Howl of the Dragonwolves

by Elphaba818

9 years ago, the Mad Queen and the Queenslayer died and left their bastard twins grow up in the cold shadows of House Stark. Torrhen and Lyaella Snow know their parents never got the happy ending they deserved. Now they have the chance to change things. They'll ensure their parents win the game of thrones. Or they'll die trying. TIME TRAVEL AU! Co-Author: Longclaw 1-6 as of 2-22-21

7. Dragon Stuck in Winter

Happy Leap Day, everyone!

Today marks the day on all our calendars that comes once every four years! We all get an additional 24 hours, and I'm a firm believer in doing something fun and productive during this extra day. Well, what could be more fun or productive than posting the long awaited Chapter 7 of my story, lol?!

I sincerely apologize to you all for taking an entire month to get this chapter finished and posted here online. It's just that my freelance art commission took WAY TOO LONG TO FINISH! Seriously! Every time I finished one aspect of the digital painting, my client would need me to tweak it a bit so it could fit his vision. Mental note to self - familiarize myself in how to digitally paint skin. Aside from little tweaks here and there now and then due to my clients requests, painting the skin layer on the digital portrait took waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay too long to do, and to be honest, I'm not entirely happy with how it looks. Still, I needed to get paid for my work, so I submitted it just yesterday. With any luck, my client will be happy with how the overall painting came out and won't need me to change anything further.

So having finished and turned in my freelance commission yesterday morning, the first I did afterwards was head straight to my laptop to finish writing the last portion of this chapter. Seriously, I may be overdue on this chapter, but I did NOT forget about it for even a second this past month! Whenever I wasn't busy with my art commission or just needed to unwind from it, I was always writing. The problem was simply my writing time got cut down because of my commission, hence why it's taken me so long to finish it. Yesterday, though? Yesterday, I did NOTHING BUT WRITE in order to finish this chapter so as to get it online today! I wanted to not only get it up online sometime during the month of February in order to show that I posted a chapter this month, but I also wanted to get it online now. Today - Leap Day! Like I said, we all get an additional 24 hours this year. We should do something worthwhile during that time. Well, consider this chapter my way of making today worthwhile! Take some time out today on February 29th of 2020 to read this new chapter, lol!

But please note, because of my rush to finish this chapter and get it online today, I did not edit it before posting. Whether or not I will later or just move on to writing an outline for my plans for chapter 8 is something I have yet to decide...

Now, onto the review count for the last chapter! I have only this to say - while I'm happy that we broke the hundred review mark in only SIX CHAPTERS, I'm also disappointed we didn't reach the desired goal of 110 reviews. We only made it to 105... *Sighs sadly* Oh, well. I suppose we can try again though, yes? Let's try aiming for... 125? Yeah, 125 sounds good to me. That's only twenty reviews all together. That shouldn't be too bad, I think. Come on, let's all go for it! 125 people! Let's all tell ourselves to review when we're done reading to make it to 125!

I think that's everything for now. I've kept you all waiting for this new chapter long enough. I don't want to keep you waiting any longer, lol!

Enjoy this new chapter! Have a great Leap Day, and please review when you're done!

Happy Reading!

- Elphaba818

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Chapter Seven: Dragon Stuck in Winter

"We should kill her now and be done with it!"

"Are you crazy?! She's got a dragon!"

"That's no dragon! That's just a lizard the size of a horse! We can kill it easily and then her!"

"You're mad! It'll kill us all before we can blink! Let's just throw them back out beyond the Wall!"

"She's only a child. She'll die if we do that."

"Well, she's clearly a Wildling bastard of some long-forgotten Targaryen descent! She's not our problem!"

"How many times do we have to tell yeh damn crows? We've nothin' to do with that kid!"

"She's not ours. We ain't never seen her before."

The Main Hall was the largest room in all of Castle Black, but during times when the Night's Watch was in disarray over a particular matter and everyone was at each other's throats, it had a tendency of seeming way too small. Today was one of those times. Everyone was crammed inside the mess hall and packed so tightly that literally no one had any personal space. Every shout bounced around the room and echoed back even louder, and despite it being freezing cold outside, everyone's combined body heat made the air feel unusually hot and stuffy. And to make matters worse, the Night's Watch weren't the only ones inside the lodge.

Stannis had invited himself, his wife, two advisers, and a few important officers in his army to attend this meeting as well despite there really not being enough space left for them. They managed to squeeze themselves in, though. They stood off to the sidelines and merely observed the proceedings without comment so far. In addition to them, Thorne had personally insisted on having Mance and Tormund brought in as well, to question them about the unexpected guest currently being housed within their walls. Unlike Stannis, Thorne refused to believe the Wildlings had never seen the child before. He wanted answers as to where she came from, and he'd do whatever it took to get them. Considering she'd been found on the outskirts of the Wildlings war camp, it made sense that she'd been with them even if she wasn't dressed like them. Mance and Tormund were both tied up as they sat at the edge of a bench close to the High Table, Tormund glaring daggers at everyone while Mance simply sat there, impassive. It didn't matter how many times Thorne demanded that they tell them what they knew, their answer stayed the same: they'd never seen nor met Lyaella Snow before.

Jon watched silently in his seat as his fellow brothers argued back and forth. It had been a week now since he first discovered the mysterious little girl and her dragon beyond the Wall and brought them back to Castle Black, and since then, she refused to leave the safety of Maester Aemon's workroom. She had effectively barricaded herself inside the chamber and never opened the door except for when people brought her meals. She wouldn't let the kind maester back inside to sleep, nor would she open the door when people brought her food. She would deliberately wait until they left a tray for her outside the door before hesitantly bringing it inside.

Everyone let this go at first. It was clear the girl was simply too afraid to come out and talk to all of them, and aside from how Maester Aemon had to temporarily relocate to where everyone else bunked at night, she wasn't causing any trouble. Nor was her dragon, as it stayed with her inside. But after six days of her self-imposed isolation, Thorne decided enough was enough. Just last night he ordered a random steward to wait for her to come out to collect a new food tray and stop her from rushing back in. The steward tried, but when the girl screamed upon seeing him, her dragon burst out of the room with a mighty roar. It scared the shit out of not only the steward, but everyone out in the courtyard at the time. The girl didn't even bother taking the tray with her. She simply scrambled back inside the workroom and screamed at her dragon to hurry inside too before slamming the door shut. No one dared to go up and try again today, and nor did she try coming out to ask for a tray when no one brought her one.

Hence why everyone had gathered together this morning. Lyaella Snow was an anomaly, but unless she was willing to come out of that room and answer all their questions about who she was and where she came from, then they had to do something about her. Her very existence had so many ramifications, many of which were political. But they were the Night's Watch. They weren't supposed to take sides in political matters. No one could come to a clear consensus on what to do about her.

As the acting-Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, Thorne was seated at the High Table along with the other acting officers and Maester Aemon. He banged his fist several times on the wooden surface as he rose from his seat. "All right, all right!" he called. "Quiet down, all of you!" Gradually, all the noise in the room softened down to a low lull. Once it was quiet enough, he continued. "Good. Now, one at a time!"

A middle-aged ranger stepped forward, his eyes wild and hatred radiating off him in waves. "Ser Alliser, it's obvious what we ought to do here! That dragon is barely the size of a horse! If we all went at it together, we could take it on! Let's kill it first and send her head in a basket to the Lannister's! Maybe then we'll get actual provisions and help from the crown!"

"Or the Bolton's!" added a builder. "We deliver her to the Warden of the North, and they'll send dozens of recruits to us overnight!"

Those in support of the ideas murmured their agreement, but the vast majority of the Night's Watch stayed silent. Jon was relieved about that. He didn't have any attachment to the little girl and didn't know what her story was, but he definitely didn't think killing her was the right course of action. She was only a child. Children aren't supposed to be blamed for the actions of adults.

"If the Night's Watch chooses one of those options, you'll be spitting on the generosity of the rightful king," called out a general from Stannis' army. Everyone turned. "His grace rode North to help the Night's Watch. He's the only reason the Wildling army didn't slaughter all of you. You send that dragon girl to the very family that is sitting upon his throne, and you'll all be traitors to the one true king! And that goes double if you send her to the Bolton's!"

Tormund glared hatefully at the man from his seat. "Yer king is a coward!" he growled. "Didn't bother showin' his face 'til the battle was over! Real men fight with their armies! I could take 'im on right here! Watch me!"

The generals' hand flew to the pommel of his sword. "Lay one finger on the king, and I'll cut you in half!" If looks could kill, the soldier would have been dead three times over from the murderous look in Tormund's eyes.

"That's enough. Stand down," Stannis said shortly. The soldier wordlessly bent his head and stepped back. With all eyes in the room now on him, Stannis turned to glance at Thorne. "I apologize for the brazenness of my commander, but I also agree with his assessment. If you can't come to an agreement over what to do with the Targaryen child, then I request you turn her over to me. I'll deal with her as I see fit."

Those in favor of House Baratheon in the Night's Watch banged their mugs excitedly on the tables.

"Let's do that! He's the rightful king!"

"All dragons go mad! Better for stags to rule!"

Jon's stomach twisted uneasily as more men voiced their agreement, and he couldn't help but sigh as he stared into his mug of ale. Lyaella was just a child. Stannis would undoubtedly kill her if the Night's Watch handed her over. Did he make a mistake bringing her here?

BANG!

The hall fell silent as Thorne rose from his seat, his cheeks swelling red and whole body quivering with rage.

"We must all agree on what to do with that girl, and until we reach a unanimous decision, we will not be handing her over to anyone! Have I made myself clear?!"

No one dared to disagree. Jon couldn't blame them. He knew Thorne had been a Targaryen loyalist back in his day, but how he reacted to the idea of handing the little girl to Stannis was nothing short of shocking.

Appeased by the sudden silence, Thorne turned to address Stannis. "I am well aware that your army saved the Watch from the Wildlings, and we're grateful," he said gruffly, civility obviously forced, "but every man here has sworn to steer clear of the politics of the Seven Kingdoms. We're not required to hand her over to you, and if we don't, you're not allowed to raise your army against us."

Stannis' priestess Melisandre stepped forward. "That child and her dragon are blessings from the Lord of Light," she countered politely. "Stannis is the Prince that was Promised, Azor Ahai reborn. He is destined to save the world from everlasting darkness with Lightbringer. The fact that this young girl and her dragon were discovered in the same vicinity as the rightful king upon his arrival is a clear sign that the Lord wanted her to join him. It is his will."

The former knight scowled. "If your Red God has a problem with my decision, he can tell me himself. I don't care what you or your king believe about your fire visions, but this is a matter regarding what's best for the Night's Watch. Don't going spewing any nonsense about the Lord's will."

Melisandre merely smiled. "Everything is the Lord's will. It matters not if you have little faith in R'hollor. In the end, everyone is where they are for a reason."

Shaking his head in disbelief, Thorne turned away from her to look back out at everyone else. "Getting back to the main point, we need to figure out where this girl came from. And since she's not cooperating with us, we have to get answers from the only other ones who can tell us about her." His eyes flashed immediately to Mance. "Tell us what you know about that child. Now."

The King Beyond the Wall had been entirely silent up until this point, which only made his snort of amusement all the more surprising as everyone stared at him. "I already have," he said rather simply. "She's not mine."

"Rubbish. She was found in your war camp, with your army. She might not be dressed in your Wildling furs, but she was with your people. Explain that!"

Mance smirked. "I can't. I don't know how she got in my war camp without anyone seein', let alone with a dragon. I've got my own questions about that."

Thorne shook his head, teeth grinding together in his suppressed fury. "And you expect us to believe that?!"

Tormund shot to his feet. "Yeh judgin' us like yeh Southerner's?! We're honest, unlike yer lot!"

Mance nodded. "Yeh can keep askin' us 'til the Wall comes crashin' down, and it won't change our answer. She's not ours. Our people were just as shocked as yers were when yeh first met her."

Thorne still didn't look entirely appeased, but Jon knew the only reason why he wasn't pushing them further was because other members of the Watch were exchanging uneasy murmurs and irritated sighs. They somewhat believed Mance and Tormund that they honestly had never met the girl or her dragon before. Unless everyone believed that the Wildlings were lying, he wasn't going to win himself any positive points as to why he was a good leader for when the upcoming election happened by screaming himself hoarse at their prisoners.

Sighing to himself, Thorne turned back to the rest of the room. "Does anyone have any other possible ideas on what to do with the Targaryen child?"

There was a brief pause, but then — to everyone's surprise, Jon's especially — Sam slowly stood up.

"Ser Alliser? What if we tried contacting old Targaryen supporters here in Westeros?" he asked. "The Martell's hold no love for House Lannister after what happened to the late Princess Elia and her children. If we sent them a raven about Lyla Snow, I'm sure they'd come here personally to collect her. Even if the Lannister's discover that we found her first… they can't hurt us. We didn't house her here indefinitely, so they can't accuse us taking sides in a potential Targaryen restoration."

Thorne blinked while cautious murmurs circulated the room once more. It was an intriguing idea, no one could deny that. But still—

"The Martell's would protect her! We need to send her head in a basket to the Lannister's!"

"The Martell's were loyal to House Targaryen! What happened to Elia Martell was horrible! They can finally get justice with that girl and her dragon! Yes, send her there!"

"No! Stannis is the rightful king! Kill the dragon and give her to him!"

"Sending her to the Martell's is the stupidest thing we could do! She'd be in greater danger there than with the Lannister's!"

It was so quiet, one could hear a pin dropped. All eyes fell upon a young Dornish ranger standing in the back corner. He didn't seem to care how everyone was staring at him as though he was mad. If anything, that encouraged him to continue.

"The Martell's were humiliated when Rhaegar kidnapped and raped Lyanna Stark," he went on. "Princess Elia wasn't enough for him. The Martell's… they know what happened to Lyanna Stark herself was tragic, not to mention what the Mad King did to her father and brother when they pleaded for her safe return. But still… the North helped bring down the downfall of House Targaryen. How do you think the Martell's will react to hearing a Northern Targaryen bastard is alive? Can we guarantee they'll welcome her with open arms?"

Silence. Dead silence. Not even Stannis' party said anything. Looking at the situation like that… it was hard to determine one way or another as to what would happen.

Sam fidgeted nervously, he too looking distinctly ruffled. "Then… Then maybe we should send her to Essos. Aside from Maester Aemon, Daenerys Targaryen is the last true-born Targaryen out there. I know she's all the way across the Narrow Sea, but at least we'd know for sure that she'd be safe with her. And if the stories are true about the Dragon Queen having three dragons… she'd know more than any of us would about taking care of one."

Janos Slynt shot up from his seat so fast, his chair toppled over. "Absolutely not!" he roared. "That beastout there is a monster, plain and simple! I don't know what to think about the so-called Dragon Queen, but if the stories are true, we'd be giving that foreign whore another dragon! She'll burn Westeros to the ground for sure if she gets her hands on that girl and her pet! We're not letting that happen!"

People tittered amongst each other nervously at that image. Jon didn't like Slynt, and after witnessing his pathetic cowardliness during the Battle at the Wall against Mance's army, he held no respect for him whatsoever, but not even he could deny that was a real possibility. Maester Aemon always craved to hear whatever news he could about his distant niece's exploits across the Narrow Sea, and would often have Sam read him whatever news any ravens brought about her. Sam sometimes relayed that information back to him every now and then. From what Jon had heard, Daenerys Stormborn had her heart in the right place with trying to end slavery in Slaver's Bay, but she was too ruthless in her conquest. It was anyone's guess what she'd do if she returned to Westeros.

Thorne sighed, letting his head hang for a few moments as he tried to get a grip on his frustration. "Are there any other suggestions? We need to come to some sort of decision about this."

All was silent amongst the watchers on the Wall. Not even those in the Baratheon army had anything to add. It was off-putting, the silent realization that the only decision everyone could agree to was to simply disagree on what to do with Lyaella Snow. Thorne was especially annoyed.

"Now you're all so quiet?! Come on, you lot! At least one of you must have enough brains to think up another possibility!"

"We're all making suggestions on what to do with this young girl. Why are we discussing this at all at this time? There are far more important questions we should be wondering about."

All eyes in the room slowly fell upon the old, white-haired maester of the Night's Watch. Maester Aemon's blind eyes stared out at no one in particular in the crowd, but he was smiling kindly, not the slightest bit concerned as to how everyone would react to what he had to say.

"This young girl… she was found North of the Wall, but apparently is not a Wildling. She was all alone aside from her dragon, her personal protector. But who is she, and where did she get a dragon egg? She is obviously of Targaryen descent, but she's a Snow, one far too young to be an illegitimate child of Aerys or Rhaegar. She hasn't said a word at all about who her parents are. The only family she's mentioned is her twin brother and their oddly-named friend, Shadow. We know nothing else about her. We don't know where this brother and friend of hers are, or where their family is. Nor do we know what led to her being out there beyond the Wall in the first place, let alone how she got beyond it, too."

Jon was too far back to tell for certain, but he was pretty sure Thorne clenched his fist up even tighter. "I'm well aware of all that. But wondering about it is irrelevant if we can't even get her to talk to us. If she's not going to cooperate willingly, we need to figure out what we intend to do with her."

Maester Aemon merely chuckled. "With respect, Ser Alliser, she's never going to leave that room. At least, not while others are around," he said airily. Thorne blinked, not that the former Targaryen prince saw. Still, he must've somehow sensed the lingering confusion in the air, and he went on. "It pains me that I cannot see at all what she or that beautiful dragon look like, but I knew right away upon meeting her that she was not raised as a Targaryen. She was in shock and quite scared, which was quite understandable. She's probably still feeling that way now. She's not going to leave my private solar unless she's certain it's safe to do so."

"But she has a dragon!" someone in the crowd yelled. "We're the ones in danger around her!"

"To us, yes. To her, that dragon is not a threat, and it's likely she doesn't view it as one towards others. Everyone else is the enemy she must be on guard around."

Curious whispers broke out across the room. Jon didn't know what to think. It was an interesting concept, that that girl was more afraid of everyone else than they were of her dragon. How on earth were they going to coax her out of her shell enough to talk to them if Maester Aemon was right about this?

Thorne appeared to have no comment for once and just hung his head, eyes shut and lips pressed together in a tight line. Queen Selyse, on the other hand, had plenty to say on the topic.

"I don't care who this girl is or what led to her being here, nor do I care whether or not she considers the men of the Night's Watch dangerous," she declared. "My husband is the rightful king. She is merely a bastard and has no claim to the Iron Throne, so there's no need to tread lightly on what to do with her. I want that child and that monster gone, or dead. As soon as possible!"

Davos' lips parted a bit, but Stannis' face tightened. "Selyse—"

Queen Selyse whipped around so fast, her dark brown hair slapped her in the face. "I stand firm on this, Stannis. For all we know, that girl is simply biding her time until everyone lowers her guard. She could order that beast to burn you alive to make things easier for that Dragon Queen across the sea! She could kill all your soldiers without blinking twice! Or Shireen!"

The stag king tensed. He turned away a bit, furrowing his brows as he considered his daughter.

"There is no need to fear that, my king," Melisandre crooned. "Right after funeral the other day, I looked into the flames about the dragon child. I can assure you of is that Princess Shireen is in no danger around her. If anything, the Lord has already decided that this child will secure your victory when you march against the Bolton's."

Jon's breath stilled. Whether or not Melisandre really could see the future in the flames because of the Lord of Light was debatable, but in the offhand chance she could… he wanted to know. Any guarantee that the family that betrayed and murdered Robb and took the North for themselves was a welcome one.

Sadly, the priestess didn't get the chance to explain further, as Davos distinctly cleared his throat. "Your grace, I don't know what to believe when it comes to visions in the flames, but I do agree with Lady Melisandre about that girl not wishing any harm on the princess. Remember how she was back in the forest? She didn't hurt anyone with that dragon. Considering the circumstances, no one could blame her if she had, it would've been justifiable self-defense. She just… hid behind it, terrified. She probably wouldn't have come here at all were it not for Lord Snow."

Stannis considered this for a short time, but when he at last looked up, he didn't focus on his advisers or his queen. He didn't glance back to Thorne or even Maester Aemon had the High Table. He let his gaze travel slowly across the room, searching for someone in particular. Jon froze when his eyes fell upon him.

"You're the one who convinced that girl to calm down, Lord Snow. You're the one that brought her here. What do you think should be done about her?"

It was like someone had sucker punched him right in the gut. Jon's mind was racing as everyone turned to look at him. Stannis was asking him? Why? It was only because he grew up with so many younger siblings that he knew how to approach and calm down Lyaella enough to agree to come back to the Night's Watch with him. He had nothing to do with the girl since then aside from answering countless questions from his fellow brothers about how he found her. Why did his opinion matter?

Shoving his anxiety aside, he swallowed and got to his feet. "Well, your grace, I think the only way we're going to get her to come out of there is if we first try asking her more about her brother. She… She was screaming for him and that friend she called Shadow out there in the woods. For all we know, they could be out there now. If we tell her we want to help her find them, but we need to know more about them, that might get her willing to come and talk, at least. We need to find out more about her family, anyway."

There was a brief pause as everyone absorbed his suggestion, but then Maester Aemon chuckled lightly. "A fine idea. I'm inclined to agree, Lord Snow. If there is another Targaryen child somewhere out there, we must find out where they are, and also where both of them came from."

Whether or not Thorne agreed with Maester Aemon or Jon didn't matter since Stannis nodded once in agreement. "Very well. That seems to make the most sense, in any case, but I would like myself and my advisers to be present when you try speaking to her."

"You do not make demands of us, your grace!" said Thorne. "We are not your soldiers, we're the Night's Watch! That girl is in the custody of the Night's Watch, so we get the final say in what happens to her, not you!"

"I am not making demands. I am making a request. Considering I helped your men protect the Wall, this is a rather simple request in return and—"

Stannis' words were cut off by the bellowing roar of the Targaryen child's dragon.

And it was coming from directly outside.

---

It was a rare sight, Castle Black's courtyard being completely empty. No one was training, no one was talking or walking around, no one milling about. With everyone in the Night's Watch inside the Main Hall or otherwise currently keeping watch on top of the Wall, it was devoid of all life and the only sound to be heard was the whistling wind. Aside from that, there were only a few others currently residing in Castle Black that weren't required to be in one of those two places at this time, and one of them in particular had been waiting for an opportunity like this for several days now. She wasn't about to waste it.

The doorknob to Maester Aemon's private solar slowly turned, and after a momentary pause, it swung open slightly. The little girl cautiously stepped outside and looked around. Seeing no one out and about in the snowy courtyard, she opened the door wider and motioned her friend to follow. The dragon warbled as it stepped out beside her, nosing her silver hair affectionately with her snout. She laughed.

"Shh! Quiet, Sōnar!" Lyaella whispered, pressing a finger to her lips. "We don't want everyone to come running out here looking for us, do we?"

Sōnar crooned softly, nudging her shoulder lightly in response. Lyaella smiled. Patting her snout again, she jerked her chin a bit in a motion to have Sōnar follow her, and then quietly tiptoed down the wooden walkway. She'd been stuck inside that small workroom for over five days. She had simply been far too scared of everything and everyone to leave the safety of the small solar, and then she realized just how cold it was beyond the door. Freezing, actually. But still, she wasn't going to say cooped up in there for even a moment longer than necessary now that the training yard was clear. She'd been waiting for the courtyard to be empty so she could finally look around in peace. She and Torrhen had never been to Castle Black back in their own timeline. Aside from being allowed to go out riding in the Wolfwood while still under the watchful eye of at least twenty of Queen Sansa's most loyal bannermen every time, they had never left Winterfell, period. She wanted to explore her future father's home-away-from-home here at the Wall more than anything… but just not while everyone else was staring at her. That was daunting.

And besides, she hadn't had a thing to eat since yesterday's midday meal. She was starving. There had to be a Great Hall of some sort around here somewhere.

She'd barely made it down the walkway steps when the wind kicked up a bit, sending a blast of stale, bitter air through the open courtyard. It whipped Lyaella right in the face, and a cough tore past her lips as she twisted her cloak a bit to bury her face into the white fur stitched around the collar. Sōnar stretched out a wing, allowing her to huddle up against the heat of her scaly hide. Lyaella sighed in content as she pressed up against her dragon sister.

"C-C-C-Cold…" she whimpered, teeth chattering lightly as she wind slowly petered off. "S-S-So cold…"

Part of Lyaella couldn't help but feel somewhat annoyed with herself for shivering like this. She was a Northerner. She'd been raised in the freezing halls of Winterfell castle during the longest Winter in history of her timeline. She should be used to chilling temperatures… But then again, cold took on a whole new meaning here at Castle Black. Stepping away from the crackling warmth of the fireplace was enough to send a chill down her spine, and opening the door for even a moment to bring in trays of food made her shiver all the way down to her bones. And the air here… it was so different then back at Winterfell, so frigid and dry. The first time she'd opened the door, the unexpected breath of icy air compared to the toasty warmth of the room was enough to send her into a coughing fit for several minutes. A really bad one, too. Luckily, her lungs didn't give out on her and she was fine after a short time, but since then there was a lingering tickle in the back of her throat. An annoying dry cough was stuck in her chest, and despite how she'd done her best over the past few days to monitor her health, it refused to go away. There was nothing she could do about that, though. Not unless she told the adults here at the Night's Watch so that blind maester could brew her that disgusting remedy Maester Marlon always forced her to drink. She wasn't that bad off though, and even if she was, there was no way she would ever willingly ask for that potion. She would just have to learn to become accustomed to her weak lungs since Marlon wasn't here to give her medicine.

A distinct rumbling in her stomach reminded Lyaella that she had to keep looking around, and once she was warm enough, she began thoroughly exploring the training yard. Not that there was all that much to see, though. Just numerous barrels and unlit torches scattered about, and even upon searching the barrels, there wasn't anything remotely edible inside for her to munch on, let alone feed Sōnar with. Just tubs of smelly black goop that she didn't dare touch. She wasn't entirely certain, but she pretty sure that it was either tar or pitch. Either way, it was definitely not food. The only really interesting area to poke around in was where all the weaponry was stored. A half dozen training dummies were set up for people to practice their swordplay with, and stacked up in crates and barrels near a snowy forge were dozens upon dozens of swords and training armor. There was a small, rickety shed right on the other side of the forge, most likely containing other training gear and weapons, and even though there was a large, rusty padlock around the chain looped around the door handle, a key was hanging from a nail poking out from the shed wall, allowing easy access for anyone needing to go inside.

Lyaella ignored the shed though and instead wandered over to where all the weapons were stacked, intrigued. "Look at all this, Sōnar!" she exclaimed. "There's more swords here than in all of Winterfell!"

Sōnar didn't appear to care one way or another about all the swords. She was far more interested in sniffing the barrels themselves, even nudging a few of them with her snout before making a rather sad warble and investigating another container.

Her small mistress turned to her, puzzled by her behavior. "What is it, girl? What's wrong?"

Sōnar made a small, sorrowful whine, one which Lyaella was certain she hadn't ever made before. She had no time to dwell on it though, because the dragon suddenly flicked her long white tail. Lyaella stumbled forward a few steps from the gentle nudge, too confused to bat her tail away. Sōnar warbled miserably, closing the last bit of distance between them. Lyaella's brows furrowed as she found herself being pointedly nestled up against her side.

"I… I don't understand… Do you want a hug? I'm happy to give you one. But you only have to—"

A low, distinctive rumble reverberated from deep within her dragon sister, echoing out from her stomach. Sōnar moaned and gazed down at her with sad, heartbroken blue eyes.

"Oh," she realized, stepping back. "You're hungry, too."

Sōnar half-heartedly nosed at her silver hair. Lyaella's insides churned with pained guilt and regret. With a sheepish smile, she reached up and scratched the underside of Sōnar's jaw. It was one of the few rare areas on Sōnar's body that had considerably fewer scales, and thus was one of her favorite spots for soft pets and scratches. Sure enough, Sōnar brightened considerably, tilting her head closer with a happy trill.

Pressing her lips against the white and blue scales on Sōnar's neck, Lyaella sighed. "I'm sorry, girl. I… I know you haven't been eating well since we got here. I forgot that. You should've said something sooner."

A soft croon escaped the dragon, and Lyaella giggled as Sōnar nuzzled her cheek. She hadn't thought she'd been neglecting her dragon these past few days. Every meal that had been brought to her, she had only eaten half before offering the rest to Sōnar. Problem was, not every meal she'd received contained meat. As a dragon, Sōnar was a strict carnivore, so the few dishes of gruel and half-frozen vegetables were instances where the dragon was forced to otherwise skip a meal. Aside from the disgusting gruel which she too refused to touch, Lyaella would guiltily eat her meals entirely until a tray arrived with a helping of something meaty. Those she gave exclusively to Sōnar. Her dragon was thankful, but she wouldn't touch those meals until Lyaella ate at least half of it first. Sōnar cared more about Lyaella's well-being than her own. It made the little girl happy that her dragon loved her as much as she did, but it broke her heart too. Even if didn't eat half of whatever meaty dish the Night's Watch provided her with, it still wasn't enough for her Sōnar. A single plate of roasted rabbit was barely more than a snack for a growing dragon, and having only half of that did little whatsoever. She needed more to sustain herself.

Glancing back over at all the barrels scattered around, Lyaella pecked one last kiss against Sōnar's hide before approaching the closest one. "Come on, there's gotta be food barrels around here somewhere. Let's keep looking."

The first few barrels she checked had nothing but mounds of scrap metal piled up inside, for which she could only assume was for shoddy repair work on either the weaponry or armor for the men of the Watch, and the next ones she found had only more of that strange black goop she'd seen in other barrels scattered throughout the courtyard. Sōnar meanwhile had taken to nosing more of the barrels with swords sticking out, not realizing that it was pointless to bother searching those barrels.

Personally, Lyaella thought Sōnar's misguided help was funny. "Don't suppose you see one with a wolf head on the pommel in there, do you?" she asked, tugging off the lid of a new barrel and peering inside hopefully. "I'd love to see Longclaw."

The dragon rumbled in response. Lyaella hadn't been paying too much attention due to how she was still searching through her current barrel, but she snapped to attention when the sword barrel suddenly toppled over. Gasping in alarm, she sprang backwards to avoid getting cut as the blades scattered everywhere, and she coughed a few times from the abrupt intake of cold air.

"S-Sōnar!" she rasped. "That… That was v-very… very naughty of you! You know better than to make messes like that!"

Instead of looking properly chastised, Sōnar made a small whine and tilted her head a bit, seemingly confused. Glancing down at a lone blade, she nudged it closer to Lyaella so she could properly examine it.

It took all of Lyaella's willpower not to laugh. "If y-you were trying to… to get me to look and see them m-myself, nudge me next time," she said, slowly regaining her breath. "Don't knock over the whole barrel."

Sōnar cooed in return. Covering her mouth with her hand, Lyaella pretended to cough a second time in order to hide the smile threatening to appear as she fought back giggles. Bending her head a bit to further conceal her amusement, she propped the barrel back up and worked on collecting the scattered swords. To her dismay, not one of them appeared to be her future-father's fabled sword, and even worse, she could barely even lift any of them. Grabbing the pommel of one at random, she immediately groaned.

"Argh!"

Huffing and puffing loudly, it took everything Lyaella had to muster the strength to pick up the sword and drop it in the barrel. She tried doing the same with another, but she barely managed to lift it a few inches before her arms gave out and it slipped out from her fingers.

Shaking her head tiredly, Lyaella doubled over and panted heavily while clutching her knees. "H-Heavy… Too heavy…" she wheezed. "Heavier than the practice swords Tory trains me w-with… What's with the Night's Watch? Not everyone can… can use blades that heavy…"

"I can ask my father if anyone in his army has a lighter one, if you want."

Lyaella squeaked and spun around, her heart pounding in her chest. She half-expected to see another scary Stormlands soldier or gruff-looking man of the Night's Watch looming over her, but upon seeing who it was, she blinked, surprised.

Shireen Baratheon stood behind her. Dressed warmly in a rather pretty pink wool dress with a winter cloak thrown over her shoulders and brown leather boots, the little doe of House Baratheon was the perfect epitome of what a princess should be. It didn't matter that the left half of her face was permanently marred with faded greyscale scars. Her glowing smile coupled with her straight brown hair with a few stylistic braids framing her face and dark eyes made her look incredibly sweet and kind. If she only had a crown on her head, she really would look a princess.

A few moments passed, but Lyaella was too stunned to speak. She'd been in such a state of shock upon arriving at Castle Black, she had completely missed quite a few things during her arrival, one of them being taking note of Stannis Baratheon's daughter back in the crowd. She didn't know what Shireen thought about her, but given that she was the princess of the Baratheon king claimant for the Iron Throne while she was only the Snow daughter of House Targaryen, she didn't dare drop her guard. Past experiences of her and Torrhen trying desperately to make friends with other children their age back in their timeline had taught her that children could be a thousand times crueler than adults. She couldn't count the number of times Torrhen had gotten into trouble for getting into fist fights and she had hidden away in the crypts to cry after the other children in Winterfell and Wintertown called them cruel names. Snowwyrms, scaly runts, the Dragon's Dung… The list went on and on. And those were only the cruel Targaryen nicknames for being the children of the Mad Queen. The nicknames for being the children of the foolish Queenslayer and friend of Wildlings? Those were twice as nasty. Rabid mutts, Tory Thenn, Wildling Warg due to Torrhen's fire flickered out in front of the bullies once, and Frost Fangs for both her own silver hair and how the other kids learned that Maester Marlon's remedies for her involved drinking owl's blood.

Swallowing thickly, she gathered up the skirts of her dress and made a polite curtsy. "H-Hello…"

Lyaella expected to see a partial sneer on Shireen's face or a cold glare at the very least, but the Baratheon princess did neither. Instead, to Lyaella's bafflement, she too gathered up the skirts of her own dress and curtsied back, smiling the whole time.

"Hello to you, too. I am Princess Shireen of House Baratheon. I apologize if I startled you just now. I thought you heard me approach," she said sweetly. "Forgive me, but I don't quite remember what you said your name was when you first arrived here at Castle Black."

Lyaella stared, expression entirely blank. "I… I'm Lyaella," she whispered, her hand shaking a bit as she fingered the edges of her silver dragon necklace. "L-Lyaella Snow…"

Shireen beamed. "Your name is so pretty. Targaryen's always had such beautiful names. And so did their dragons." Her gaze shifted to Sōnar, excitement shining in her eyes. "Is yours a boy or a girl?"

"G-Girl…"

"She's gorgeous! Her white scales are just as white as snow… And those blue scales mixed in and on her wings is such a pretty shade. It… It's almost as blue as ice! She's amazing!"

Despite Lyaella's guarded puzzlement, Sōnar had no such misgivings. Shireen's heartfelt compliments had successfully warmed the dragon up to her. Warbling in delight, Sōnar crept closer to Shireen so she could see her better.

Shireen gasped, wonder-struck. "A dragon. A real dragon," she whispered, eyes sparkling. "I've… I've read all about House Targaryen's dragons… I've always wanted to see one… I can't believe she's really here in front of me! You're so lucky to have her, Princess Lyaella!"

Lyaella tensed, squeezing her pendant tightly. "I… I'm g-glad you like Sōnar, but please… please d-don't call me that."

Shireen had already been reaching up to stroke Sōnar's snout, but upon hearing that last little tidbit, she turned to Lyaella, confused. "Hmm? Call you what, Princess Lyaella?"

She grimaced further, and a slight cough escaped Lyaella's lips before she could stop herself. She tried to force a smile when it was over, but it was impossible for the silver-haired girl to hide the sadness in her eyes. "That. I'm not a… a p-princess, so please don't call m-me one."

Curtsying once more, Lyaella smiled sadly as she turned away from Shireen, moving to collect one of the scattered swords that had landed near the locked shed. Not willing to kill herself by trying to walk back to the barrel while carrying it, she instead lugged it slowly behind her through the snow. She didn't dare lock eyes with the Baratheon princess as she struggled to get it back inside. She couldn't, not unless she wanted the other girl to see her hurt expression. The sad truth about her and Torrhen's identities still bothered Lyaella, and even though she and Torrhen hadn't talked about it out loud recently, she knew it bothered him, too. But the circumstances regarding them weren't Shireen's fault. If she remembered her history lessons correctly, Shireen Baratheon was fated to die before the end of this year due to some event involved with Stannis Baratheon's Red Priestess, and that made her a rare person who was completely blameless of the terrible events happening now in the past, or in the future of Lyaella's own timeline. Even if they were, none of those events had happened yet or would be happening anytime soon. She had to bury her feelings deep down inside and forget about them for now. When the time came to save her parents from the plotting Stark's, she could think about her feelings then. Until then, she couldn't let herself dwell on them.

Shireen still didn't say anything even after she finally managed to get the heavy sword back in the barrel, so Lyaella took that as her cue to go ahead and fetch the final fallen sword near the shed. But then Shireen quietly stepped up beside her and carefully wrapped the hem of her cloak around the sharp blade.

Lyaella was taken aback. "What are you doing?"

"Helping you," she replied, now safely picking up the blade with the protective covering. Initially cheerful, she gasped in surprise and quickly brought her second hand down to help herself lift it. "Goodness! This is heavy! You're very strong if you managed to move these swords all on your own!"

She was too confused to fully understand Shireen's words. Forcing a stiff nod, Lyaella jerked her head in the direction of the barrel to direct Shireen before slowly carrying the sword that way with her help. Moving it was so much easier with an extra set of hands, and aside from how they both struggled to safely lift the sword high enough to get it into the barrel with accidentally cutting themselves, it took no time at all.

"T-Thank you," she said finally, self-consciously tucking a loose strand of silver hair behind her ear. "I… I'm sure it would've t-taken me forever to get it in there o-otherwise…"

Shireen beamed. "It was no trouble. I was happy to help."

Lyaella still didn't know how to react. She truly wasn't used to being near any children her age aside from her brother or the bullies from her timeline. All the stories she'd heard about her from Ser Davos regarding his past as the former hand to the deceased Baratheon king were proven about her being genuinely kind and polite… but that had been Ser Davos' experience with her. What if Shireen wasn't all too nice with people aside from him? The best thing to do was extract herself from this situation.

"I… I apologize if m-me or Sōnar disturbed you. D-Don't mind us, we'll stay out of your way."

Shireen giggled. "Don't worry about that, Lyaella. It was my pleasure to help. But anyway, you didn't answer me before. Would you like me to ask my father if anyone in his army has a lightweight sword? I wouldn't mind."

Lyaella's eyes bulged. She frantically shook her head. "N-No, no! Please, don't!" she begged. "I… I don't want to get your father mad at me."

"Mad at you?" she blinked. "Why would my father get mad at you for that?"

"W-Well… Well, he—"

A sudden, unexpected whine interrupted them, followed by loud panting. The girls spun around, as did the dragon. But oddly enough, there was nothing and no one there behind them. Just the rickety out shed.

"Hello?" said Shireen curiously. "Is anyone else out here?"

All was silent aside from the whispering wind. Exchanging puzzling glances at one another, Shireen and Lyaella initially started to turn back around, but then more panting started up along with the sound of snow shifting around. Shireen still appeared rather confused, but Lyaella felt her chest tighten a bit as she gazed around fearfully. She was incredibly lucky to have Sōnar with her right now. Without Torrhen here to be brave for them both, her dragon sister was her only protector.

"W-Who's there?" she stuttered. "We… We can hear you. What d-do you want with us?"

There was a brief pause, but then, without warning, the locked shed door jostled as something large and heavy banged into it from the inside. Shireen gasped and stepped back several paces, but Lyaella whimpered and scooted a bit behind Sōnar to hide, motioning the other girl to do the same. She was more than happy to oblige.

"What… What's in there?" Shireen whispered, shoulders quivering.

Lyaella shook her head, eyes bulging. "I… I don't know…" she said. With a thick gulp, she hesitantly peeked around Sōnar back to the shed. The door was still jostling a bit, but it sounded like something was repeatedly shifting its weight on it, as though trying to force it open despite the thick padlock. Whatever it was, it sounded like some kind of animal judging by it was whining again, and from in between the gaps in the wood paneling due to its poor craftsmanship, it looked large. Large and furry. Her breathing picked up again as her terror rose. "Y-You don't think the Night's Watch keeps d-dangerous animals here, do you?"

"Not that I know of, but… but I could be wrong…"

"S-Sōnar? What do y-you think?" Lyaella whimpered, pressing up against her white and blue scales. "Is… Is there a m-monster in there?"

Sōnar had a distinctive growl emanating from the back of her throat. She took a few hesitant steps forward, staying low to the ground the entire time so as to strike at a moments notice. As she approached the shed, she took a single delicate sniff at the entire structure. Before she could make any further judgment, the creature inside made an expected yip sound. The girls shrieked as Sōnar roared back.

"S-Sōnar!"

"Don't let her burn down the shed!"

"S-Sōnar! Sōnar, come on! Let's go!"

Had it not been for how Lyaella dashed in front of the dragon and began forcefully pushing it away from the shed, Sōnar wouldn't have listened. The few embers that had been igniting in the back of her throat died away as she allowed her small mistress to direct her away from the shed, but she still kept one narrowed blue eye focused on it when the door began jiggling again. Lyaella glanced back at the shed nervously, but she didn't dare to investigate it herself. She kept one arm looped around Sōnar's neck at all times until they were safely next to Shireen by the forge.

She didn't even look at the small doe when they approached her. She just turned to her dragon and tried patting her neck reassuringly despite how hard her hands were trembling. "That was s-scary…" she murmured, speaking more to herself rather than the other girl or her dragon. "Very scary…"

Shireen stiffly nodded, her face much paler now whereas how it had been when she first introduced herself to Lyaella. Her eyes remained fixated on the shed, not daring to look away for even a second. "They… They must have something locked up in there. Some weird creature…"

"A monster," Lyaella agreed. Her body wanted to expel another cough, but she fought the urge and willed herself to stay quiet. Should either of them get too loud, whatever was in there might hear them and try busting out again. "A terrible, horrible monster…"

A door suddenly slammed open behind them, and the girls whipped around. The entirety of the Night's Watch and the leaders of the Stormlands army were flooding out of the Main Hall, all of them wearing matching expressions of alarm and fear as they kept their eyes fixed solely on the snowy white dragon.

"Shireen!" called out Stannis, shoving his way to the front of the crowd to reach his daughter, his wife and two advisers right on his heels.

"Father!" said the princess, her fear vanishing entirely upon seeing him. She hurried up to him with a bright smile. "Father, I'd like you to meet—"

"What were you doing?!" Selyse interrupted, pushing herself in front of her husband and bending down a bit to firmly shake Shireen's shoulders. "What were you thinking, going near that dragon?!"

Shireen stiffened, her happiness instantly wiped away. "Mother, I—"

"Are you hurt at all?" Stannis cut in, eyes flicking pointedly to his wife before returning to his daughter. "We heard it roar."

She shook her head. "No, Father. Sōnar wasn't roaring at me. She was roaring at—"

"Sōnar, c-come on! Back upstairs!"

Lyaella didn't care if her terrified order technically interrupted the quick conversation between the Baratheon royal family. She was too busy trying to hurriedly usher her dragon towards the wooden walkways. Her thoughts were a scattered mess as she half-pushed, half-ran with Sōnar away from the crowd, but one thing she did know was that she had to get away from here now. That little room she'd been living in was her only safe place from the Baratheon king claimant and anyone else who might wish to harm her or Sōnar. If they both didn't get back in there now, they'd be dead within a matter of minutes.

They'd nearly reached the walkways, but a big older man wearing a thick black cloak and equally black-dyed armor quickly cut her off, as did several other Night's Watch officers.

"Woah, there! Take it easy, girl!" said the ringleader. "Don't be—"

Too late. The moment her path got cut off, Lyaella screamed, reached down into a patch of snow by her feet for a snow clump, and chucked it right at his head before spinning around and leading Sōnar in the opposite direction. She couldn't get back up to that little room. No big deal. The main gate leading out of Castle Black to the rest of Westeros was only ten or so yards away. If they could get to it, she'd have Sōnar blast it open and then they'd run. It didn't matter that doing so would take her far away from her future father. Better to run now and wait to get to know Jon Snow at a later date then stay and be executed before ever having a proper conversation with him.

Sadly, the other adults seemed to catch on to her train of thought, because dozens of Stormlands soldiers and members of the Night's Watch hurried to gather in front of the gate and bar her path. She froze mid-step. One of the Stormlands soldiers tried saying something to calm her, but she couldn't hear what he was saying over the sound of her heartbeat drumming through her head. She ignored him and looked around frantically. All other entryways into the various rooms and sheds all around the courtyard were quickly being blocked off. No one was going to let her escape this time. This was really, really bad! What were she and Sōnar going to do?

But then, she saw her saving grace. The one entrance that no one was guarding.

"Child, calm down," said the big older man that tried talking to her before. Wiping clumps of snow out of his eyes, he and his entourage were attempting to approach her again, his strides purposeful and not at all cautious. "We only want to—"

Sōnar lunged forward, snarling wildly and snapping her jaws in warning. A portly bald man standing beside the apparent leader cried out in alarm and fell over while the others accompanying him nervously backed away. The one in charge though only flinched, face draining of color as he stared up at the protective dragon.

"S-Stay away from me!" Lyaella cried, her breath slightly rasped. Before he or anyone else could say otherwise, she sprinted towards the tunnel as fast as she could despite her weak lungs, Sōnar right on her heels. That tunnel was the only other exit out of Castle Black. It led out to the wrong side of the Wall, but it was still an escape route. It was her best chance right now at immediate survival. And besides, Torrhen and Shadow might be out there somewhere. She'd landed in the past beyond the Wall. Who could say they hadn't either?

It didn't seem like any big groups would be able to cut them off in time to stop them. Lyaella was relieved. She wasn't sure just how longer she could keep running like this. Her words were getting a bit raspy and she was already feeling the slightest bit tight chested, not to mention she'd been coughing earlier. After this last sprint, she needed to take it easy for awhile. Nothing was out there, beyond the Wall. She'd be safe once she and Sōnar made it to that little forest they'd been in when they landed in the past. Until then, she couldn't afford to overexert herself.

She was less than ten feet away from the tunnel entrance. She was almost there! A few more steps and she'd be—

A lone man of the Watch stepped in front of the passageway, his arms raised a bit as though trying to calm down a frightened animal. Had it been anyone else in the Night's Watch, Lyaella would have just stood aside and let Sōnar roar as loud as she could to scare him off. But not with him. No, the moment she locked eyes with him, she automatically skidded to a halt.

Because it was Jon Snow who was barring her escape route.

"Hey, hey now, it's all right," he said, taking only a single, slow step forward so as not to frighten her or her dragon. "I swear to you, it's all right…"

Lyaella didn't answer him, nor did she move. There was so much she wanted to say and do upon being face-to-face with him again. Especially now that she knew full well who he was as opposed to their first meeting. She'd been wishing her whole life for the chance to know her parents. To see them, speak to them, but… she couldn't think of a single thing to say or now right now. Lady Kinvara had warned her and Torrhen not to tell their future parents who they really were, after all. So what did one say to their future father who they always wanted to meet when they were forbidden from revealing too much information?

A sudden gust of wind swirled behind her as Sōnar leapt into the air. Landing firmly on the ground in front of Lyaella, her sharp talons and white-blue wings kicked up puffs of snow. She crouched down low, her tail wrapping itself protectively around her little mistress while baring her teeth at Jon in a menacing snarl. Embers erupted from the corners of her jaws, melting away small patches of snow as they floated to the ground.

Steel whistled through the air as men of the watch and Baratheon soldiers hurried to draw their blades. Should the dragon try spitting fire on Jon, they'd all be ready to attack… but the brother of the Night's Watch made no attempt to stand down, nor did he unsheathe his own sword. Lyaella could see that he was trembling a bit, but her father never wavered. He bravely stood his ground as he stared the hissing dragon right in the eye.

"Easy… Easy there…" Still trembling, her father slowly reached out to Sōnar, as if willing the dragon to calm down. Then his gaze slowly shifted to her. A shudder ran through Lyaella's body. "It's okay…"

Lyaella kept her gaze locked solely on him as she ever-so subtly grazed Sōnar's scales with the back of her hand. "Stop," she breathed, only loud enough for her dragon to hear her. "Father."

Sōnar jerked her head at Lyaella, blue eyes blinking repeatedly, then snapped back to Jon, studying him intensely. Jon jumped a bit at the unexpected reaction, but she only squawked at him before slowly standing down. Lyaella wanted nothing more than to ignore Lady Kinvara's warnings and run into his arms, to hug him as she always dreamed she could hug his real self as opposed to the statue in the crypts. But she didn't. She just stood there, silent and unmoving as she gazed up at him. Even when Sōnar nuzzled her cheek and hooted before flying up in the sky, staying close in case she needed her. Even when Jon finally found the strength to close the distance between them and clasped a hand on her shoulder in a half embrace. Warmth flowed through her, making her feel truly safe for the first time in her life…

"Where are you running off to, little one?"

She choked on her own voice. "I—"

"That's enough, Lord Snow!" a gruff voice cut in. "We've all got things to ask this girl!"

Lyaella whipped around, her eyes frantic. That big older man in the black armor was marching toward them, as was the stoic-faced Stannis Baratheon. His wife was dragging Shireen out of the courtyard and into the closest room available as several guards followed, but Ser Davos and Lady Melisandre were right behind their king, the former smuggler looking rather pensive while the priestess smiled mysteriously. Whimpering fearfully, Lyaella darted behind her father to hide. Jon jolted as she ran behind him, clearly startled, but she couldn't bring herself to care. He was the only one she could dare to hope would keep her safe right now.

Ser Davos had always been kind to her and Torrhen and she was happy to see him. He was one person they fully trusted with their secrets and innermost feelings regarding their Stark relatives after Queen Yara had been disrespected by the wolves after that terrible incident when they were five… But that Davos she'd known was the one who had already known and been loyal to her father. Right now, he was loyal to Stannis Baratheon, the wrong king.

She recognized the future Grand Maester Sam when he and the old maester at Castle Black tended to her when she arrived and she knew he'd been good friends with her father prior to his death. Aside from how he didn't understand how to say her name properly, he had been nice enough… but she and Torrhen had only ever met him once in their timeline. Quite frankly, his behavior towards them still puzzled her to this day. It was enough to make her know that he wouldn't risk his neck trying to defend her if someone wanted to kill her.

Everyone else right now were wild cards as far as she was concerned. Jon Snow was the only one she could depend on to protect her right now. Even if he didn't know her yet and she didn't know him, she could trust him. He was her father.

Although Lyaella didn't peek out from behind Jon to look at the approaching adults, she heard them all come to a stop a few feet away. She bit her lip, refusing to direct her eyes away from their fixed spot of Jon's black cloak.

"It's all right," said the gruff voice again. "Come out from there."

Lyaella didn't move. She didn't believe that for a second.

"No one's gonna hurt you, kid. I promise."

She still didn't budge.

There was a heavy sigh. "Listen, girl—"

"If it's me you're concerned about, then I swear I don't intend any ill will towards you or your dragon," Stannis Baratheon cut in. "Not at this moment, anyway."

She shifted a bit, still rather uncertain. It was so easy for people to lie. Her aunts and uncle lied all the time, after all. She didn't move out fully from behind her father, but she did poke her head out slightly to glance out at everyone. Her cheeks burned when she saw how everyone out there was staring at her, and she squeaked before burying her face back into his cloak to hide. She felt him tense up, but that only made her cling to him even more. Don't let him push her away. Let her stay hidden behind him forever.

There was a slight crunch of snow, and then a new voice cut in. A very familiar voice. "Hey, now. It's okay. I'm sure things might seem rather scary right now, but I swear no one's going to do anything to hurt you or — or your friend."

Her heart leapt in her chest. She knew who was speaking now, and she couldn't help but glance out again a second time. Ser Davos was kneeling on the ground at her level, his face warm with a caring smile. She nearly smiled herself at the sight of him, but then Lady Melisandre strode forward and she automatically hid again.

"It's been several days since the Lord guided you to his chosen champion. Don't you think now is the time to tell the rightful king how you came to be here? He is most curious about you, child."

She clutched the black fabric even tighter in her fists, refusing to respond. Stannis Baratheon was not the Prince that was Promised, let alone the rightful king. The rightful king was none other than her father, not that she could explain that or explain how she knew it. And according to Lady Kinvara, the Lord of Light had two chosen champions to bring the true Dawn of Peace for the world. Jon was the first, and the other was the mother she still had yet to meet, Daenerys Targaryen. Lady Melisandre was just one of many priestesses out there who had misinterpreted that old prophecy. Her words meant nothing.

Her father shifted his weight a bit. "Listen, kid…? Lyaella, right—?"

"Not a word outta you, Lord Snow," the gruff voice bitterly spat. "You're not a leader here."

There was a brief pause, and then Jon stiffly sighed. "Aye, Ser Alliser."

"Good. Now child, you need to know that although Lord Stan— or rather, King Stannis," he corrected himself, irritation dripping from his tone, "is here with his army right now, he and his soldiers are here as guests of the Night's Watch. Moreover, you are also considered a fellow guest here at Castle Black. You have my word as the acting-Lord Commander of the Night's Watch that I, Ser Alliser Thorne, will not permit anyone to hurt you so long as you come out from there and answer a few questions we wish to ask."

Lyaella's jaw clenched. Whoever this apparent knight was before he joined the Night's Watch, he was certainly not a decent one. After all, he was showing her manners, but he wasn't extending them towards Jon or even Stannis Baratheon.

"G-Go away," she murmured, burying her face in the cloak folds. She had to. It was the only way she could muffle the choked sobs and coughs that were threatening to overtake her. "Please… Leave m-me and Sōnar alone…"

Ser Alliser heavily sighed. "Kid—"

Whimpers escaped her throat, and seconds later a heavy cough escaped her chest as she burst into tears. She couldn't stop them from springing forth, and she clung desperately onto Jon's cloak as she cried into the fabric. She wanted more than anything to hug him right now and be comforted back. Even a pat on the back or ruffle of her hair would be enough to cheer her up so long as her father did it.

But she didn't dare. She could sense he was rather rigid and stiff with surprise from her clinging onto him and crying. Should she try seriously hugging him right now, he might shake her off. She was just a stranger in his eyes, after all. To be rejected like that would break her heart.

For a little while, no one said anything, nor did anyone attempt to yank her away from Jon. Lyaella kept crying into his cloak the whole time, not wanting to ever let go. The moment she did, either this Ser Alliser fellow or Stannis Baratheon would drag her kicking and screaming to either the executioners block or the gallows, whichever was available here at Castle Black. Sōnar would put up a fight for her, no doubt at all about that, but she wouldn't win. She was only a horse-sized dragon against thousands upon thousands of men in the Night's Watch and the Stormlands army combined. She didn't want Sōnar to die trying to protect her, and she wasn't ready to die either…

"It appears we have all forgotten what it was like, being a child. I am sure I speak for everyone here when I say it was not our intention to frighten you."

Lyaella sniffled. This was a new voice, and it sounded like someone rather old. With great reluctance, she pulled away from Jon and peered around him. The old blind maester who had tended to her when she arrived was slowly making his way across the courtyard, smiling warmly the whole time. Lyaella swallowed. She had nothing against the old man. If anything, he had been nothing but kind to her as he treated her scratches, which was a vast improvement from how Maester Marlon always acted towards her and Torrhen, but she didn't trust anyone right now aside from Jon. What else did she have to do to make these adults understand that she didn't want to cause any trouble, but just wanted to stick close to her future father? She buried her face away again. Perhaps if she stayed quiet and didn't say anything, they would finally leave her be.

She heard him stop a few feet away. "I never thought dragons would exist again. I've been on this earth for over a century now, and I've seen and experienced many things… but the rebirth of dragons? I feared my time would be up before such a miracle happened. To be near such a magnificent creature brings me such joy… and then I learned a young girl was bonded to one and they were residing here at Castle Black. I thought for sure I was dreaming. 'She must be a strong, special little girl, like Queen Rhaenys or Visenya Targaryen.' That's what I thought."

She said nothing, but she was secretly glad no one could could see her properly right then. Had she been in plain sight, everyone would see how her shoulders quaked as she ignored the urge to giggle.

"I cannot imagine what it must be like for you, right now," he mused. "In a strange place, surrounded by strange people. Completely alone… and a Targaryen alone in the world, is a terrible thing."

"I-I'm not alone," Lyaella whispered, her fingers trembling from how hard she was clutching Jon's cloak. "I… I've got Sōnar with me… and T-Tory and Shadow are out there somewhere. I just n-need to… to find them." A half-truth. The only half-truth she could even say. She had her dragon with her, so she wasn't actually alone, and even though she may not be with her brother and their direwolf right now, she could feel that they were out there somewhere in this timeline. So long as she didn't give up hope on finding them, they weren't gone. Not really.

The old maester chuckled. "I suppose you're right there, my dear. Your dragon must be a wonderful companion, and bonds between siblings are exceptionally strong. It's a shame that your brother and friend aren't here too, but in the meantime, there's someone else here at Castle Black to keep you company. I may not know how yet, but they share blood with you."

Her stomach dropped. Did this maester somehow know that Jon was really a true-born Targaryen prince? That… That was impossible. The late Eddard Stark took the secret with him to the grave. Had it not been for King Bran the Broken's strange greensight powers and then Samwell Tarly's research back when he was studying at the Citadel, no one would've ever figured it out. What exactly was he saying?

She peeked out a bit at him. "I… I d-don't understand…"

His sightless white eyes weren't focused on her, but he still smiled. "I never properly introduced myself, did I? I am Aemon, the maester here at Castle Black. Though a lifetime ago, I am sure you knew me by another name. Crown Prince Aemon Targaryen."

The cloak slipped out from between her fingers. She stared at him with wide eyes, blinking repeatedly. Did she hear that right? Did he really say what she thought he did? No… No, this was obviously not real. She misheard him. Or she was dreaming this. She fainted after freaking out when everyone rushed outside and she was now having a very vivid dream. Yes, that's what was happening. It was the only logical explanation for—

He suddenly laughed. "You don't believe me, do you?"

Her mouth felt dry as she stepped around Jon to see him better. "I… W-Well, I… I don't know…"

He chuckled again. "I suppose it does seem hard to believe, but I assure you, child, it's the truth. Time has driven almost all memory of me from those in the realm, so much so that not even those who share the blood of Old Valyria knows of my existence."

Lyaella cautiously stepped closer, her whole body trembling. Could what he said be true? Was he reallya long-forgotten Targaryen? A former heir to the Iron Throne?

"It's… It's n-nice to meet you," she whispered, face blank with shock as she dipped down in a shaky curtsy. It was only after she did so that she realized he couldn't even see it. "I just c-curtsied, your grace — Prince Aemon — n-no, Maester Aemon! Or is it 'p-prince—?"

"No need to fret over that. Maester Aemon is fine. I haven't gone by any royal titles since before I came to the Wall," he assured her. "Please, little one, would you allow me to see you?"

"S-See you…? I mean no… no d-disrespect, your g— I-I-I mean, maester, but… I don't—"

"Age may have taken away my sight, but I still have my sense of touch. Let me feel your face, visualize what you look like."

Why Lyaella felt so nervous, she didn't understand, but she did as he asked. Her fingers trembled as she gently took his old, wrinkled hands with her own and slowly brought them up to her teary cheeks.

It was so quiet in the courtyard, one could hear a pin drop. No one dared to interrupt the exchange, not even Ser Alliser or Stannis Baratheon. Lyaella was equally silent, still too dumbfounded to say or do anything. She wasn't sure what to think, let alone what to feel. Why had no one ever told her and Torrhen that there was a long forgotten Targaryen at the Wall while their father served in the Night's Watch? Sure, Maester Aemon was old and blind, but he was still technically family. How exactly were they even related anyway? Figuring out how to categorize their relations to their Targaryen ancestors had always been rather complicated for her and her brother. After all, their parents were secretly nephew and aunt. To her and Torrhen, Jon Snow was both their father and their great-nephew, and Daenerys Targaryen was their mother and their great-aunt. How many times over was Maester Aemon her uncle on both her mother's side and her father's side?

An eternity seemed to pass before the milky orbs grew moist. "You remind me so much of the Targaryen women who came before you, young one. Tell me, do you have the same silver hair and violet eyes as those in the rest of our House?"

"I… I'm not a real Targaryen. I'm a S-Snow. And my hair is s-silvery, but my eyes… m-my eyes are gray. Torrhen's the one with v-violet eyes."

"Ah, that's right. Lord Snow said you mentioned having a twin brother."

"T-Tory…" Her vision blurred again, and she abruptly stepped out of reach so he wouldn't notice. She stared at the snowy ground, trying so hard not to cry. She wished Torrhen was here right now. Him and Shadow. He would be overjoyed to discover they had a long forgotten family member here at the Wall.

"I was hoping you and I could get to know each other better. I wish to know all about you and your brother," he told her kindly. "And your dragon. It'd be a shame if you were to deny an old, blind man the chance to meet such an amazing creature."

"O-Okay…"

"Of course, you can imagine I'm not the only one here who has questions. You wouldn't mind if we talked in the Main Hall, would you? Everyone can be present, then."

Lyaella stiffened. "I… I don't… Well, I…" she murmured, unconsciously moving closer to Jon again. He tensed up again, but thankfully he didn't try to step away or interrupt. "I… I d-don't know…"

"Won't you, please? No one will hurt you or your dragon, I promise. We only wish to talk."

Lyaella was still unsure. She was silent for several moments as she considered, but her thoughts flew out of her head as her stomach rumbled. Loudly.

Her cheeks caught fire as she squeaked, embarrassed. She buried her face in her hands to avoid looking at anyone directly.

Maester Aemon laughed. "Ah, now I understand why you finally left my private solar. You were looking for the Main Hall on your own, weren't you?"

"I-I'm fine, but Sōnar's starving. She… She's not getting enough f-from what's been left on the trays. And even t-then… she'll only eat m-meat…"

"Oh, dear. I daresay none of us thought about that. You have our apologies."

"Perhaps, Maester Aemon, we could find something for both of them? In the Main Hall?"

"An excellent idea, Lord Snow. Come along, little one. Let's find you and your dragon something to eat."

Despite her reservations, Lyaella nodded. "O-Okay."

She allows Maester Aemon to lead the way, but she didn't start following until Stannis and the other adults started moving too. Even so, her steps were all carefully measured, small and stiffly made. She was still too on edge to walk normally. She would have been left behind by accident were it not for Jon gently touching her shoulder to make her look up.

"It's all right," he told her. "Maester Aemon's a good man, I swear. Nothing bad is gonna happen."

Tension she hadn't even realized she'd been carrying in her shoulders eased up exponentially. If her father said things were going to be okay, then they would be.

She shyly smiled. "All right, I… I t-trust you."

Before he could say anything or question her, Lyaella grabbed his hand and clung to him as she tried to walk a bit faster. She was not going to let Jon leave her alone and watch from the sidelines as she was forced to play Truth or Half-Truth to skirt around all the questions everyone was surely going to ask. He could stand next to her, or he could sit, but he was going to stay close. She couldn't handle this unless he was there, too.

Well, him and Sōnar, that is. Speaking of which…

"S-Sōnar! We're going in!"

---

He was an idiot. He was the world's biggest, stupidest idiot.

He shouldn't have gotten involved when Lyaella tried to leave Castle Black in her state of panic. Had he been smart and just watched on the sidelines like the rest of the Watch, he wouldn't be in his current predicament:

Sitting rigidly beside her at one of the many long tables in the Main Hall while her dragon sat on the floor directly behind them, alert and ready to defend its little mistress at a moments notice.

It had already been jam packed in the lodge before the dragon entered, but when the beast swooped down from the sky after Lyaella called for it, it had dutifully followed her into the mess hall with him. Quite a few brothers initially protested, but Lyaella refused to enter without the dragon — they went in together, or they wouldn't go in at all. To make room for the large occupant, people were now pressed up against each other by the walls or sitting on the tabletops, staring at it in open shock and apprehension. No one dared to be the first to break the tense silence while they all waited for Gilly to bring out a plate for the little girl while Sam brought out… whatever they could for the dragon. It was so quiet, every little sound seemed amplified in the small space.

Lyaella was clearly aware of their stares judging by how stiffly she was sitting, but she refused to acknowledge anyone. She sat turned away from the table surface so she could stare solely at the dragon, her face obviously forced in a fixed neutral expression. Her whole arm trembled as she stroked its snout and neck.

Maester Aemon sat on her opposite side, not the slightest bit uncomfortable by the presence of the giant beast in the confined space. Like Lyaella, he too was petting the dragon, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes.

"Beautiful. Simply beautiful," he said, running his fingers over the scaly pelt. "A beautiful creature, and kind, too. What color is it?"

"W-White… Sōnar's snowy white, with bits of winter rose b-blue mixed in…" she whispered. "And you're… you're right. She's very pretty."

"I'm curious, why do you refer to your dragon as a 'she?'"

"She's beautiful. And she acts like… like a g-girl."

He chuckled. "Dragons have no gender. Their behavior is based around their own personality as well as their rider."

"Oh."

Despite Maester Aemon's attempts to engage her conversation, she still wasn't dropping her guard. Jon couldn't wrap his head around that. It was okay for her to relax. Even if someone had been planning to do something to her, they wouldn't do it now. Not when that dragon was here with her. They really needed to get her calm down. The sooner she relaxed, the sooner he could carefully slip off to the side without her noticing. She nearly cried when he initially didn't sit down next to her, and during the two attempts he'd made so far to discretely get up, she would immediately pick up on it and start getting sad. Let the rest of the Watch call him whatever they want, he couldn't just ignore that. He was stuck here. The only upside was that her dragon — Sōnar, did she call it? — had seemingly stopped considering him a threat. Aside for Maester Aemon, its blue eyes narrowed suspiciously at anyone who made any sudden movements, but it didn't seem to care what Jon was doing anymore.

It relieved Jon that it wouldn't hurt him should he accidentally startle Lyaella, but why was it calm around him now when everyone else was clearly untrustworthy in its eyes? What was so special about him? Should he be worried the dragon might do something else to him later?

The door to the kitchens swung open. Gilly carried a small tin plate and a tiny cup while Sam trailed behind her, heaving a rather large and heavy bucket.

"Here yeh go," Gilly said kindly, setting the meal and drink down before Lyaella. "I know it's not much, but I think yeh'll like it,"

Lyaella didn't look up at her, but she nodded, appreciative. "Thank you."

"Um… your dragon doesn't have a preference between raw meat and cooked, right?" Sam asked, nearly dropping the pail as he slowly tottered up to the table. "Or does it have a preference as to what it likes?"

She shook her head, eyes still averted. "No, Sōnar will… will eat almost any m-meat. And she likes it cooked, but don't w-worry about that."

"N-No, really! It's fine!" Sam insisted, his eyes snapping at once to the dragon as it fixed its ice blue eyes on him. "I-I-I can go back and cook it! Don't want to get her mad!"

He started to turn.

"You misunderstand. You shouldn't w-worry about it because… because S-Sōnar prefers doing that herself."

Ice gathered in his veins when he saw how Sam blanched. "Say that aga—"

The dragon unexpectedly trilled. Shouts of alarm filled the lodge as the dragon hurried up to Sam. Sam paled. He dropped the bucket and moved to stand protectively in front of Gilly and young Olly. Olly tried to maintain a brave expression, but no one missed how his knees were quaking. Gilly at least seemed appreciative of his protection. She whimpered fearfully while taking Little Sam back from the younger boy and cradled her baby close to chest, even twisting her whole torso around to keep the dragon from having a clear view of her son.

Sōnar didn't focus on any of that, though. No, the dragon's attention was riveted on the fat, bloody slabs of pork from a slaughtered pig that were strewn out across the floor. Clearly Lyaella hadn't been lying when she said her dragon was starving. Fat rivulets of drool trailed from its jaws as it approached the pail, a ravenous look in its blue eyes. It was only a few steps away from it when Lyaella abruptly stood.

"No, no, no, Sōnar," she cooed, still pointedly avoiding looking at everyone. "We've t-talked about this. Remember your manners."

Wait… what?

Did he hear that right?

He… He was hallucinating. He had to be. There was no way this little girl really just said that. She did not honestly tell this dragon to remember its—

She hopped out of her seat and teetered up to the fallen bucket, eyes downcast and steps small yet quick. Without a word, she bent down, scooped the meat back into the pail, and let out a rather loud groan as she struggled to lift it off the floor by the handle.

"Argh!" she whined, barely managing to budge it more than an inch. "C-Come… Come on…! Move!"

Everyone gawked at her, all previous fear or anger wiped out of their minds. What on earth was she doing?

Her dragon rumbled, indignant. It pointedly nudged her with its snout.

"S-Stop that, Sōnar! You… You can eat… in a… in a m-minute! We… we have to… to be p-polite to… to t-the Night's Watch!"

The rest of the Watch exchanged bewildered looks, but Jon couldn't sit idly aside anymore. He ignored his baser instincts screaming at him to stay out of the way and approached her.

"Do you… Do you want to explain what you're doing?"

She dropped the bucket and doubled over, panting heavily. "I… I'm t-trying to… to carry this outside…"

"Why?

"Because… Because Sōnar's gonna t-try to… to flame roast this meat… It'd be rude of her to… to do that here. The whole place w-would catch fire…"

Silence. Heavy silence. Then-

"I'll take it out!"

"No, I will! I'm faster!"

"You're both skinny and weak! I'm stronger than both of you together! Give it here!"

There was a mass scramble as people nearly ran each other over in their rush to collect the bucket and get it out the door. No one intended to die today due to a hungry dragon, be it on purpose or by accident.

Lyaella squeaked as she jumped aside so they could get the bucket out the door. "Um… t-thank you," she called out shyly, wringing her hands a bit as they ran outside. Sōnar was right on their heels, rumbling eagerly as she vanished through the doorway.

Jon shook his head in disbelief, still trying to wrap his mind around it all. "Next time, warn us in advance if there's a chance your dragon might breathe fire. No one wants to get slow roasted alive."

Her face caught fire as she drooped her head. "I… I will…"

Forcing an awkward smile, she scurried back to the table. Jon lingered back a few steps as she slowly ate. She had good table manners. A spare rag given to her as a napkin on her lap, properly using her utensils. Had he any small doubts about her not being from South of the Wall, they were gone now. The Free Folk cared little for table etiquette. Mance and Tormund recognized this, too.

"Yeh all believe us now, right?" Mance snorted. "That lass is too much of a kneeler to be free."

Thorne scowled from his seat at the High Table. "Can it, Rayder. You and that Wildling ruffian next to you keep your traps shut unless asked otherwise!"

"We don't answer to yeh, crow! We're the Free Folk! We choose who we follow!" Tormund spat.

Thorne fumed and gritted his teeth. He opened his mouth to spit out another insult, but Stannis raised a hand to stop him. "The animosity between the Night's Watch and you Wildlings matters little right now. There are far more pressing matters to discuss."

Jon was inclined to agree with him. Tormund rolled his eyes in annoyance, but he otherwise kept silent, and Mance silently nodded once, rather firmly. Thorne was the only one who didn't immediately set aside his anger and hatred. If anything, Stannis' words made him puff red with rage. There was a long pause, but finally he stiffly sat back in his chair with a loud huff. Jon only hoped the acting-Lord Commander could keep his temper in check for at least the remainder of the time Lyaella was here inside. Should he lose his patience and snap at her, they'd lose the chance to question her on wherever it was she came from. After all, they barely managed to get her into the Main Hall now. Should she run off before they were done asking questions, who was to say she'd ever try answering them again?

Lyaella just ignored them. Her hands trembled as she cut up a small bit of meat, but she kept her eyes fixated on her food. Even when she swallowed and reached for her cup, she didn't glace up. She refused to make eye contact with anyone.

Thorne wasn't ready to accept this behavior anymore, though. "Child, we all know you're scared, but we only want to talk. We just have questions we need you to answer."

Lyaella kept eating, her hands shaking harder than ever.

Thorne closed his eyes, visibly reigning in his frustration. When he finally opened them again, everyone could see that a tired smile was on his lips. "Listen — Lyla, is it? — I can understand if you don't want to talk, but unless you do, the Night's Watch will be forced to throw you and your dragon out. You're afraid of the stag king? He won't be the only one who'll be on your tail if we do that."

She still didn't say anything, but she did glance up at him.

Thorne puffed out his chest a bit. That was a start, if nothing else. "We've been forced to cut off contact with the rest of Westeros for the past week until you started talking. No one's left, no one's entered Castle Black. And no one's been allowed to send or receive ravens, just so we could make sure word about you and that dragon of yours would stay hidden. We can't stay that way forever. If you want to stay here at Castle Black without worrying whether or not we'll tell people about you, you need to give us a reason why we should keep your existence a secret. We can't have you stay here any longer if you won't."

Her lower lip quivered and she glanced off to the side, trying to hide her watery eyes.

Thorne sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Lyla…"

She refused to glance back at him.

"Do you want us to reach out to your family? Would that help?" Jon cut in. "We could… look for your parents, at least. Maybe we'll find that brother of yours with them."

She turned to him, surprised. It almost seemed like a multitude of feelings were flicking across her face all at once — surprise, nervousness, anger, sadness, longing… The first four could almost be explained away, but it was how she stared at him with that last one that made him uneasy. She looked… almost desperate for him to understand her, to be compassionate. Why?

"Tory and m-me… lived with our N-Northern relatives," she murmured, tone suddenly very quiet. "We've never… We've n-never known our parents…"

A few murmurs traveled across the room at that, but Jon didn't join in. Instead, he patted her shoulder and smiled sympathetically. "I'm sorry to hear that. Most of my family's gone, too. I never knew my mother, either. She might be gone too for all I know."

She weakly smiled.

Thorne banged his mug down hard on the table. "Lord Snow, no one asked for your opinion, so keep that bastard mouth of yours shut! Now, Lyla—"

"I'm a S-Snow too, you know…"

Jon jolted. Lyaella had reverted back to her closed shell again, and she was clutching her fork so tightly, her hand was white. She stared at it pointedly, refusing to look up at the acting-Lord Commander.

Thorne blinked. Repeatedly. "What?"

She reached for her knife. "My… My name is Snow. Just like him… and my first name isn't L-Lyla, it's Lyaella. Say it like… like this: Ly—ah—el—lah, w-with the 'ah' and 'el' almost on top of each other." She popped a bit of pork in her mouth and washed it down with water. Her eyes wandered miserably off to the side, staring at nothing in particular. "I d-don't want to talk to you. Not when… when you can't say my first name, and don't… don't respect anyone with a S-Snow surname…"

There was a long pause. Thorne flinched, eyes so wide and expression so startled it was as though she slapped him. People did their best to suppress their laughter by either coughing loudly or clearing their throats. Others who were far bolder whispered their amusement.

"Wow…"

"Look at Thorne!"

"The little girl shut him up!"

"Outsmarted him, you mean."

Jon could only stare, his mind entirely blank. What was up with this girl? Why was she acting miffed simply because Thorne snapped at him? He didn't like how the former knight treated him, but he was used to it. What was her deal?

Stannis' company stayed silent, but they too found Lyaella's honesty refreshingly witty. Lady Melisandre smiled openly, gazing at Lyaella with a contemplative expression. Davos rubbed his nose a bit to hide a quiet snicker. Stannis said nothing, but his lips turned up ever so slightly. It was only for a fraction of a second, but it was still more than enough to reveal his true feelings.

Even Mance and Tormund were amused, the former snorting and grinning. "It's a sad day when a shy little girl has bi'er balls than the rest of yeh lot."

Tormund chortled, not caring what anyone thought about him. "Yeh're right there, Mance. Oy, King Crow! Yeh sure that girl's not yer daughter?"

This time, lots of people openly laughed. Jon reddened and forced a weak chuckle, but Lyaella seemed mortified. She bent her head so her long hair hid her face and stared down at her half-finished plate, unwilling to say anything further.

"Right, sure she is, Tormund. Who else could she be?" he said dryly.

Gray eyes peeked up at him from behind the long, silvery curtain. He couldn't make out her expression, but he hoped she wasn't upset with him. He just needed Tormund to shut up before he said something even more humiliating.

"That's enough! Quiet down!" Thorne ordered. It took a few moments, but gradually the laughter lulled down again. "Good. Now, back to the matter at hand. Seems to me, that Lyla is — sorry, Lya- Lyalala — Lela—"

"Lyaella, ser…"

More quiet snickers and amused whispers.

Thorne's jaw clenched. Jon wasn't sure if his anger was directed at everyone laughing or at himself. "Right, sorry. Well, is seems like you are most at ease speaking to the Wildling-lover steward than you are when speaking to the rest of us. So, Lord Snow, you're gonna handle these questions."

His stomach dropped. "Ser Alliser?"

Thorne fixed him with a mocking jeer. "Talk to your so-called daughter for us, Lord Snow. We all have questions here, and if she's only gonna be fully at ease around you, then you have to ask them!"

Jon blanched. This really wasn't his day, was it? Why were the Old Gods pushing him closer to this girl? Was this punishment for breaking Ygritte's heart? For not leaving to help Robb when he went war? Or was for simply being born a bastard? They had to be having a good laugh at him somewhere up above.

Still, he simply nodded in agreement. Should he argue with the ex-knight on this, Thorne would have him emptying chamber pots for a week. And even though he didn't like it, Thorne actually had a point. For some reason, Lyaella Snow seemed more comfortable around him than anyone else here. Even Maester Aemon didn't seem to make her lower her guard enough to subconsciously grab onto him when trying to hide. He didn't get it, but that was the truth of the matter. There probably wasn't anyone else here at Castle Black who she would even consider answering questions to.

He turned to her. "You don't mind, do you? If I'm the one who questions you?

She lightly shook her head. "Mm-mm."

"Okay, then let's start off with an easy one. Where are you from?"

"S-South. South of here…"

"So you really aren't part of Mance Rayder's army?"

She shook her head again. "I… I'm n-not involved in a-any of that. And neither's S-Sōnar."

Tormund chortled, his chains jangling against each other. "There, yeh see? We weren't lyin'."

He looked quite proud of himself for the comment too upon noticing all the grumbles that spread across room from the more disgruntled brothers. Mance ignored their annoyance and was instead looking to Jon and Lyaella.

"I've got a question for yeh, kid, and I'm sure some people here have been wonderin' it, too," he said. "How'd yeh sneak into my camp with yer dragon without no one noticin'?" All the grumbling quieted down, everyone blinking as they turned to the King Beyond the Wall. Mance ignored their stares. "My people were attackin' the Wall the night before, so yeh didn't get in then. And even after the battle, we kept watch. Didn't know if the crows would chase us back. No one saw yeh then, either."

Stannis' brows furrowed, but even he had to nod in agreement. "I had my army attack just after dawn. We wanted to catch his army off guard while they were still dead tired. It worked, but my officers all claim they saw no trace of you or your dragon during the attack itself. No one saw you at all until after that earthquake happened. Where were you hiding?"

Lyaella had seemed slightly tense when Mance had spoken, but Stannis' words drew a quizzical frown. "E-Earthquake?"

Jon nodded. "Aye. Everyone heard you screaming right after. Where were you hiding when it happened?"

She only tilted her head to side, looking extremely puzzled. "I… I d-don't know what you're talking about. W-What earthquake?"

People stared, not even sure what to say. Jon blinked at her. Once. Twice. No, three times. "The… The earthquake. It started up literally minutes after King Stannis' army attacked. We're all lucky no one got seriously hurt… You did feel it, right?"

Her gray eyes widened. "N-No. I didn't know about that at all. I just w-woke up out there."

"Woke up?"

She lowered her gaze and nodded. "Uh-huh… I don't know why me and S-Sōnar ended up there. I mean, one minute, we were—" She cut herself off, suddenly quite nervous. Swallowing thickly, she reached into the collar of her dress and tugged out a silver pendant in the shape of a three-headed dragon. She fiddled with it idly between her fingers. "We… We w-weren't beyond the Wall before. We weren't…" She didn't seem to know what else to say.

"It's okay," he assured her. "We just want to know what happened. You said you're from South of the Wall. Where?"

"I… I'm a Northerner."

"But where in the North?"

She tensed, shifting in her seat. "Some w-ways off…"

Jon frowned. "Where specifically, though?"

"Some ways off…"

There was a long pause. Others in the room were exchanging curious looks, but Jon only had eyes for Lyaella. She looked extremely uncomfortable about being in the direct spotlight, but she didn't say anything further. Her lips stayed pressed in a tight line. Was she uneasy about sharing that information in front of Stannis Baratheon? Wherever she came from, she and that twin brother she mentioned had to be the best kept secrets in all of Westeros. If she was afraid of what Stannis would do with that information…

Perhaps someone could question her about that in private later. For now, it was better to just move on. "Well, what about your family?" he asked. "You mentioned something about having a brother, yes?

"Torrhen. We're twins."

"Right. You were screaming for him and someone named Shadow back in the woods when we first found you."

"Shadow… h-he's not a person. He's our…" she paused, brows furrowing as she considered the question. "He's m-more than a pet. H-He's our companion… S-Sorta like an honorary b-brother, like Sōnar's like a s-sister to us."

"I'm sorry?"

"Shadow's another animal friend. But he's more than a p-pet to us… And he's more T-Tory's than mine, like Sōnar's more mine than his."

"Hold up, is this 'Shadow' your brother's dragon?" Stannis cut in.

She blinked, befuddled, then slowly shook her head. "No. Why w-would you think that? Shadow's no name for a dragon."

A number of people chuckled. Stannis had no comment whatsoever.

"Getting back to your brother," said Jon, "Ser Alliser had some men search the woods these past few days."

"Wait… did you find T-Tory? Him and Shadow? Are they here, now? T-Take me to them, please!"

Thorne rose from his seat to get her attention. "No, I'm sorry. They combed every inch of that forest from sun up to sundown, but they didn't find any silver-haired boys. Why did you think he was out there?"

She stared at him for a long moment, and then — quite unexpectedly — she broke out into a fit of giggles.

"Silver hair? Y-You… You were looking for a boy with silver hair?" She giggled even harder at her own question.

Aside from her laughter, one could hear a pin drop in the room from how quiet everyone else suddenly became. No one said anything. Jon had no idea what to think. It was good to see her laughing — it was the first time anyone had seen her laugh — but what was so funny? All Targaryen's were known to have silver hair. It was a fact.

Thorne struggled to keep his brows from rising into his hairline. "What?" he asked, gruffly.

She brushed away a stray tear. "Torrhen and I are Snow's. We've got… Northern traits, too," she said. "And T-Targaryen's also have v-violet eyes. Mine aren't because… because I've g-got Northern gray eyes. But Torrhen's got… Northern black hair and T-Targaryen eyes."

Everyone gaped, frozen at their own stupidity. She was still somewhat amused, but she shied away from all the stares and instead focused on trying to muffle her snickers as she ate a bit more on her plate. Maester Aemon was the only one there to actually chuckle at her explanation.

"Ah, your brother looks more like a classic Blackfyre. It's been a long time since an illegitimate Targaryen boy was out in the world," he mused. "Ser Alliser, were any of your men able to find a young boy with such a description out there?

There was a brief pause, then Thorne slowly turned to a small group of rangers sitting at another table. They all promptly shook their heads and started babbling out denials.

Lyaella's smile promptly died. "Oh… I-I-I was hoping you'd find him. Him and Shadow…"

"Hey, just because they didn't find them now doesn't mean they won't," Jon offered. "They weren't looking for a boy like that before. Now that they know what your brother looks like, they can search again."

She only shook her head at him. "No. It'd only… It'd only be a waste of t-time. If Torrhen and Shadow were out there, they'd have gotten here already. They'd have come here t-to… to find me."

He frowned again. "You don't have to give up hope so soon, you know. For all you know, some of the Free Folk that weren't rounded up could have found them."

Mance nodded. "Aside from Thenn's, my people wouldn't hurt a boy yer age if he was alone on our side of the Wall and no crow. They might've taken him back with them to Hardhome."

"Aye, don't be so quick to assume he's one of the dead, kid," said Tormund.

Her eyes flashed a bit at the mention of the army of the dead, but before Jon question her about it, she sighed and shook her head again.

"I'm not assuming h-he's gone forever. I… I meant that I don't think he's here here." Her eyes wandered vacantly off to the side. "We m-must've ended up in different places…"

Okay, now they were getting somewhere. Time to ask more pertinent questions. He leaned forward. "Different places? What do you mean?"

She shifted in her seat again, uneasy. "Well… just w-what I said. I guess we wound up in different places…"

"Why, though? What happened to you and your brother?" he asked. "And what about those relatives you mentioned? Where are they? Why aren't you with them?"

"Who are your relatives?" Stannis cut in, stepping forward a bit to make sure she saw him despite currently looking away from Jon and everyone else. "And your parents, for that matter? The last known Targaryens in the world is the maester sitting there, and the Targaryen girl currently in Essos."

Her lower lip trembled, but she didn't make eye contact with the stag king. She seemed quite determined to stay silent and not respond.

Thorne planted both his palms on the surface of the High Table to support his weight as he hanged his head, trying to hide a frustrated huff. "Come on, kid. We need you to explain these things. At the very least, tell us about your family."

She still wouldn't respond. If anything, the extra probing made her shoulders start trembling. Her hesitance didn't matter to everyone else, though. If anything, it made everyone all that more desperate to pry her for information.

"Who are your parents?"

"Where'd you come from?"

"How'd you get a dragon?"

"Are you in league with the Dragon Queen?"

"Is it one of her dragons?"

"You're too young to have been born during the rebellion. How'd the Usurper miss your parents?"

"Are you really not a Wildling? It's too bizarre that you-"

A shrill, unexpected wail suddenly pierced through the air, shushing all questions.

Jon's heart lurched in his chest as Lyaella burst into tears. She ignored everyone and shoved aside her empty plate and cup to hide her face into the table, wrapping her arms around her head. Her sobs wracked through her body, not caring what anyone thought about her as she fell apart. It was all too much for the little girl. Too many people. Too many questions. Too overwhelming. She couldn't keep it bottled up any more, apparently. She needed to let it out.

An awkward, guilty silence overtook everyone as they watched. What else could they do? She was just a little girl, and it was their fault she had gotten so overwhelmed.

Maester Aemon smiled sadly, reaching out to try feeling around for her. Upon bumping his hand against her back, he patted it kindly "There, now. It's all right," he said. "Everyone just got a little impatient, that's all. It's been a long time since any of us were children, and we were overexcited. We forgot how things must be from your perspective."

She kept crying and didn't look up, but her sobs did muffle down somewhat from the older Targaryen's words. No one else seemed willing to offer her any comfort. And why should they? The Night's Watch had little experience with children due to their vows. Aside from young boys around Olly's age who sometimes chose to take the black, they never saw any kids. And Stannis and his people? Stannis' daughter was around Lyaella's age, but unless there was some other child hidden somewhere in his forces, Jon didn't think he spent a lot of time around children either. And as far as he knew, Stannis still had every reason to suspect Lyaella was a threat to him. Jon didn't know for sure what the Baratheon king thought about her, but the point remained he wasn't going to do anything. Those in his service wouldn't, either. They were loyal to Stannis, and Stannis had yet to make a public declaration regarding his thoughts on Lyaella. Until then, they were forced to abide by neutrality of the Night's Watch and do nothing to her.

Jon didn't know why this bothered him so much. Like everyone else, he had nothing to do with this girl. What happened to her wasn't his problem. So… why did her tears bother him so much?

He gently touched her shoulder. "Listen, if you're worried about any of us or Stannis or… or the Bolton's or Lannister's doing something to you or your family, forget about that for a minute. We just want some basic information."

She wouldn't look up. If anything, she trembled even more.

He sighed, running his fingers through his hair. "Please, Lyaella. Please…"

Her tears quieted down, but aside from that, she still didn't respond. She just sat there with her face still hidden behind her arms on the table surface.

Jon glanced back over at Thorne. To his relief, Thorne didn't appear upset with him. If anything, he looked just as much at a loss as he was on what to do now.

"W-We were attacked…" He snapped back around. Lyaella's words were a little bit muffled considered she didn't sit up, but everyone heard them. "They attacked us…"

He blinked. "What?"

Another quiet sob escaped her as she looked up, her face all red and puffy. "T-Tory and me… They attacked us. Us, Shadow, and… and S-Sōnar! They killed… They k-killed the… the…" she trailed off, then burst into tears all over again. "They k-killed the priests and the priestess! Just because they wanted to help me and Torrhen!"

No one said anything for a short time as she cried. They simply stared at her, unsure what to say.

Unwilling to let someone else take control of questioning Lyaella again and scaring her back into silence, Jon forced himself to speak. "Wait, back up. What priests and priestess?"

More tears flooded her eyes. With a shaky hand, she wordlessly pointed to Melisandre.

Quick as a flash, Stannis turned to his adviser. "Do you know this child? Why did you not tell me about her or this brother of hers?"

She shook her head, but her eyes stayed fixated on Lyaella. "No, my king. I have never met this girl or her brother before, nor have I seen visions of either of them in the flames prior to meeting her." She looked even more intrigued than before, and with a raised brow, she studied the small girl. "That being said, I suppose I am not the only follower of R'hollor to venture this far North."

Red skirts swished around Melisandre as she glided up to their table. Nodding briefly to Jon, she knelt down to Lyaella's level to look her right in the eye.

"Do you know another red priestess? Or other priests?"

Choking back a muffled sob, Lyaella nodded. "N-Not very well, but yes."

"Who were they?"

"I… I only met them once. I didn't catch the priests' names."

"What about the priestess? Do you know her name?"

Lyaella trembled. Pressing her lips together, she wiped away the fresh wave of tears threatening to burst free from her eyes and let her eyes travel elsewhere.

Melisandre smiled. "So you do know it. Who is she?"

She bit her lip, refusing to answer.

"Child, please. The Lord has plans for us all, and if he arranged for you to meet a fellow red priestess prior to meeting myself and the Prince that was Promised, then you must be part of his plan to ensure the one true king shall one day reclaim his birthright. Tell me her name, and where you last saw her."

More tears sprung forth from her eyes as she shook her head. "I-I-I can't…"

"Please, you must. Who was she?"

"No… I can't t-tell you that."

"Lady Snow—"

"I can't tell you! She t-told us not to talk about certain things to anyone! I can't!"

It seemed like it would take a miracle to get this little girl to stop crying. And Melisandre's questions certainly weren't helping matters. She frowned as she glanced back over to Stannis. Stannis sighed and silently jerked his head for her to return, which she did. He was disappointed by the lack of information, but at least he wasn't going to pry it out of the girl when she was so upset.

Jon waited until Melisandre was next to Stannis again before clearing his throat. Wet gray eyes focused on him. "You said and your brother were attacked?" She sadly nodded. "By who?"

Another sob escaped her. She hung her head and stared down at a knot in the wooden tabletop. Her shoulders trembled, a clear sign she was going to cry again.

"Okay, forget that for now," he said quickly. "We'll come back to that question later. For now, how about we go back to the beginning?"

"The… The b-beginning?"

Jon nodded, wracking his brains. "Aye, the beginning." What could he ask her? He needed to ask her something that would both placate everyone's curiosity, yet wouldn't make her break down in tears again. This little girl was a mess right now, and whatever happened was enough to make her shut down entirely if she was probed too much on a question she either couldn't or wouldn't share details about. What to do…?

Then it hit him. Sometimes, the best questions to ask were most important ones, but only if they were presented in the right way.

"You're descended from House Targaryen. Between your silver hair and that dragon of yours, that's obvious."

She sniffled and nodded. "Uh-huh."

"Yet you're also a Northerner, and a bastard. Your accent, your surname, and your brother's first name are all clear signs of that."

She didn't reply, but she did straighten up to look at him properly.

"Well, then who are your parents?"

She froze, eyes going impossibly wide. "M-My… My parents…?"

"Aye. Who are they? It's odd enough that some unknown Targaryen descendant somehow escaped notice during the rebellion and survived. But you're too young to have been born before or during it. And stranger still, you're a Northerner. After what happened to my late grandfather and uncle by the Mad King and my aunt with Prince Rhaegar… it's weird that any Northerner would have been involved with a secret Targaryen. So who are your parents?"

He half-expected her to get all weepy again. To start bawling as she claimed she and her brother somehow got separated from them parents during whatever attack had apparently happened. But she didn't. No, instead she just stared at him for the longest time, almost too shocked by what he had asked to respond. Even when she finally managed to blink and break eye contact, she still didn't anything. She just… stared down at her lap with the oddest expression.

"I… I don't… Torrhen and me? O-Our parents…"

She shook her head lightly at every failed attempt to speak. It was like she wanted to answer this question, but didn't know how to do it.

Jon was thoroughly puzzled, and he couldn't help but glance over at Sam and Edd across the room. While Edd was keeping a close eye on Olly and Sam was preoccupied on making sure Gilly and Little Sam were okay, they still met his gaze with equal confusion. They weren't the only ones, either. Pretty much everyone in the Main Hall were exchanging befuddled looks with one another, but they all had the sense not to whisper this time. One wrong move, and Lyaella would clam up and start crying again. If they wanted to get answers like this out of her, everyone had to shut up and let her explain in her own time.

It seemed to take ages, but finally she let out a heavy sigh. "Gone. Torrhen and I n-never… never had them. We were raised by our N-Northern relatives."

"Well, who are your relatives then?"

Her expression soured. "T-Terrible people."

"What—? No, who are they?"

"Terrible people."

"That's not what I'm—"

"They're terrible p-people. End of story."

Quite a few people grumbled at that. Even Jon had to take a deep breath to keep his patience in check. Getting exact details from Lyaella was going to be harder than he expected.

"Why do you say that?" he asked, his voice tight. "What makes you so sure, I mean?"

She rigidly looked up at him. All prior traces of her being upset and depressed were wiped clean from her face. There was no hint of warmth in her eyes whatsoever. "Because our parents are dead because of them. And T-Tory and I got separated because… because they were the ones who attacked us and the p-priests."

Silence.

Heavy silence.

Heavy, unending silence.

No one seemed to know what to say, least of all Jon. He stared at her, lips parting a bit at what she just revealed. Her relatives did something like that? That couldn't be true. But there was no sign whatsoever that Lyaella was lying. She looked bitter, there was no denying that, but she was looking him right in the eye right now. She wasn't fidgeting, she wasn't letting her eyes wander about nervously. She was entirely calm right now.

"I d-don't know where Torrhen and Shadow are, but I know they wouldn't b-be with our… our relatives. Torrhen w-would never stay with them if I w-wasn't there," she said. "And I f-feel the same way. I'm not s-saying who they… who they are. I'm not going back to them. N-Not alone…"

Stannis stepped forward. "That's not good enough. We need more information than that."

"N-No. I… I'm done."

"Child-"

"No!" she snapped, new angry tears glistening in her eyes. "Y-You… You all wanted answers. I g-gave them. They're just not answers you want to hear… I w-won Truth-or-Half-Truth s-since I answered honestly! So that's enough!"

Stannis' brows shot up at her tone, but before he could say anything, she rubbed her eyes with the back of her wrist and went on.

"I t-told you all the truth… I didn't want to answer your questions, b-but I did. I w-was honest… Whatever you all think of m-me and Sōnar, you can't say I lied. S-So… So if you're all gonna kill me or g-give me to people who… who will kill me, then hurry up and d-do it already. You'll be doing the Lannisters and me and T-Tory's relatives a favor… They won't h-have to get their hands d-dirty, this time…"

It was shocking how matter-of-fact she was when saying all that. She considered her relatives to be in the same league as the Lannisters? Jon couldn't wrap his head around the idea. She was telling the truth, or at least she honestly believed she was.

Sniffling hard, she rose from her seat. "I'm n-not telling you anything else, so… so if that's all, I'm gonna go check on Sōnar. If she's s-still hungry, she'll try looking for her own f-food. And roasting it the w-way she likes the minute she does."

She didn't stick around and wait for a reply. She sped off as soon as she was done and was out the door before anyone could blink.

No one said anything at first, as they were still trying to process both what Lyaella had revealed and her abrupt exit. But then everyone seemed to gather their composure all at once, and the Main Hall soon became a buzzing hive of chatter.

Jon didn't partake in all the curious musings or shouts of ideas on what they ought to do now that Lyaella had explained a few things. No, he stood from the table and shuffled through the crowd to follow her outside. It wasn't right, letting her run off like that when she was clearly still upset. Someone should check to see if she's okay.

Sure enough, she was with her dragon again out in the snow. The contents of the bucket of meat were strewn out across the ground, and like Lyaella had warned them, the land was charred and cindered underneath the servings due to being flame roasted.

"You enjoying dinner, girl?" Lyaella asked, scratching the underside of Sōnar's scaly head. "You're not still hungry, right? I'll… I'll go a-ask for more, if you want."

Hooting lightly, her dragon simply nudged her a bit with her snout and continued eating. Lyaella giggled.

"Okay, you're good then. Good to know."

"Aye, everyone'll be glad to know we won't have to go on huge hunts every day to keep her fed."

Lyaella jumped and looked up. She was initially quite startled, but upon realizing that it was, she relaxed considerably.

"Oh, h-hello again," she said, smiling shyly. "I… I didn't think you'd f-follow me out here."

Jon approached, keeping one on her dragon at all times. "Just… wanted to see if you're all right," he shrugged. "I know what it's like to miss my siblings, after all."

"Mmm," she murmured, her smile suddenly quite fixed.

An awkward pause filled the air for a moment, but it ended when Sōnar suddenly rumbled and headed over to where the last piece of charred meat was lying — less than six inches away from Jon's left boot. He frantically jumped out of the way, making sure to stay at least five feet away from the dragon at all times.

Lyaella giggled. "Don't worry, Sōnar knows to be careful. She w-won't hurt you."

"Right…" he said, humorlessly smiling. "I'll keep that in mind."

"Y-You can feed her, if you want. Or pet her. S-Sōnar loves being… being scratched under her chin."

"Uh, no thanks. I'm good…"

An odd sound escaped the dragon, almost a mix between a squawk and a deep rumble. And the way it was eying him as it scarfed down that last bit of meat… if he didn't know any better, he'd say it was amused by his nervousness. As soon as it was done, it turned and strolled towards him.

"Woah, there! Easy!" Jon exclaimed, hurriedly backing away. "Easy, there!"

It warbled and kept trying to get close. Lyaella let out a merry stream of laughter. "Look at that! She wants you to pet her!" she giggled, completely stutter-free this time. "Go ahead, try it! She'll probably try smelling you as you do."

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as the dragon's eyes locked with his own. "W-Why? To smell if I taste good?" he asked, his mouth going dry.

"What? No, of course not. She just w-wants to memorize your scent. She won't hurt y-you, I promise."

Memorize his scent? What for? To remember who to eat first in retaliation should someone attempt to hurt it or its little mistress? Not a chance. "Um… Maybe later. Take all the time you want out here, okay? Just come back in when you're ready."

He swiftly turned and walked as fast as he could without running back to mess hall.

"Wait… why're you g-going back?" he heard her ask. "Can't you stay out h-here longer?"

"I'm part of the Night's Watch, and we have yet to finish our meeting."

"Oh… okay…"

The disappointment in her tone made him pause and glance back. She didn't even realize he had stopped to look back at her. She was all mopey as she scuffed away a chunk of snow near her boot, crushed by his answer.

Guilt ate away at him. Why did this bother him so much? How on earth was he supposed to keep himself at a fair distance from this girl when she looked so dejected like that?

He sighed, fully turning to face her. "By the way, thanks."

She jerked and glanced up at him, puzzled.

"Thanks for what you said back there, to Ser Alliser. For defending me as fellow Snow," he clarified. It was the only thing he could think of on what he could tell her right then. "Not many people have ever stood up for me like that before."

Sure enough, she happily smiled at him. "I was happy t-to. I… I know what it's like, after all. I c-can count on one hand the number of p-people I've met that don't care about mine and T-Tory's Snow surname. We're… We're exactly the s-same there."

He lightly shrugged. "Aye, I guess we are." It was weird to have something in common with the Targaryen bastard child, but she was right about that.

She beamed. Then, without warning, she darted forward and gave him a quick hug. He jolted a bit, startled, but before he could do or say anything, she let him go, made a fast curtsy, and zipped back over to her dragon with her face all aglow.

She made no effort to meet his gaze again, but Jon just stood there for several moments, too stunned to move. She was a kind girl, albeit rather shy and fearful of others upon first meeting them, but her true innocent nature really blossomed when she opened up around those she seemed to like or trust. Why she apparently chosen him out of everyone at Castle Black to be the one she apparently trusted the most, he didn't know. But this action just further confirmed he had to keep his distance from her.

He could not get attached to this child. He could not start wondering what his life would've been like had he chosen to stay with Ygritte.

Swallowing thickly, he nodded one final time to Lyaella and went back inside. It still hurt, the death of the free-spirited archer he had loved. He had always known he would have to betray her, he was sworn to his vows, but his choice to stay true to them as opposed to her hadn't been easy. There were so many times he had considered truly abandoning the Watch and staying with her. But he had made the right choice. The Night's Watch needed him if they were to ever have a chance at defeating the army of the dead. The realm needed him here. Not playing house and trying to have a family of his own. It's the whole reason he joined the Watch, after all. Bastards had no chance of having a happy family.

Back in the Main Hall, people were still chattering away or yelling suggestions on what to do with Lyaella. No one seemed to have missed Jon's absence at all. That was good. Last thing he needed was to end up in the spotlight again. He slipped over to where Edd and Sam were standing off on the sidelines before someone could suggest he should move to the front.

His friends both nodded in greeting as he joined them. "Did I miss anything?"

"Not really," said Edd. "Stannis has been relatively quiet over there, but that's just because he's been whispering to those two advisers of his since the girl left. No clue what he thinks about her story."

"Thorne did something interesting, though," said Sam.

"Oh?" said Jon. "What?"

"He made Slynt leave the High Table. He all but dragged Maester Aemon back up there and they've been talking non-stop since you and Lyla— no, Lyaella left."

Jon's brows shot up. Slynt was one of Thorne's personal lackeys. Why would possess him to do that? He looked over. Sure enough, Slynt was glaring so hard at Thorne from his seat at one of the lower tables directly in front of the High Table, his whole face was bulging red, veins popping out his neck. Interestingly enough, Thorne was completely ignoring him. He was ignoring everyone's yelling and arguing as he whispered animatedly to Maester Aemon. What was going on?

He got his answer less than five minutes later when the acting-Lord Commander started banging his mug repeatedly on the table. "All right, all right, you lot! Quiet down!" he yelled. "Maester Aemon and I have an idea on what to do about that child!"

The commotion quickly died down. Everyone in the Night's Watch leaned in close, wanting to hear the possible solution on what they could do about Lyaella Snow. Stannis immediately hushed his discussion with Davos and Melisandre to listen in. Even Mance and Tormund were curious as to what their idea was.

"When the Night's Watch was first created, it was founded with the idea that its structure would be different from the rest of Westeros," Thorne began. "We do not blindly follow people simply because they were born to lead. We choose who we want to lead us, who we want to make hard choices for us. That is why there is a Choosing whenever the current Lord Commander dies."

"Jeor Mormont is dead, though," someone in the crowd called out. "He was our Lord Commander."

"Aye! We haven't had a Choosing yet!" yelled another. "You're only temporarily fulfilling that role for now!"

Thorne's face tightened. "I'm aware of that!"

"Then where are you going with this?"

"I'm getting there! The point is, we all need a Lord Commander to make hard choices whenever we all cannot come to a decision on our own. That is exactly what is happening now regarding Layla- Lela- argh, Leela—"

Many snickered, unable to hide their amusement. Jon didn't, but a ghost of a small grin flashed across his face, too fast for anyone to truly notice.

Thorne growled, aggravated with himself. "—the girl! That is exactly what is happening now regarding the girl! She is currently our guest here at Castle Black, but because she is not part of Stannis Baratheon's party, we are not obligated to hand her over to him… No disrespect intended," he added quickly, turning to the man in question. "That is not an insult, simply a fact."

Stannis said nothing, but Jon noticed how his jaw clenched ever-so slightly by the lack of respect towards his king title.

"At the same time, she might have been found on the wrong side of the Wall, but I think we can all agree that she is not Wildling."

Mance and Tormund both chuckled, amused that they were finally being believed.

Thorne scowled, but otherwise ignored them. "Our duty has men of the Watch compels us to keep the raiders from pillaging the rest of Westeros, that is why we lost over fifty brothers last week when their army attacked. However… there is nothing in our vows that says we must keep out children who belong on our side yet mysteriously ended up out there out. As this child is not a Wildling, we cannot kill her for that reason alone."

"But she's a Targaryen bastard with a dragon! She could grow up into a madwoman!"

"No, Ser Alliser's right! She's just a child! We should just give her some supplies and throw her out!"

"I don't care what that girl or those savages sitting over there said! She was found beyond the Wall! She is a Wildling! We have to kill her and that dragon now and be done with it!"

"No! We must contact Lannister's!"

"Fuck the Lannister's! That's the true king standing over there! Give her King Stannis!"

"The Dragon Queen is the true heir! We should figure out how to contact Daenerys Targaryen!"

"SILENCE!"

All arguing stopped immediately. Thorne's booming shout made dust float down from the rafters. No one dared to so much as breathe loudly.

Thorne waited a full three seconds before continuing on. "We all have different opinions on what to do about this Targaryen child. Because of this, we are unable to come to a unanimous decision about her," he said slowly. "As I was saying before, it is because of matters like this that we need to have a new Lord Commander to make this choice for us. Is that not generally what happens?"

There were various murmurs of agreement.

"The problem remains however that we do not currently have a Lord Commander to make this decision," said Maester Aemon. "That is why we both believe that the best course of action is to abstain from making a choice on what to do about Lyaella Snow."

This surprised everyone, Jon especially. He leaned in even closer to hear better.

"We in the Night's Watch will allow this girl to stay here for now," Thorne declared. "Think of her as… an unofficial extended guest, like Tarly's Wildling lover and her child. This will only be temporary. Once we've chosen a new Lord Commander, he'll be the one to decide on what to do about her. We believe this to be a fair choice all around. Do you all agree on this?"

For a little while, the sworn brothers of the Night's Watch conversed quietly amongst themselves, mulling over all the pros and cons on whether or not to agree to this. But finally, gruff answers of agreement filled the lodge.

Thorne nodded in approval. "Good. Now, there are two rules regarding this child that I'm laying out now to you lot, and they are considered effective immediately. Rule number one, as the Night's Watch is considered to be politically neutral from the rest of Westeros, this girl and her dragon are to stay a secret within the Night's Watch, because if word gets out about her, we'll be forced to choose sides on what to do about her if the Lannister's send people up here, or the Dragon Queen herself. Not one word about her or her dragon leaves the Wall! All messages sent out on raven scrolls will be personally checked by me to make sure of this!"

Quite a few people grumbled, but no one dared to argue this.

"Rule number two… I'm not gonna beat around the bush, here. While some of you might have come to the Wall as volunteers, most of you came to us as criminals. Thieves, murderers, rapists… I made it clear upon Stannis Baratheon's arrival here at Castle Black what would happen to any man here who dared harm his wife, his daughter, or Lady Melisandre. They try to kill them, they lose their head. They try them, they lose their pecker and then their head. Do you all remember that discussion? You do? Good. Well, that policy now extends to the Targaryen child! Anyone tries to kill her, their next stop is the executioners block! Anyone touchesher, we'll cut their cock off, feed it to Lord Snow's direwolf, and then chop their head off! Have I made myself clear?!"

The men were quick to nod this time. That mental image would be enough to keep the more dishonorable brothers from trying to harm young Lyaella Snow.

"Good. We have officially reached a decision, then. Agreed?"

"Agreed," echoed all the brothers.

And that was that. The meeting was officially over. Lyaella was now an unofficial guest of the Night's Watch until further notice.

Jon personally didn't know what to make of that. While he was glad that the girl would be safe here at Castle Black for the time being, he also felt somewhat conflicted about this.

How was he supposed to keep his distance from this girl now?