Chapter 4:

Farewells and Promises

Jon POV

When Jon walks into Arya's bedchamber on the morning they are to leave Winterfell with Sansa right behind him, he finds his youngest sister grumpily repacking her trunk.

"Septa Mordane says I have to do it again. My things weren't properly folded, she says," Araya grumbles, turning towards her siblings. "Who cares how they're folded?! They're going to get all messed up anyway."

"It's good you've got help," he tells her, gesturing towards where Nymeria sits at the end of the bed.

"Watch," she smiles, turning towards her direwolf, "Nymeria, gloves."

The direwolf simply tilts her head at her mistress.

"Impressive."

"Shut up. Nymeria, gloves!" Arya says more forcefully.

The pup still makes no move to retrieve the gloves from Arya's vanity chair.

Jon can tell that his sister is getting frustrated. "I have something for you," he says to her. "For both of you. And they have to be packed very carefully," Jon glances at Sansa before turning back to Arya.

"A present?"

"Close the door."

Both girls rush towards the chamber door, bursting with excitement.

Jon sets the gifts on the bed and carefully unwraps the cloth around them. He picks up Arya's present first and turns to face his sisters. The Baintriath of House Stark places a small, slender sword in Arya's hands.

"It's so skinny," Arya says as she pulls the sword from its scabbard.

"So are you," Jon smiles. "I had Mikken make it for you special. It won't hack a man's head off, but it can poke him full of holes if you're quick enough.

"I can be quick."

Jon turns back to the bed and picks up the other present—two small daggers with ivory hilts carved with an intricate rose design, in a leather scabbard with two long ties at either end—and presents them to Sansa.

"They're beautiful, Jon."

"They are much easier to hide in a Southron court than a bow and arrows," Jon says as he inserts the scabbard behind Sansa's braid and ties it tightly into her hair.

Sansa reaches up to gently touch one of the hilts that now sticks out of her hair. "Thank you," she smiles.

"These are no toys. Be careful you don't cut yourselves," Jon tells them. "You'll have to work at it every day. How does it feel? Do you like the balance?"

"I think so," Arya says, while Sansa simply nods, a blade held tightly in her hand.

"Good," Jon nods. "First lesson: stick 'em with the pointy end."

"I know which end to use," Arya scowls.

"I'm going to miss you both," Jon tells them. They both make to jump at him, blades still in hand. "Careful," he warns taking a step back and gesturing towards their weapons. Arya puts her sword aside as Sansa places her dagger back in her hair. They all lurch forward each other then, holding onto each other tightly.

"All the best blades have names, you know," Jon says a few minutes later as they release each other.

"Sansa can keep her sewing needles," Arya smirks at her sister. "I've got a Needle of my own."

Sansa huffs, annoyed before turning back to Jon. "Winter's Roses," she decides.

•)()()()(•)()()()(•

"I've come to say goodbye to Bran," Jon says as he walks into his brother's sickroom. Baintighearna Catelyn sits beside her son, haggard and worn. And it seems to Jon like she hasn't moves since the day Bran fell.

"You've said it," she tells him with more hatred than she's shown him in years.

Jon is momentarily startled by her words, but he doesn't let them deter him. He moves to the other side of the bed and kneels down by his brother's head.

"I'm leaving Bràthair Beag," Jon says to him, though the boy remains resolutely still, the only sign of life, the gentle rise and fall of his chest. "Maybe when I get back you'll be awake again. I know we always talked about seeing the Wall together, but we'll be able to go again when you're better.

"How can you leave when your family needs you most?!" Baintighearna Stark seeths. "How can you take a pleasure trip to the Wall when Robb needs you here? When Rickon needs you?"

'No mo baintighearna,' Jon thinks. 'They need you.' But he says nothing.

"Fine! Go! Leave! Abandon your family!" Baintighearna Catelyn shouts. "Leave!"

Jon stands and kisses Bran gently on the forehead. "Mo Baintighearna," Jon dips into a curtsy before walking briskly out of the room, brushing past his father on the way out.

The tears don't come until he is a ways down the corridor.

•)()()()(•)()()()(•

Jon finds Rickon with Old Nan in the study close to the lady's solar.

"Jon!" Rickon exclaims, as he runs to his elder brother.

"Hello, Cuilean."

"Have you come to play?"

Jon sighs and kneels down to Rickon's level. "Not today, Cuilean. I came to say goodbye."

"You're leaving too?" Rickon pouts.

"I'll only be gone a couple of moons, I promise."

"Is that how long Athair, Sansa, and Arya are going to be gone for?"

"No Rickon."

"And Mother?"

"Your Mother is with Bran, Cuilean. She's not leaving."

"Oh." Rickon frowns looking to the floor.

"I'll tell you what, when I come back we'll go swimming in the hot pools."

"Promise?" Rickon smiles.

"Promise," And Rickon jumps on him, clutching at his cloak.

•)()()()(•)()()()(•

When Robb finds him he is in the stables, saddling his horse.

"You've been avoiding me," he says, and Jon looks at the ground.

He has been avoiding Robb. Not because he doesn't want to say goodbye to his alpha, but because he might not want to leave when he does.

"Did you say goodbye to Rickon?" Robb continues. "The girls? Bran?" Jon nods, he's said goodbye to everyone. Except Robb. "He's not going to die. I know it."

"You Starks are hard to kill," Jon smiles.

Robb chuckles. "Next time I see you, you had better not be all in black."

"It was always my color," Jon jokes.

Robb pauses for a moment. "I have something for you." He moves his arms from where they have been behind his back and produces two short swords with howling wolves on the end of the hilts in scabbards with ties all the way down the blade. "I know you've been working on handling two blades at once, so I had these made for you. But I figured it would raise some eyebrows if the Baintriath of House Stark was armed in times of peace, so the scabbard is made to hide inside your boots."

"Thank you, Triath," Jon says as he takes the blades from his mate.

"What will you name them?" Robb asks as he cups Jon's face in his hands.

"Wolf's Fangs."

His alpha strokes his thumb across Jon's cheek. "Farewell, Gràidheag."

"And you, Gràidhean."

They surge forward then, pressing their lips together in a searing kiss. When they break apart, Robb takes one last look at him before he steps back from Jon and walks out of the stables.

•)()()()(•)()()()(•

It seems as if all of Winterfell and their guests have squeezed themselves into the courtyard closest to the East Gate.

Jon stands off to the side, watching as the king's party makes last minute preparations, and the Northmen say their final goodbyes.

"Athair," Jon dips his head as Tighearna Stark walks over to him.

The Tighearna of Winterfell looks at him for a moment before he speaks. "Many Starks have gone to see the Wall. Tighearna and baintighearna alike. And you are a Stark. You might not have my name, but you have my blood."

"Is my mother alive?" Jon can't help but ask. "Do they know about me? Where I am, where I'm going? Do they care?"

"The next time we see each other, we'll talk about your mother," Jon's father cups his cheek. "I promise," he bends over and kisses Jon's head before he walks over to his horse and rides through the gate with the rest of the party heading south.

Jon climbs atop his own horse and moves towards the North Gate. Aly and Jarrad ride up next to him.

"Are you ready to see the Wall, mo baintighearna?" Jarrad asks him.

"Aye."