it up. The egg itself appeared ageless to his eyes and even felt strangely warm.

Pain came to his forehead, soon afterwards his vision began to lightly blur. He felt the egg drop, and fell on the humid rock on his back.

The sickly green light from the toadstool seemed to diffuse and the cavern looked much more eerie now. Jon remembered this part. The world above him spun gently in a back and forth motion, that made him feel sick.

Suddenly a figure appeared out of nowhere. His mind muddled from the poison, but only a little bit this time. He groped around his waist for his knife, which was pulled out and held in plain view of whatever it was. She was difficult to make out, but somehow he knew it was a girl by the way she approached.

In the light he could see her dark brown hair crowned with a circlet of roses, and a white dress that she wore. It took a second look to notice that her beautiful white dress was stained with blood.

There was something very familiar about her. Jon lowered the knife, but he still didn't drop it. She was looking at him, in sorrow.

"Do I know you?" He asked following an awkward pause.

A young woman's voice entered his head. You never did, no more than you knew your father.

The figure turned to leave. Jon had no idea what possesed him, but he struggled to get up, and tried to follow the woman up the ledge.

Sam

Today he was going to stuff himself. His presence in the kitchen was no surprise, especially in the pantry. As he recalled, his father had rarely expected his eldest son at dinner, and seemed to prefer that Sam take his meals alone.

It bothered him to look back on the days leading up to his exile from Horn Hill. He had been left to his own devices that much was true, but at the same time, he was seeing less and less of his family. Randyll Tarly must have secretly feared that he would corrupt the new heir apparent Dickon Tarly, but it was just as likely that he was trying to distance Sam before being exiled to the wall.

Sam browsed the pantry for food and spices. He stole a loaf of fresh bread, and queitly cut cut a slice of white cheese. Both of which, he stowed in a sack he pulled out from the entrance. When he saw the section in the pantry where the fruits were held, he nearly broke down and cried at it's sight.

His hands greedily selected a lime and a then a lemon. A blood orange grown in the Dornish Marches was next. In a box below were peaches, and beside them were Pomegranates.

So much fresh food, tears of joy streamed down his check. He was glad that nobody was in the room to see now. Sam caught himself right when he put a pomegranate in the sack. There was no reason he sould be hoarding food, as if he was going on a long journey.

Reluctantly, Sam returned the peach and the lemon to their places, but kept the Pomegranate, the orange, and the lime.

He decided to take some wine with him, and walked below to the cellar. Sam selected a small skin that came had been lined with a goat's bladder. The skin was lined up to the tap below an upright barrel, which filled the skin with what he guessed to be Arbor red. Its cap was screwed on, and he stowed it into the sack.

He saw a horn of ale hanging on the wall. It had a silver band upon its rim with the huntsman of his house etched into the metalwork. This was one of his father's drinking horns. Nonchalantly, Sam quietly took down the horn and produced a corked vial from his sleeves. The contents of the vial were carefully poured into the horn. Finally Sam put the horn back.

Just as Sam emerged from the kitchen, a nervous young squire rushed past him and made for the cellar he had just left.

He opted to take the longer route back to his apartments. He did not care to pass by the yard where the squires, especially Lazy Leo were training.

He walked down the ramparts, which were scantly occupied today, and for the first time, he queerly realized that it was stifling hot today. Well, at least compared to what he had felt north of the Trident. Sam watched the activity in the yard as he walked back. He could make out his father from a distance with a small escort of faithful retainers and dressed for a morning hunt. His lord father mounted his horse saddled and bridled and accepted whatever the squire had offered him.

Sam hurried his pace, and without incident he returned to his quarters.

He plopped his fat body on the bed, and the mattress sagged below him, hugging his form. Only now did he realize how tired his body was. The thought brought him shame, as he enjoyed the relaxing straw mattress.

Sam pulled out the food he brought, and began with the pomegranate. The sweet juice from its insides filled his mouth when Sam bit into the fruit. He had not eaten a fruit since leaving Oldtown.

Though it felt like a lifetime ago, the feeling of guilt struck him once more. He could not help but think of his less than fortunate brothers on the wall.

Sam eyed the wineskin and contemplated it for a moment. He would mull it later, and drink to the memory of his brothers in black.

For sometime Sam took a nap, and enjoyed a lovely morning under the bask of the morning sun through his window.

Later, he was jarred form his nap by the sounds of activity in the yard, that drew him out of bed and to the window. He could feel his heart leap, at the state of melancholy below. It was time.

Note: I now have two jobs and college to balance with everything else, so understand that updates will be slow in the coming months. For those of you who are crossing your fingers for an update for "A Dance of Lions," I already have a chapter completed that I will release within a day of the season five premiere, and a well planned (but flexible) storyline for the next part of that fic.

Thank you folks for your support.