It's now looking extremely likely that this story will be completed in September, unless I decide to do a double upload at any point. It's also looking at this moment in that my next story will be the Harry Potter OC story based on FFN and AO3 votes. If you haven't already voted then please do so on my profile. I won't be counting FFN review votes, just those in the poll. I'm also still yet to ask Reddit however, so things might change between now and September I'll end up closing the poll once I have written the final chapter of this story (as of uploading this I am writing Chapter 71).

This chapter is entirely set at Winterfell, hence the name, and it's an important one for Jon who I wanted to focus on a little bit while Luke was travelling. I hope you all enjoy it.

As always, I own nothing that shows up in A Song of Ice and Fire or Game of Thrones.

The single horn blast blew when Jon was in the middle of a drill, and the familiar chill went through his spine as he closed his eyes praying that there wouldn't be any more. Thankfully, there wasn't, and he let out a breath when the call for an approaching, but breathing army went up. "Ser Kyle, you have command." He stated, handing over the Dragonglass spear to the Master at Arms before jogging away towards the Northern courtyard. Inside were the usual number of guards manning the area and the workers that usually went about their day, though all had stopped, staring at the handful of people that had wondered in through the castle gates. It only took Jon a few moments to work out exactly who, and when it clicked his mouth widened into a large grin as he walked quickly over towards them, surprising every Northerner in the castle as he hugged Jaime Lannister firmly.

"Lord Commander." Jon greeted.

Jaime rolled his eyes. "Thanks for that." He stated sarcastically.

Jon then did the rounds of people, hugging his former brother in Edd, while shaking the hands of both Mance, Tormund, Karsi and the Red Woman. Only then did he take in the state of the group. Jaime and Edd looked the worst, with tattered cloaks and bruises on their faces, while the Free Folk looked tired above all else. "Are they through?" He asked.

Mance Rayder nodded. "Aye." He told them grimly.

All kind of emotions flew through Jon at once, from horror, to fear, to a final sense of determination. By the time he had processed the news both Ygritte and Robb had arrived and greeted the newcomers, and Jaime was explaining all to Robb. "… held them off for three days but we had to leave the Wall. I sent out a call of retreat, but we've only seen men from the nearby castles…" He then sighed and ran his gloved hand through his grimy hair. "I've not heard a peep from the Shadow Tower, nor Eastwatch. Even Mace Tyrell the blustering fool hasn't been seen. I only hope that they survived, but…"

"They didn't survive, Crow." Tormund muttered gruffly, interrupting the Lord Commander. "We were the last."

Mance shook his head glumly. "We met up with your Karstarks and Umbers on our way down, they're outside the walls now. But anybody else that isn't here…"

"Fights for the Dead." Ygritte finished. "Fuck…"

She summed it up perfectly in that one, simple word. Winterfell was now playing host to around 25,000 people with the gathered force of Northerners along with the influx of the new arrivals, but they had hoped for more before the fight arrived on their doorstep. "Thousands upon thousands of you came through the Wall. Where are they…" Jon trailed off.

Jaime was the one to answer. "Manning the castles of the Wall, all of them had been occupied. Even Celtigar the old cunt hasn't been seen." He turned to Jon grimly. "We weren't far in front of them."

"No." Mance agreed. "We travelled through the night to avoid them, sometimes barely staying clear of the darkness. Once the sun goes down it will be time, they will come for us here, at Winterfell."

That was the statement that left them all standing in silence, with none of the gathered allies knowing what to do or say next. Jon simply looked at Ygritte fearfully, and he say her looking back at him equally scared. Holding his hand out, she grabbed onto it and squeezed tightly.

"Get inside and get some food down you." Robb then ordered them all. "The bathhouses are busy nowadays with so many people, but if you need one, get one. It might be the last one we get." Robb then waited as the newer arrivals filtered away, the Free Folk went back outside to be with their people, but Edd and Jaime went for baths.

"We haven't the men." Robb swore, now more comfortable in letting his emotions out. "Where the fuck is the King?"

"On his way." Jon reminded Robb.

The Lord of Winterfell scoffed. "Seven hells… seven fucking hells." He took a deep breath. "We aren't ready… the wildfire is halfway between here and Moat Cailin, there's not enough of us…" Robb's eyes widened at that moment. "I need the girls to leave."

"You what?" Ygritte asked angrily.

Robb chuckled. "Not you… Mother and Sansa… they can't fight."

Agreeing, Jon nodded. Though he knew realistically that there was no time for an evacuation. "We should stick to the plan Robb, if they leave now… they won't even get to Castle Cerwyn before the dead find them." He placed a comforting hand on Robb's shoulder. "We stick to the plan." He repeated.

Shaking his head, Robb swore again. "I hate that fucking plan." He whispered, before conceding. "Aye, the crypts it is." Taking another breath, Robb then added. "I need to tell them… tell everyone."

"We'll handle the soldiers." Jon offered, wanting to lessen his brothers load. "You sort out your family."

"Our family." Robb corrected childishly, to which Jon only smiled. "Aye, I shall. Thank you Jon."

They hugged tightly, with the unspoken fear of it being the final one they ever shared evident in the way both gripped the other. Eventually however they had to let go and Jon could only watch as Robb skulked away swearing and muttering under his breath. Ygritte's hand found his again, and Jon turned to face his wife. "Come, Jon Snow." She said softly. "We haven't the time to lose."

The reality of the imminent battle was getting too much for Robb. After having spoken with his Mother and sister and watching the urgency of the castle ensuring all defences were ready, Robb found himself merely pacing around the castle so much that he had no true sense of direction. On his travels he had seen the Red Woman muttering to herself in Asshai'i as she moved around the castle in a daze. He vaguely noticed Arya at the forge with her blacksmith friend trying out a new weapon, and he also noticed Samwell Tarly sat in a corner with his Wildling lover and their son, holding each other closely. Families everywhere were holding one another tight it seemed, and it brought Robb back to that fateful day and Roslin…

Wiping a rogue tear, Robb knew that he needed to get away and calm himself down. Deciding against the Godswood where Bran… or the Three Eyed Raven as he was now wanting to be called, was ever present, instead Robb walked over to the Crypts of Winterfell. As night fell it would be home to those unable to fight and around a dozen Stark men there to protect them, along with the Direwolves, but for now the labyrinth of Stark dead was empty, and the thought of solace amongst his ancestors was calling the current Lord of Winterfell.

The deeper into the Crypts Robb walked, the more he noticed the number of legendary figures buried within. Theon Stark who had pushed the Andals back from the North, Edrick Snowbeard who had ruled for nearly a century, he saw the empty sarcophagus of Brandon the Shipwright beside Brandon the Burner's. As he moved through the King's of Winter he stopped for a moment at Torrhen Stark, the King Who Knelt, and the one man that Robb felt like he could relate to more than most. Beyond the King's were the Lord's of Winterfell, all of whom barring his Father who had ruled under Targaryen King's. Brandon the Boisterous, Brandon the Boastful, Alaric Stark, Cregan the Old… the further into the Crypts Robb went the more he knew about the men buried behind the statues of their likeness.

Eventually he got to his Father's statue, and Robb made sure he took the time and the care to relight the unlit candles before staring up at the cold, stone face that didn't really resemble his Father at all in his Tully blue eyes. "I wish you were here." Robb began aloud. "You'd know what to do far better than I…" He looked around then however, and saw the statues of his Grandfather Rickard and Uncle Brandon. "Although… maybe not." He chuckled. "I forget you were never meant for Winterfell, not like I was." Robb sighed then, taking a moment to think on the memory of his son, who lived for less than three hours. "I can't admit out there how scared I am, Father… They all look to me to lead… the Warden of the North. But White Walker's… I could fight Tywin Lannister, or Mance Rayder. They can be predicted… how am I meant to defeat demons leading the dead?"

He heard Arya's voice in his head at that moment telling him to stick them with the pointy end. Chuckling, he looked back up at his Father's face. "We're all together." He told Ned's statue. "All of us, Sansa came home, Arya, Bran and Rickon too. You always said there must be a Stark in Winterfell, and now I fear that there is too many… what if I lose them? And Mother too…"

Then there was the other member of his family that he desperately wanted to talk to Ned about, though voicing his questions about Jon would do no good. All that mattered now was surviving, Robb surmised. "Something which I've been good at up till now." He whispered, though how he would survive that night, Robb had no idea. "If I could wield Ice, I'd be far braver."

Then his Father's voice was the one that he could hear in his head. "We can only be brave when we are afraid."

And Robb finally understood the true meaning of that phrase as he stared up at the effigy of the great Ned Stark. A man that had bravely stood in front of the Sept of Baelor and lied in order to save the lives of his family. A man that had led a rebellion against the King on the Iron Throne to defend his family, a man that had had the foresight to arm Arya with a sword, to lie about Jon to the entire world to keep him safe… "Family is everything." Robb whispered. "Protect them."

"But trust them." Robb's inner voice in his head sounded. He had trusted Jon with a lot since his return, and Jon had repaid that five times over by bringing a dragon to their side and arming the smallfolk. He had trusted Sansa after Roslin's death, and Winterfell could survive for months with the number of mouths inside it. He had trusted Arya to the Mormont's and she had come back fearsome and arguably the best warrior of his siblings…

Then his mind wandered to Bran. His brother scared Robb, but his power was evident and had been used so often in gaining intelligence on both allies and enemies. Suddenly, his Ice problem was solved and a rare smile formed on his face. "Thank you, Father." He said to the statue. "Winter may be coming, but I swear to you, it will not take us all. House Stark has stood against the cold for thousands of years, it will stand once more."

While Robb was seeking solace inside the Crypts, Jon had done the same in the Godswood. With the men and women of the North riled up and getting into place Jon had decided he needed an answer to one final question, and so he had made his way towards his seemingly omniscient brother and asked it.

"Do we win?" Jon asked. "Can you see?"

There was a moment of silence as Jon simply stared into Bran's distant eyes. "I cannot see the future, Jon." Bran stated calmly. "Only the past, and if I warg, the present." Sighing, Jon knew it was too good to be true. He spotted the stone that his Father had sat on so many times in the past, and saw a bucket and an oil cloth had been placed there. Chuckling at the memories, Jon made his way there and unsheathed Longclaw, beginning the soothing work of running the cloth over the blade. The pair sat there in silence for a while, with Bran's eyes completely white as he was in an animal Jon couldn't even imagine, scouting.

Losing track of time, Jon was jolted back into reality when Bran spoke again. "You have not told anybody else the truth."

"No." Jon said, not taking his eyes away from the Valyrian Steel.

"Why?" Bran asked.

Jon knew that Bran knew the reason why. "Do I need to voice it?"

"You ride a dragon, Jon. The truth will come out soon if you will it or not." Bran stated. "The fears of the future matter not to those you care about most, only the war to come matters now."

Scoffing, Jon looked bitterly at Bran. "That's just not true though, is it?" He said coldly. "My entire life is a lie, I can't just accept that without worry and move on. I grew up bitter at the world, wishing to just be a Stark like my brothers and sisters, saying that I would do anything to not be a Snow. Now I learn that I'm not a Snow, I'm a fucking Targaryen." He slammed the oil cloth back into the bucket with force, his eyes never leaving his sword. "If the truth comes out, war will follow. I'm focused on what is coming, Bran, but I also know what happens after if I survive. More fighting. More death. I could be killed to stop my claim, Robb could be killed for harbouring me…"

"Do you really think your Uncle would do such a thing?" Bran asked.

Once more, Jon scoffed. "I've heard stories." Was all he said, thinking on the dead Baratheon bastard along with the Houses that Lucerys Targaryen had put to the sword in his war of conquest.

"Uncle?" A female voice sounded from nearby, and Jon winced as he recognised the stern tones of Catelyn Stark.

"It was going to get out eventually." Was all Bran said, before his eyes went white once more and Jon wanted to throttle the crippled Stark, knowing now that he had been well and truly set up.

Catelyn shuddered at the sight. "I came to persuade him one more time…" She trailed off. "What lies were you speaking?"

"How much did you hear?" Jon asked, already wanting this talk to be over.

"You ride a dragon?" Catelyn scoffed. "You're a…"

She left it on that note, and Jon could see she was disbelieving. "He lied to you." Jon said quietly as he stared down at the snowy ground. "Father… Lord Stark. He lied to me, he lied to us all."

He knew from her tone that Catelyn's eyes had narrowed in anger. "Have a care." She whispered harshly.

Sick of it, Jon rose to his feet and glared at his aunt by marriage. "Lady Stark, I honestly don't care whether you believe me or not. I scarcely believe it myself if I am honest, but Bran has seen it all, and I had a vision here too." He looked at the Weirwood Tree that he had not touched since that day. "Rhaegar Targaryen did not kidnap Lyanna Stark. They eloped on their way to your wedding to Uncle Brandon, with Lyanna eager to escape being chained to Robert Baratheon, whom she considered an unfaithful cur. They wed on the banks of the Trident, and she fell pregnant in Dorne during the Rebellion before she knew the truth..." He sighed as he trailed off, thinking on how she must have felt when the fates of his Grandfather and Uncle had come out. "Father… Lord Stark, he found her after giving birth, sick with childbed fever." He looked up at her and saw tears, but her face wasn't angry at him. "I regret his lies to you, My Lady. Perhaps you wouldn't have found me so revolting as a child." He said coldly.

"He forbade me to speak of her." Catelyn whispered, to which Jon noted she conveniently ignored her treatment of him. "I thought it was grief…"

"He was protecting me from Robert Baratheon… he was protecting us all." Jon explained. "By the time you arrived in Winterfell, he did not trust you to keep the secret. By the time he did trust you with it, the lie had festered in your feelings and he believed that keeping up the lie would be better." He could see she recoiled at that, and realised that his resentment of the woman was coming out too fiercely. "I do not blame you, oddly enough, though I cannot say we will ever like one another after everything. But you deserved to know the truth from Father, not me. For that I can only apologise."

As he said that he was reminded of his entire life, and he felt like all he had ever done was apologise to her. Sheathing his sword once more he began to walk away, only to stop as a hand pulled at his arm. Turning, he saw Catelyn look at him oddly, her hand latched on to him. "It is no excuse, but you look just like him…" She said in a shaking voice. "Just now… you were the spitting image, the Stark son I could never truly bear him."

"That is no reason to hate a baby, My Lady." Jon said quickly.

Catelyn paused, deep in thought before she shook her head. "No…" She trailed off. "I… I am sorry for that."

"You are only sorry now because it was unfounded." Jon retorted. "Me being the son of Lyanna and Rhaegar changes nothing of the past. I still would never do anything to harm your children, nor take their place. They are still my siblings in my heart." He looked up and noticed the sky was in the early process of darkening. "It is almost time, Lady Stark. Get yourself to safety, Bran's place is here, he will be well protected."

And with that finally off of his chest, Jon strode out with his head held high, feeling as if he had said what he had wanted to say for over a decade. In the corner of his eye however, he noticed a figure leaning against a tree, and he rolled his eyes when he noticed who it was. He gestured for Arya to follow him with a movement of his head. "Is it true?" She asked.

Jon nodded, seeing in her eyes that she had been snooping around for the entire conversation with both Bran and Lady Stark. "Aye." Was all he could muster.

Despite all of his memories of growing up with Robb, Arya had always been Jon's favourite. She had been the only one to never judge him for his perceived status, the only one to stand up for him at every turn as children… and he knew by her smile that she didn't judge him now. "She needed to hear it." The Stark girl said.

"I was harsh." Jon said softly.

"It's the dragon in you." Arya smirked. "Or maybe the wolf…" Shrugging, Arya wrapped her arms around Jon. "Dragon, wolf, it matters not what your sigil is. Whether you ride a dragon or not, you will always be a Stark to me."

Robb Stark had been outside when night fell, and the chill around the castle was evident in every single person. He was thankful for Jaime Lannister, Mance Rayder and Ser Kyle all barking out orders and sending men to where they needed to be and he knew he should join them… but there were two things he needed to do first.

That was why he had returned into the castle and made his way into the Great Hall. It had been converted into a makeshift armoury with additional weapons found in case they needed to barricade themselves in the castle, but up at the High Table he was grateful to see Bran in his wheelchair with Meera, the pair inseparable as usual.

"Lady Reed." Robb bowed his head. "I need to speak with Bran." Meera looked at Bran for permission, and he just nodded once. Sighing, Meera grabbed her bow and her spear and made her way out without a word. "She likes you, that one."

Bran simply stared, as he tended to do nowadays. "She knows what I am now."

"I don't think that matters." Robb added.

"And yet it cannot be." Bran stated. "You did not seek me out to talk about Meera, Robb."

It was as if he knew what was inside Robb's mind, and the Lord of Winterfell felt ill at that. "You can warg into creatures, right?"

"And Hodor." Bran added, again knowing exactly what Robb wanted to talk about.

"Aye… and Hodor." Robb said slowly, catching his guard. "How long can you warg him for?" Bran cocked his head slightly, looking at Robb knowingly. "I know it's not right… I know there are certain things in place for wargs throughout history to prevent this… but I also know you have done it before, so answer the question."

Bran simply smiled. "As long as necessary."

Nodding, Robb moved over to the wall above the fireplace, dragging a chair over as he did so. Stepping up onto it to give him added height he reached for Ice, the ceremonial blade having rested there since his return to Winterfell. "Ice is Valyrian Steel, but too heavy for most men to wield in battle." He began. "Hodor is not most men."

"He is not." Bran stated.

Sighing, Robb unsheathed the oversized blade, resting its point on the stone floor. "I want Hodor to wield this, and I want you to wield Hodor." He said, knowing that what he was asking was extremely against all he knew to be good and honourable, but as he had been saying to himself since standing by his Father's statue, these were desperate times.

"Hodor will keep Ice safe." Bran nodded, a small smile on his lips. "But now you are without Valyrian Steel."

Robb knew that, and he knew Bran knew he knew that. "That's my next task." He explained anyway. "It's almost time…"

"It is." Bran said. Robb smiled at his brother and went to leave, before surprisingly Bran reached out and grabbed his arm. "You have done the best by your people, Robb. Know that."

It was an odd message, but an appreciated one nonetheless. Robb smiled once more and pulled away from Bran, leaving the hall. This time however he made his way to the living areas, and specifically Jon and Ygritte's chambers. They were unsurprisingly empty, and Robb set about looking around for what he had come for. He searched through drawers, through the wardrobe, and he even lowered himself to the floor to search under the bed. Not finding it he growled in frustration, only to hear laughter behind him.

"Lord Stark." Ygritte stated with mirth.

"Ygritte." Robb greeted sheepishly. "I just…"

"Behind the board." She looked towards the bed. Robb moved to where she said, and sure enough an old scabbard was propped up behind it. "It should be swung tonight." Ygritte added, her voice dropping the humour.

"Aye." Robb nodded. "I may not be a Targaryen, but if Jon won't… I will." He unsheathed the Valyrian Steel, the thin blade glistening in the candlelight. "I used to dream about this sword…" He said quietly. "I would pretend I was Aemon the Dragonknight, fighting in Dorne and swinging Dark Sister…"

Ygritte tutted as she moved to a drawer to pick up a necklace of an arrowhead, pulling it over her head. "The time for dreams is over. The dark is here, and the dead won't be far behind." She held the arrowhead in her hand. "I stuck Jon with this…" She said softly, before trailing off, not wanting to go more into the story.

Robb would never understand the Wildlings for as long as he lived as he watched her caress the tip of the arrowhead. "Have you seen him?"

Ygritte shook her head. "It's night, he should be finding his mount." She told him, and Robb could only hope that was true.

Jon could tell that the Crypts had been entered not too long before he ventured into to them. Dusk was well on its way and before the fighting began there was only one person he had wanted to see… his mother. He had nothing to say to her, he hadn't known her after all, but there was something about the truth that had meant that her statue had become a bit of a tranquil place for him. He often came here to think on what his life would have been like had she have lived. Would she have been allowed to claim him? Would he still be known as Ned Stark's bastard or would Robert Baratheon's love for Lyanna have kept him safe with her alive? He liked to think of those stories most times he visited, but today was different. Today he was simply standing there, staring at the only face he knew his mother to have, one made of stone.

Sighing, he lit more candles. "Fire will protect you." He whispered, realising how stupid he felt for saying it when she had been dead for over 20 years. Shaking his head, he blew out the flint and placed it on the base of the statue. "I don't know what I'm doing here." He muttered to himself before turning his head and looking down to the fully lit statue of Ned Stark. "You are my Father… not… not some Targaryen Prince that I never knew."

He wanted nothing more than for Ned Stark to spring out of the stone, to wrap him in a hug and to tell him the visions were nothing more than lies and that Jon was truly his son with some nameless camp follower, but Ned Stark was nothing more than a statue, and his image simply stood there gripping his stone carving of Ice, unmoving and silent. Shaking his head, Jon scowled down at the floor when a horn blast was heard even as far down in the Crypts as he was.

He closed his eyes and prayed as usual, but this time they were not answered. One more horn blast blew, and then a third. Jon looked back up at Lyanna Stark's stone face, before turning back to Ned Stark's statue, the only parent he ever knew. Scowling, he flapped his cloak out behind him dramatically as he turned and skulked out towards the exit of the Crypts.

When he got to the surface again there were men and women running about everywhere. Gilly was escorting those unable to fight past him towards the Crypts, placing a caring hand on his arm as she passed him. He heard little Lyanna Mormont, the youngest of her sisters directing the Stark men assigned to the Crypts, while Arthur Glenmore was shouting at his archers to get to the walls. Jon followed them, making his way up to get a better view from the top of the eastern gatehouse, barely smiling when he saw his former Night's Watch brothers in the same place.

"They're there." Grenn noted, staring into the distance. Jon took a space beside him, staring out into the darkness. It had been some time since he had needed to do so but his eyes soon adjusted once more to the dark, and sure enough he saw it. There, along the edge of the treeline, were the mounted White Walkers lined up together.

"The shield that guards the realms of men." Edd remarked drolly. "I thought I joined for Wildlings, Snarks and Grumpkins, not the fucking dead."

Jon said nothing, allowing the brothers of the Night's Watch their few minutes of humour. Instead his eyes were solely focused on the Night King, and what lay ahead of everybody around Winterfell. The dead had arrived, and the moment he had been dreading for so long had arrived with them.

I've adapted the scene where Tormund and Edd enter Winterfell in Season 8 here. This time of course there are more people arriving, though the end result is the same in sheer dread of the knowledge that they will all be fighting in a matter of hours.

After that, the Robb scene. The history of House Stark is one of my favourites and so I wanted to remind people of the legends that lay beneath the castle, as well as have a moment of Robb still looking to his Father for guidance.

When I first knew that Cat would be around for the Long Night inside Winterfell, I dreamt up the scene of them talking. It's a tough one for Jon, because he knows that while Catelyn has been harsh to him his entire life by ignoring him and ostracising him, she's also a victim of circumstance as her husband lied to her and allowed those feelings to fester for almost their entire marriage. Then of course we have the other end of it with Arya just accepting it. It was a really fun scene to write, that one. As are the next Cat scenes where I go inside her head…

Robb is still making plans… and he's ensuring that more Valyrian Steel is in the field despite the moral issues about warging into people. He is an honourable Stark, but he is also one that allowed 2,000 people to die in order to surprise the Kingslayer outside of Riverrun… he will do whatever is necessary to give them a good chance to win.

Then finally, Jon visits the Crypts too. His battle over who he is has been a multi chapter personal issue, that's why I had him join the men of the Night's Watch at the end, as that's a huge part of his personality too.

I hope you all enjoyed this chapter… it's truly the calm before the storm.

Next Time: The Second War for the Dawn begins.

Reviews:

DarylDixon'sLover: Thank you!

SpartanWolfj6: "No, now it ends."