Author's Note: English is not my natural language, so I'm sorry for any grammatical mistake you may find.

CHAPTER FOUR

"You again..."

He stopped, after a straightforward ride of almost half a day. The cold wind had been descending upon the road from the shoulders of the far snowcapped mountains like an invisible hand roughly architecting trees and snow corridors as it pleased but all the same his eyes found with no effort the same ancient oak he had swept past a few nights ago, of course in Ghost's form. He was close. The southlands navigated before him after several days of his departure from the Night's Watch, coming alive once again with foundations of water creeks, faint echoes of birds and wolves in the distance, and a carpet of permeable ground stretching across the hooves. The ghostly sheen of the moon was falling silently on every wanderer sword which happened to be part of this night, a friendly favor for hunters awaiting for its preys in the heart of darkness but a memory for him awakening again with every step he made away from the North.

After all this time, his homeland was there again. He knew when he took his horse a few steps from the road into the riverbanks and he watched over his shoulders, where The Wall was nowhere near in his range of sight. From his previous scout's duties, which provided to be error proofed thanks to the wolf's hypersensitive senses, he was only two days from Winter Town and the journey was almost to its end.

Looking back, he thought this day would never come. Even when explaining everything to Sam and the others, he had feared it was just a dream in his head but the words had rung inside his ears with life of its own, almost like this day was marked in his life before he had ever thought about joining the Night's Watch. Sam and his friends still couldn't believe it when he finished, but after a while Jon knew they were all feeling relief. Ice was their last hope to fight and end the Long Night, and he was the one to get it back from Lannisters' hands. Or at least, help Robb to do it. Lord Commander later revealed to him everything he had discussed with Robb, and so he learned Robb did want him by his side but at the same time, he feared his own personal desires would turn into obstacles for Jon's wellness. "The decision has to be his only. And yours, of course. I understand he pledged his life to the Night's Watch and I'm not taking that away from him. I only felt it was my duty to tell you about Ice." He had said. After that, Mormont was convinced this Valyrian Sword was the last and only recruit they ever needed. And he now felt the same way.

Free his father from the Lannisters and retake the sword from King's Landing. That was all he could think of right now. He knew he had to reach Robb as fast as he could, of course in this body at least.

Since his departure from Castle Black he had warged into Ghost (who was following Robb and Grey Wind closely) as much as he could so everything he was seeing now had been picked up first by the wolf's eyes. Every bush, every soldier pine, every stone and outlying village. He even dared to ride at night, resting only the necessary, because the road was already cleared for him. His boot removed some patches of white from the root and ash was revealed before him, just where his brother had lit the last fire before reaching Winterfell. He could easily spot thousands of footprints, just as much as waves crashing in the rapids, and he thanked Lord Umber had been generous enough to supply this many of riders and knights. Yet he feared most of them had seen Robb as just a boy, not a man and certainly not their lord. He had been there when Lord Umber and his son came forward to pay their respects, but his wolf hearing didn't miss Smalljon's smirk after a cold shake of hands.

"Do you think we allow this many of wolves in our lands, Stark?" He said, part joke part serious.

"These are my lands too, Umber." Robb replied, calmly. "And you better get used to them since there will be more, I may add."

"There will be more" That last phrase was a direct message to him. Robb wasn't only speaking of Grey Wind kind, just as everybody had thought. There were wolves, true wolves, which didn't necessarily like the taste of sheep, which ran using sometimes two legs or sometimes four, and most important the ones which now to his eyes were far more numerous than he had first imagined. Just as always, Robb's true words were always the ones left to be said at all, but he was satisfied with it. How couldn't he when he was seeing Grey Wind's agitation while Robb was in a glaring contest with the heir of the Last Hearth? It was the obvious thing. He only prayed that this wolf/man bond living inside of them could be as high and enduring as this ancient oak, for they will surely need it when the battle begins.

"Maybe we should hurry up a bit, don't you think?" He asked his horse, taking the reins.

Winterfell's doors were already waiting for him and Ghost too. He swung up into the saddle, flicked the reins and then he was galloping through miles of green, with his eyes attached to the faint lines of the column ahead.

Soon, the sun will find him again but this time like a draft of black wind, not white.

"You are a Stark… You may not have my name, but you have my blood…"

"Does my mother know about me? Where I'm going? Does she care?"

"Next time we see each other, we'll talk about your mother. I promise…"

He remembered this hill.

A soft light of pink rose up in the sky just like that day. Just like looking through a glass, Winterfell's towering granite walls bit the horizon in the eve of the morning and a clear map of memories, smells and sounds was knitted instantly inside his mind. For the first time in his life he couldn't tell if this was a dream or reality, almost fearing to breathe and accidentally loose it behind the mist but he never heard a holdfast speak so loudly to someone, to a human, like Winterfell was speaking to him now. All Jon could do was let himself disappear into an invisible hug, into the memory of his father's eyes when he had said goodbye to him, into the protection of The North where his blood had his reason to be.

His horse was tired and so was he, but he put one last effort in one single movement. The hill became a small spot and soon he was filled with a wave of sounds belonging to a small folk. Winter Town welcomed him with warm voices of vibrant workers, women, children, stable boys, inn keepers and blacksmiths, streets and market squares were flooded with crowds which automatically took a glimpse of him or his sword in this case. From a quick calculus in his head, Jon took notion of how the crafts and industry of the city had been harshly reduced to almost its fifty per cent, and he didn't need Maester Luwin to understand the laws of war always came with a price. No one, not even the commoners, could hide their way out of it.

The Great Keep towered the city flanks almost reaching the clouds. He rode past the gates, the very same gates which had seen off Robb and the Great Lords not so long ago, and dismounted. His eyes rotated 180 degrees, trying to make up for all the time he had not seen it and it felt almost like seeing a ray of sunlight after a long raining season. The armory, the courtyard, Ser Rodrik's training lessons, Mikken's forge, Maester Luwin's chains clinkering, his brothers and sisters' laughs. It was almost like time had stopped and past and present merged together as one. Ghost immediately leapt off from a shadowy corner where he had been waiting and ran to meet him.

"You sure know how to leave someone behind…" Jon told him, playfully.

He made his way to the stables and left his horse there to be tented and watered. As he gave the instructions, he heard voices outside.

"You can't leave, Bran! Do you remember what you promised to Robb?" Maester Luwin's voice hit him, sounding discouraging.

"I know but I'm only going for ride with Dancer. It's only for a moment…"

"It's unwise to do that. Robb told you to remain here. He also told you to take care of Rickon and…"

"I know what he said but that doesn't mean I can do it. No one can. He shouldn't have left in the first place… and mother…"

"If this it about your legs…"

"It's not about my legs! I don't want to do it if he's not here."

"And what if I'm here?" Jon said with a broad smile, taking a few steps to them.

Bran's eyes widened, inches of surprise and disbelief climbed up the young face as Jon stood in front of him. Jon knew the boy was deciding if he was a hallucination or not but the clouds from his eyes lifted after several blinks and a giant smile replaced them instantly. He almost threw himself from Dancer's saddle, only to be catch by Jon in midair and the two brothers embraced one another, after what it seemed like years apart.

"Jon! It's really you!" He screamed excitedly. "I can't believe it."

"Welcome, my lord." Maester Luwin greeted him politely. "You must be tired after a long journey."

"Maester Luwin… I'm her…"

"You don't need to explain anything to me, Jon." He interrupted him. "I know why you're here, and I also know why House Mormont's greatsword is with you as well. If The Night's Watch has anything to say about it, why should I?"

"Jon… are you going to the war too?" Bran questioned, with a sad tone.

"The Night's Watch gave me an order to retake Ice, Father's sword, and bring it back to the North where it belongs. I'll be gone shortly, to meet up with Robb's host and fulfill my duty." He explained. "But first, I will be need supplies and…"

"And rest." Maester Luwin finished for him. "You can be on your way on the morning. You'll have your fresh horse and supplies, as well."

"Thanks. That'll be great." He smiled.

"You must be hungry. I'll see you have something to eat right away." Maester Luwin observed, sharply. "Bran, tell Hodor to take you to your room, dress you up and come down for supper."

The younger boy closed his hands against Jon's neck one last time and called Hodor, who took him from his arms. Jon walked with Maester Luwin through the gates of the Great Keep and his shoulders relaxed at the sudden warmth of fire expelled from the hearths at both sides. It was strange to be amidst the passage halls again and not fearing to be run over by Arya or Bran in another one of their quarrels, but certainly the servants and squires were doing a fine job imitating them. The Great Hall never seemed so chaotic, almost like a basket full of wildfire had exploded right at the center. He had to look twice before stepping accidentally in pools of ale dripping from the tables, broken chairs and chandeliers and the very tapestries of their House ravished and stained down on the floor, and he couldn't even begin with all the floating smells. It wasn't a surprise though, Jon expected no less from the Great Lords and their kind of feasts but when he was close enough a peculiar scent invaded him abruptly, masking all the others combined.

"Blood…" Jon said, thinking out loud.

"Ah yes…" Maester Luwin frowned, with a knowing look. "Lord Umber and Robb had a misunderstanding last night. Grey Wind bit off two of his fingers but the Greatjon did retract after that. Luckily, it didn't come to violence."

Grey Wind? Why did he find that hard to believe? Jon had a strange feeling in his chest instantly. Almost, like a voice in his head telling him it wasn't the direwolf doing at all. He swallowed hard at the thought, mentally kicking himself for considering it. But really… could it be possible that Robb was the one who did that? Could it be possible that maybe his brother felt the opposite of him when he warged into Grey Wind? Both twin wolves were as different as the sun and the moon. Grey Wind was explosive, protective, hot headed and strong while Ghost was calm, passive and rational and maybe there laid the true reason why Robb would easily loose control over it, unlike him. Yet, he knew it wasn't the time to be thinking of it, at least till he could look into Robb's eyes and ask him once they're alone.

"Any news from the south?" He asked.

"I'm afraid not, my lord." Maester Luwin shook his head, sadly. "But Lady Catelyn will be reunited with your brother at the front with some Manderly men. And Ser Rodrik must be on his way to Winterfell now, to keep an eye on the boys."

"Good. After what I heard today I had a bad feeling for leaving Bran here, but I know he will be better when Ser Rodrik arrives."

"You don't have to worry about them. We'll keep them safe."

Bran descended shortly after and he along with Rickon shared a meal with him. The boys could hardly keep their eyes away from Longclaw the whole time and when the food was starting to get cold Jon let Bran hold it for a moment. Delight and admiration crossed the younger brother's face like never before, seizing the wolf-shaped blade in his little hands like nothing else and suddenly the rest of the world fell second to him.

"It's heavy…" He giggled. "But it's smaller than Ice."

"Aye…" Jon nodded. "But both are Valyrian swords all the same."

"I know. I've seen them together… in my dreams." He confessed.

"Really?" Jon glared at him, suddenly interested.

"Yeah. They were both fighting side by side…" Bran's eyes lifted after that. "They will protect us, won't they? That's why they are here."

"Yes, Bran. They will." Jon said, with a smile.

The sky was splattered with tints of pink and blue in the distance when the night was coming to an end. The last stars prevailed more than usual in the northern hemisphere, just enough for his eyes to take one last look at them before sunrise. The day had come and one more time he would've to say goodbye again to his loved ones so he knew the bitter taste in his mouth better than anybody, but also knew that sacrifices would have to be done for a greatest purpose and he indented to carry out this one to the end.

He made his way toward Bran's room in absolute silence and slid inside, feeling comfortable the lack of light covered the very guilty lines of his face. Even the soft angles of the shadows reminded him of the day he had left for The Wall and Catelyn Stark had kicked him out of this place but now Bran was alone, sleeping peacefully under a pile of furs. The flames from the candles were dancing sheepishly in Bran's cheeks with a protective halo just about the same time the first lights of the morning peered through the crystals to bathe the room. Jon took a few steps toward him and placed his hand in the child's forehead gently, praying to the gods to allow this moment again and preserve the future ones. He still had a long way to go before reaching Robb's camp but anywhere he'd be tomorrow, he was certain the minutes inside this room would prevail in his head for the rest of his life. With a shrunken heart, Jon rose up without looking back and left.

Ghost's eyes were glimmering like two ruby stones in the dark yard when he headed to the stables. The household was still asleep but Bran's window emitted a soft screen of candlelight, never waning even in the coldest nights, and Jon wished he could see it even after a distance of hundred miles like a reminder that everything was okay in Winterfell. After a quick inspection of the supplies, he stroked the saddled stallion's mane with one hand and mounted, embed with a new fire in his eyes.

"Let's go Ghost…" He called. The direwolf joined him at command and both sped up.

Soon, the only marks left of them in Winterfell were their hoof and paw prints in the snow.