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

18. The Journey to Hardhome

Elphaba818:

Hello, everyone! Longclaw and I have yet another chapter to present to you all today for Howl of the Dragonwolves! And in 3 weeks to the day you got the last chapter, too! Hooray for us! Granted, today's chapter is significantly shorter than the last handful have been, but that's only because Longclaw and I have decided to break apart Hardhome into two separate chapters. Part 1 is what you're getting now, and you'll get Part 2 fairly soon once we're finished with it. Still, I think you'll all enjoy today's installment either way.

Also, I'd like to address something that was told to me in one of the reviews here on FF by the reader going by the penname 'raider of d lost soul.' He suggested that perhaps the reason why not as many people are reviewing the story as they were before is because I'm not writing quick, one line responses to people's reviews here in the Author's Notes and therefore if I interact with them more in the notes, readers will feel more at ease with reviewing because they'll see that I'm actually reading each review. I'd like to state for the record that I am deeply, deeply sorry if I made any of you believe that I didn't care about the messages behind each one of your heartfelt reviews for this story and that I really do read them all! I simply forgot to address your reviews and reply personally to them here on FF in comparison to Ao3 because author's are capable of striking up entire conversations with their reviewers directly in the comment threads of their story, so I found it easier to talk to my readers on that website whereas compared to here on FF. From now on, I PROMISE to do a better job at personally replying to people's reviews here on FF! So long as you readers leave reviews for me under actual usernames instead of as anonymous guests, I'll do my best to reply to you all from this moment forward with PM messages!

And speaking of reviews, we ALMOST made the review goal this time. We were only one review short of the 335 review goal by making it only to 334. Oh, well... We almost made it, so I guess it's okay, lol.

For the review goal for today's chapter, I think we should try to strive for 350 this time. That's slightly less than last review goal, as it's only 16 reviews all together. I hope you guys will review from now on, and if you need more of an incentive, then read my previous paragraph about how I'll try to reply to your reviews from now on. I promise I'll do my best to reply to you all!

Well, I think I've covered just about everything that I needed to for this chapter's author's note, so I'll be handing the mic over to Longclaw now! Enjoy today's chapter, and please leave a nice review for me to respond to afterwards!

Happy Reading!

- Elphaba818

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Longclaw 1-6,

Exciting news, my friends! Two new projects of mine are close to fruition: my Maegor the Cruel story called Dragonshield and a fluffy/smutty comedy short I plan to publish as a counterweight to the second anniversary of "The Bells," a.k.a., the Fall. Further details will come, but tell me what you think in the reviews! :D

Be sure to check out my other work-in-progress stories: Empire of Ice and Fire, The Last Hope for Westeros, A Targaryen Dynasty, Heart of the Blessed, and My Father's Son.

Enjoy! :D

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Chapter Eighteen: The Journey to Hardhome

The soldiers huddled over their makeshift fires as they gathered together for warmth. They were cold and weary from the long march through the wilderness, and now that they'd stopped for the day they were determined to rest and warm up before continuing on tomorrow. Still, they all stood and bowed politely as she passed despite how she smiled and waved away the protocol. It was such a silly custom in her eyes, people rising only to immediately lower themselves when they did. After her father took the Iron Throne from the Lannister's and she sat on it after him, she'd have to remember to change the standard court procedure regarding this silly custom. It made no sense to her why it was necessary in the first place.

Still, Shireen wrapped her cloak around her tighter and trudged past all the soldiers to her father's war council tent. They'd left Castle Black nearly two weeks ago and for the first week they'd been making good time. But for the second week, unforeseen circumstances had been slowing them down considerably. The temperature had dropped to icy cold one night, and in addition to a number of men on guard duty that night and some of the horses freezing to death before dawn appeared, a heavy snowfall started that night and had yet to let up since. A true Northern snowstorm had blown in from beyond the Wall and was refusing to pass. It'd made hunting for food all but impossible since all the typical creatures the men hunted for game were burrowed away to preserve their own warmth. To put it simply, her father's army was in the worst shape imaginable right now even after months of doing nothing at Castle Black. Carrying on to Winterfell like her father wanted was nothing short of suicide.

Which was why she needed to speak to him right away. Between the snowstorm delaying their march and Lyaella's warnings about the Bolton's right before they left, it was silly to continue like this. They should return to Castle Black and wait for the snowstorm to pass. There was no point marching on if the men would only be half frozen and starving when the day of the siege began.

She nodded to the two guards standing watch outside the command tent and opened her mouth to call out, but the voices from within halted her.

"—you suggest we do, Ser Davos? We're already well over halfway there! To turn back now would being remembered as 'the King who Ran!'"

"But to continue to Winterfell now, your grace, would mean arriving with an army exhausted and weak. The snow's piling up, the men are cold, and finding game has been exceedingly difficult. Better to turn back now and wait for the right time than to risk it all and never get another chance."

Shireen smiled. Thank goodness for the Onion Knight. She'd always been fond of Ser Davos even before her father declared himself king, and luckily her father valued his council, too. If he was thinking the same way she was, then maybe convincing her father to turn back wouldn't be as difficult as she thought it would.

"There's no need to fear about that, Ser Davos," said a third voice, silky and mysterious with its rich Essosian accent. "The Lord has shown me in the flames of our king fighting at Winterfell now. He has shown me the Bolton banners falling to the ground after a great battle. To turn back now would mean going against the wishes of the Lord of Light. His grace might continue on if he's to fulfill his destiny. There is no other choice."

Shireen frowned at the brief silence, only to go rigid when she heard Stannis grunt in agreement. "If that's what you've seen in the flames, Lady Melisandre, then we shall abide by it. Tell the commanders to inform the men to rest well tonight, Ser Davos. We continue our march first thing in the morning."

"As you wish, your grace," answered Ser Davos, his tone holding betraying only the slightest hints of weary resignation.

She straightened considerably. No, this was madness. If they continued on to Winterfell, they'd lose for certain. Someone had to put a stop to this. Sucking in a deep breath, she moved aside the tent flap and stepped inside. "Father? May I speak with you?"

Stannis turned from his position at the command table, his hard expression softening when he saw her. "Certainly, Shireen. Come in."

She forced what she hoped looked like a friendly smile on her face and approached. "I hope I'm not interrupting… I'm not, am I?"

"Nothing that can't spare a minute, princess," said Ser Davos, smiling heartily. "Do you need to speak with his grace? Lady Melisandre and I can step out for a moment, if you do."

"No, no, Ser Davos. That's kind of you, but I only need a moment," she assured him. Turning back to Stannis, she steeled her with a deep breath and continued. "I — I didn't mean to eavesdrop, Father, but I couldn't help overhearing what you were talking about just now. About how you plan to continue our march to Winterfell."

Stannis frowned. "I hope you don't intend to make that a habit from now on. Eavesdropping is something those snakes in King's Landing do on a daily basis, Shireen. When I am king, I intend to put a stop to all those court games and secrets by whatever means necessary."

"I apologize, Father. I didn't mean to do so, but from I understood you and Lady Melisandre want to continue on to fight against the Boltons while Ser Davos wants us to turn back." She paused, briefly closing her eyes as she mustered up her courage. "I understand why you feel like you must continue on to Winterfell, Father, but I also agree with Ser Davos about how we should go back due to the present state of our army — so I think you should either follow his advice or send me back to Castle Black so I can try persuading Lyaella again to bring Sōnar here to help."

Stannis jerked. "Shireen—"

"Absolutely not! How many times must I tell you to stay away from that dragon girl?!"

Shireen whipped around. Selyse was standing a little ways off from the entrance, hands on her hips as she fiercely glared. She'd been so quiet Shireen hadn't even seen her until now. "Mother—"

"If there's one thing we can be grateful for, it's that we're away from Castle Black and that child and beast!" She snapped. "You should be thanking the Lord that he was watching over you every minute we were at the Night's Watch. That girl didn't harm you or your father. I prayed to the Lord of Light every day we were there that she wouldn't, and it's by his mercy she didn't. So you are most certainly not going back to Castle Black just to beg that wretched child to help us!"

"But Mother—"

"I said, 'no!'"

"Selyse, enough," Stannis barked. "You've made your point." Selyse shot her husband a fiery look, but nonetheless nodded begrudgingly as she stepped back. Appeased, the king turned to his daughter. "I understand your concerns, Shireen, but I'm inclined to agree with your mother. Lyaella Snow didn't want to help us even when I generously offered to legitimize her and her brother so long as he promised to swear his allegiance to me. If she wouldn't help us then even when I offered her that, she won't help us now. I'm sorry."

"How will we know if we don't try asking, though? Even as a favor! If — If we tell her that if she helps us now we'll owe her something of great magnitude one day of her choice, maybe she'd—"

"She'd ask for the impossible, Shireen! She'd want us to stand aside and support that Dragon Queen instead of going for the throne our House!" Selyse snipped. "Your father's whole claim to the Iron Throne rests on the illegitimacy of hers! We cannot do that!"

"Your mother is right. I'm sorry, Shireen."

Shireen's hands balled into fists. "We're going to be facing dangerous enemies soon enough, Mother, Father. I know neither of you ever told me much about the Bolton's, but was Lyaella right?"

"Right?"

"About what they do to their enemies? Do they really flay them?"

Stannis went rigid as Ser Davos and Lady Melisandre exchanged unreadable looks. Selyse's face turned colder and she immediately clapped a hand firmly on her shoulder and steered back to the tent flap. "That's of no concern to you, Shireen. I believe you have more books to read in your tent, so—"

She shook off her hand and glared up at her. "I believe it is my concern, Mother. I'm here too, and if father should lose against them, I have a right to know what might happen if they catch me. Either way, it still makes going to Lyaella a better option for us. She never hurt anyone with her dragon at the Wall. Not even you, Mother. Yet the Bolton's will be trying to kill all of us on either the battlefield or by flaying us afterwards."

Heavy silence fell upon the command tent, no one daring to say anything. Selyse in particular looked as though she'd swallowed a lemon as her eyes flitted back and forth between her daughter and husband. Stannis' throat bobbed repeatedly, but even he seemed unsure how to refute her words. Ser Davos and Lady Melisandre just stared, both of them surprised by how adamant and strong she sounded compared to her usual self.

Shireen temper flared even more by their silence, and promptly turned to her father. "I apologize for having interrupted your meeting, Father. Especially since it seems you plan to risk everything on a risky march against a very dangerous House because you're so adamant to take the Iron Throne you don't want to fight smartly. I'll leave you to continue with your battle plans."

Curtsying appropriately, she spun around on her heel and marched outside without another word. What was wrong with adults in the world? Why did they do stupid things by themselves instead of trusting others for help? If being an adult meant becoming as stubborn and distrusting of people all the time, then Shireen hoped she'd never grow up. Better to be a child naive of the world yet willing to give people a chance than to believe the worst in people upon first meeting. That's how she felt, anyway.

---

Sighing deeply, Jon leaned against the railing and gazed at the choppy waves slapping at the iceberg off the left — port as the sailors called it, an unfamiliar term as Jon hadn't ever been aboard a ship till now — side. It looked pretty damn large, but the sailors gave it a wide berth. The biggest part of an iceberg is what you don't see. Quite ironic for how apt that was… for everything.

Jon reflected on his father, how most often the Lord of Winterfell would take time out of his busy schedule to train him personally. The stablehands mocking him for his bastard status, Ned would teach him to ride in the Wolfswood alone. The other lads in training ganging up on him for being the 'baseborn son of a southern whore,' Ned would take him to the godswood and train him till he could send the others on the ground. When the lightning storms shook the very walls, Ned was there to tell him a story to calm him. Whatever he wanted, especially those of the Kings of Winter, Cregan Stark, and the Targaryen Kings.

Gods, it had all driven Lady Catelyn mad but Ned did them and Jon's heart clenched at the memories of his father. But what Edward Stark did not teach him was the loneliness of command. Now the constant trips to the godswood alone to sharpen Ice made sense. When one reached the top, there was no one left that could truly understand or lend a helping hand to any sort of predicament.

Perhaps that's what Maester Aemon meant… a Targaryen alone in the world is a terrible thing. Thinking on it, the more he felt that it was best for Lyaella to go to Daenerys Targaryen in Meereen. For the dragon's blood to be close to her bloodline, to those that could understand.

But he closed his eyes, willing away the sorrow that seemed to creep upon him. Truthfully, Jon had grown fond of the poor girl. She reminded him of the life he could have had with Ygritte — free, living contently with a child north of the Wall. And she was so much like a perfect mix of his sisters that it was hard not to care about her — Sansa, the perfect little lady who despite keeping her distance from him, cared for him in her own way. And Arya, the plucky little wolf who was also the black sheep amongst their siblings due to her wild nature.

Alas, it was in the past. No sense dwelling on it.

Feeling a push on his side, Jon looked over to see Ghost staring at him with a lonely look. "Even affects direwolves," he laughed lightly, tousling the fur of the great beast. "Thought you'd be with the little one?" Ghost did nothing for the longest moment, merely looking at his master, before leaning out his snout and nipping at Jon's black cloak. "No, Ghost… stop that."

But the direwolf was persistent, latching lightly onto the cloak and tugging. What's the matter with him? Ghost had nipped and bit when he was teething as a pup, but never since — he'd trained him better, the only exception being Lyaella's breathlessness and he'd dragged him outside to help her. When Ghost let go, looked back, and then resumed his tugging however, Jon understood.

"Alright, boy. I'll follow you." Ghost wagged his tail and led the way.

Jon should have guessed that the furry lummox would be taking him to Lyaella. Currently she was sparring with Edd as part of her training regimen. Crossing his arms and leaning against the mizzenmast, Jon watched with a scrutinizing eye. She was improving, he had to admit. Her stance was good and normal force wouldn't likely stumble her. The basic movements and forms were already in her head as she parried and thrusted and slashed, but he could tell the movements were still too slow. Still thought out rather than instinctive. She'd be dead against a proper swordsman.

He missed the first sign. Lyaella's initial stumble was righted quickly after, Jon distracted from noticing by the dragon Sōnar arriving back aboard. She beat her wings in the air, knocking over a trio of empty barrels and blowing in Jon's face before landing in the front of the ship. In her jaws was a large fish, which she blackened with a puff of flame localized in her mouth. Many sailors were scared she'd set the ship on fire, but the dragon never let the flames get close to the wood. Perhaps Lya was right about the intelligence of dragons. After all, Ghost was smarter than most of the Black Brothers, why not Sōnar too?

The second sign from Lyaella was caught by Jon. An ever so slight cough, followed by a wheezed breath. It was over in a second, but he still heard it. "Alright Edd," he called out, making his presence known. "That's enough for today."

"No," she complained, holding her training blade. "I'm just getting good. I want to keep going."

"Sorry, Lyaella. Next time." He nodded to Edd, who nodded back and obeyed his Lord Commander's order. Looking back at Lyaella, the young girl had crossed her arms and was glaring at him. For a moment, he thought he was looking at a silver-haired Arya before the fleeting image left him. "Lyaella…" he explained. "You were gonna get another wheezing attack."

She rolled her eyes. "No I wasn't. I know my own body, Jon Snow."

He snorted. "That may be so, but Maester Aemon and Sam aren't here. We're going into the true north far away from anyone that could help you, and I can't risk that you have any sort of health attack." Jon placed a hand on her shoulder. "Call me overprotective, but it has to be done."

To his surprise, she didn't challenge him as Arya would have. If anything, she looked… slightly pleased? Happy even? Her face fell again into a sigh soon after, but the happiness had been there. "I suppose you're right." She trudged off to where Sōnar rested, plopping down with exhaustion. "Wanna sit with me?" She asked him.

Feeling Ghost continue to nudge him, Jon was sure the direwolf would give him all seven hells if he didn't join the Targaryen bastard girl. "Alright, Ghost. I was gonna sit with her anyway," he murmured to the direwolf, who seemed to preen at his 'victory.' Cheeky bugger. Jon made his way to Lyaella and sat across from her, back resting against the railing of the ship. "You're improving in your swordsplay, just so you know."

She smiled at him, obviously appreciating the comment. "Thanks… I just wanna master it. My… my mother never knew and I'm sure it hurt her."

Jon wisely didn't push on that based on personal experience. Robb and Arya and Bran… and even Sansa never talked of Jon's mother, the issue very prickly to a motherless bastard at the very least. "You shouldn't try and overwork yourself though," he finally replied. "Especially with your condition."

Lyaella looked down at her lap. "That's… that's what they always said to me, my relatives, when they stopped me from joining the other children in sparring. Even my younger aunt, who's a skilled fighter."

"Northwomen can be strong warriors," he mused. "I'm not saying stop altogether, just pace yourself."

"But I have to know for what's about to come!" Jon peered at her quizzically, making Lyaella blush and look away. "I heard… what they say is out there… what Gilly and that redhaired wildli… Free Folk man says. What you say — if they exist, I need to know how to fight."

How could he argue with that? "They exist, and I understand. Don't exhaust yourself though."

"I won't." Curving her neck, Sōnar nuzzled Lyaella's cheek, growling softly almost like a purr. She smiled and leaned into the nudge. "Love you, girl." The dragon trilled lightly, only for her eyes to find Jon. His heart thudded rapidly when she moved her head to sniff at him… only to prod him twice with her snout and pull back. "She likes you," giggled Lyaella.

He laughed, though it didn't reach his eyes. "I'd hope so, or else she thinks I'm her next meal."

"Sōnar wouldn't do that!" she countered, looking up at the dragon. "Right Sōnar?" Sōnar looked repulsed, bobbing her head back and forth as if condemning the idea. "See?"

"And how do you know for sure?"

"How do you know Ghost won't eat me? Besides him being a cuddly little pup." She leaned forward and tickled behind Ghost's ear, getting him to wag his tail.

"Um… I share a bond with him. It's like I know what he thinks and he I."

"That's what I have with Sōnar."

Honestly, Jon couldn't counter that, so he eased his tension. Perhaps he would be safe.

They sat in silence for a bit, just resting and enjoying the clear sky and rocking of the waves before Lyaella spoke again. "There's another reason I keep sparring… keeps my mind off the fact I'm on a boat."

He smirked. "Sea malady?" First night aboard ship, he had felt the nausea — even if he hadn't voided his stomach.

But Lyaella shook her head. "No, just… Torrhen and I don't much like ships. They hold too many bad memories."

"You've been on a boat before?" Jon was confused, because Lyaella was as clueless about the ship as he had been when they arrived at Eastwatch.

"Well… no — yes… it's complicated." She bit her lip. "We were born on a boat, me and Torrhen…"

"Oh." Jon leaned in, interested. While he wouldn't ask about their parents, he was admittedly curious about her origins. "I can understand why you wouldn't remember being on a boat, then." He laughed at that. "Was it in the Southern seas or the Northern seas?" Lyaella and her brother's parents were of House Targaryen and a still unknown Northern family. It could've been both.

Lya blinked, looking pained. "The… The Northern Seas, I think… other than a few details, our relatives never told us a lot about the day we were born. Only of our parents and how monstrous and stupid they were." She closed her eyes, clearly trying to keep her composure. "Torrhen and I could only visit our father's grave and imagine what they were like. Imagine how they would love us."

When Sam had whined of his mother and brother and sister in the early days of his arrival at Castle Black, Jon was sympathetic but simply wished he'd shut up. With Lyaella, all he wanted to do was pull her into a hug. But he held back. "I'm sorry."

She shook her head. "No… I'm fine with that now. I've… gotten used to it. It's just…" A tear fell down her cheek. "Our tenth nameday is coming up. It was never celebrated, but we always had each other. This will be the first nameday I have without him." The emotion got to be too much, and Lyaella sobbed softly. Sōnar heard and immediately rested her lower jaw on the girl's hair, while Ghost trotted over and rested by her side.

This time, Jon didn't need any urgings by his direwolf. Regardless of his duties. Regardless of what he had promised himself before regarding Lyaella Snow, he shuffled himself to the girl's younger side and wrapped his arms around her. And when Lyaella clutched at him desperately, he didn't pull away.

---

The biting cold stung her cheeks with her every breath as she inhaled the stale breeze. The vapor that blossomed in front of her lips afterwards was much warmer, but then frozen ice shards would stab at her throat all over again as she sucked in more air. Fighting the urge to cough made it even more painful, but it was minor compared to her last attack so she wasn't too concerned yet. She snuggled closer to Ghost to stay warm. "I-I-It's… It''s freezing!"

Ghost nudged his head against her shoulder for comfort, tail swaying softly. Jon patted her shoulder, signaling Edd to pass them the extra cloak. "Aye, I told you it was cold up here."

"Y-Yes, I know…" she whimpered, her teeth chattering. "I-I-I've lived in the North a-all my life, and I've n-never been this cold!"

Tormund chuckled and held out his oar. "Here, lass. Try rowin' for a bit."

"W-What…? N-No, it's too cold."

"Aye, I know. But I'm one of the Free Folk. Yeh gotta keep movin', that's the secret."

Lyaella blinked at him. "S-Secret…?"

"To stayin' warm. Walkin' or rowin's good. There's only two thin's better."

"What?"

He grinned. "Fightin's better than workin', but the best is fu—"

"Tormund!" Behind her, Jon looked mortified.

The redhead chortled. "I'm only teasin' her, King Crow. It's not like she's old enough to even understand."

Lyaella blinked at Jon's red face, but didn't have the energy to comment. She just wrapped the extra cloak thrown over her shoulders even tighter around herself and kept snuggling with Ghost. She was so relieved her future father's direwolf was in the collapsible with them. Had he been unwilling to get in the rowboat, she didn't know who she could have snuggled with for warmth as they made their way to shore.

She truly wished to snuggle with her father like they did days before, but Lyaella hesitated. Did he want to? It was probably just a one off. He had been polite and professional to her since, though he did take over her training aboard the ship. To say Lyaella treasured those moments with him was an understatement.

It was a cloudy day at Hardhome, the sky so gray the sun was hidden. All along the shore for miles were thousands upon thousands of Free Folk, all staring at their tiny dinghy as they rowed up to the docks. For the only true settlement ever built by the Free Folk, it was the equivalent of a modestly-sized fishing village, but to Lyaella it seemed even smaller. For a little girl who'd spent her whole life living in Winterfell while only being allowed to occasionally venture into Wintertown or go riding in the Wolfswood with Torrhen and numerous guards from Queen Sansa, seeing all the people camped out along the shoreline made it seem even tinier than it was. A hundred thousand people all together. That's what The Song of Ice and Fire history book said regarding all the people who died and were forced to join the army of the dead. There was still a chance the army of the dead wasn't real, but if it was… Lyaella could see where all the hundred thousand soldiers must've come from. All these people sitting here were just waiting to die.

The Free Folk at Hardhome did nothing as their boat slid onto the shore. They just watched them in utter silence, confusion and suspicion clouding their faces. Lyaella cringed at their expressions and immediately clung to Jon's hand. Despite how he flinched somewhat at her grasp, she didn't dare let go. Since Jon ordered her to leave Sōnar on the ship to not terrify the Free Folk when they docked, she had only him and Ghost to rely on. She was looking at them to keep her safe if they were attacked.

Thankfully, Jon seemed to understand her thoughts as he climbed out and offered her a hand out too. "Stay right behind me, Tormund, and Edd at all times, and stay with Ghost no matter what," he murmured. "The Night's Watch is the Free Folk's enemy, but I don't know what they'll think about you."

Lyaella nodded, shuffling a step closer behind him to stay hidden. Hopping out next, Ghost immediately sidled up beside her, his red eyes fixed on the crowd. While he wasn't growling in obvious protectiveness, he was still on alert. That made her feel a little better, if nothing else. She wanted Sōnar here as her protector, but at least Ghost was here instead. He no doubt already knew she was Jon's future daughter and was working to keep her safe. He was exactly as she remembered him being with her and Torrhen before he died. Just like how—

She tensed, clutching tightly to the back of Jon's cloak. No, don't think about that. Just don't. At least now, she had her father with her. Gods, I wish Torrhen was here. He would have adored their father.

Tormund shifted closer to Jon, also making sure to step in front of Lyaella so she wouldn't be seen yet. "Good advice, Jon Snow. Just… give me a minute to try talkin' to them before lettin' them see her. They're gonna be confused with her, I tell yeh that." He paused, then looked at Jon directly. "Yeh trust me, right?"

"Am I fool for that?"

"We're both fools, then."

Lyaella couldn't help but cling tighter to Jon's cloak. "Don't be fools," she murmured. "You need to be smart."

Jon tugged his cloak free and discretely waved his hand for her to stay quiet. Lyaella trembled but did nothing in return. She only hoped that whatever happened next would be better in dramatically changing the outcome for whatever truly happened at this supposed historical upcoming battle for the eventual Long Night.

Pausing only a moment longer so the other two rowboats manned by other men in the Night's Watch could reach the shore, Tormund signaled them to follow and marched directly through the crowd, Jon matching his pace to walk alongside him the whole time. Edd and the other men in the Watch made sure to walk slightly behind them, effectively shielding Lyaella from sight as she and Ghost stayed right on their heels. Thankfully, no one in the crowd tried to halt them or question why their formation was the way it was. The Free Folk simply stepped aside as they passed and watched silently, still confused as to what was going on.

Eventually, one man in particular barred their path. A Free Folk man carrying a large wooden staff and wearing a mask made directly out of a skull. Lyaella shuddered at the sight of it and pressed closer to Ghost. His whole set of of furs was entwined with bones, too. What type of bones were they? Animal bones… or human?

"Lord of Bones," Tormund greeted. "It's been awhile…"

The so-called bone lord grunted in return. "Little Crow was yer prisoner last time I saw yeh," he stated to the point. "Looks like it's the other way around now. The fuck happened?"

"War."

The stranger scoffed. "War? That Southern king cut up the greatest army the North has ever seen like it was nothin'. That wasn't war, it was slaughter."

If Tormund agreed, he didn't say so. He just ignored that and continued. "We need somewhere quiet to talk. Us and the elders."

"Yeh don't give orders here."

"I'm not givin' an order."

The Lord of Bones definitely didn't like the command and stood slightly straighter, trying to exert his authority. "Why aren't yeh in chains?" He demanded. "The crows always chain us up when they catch us."

"Because he's not my prisoner," said Jon, stepping forward. "He's my ally."

Before Lyaella could blink, the sudden shift in the crowd instantly changed. Instead of wary suspicion and confusion, everyone watching suddenly gasped in horror or started murmuring their curses and insults to Tormund and the rest of the Night's Watch. Quite a few of them even started reaching for their weapons, ready to use them at a moments notice.

Their reactions paled in comparison to the Lord of Bones' fury. "Yeh fuckin' traitor! Yeh fight for the crows now?! Yeh turn yer back on us, yer people?!"

Tormund advanced forward, his own rage hidden behind an ice cold mask. "Never. I'll never turn my back on bein' free. I don't fight for the crows. I fight with them for all of us."

"We didn't come to fight, we came to talk," Jon added.

"That so? Yeh talk a lot with this crow, Tormund?" He spat, jabbing him firmly in the chest with his staff. "What'd yeh tell him? That he'd spare yeh if yeh sucked his coc—?!"

Quick as a flash, Tormund ripped the staff away from him and struck him with it hard in the chest followed by a heavy blow to his head. The crowd gasped as they watched him fall to the ground, but no one attempted to stop Tormund as he whacked the man's skull again. As he reeled back to strike him again though, a shrill scream filled the air.

All heads immediately snapped to Lyaella as she buried her face in Jon's cloak, her eyes flooding with terrified tears. Ghost nuzzled her legs in comfort but kept his red eyes fixed on the crowd, growling lowly in warning. Other than that and the whimpers Lyaella made as she tried to suppress her tears, a chilling silence fell over everyone. The Free Folk simply stared at her, too stunned and confused to react.

Tormund slowly lowered the staff, unwilling to continue beating the man after seeing how it scared her. The Lord of Bones was definitely dazed from the assault, but other than rubbing his chest and looking extremely disoriented as he stood up, a trickle of blood oozing down the side of his mask. He didn't retaliate, too busy staring at Lyaella in equal surprise, his eyes bulging from the behind the eye sockets of the skull.

"What the—? Where did— ? Who the fuck's that?" He murmured, pointing directly at Lyaella. She whimpered and shuffled further behind Jon to hide. Ghost immediately padded forward to sit next to his master and hide her even more from sight, his growling becoming a tad louder. "Crows aren't girls… hardly ever children. And why the hell's her hair silver? White as snow… and she's in crow black other than that gray cloak…"

Tormund tightened his grip around the staff. "She's not a crow. She's not against us… but she's not with us, either. She's innocent of anythin' the crows have done to our people."

"Well, who is she?! Why's she here?!"

"She's… a guest."

"Guest?"

"Guest of the crows, and now our guest. She's innocent in this whole thin', so no one go hurtin' her. She's only here because I knew yeh lot needed to see her friend, and it wouldn't come without her."

"Friend…?"

Tormund turned and nodded to Jon, and Jon turned to Lyaella. "Go on," her future father whispered.

Swallowing thickly, Lyaella backed away a few paces and slowly turned. "S-Sōnar!" She called, cupping her hands around her mouth as she yelled out at the faraway fleet. "You… You can c-come out, now!"

All was silent for a few moments aside from the whistling wind. The Free Folk only stared between her, Tormund, and Jon in evident puzzlement until the familiar roar of her dragon sister finally echoed from the ships.

The Free Folk jumped, startled, but their reactions rapidly changed to absolute terror as Sōnar suddenly ascended from the ship and soared through the air. Circling overhead a few times, she gradually lowered to the ground to land as close as possible to Lyaella's group. Many people had to scramble aside to avoid being whacked by her massive wings and tail or being crushed by her still maturing body.

A great weight lifted off Lyaella's shoulders as she ran to her friend, throwing her arms around her and burying her face in her scaly neck. "Sōnar!"

Sōnar cooed, extending her wing so she could get closer. Nuzzling her snout affectionately in her hair, she turned and focused her ice blue eyes on the rest of the crowd. A few warning puffs of smoke emanated from her nostrils, silently warning them all what would happen if anyone dared to hurt her small mistress.

But the Free Folk made no attempt to harm either of them. The crowds' reactions to Lyaella's dearest friend ranged from stunned to terror to absolute awe. A few of them held out their weapons warningly in case Sōnar should attack, but they themselves were frozen in shock as they stared up at the snowy white dragon. Even the Lord of Bones was rendered speechless as he gawked them.

"That's — Is that a—?"

"D-Don't… Don't hurt her! Please, don't h-hurt her!" Lyaella begged, pressing closer to Sōnar's hide. "She's friendly, I promise! So l-long as… an none of you hurt me or L-Lord Commander Jon and his people, S-Sōnar won't hurt any of you! I promise! So please, don't hurt her!"

If the Free Folk had been confused before by what was going on, they were downright baffled now. They stared between her, Tormund, and Jon blankly.

"Gather the elders, Lord of Bones," Tormund ordered, glaring coldly at the masked man. "Yeh can see we need to talk."

The Lord of Bones was silent for a few moments, still too dumbstruck to do anything, but finally he nodded and signaled for the handful of men behind him to find the clan leaders in question.

---

Diplomacy was not his strong point. That was Robb's destiny not his, Jon never permitted to sit in on those lessons Robb went through with his mother and their father. I could've used you here, brother.

They were wary of him, the various Free Folk chieftans, silently questioning the validity of everything he said as he handed them the bag of dragonglass. He didn't blame them for being skeptical, not when they hadn't seen what Sam saw themselves. Luckily, the chieftess of the ice-river clans — Karsi her name was — had reminded the other skeptics about the old stories about dragonglass, and at least now they were listening a little more openly than they had been before.

"Yeh think we're stupid, crow?" said another chieftain, Dim Dalba. "Yeh think we're dumb enough to believe crows give two shits about us?"

"In normal times, we wouldn't. But these aren't normal times," he countered. "The Night's Watch will grant you all safe passage through the Wall and let you farm good lands just to the south of it. I knew Mance Rayder, and I know he didn't want to see his people killed by the white walkers or fighting against the Night's Watch. He wanted a new life for all of you, for you to be safe from the dead. I'm the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch now, and I'm prepared to give you that new life."

"If?" Karsi pried.

"If you promise to fight with us when the real war begins."

"Where is Mance?" asked Loboda of the Thenns. "Why isn't he here tellin' us this?"

Jon sucked in a breath. He knew one of them would eventually ask, but it didn't make it any easier to tell them the truth. "He died…"

"How?"

"…I put an arrow through his heart."

All at once, the meeting hall erupted into chaos. Every chieftain was shouting, brandishing their weapons as they advanced on him. Their rage would not be quelled.

"Murderer!

"We'll shoot arrows in yer heart!"

"Send him back to Castle Black with no eyes!"

Jon closed his eyes, willing himself to show no emotion as the Thenn leader advanced on him with a large carving knife.

"No!"

The sudden shriek hushed everyone and made Jon's eyes snap back open as they whipped around. Lyaella had been sitting quietly in the corner up 'till now, unable to contribute to the discussion and had been content to simply stroke Ghost and keep one eye on Sōnar from her view of the doorway outside. Aside from a handful of precursory glances of wariness due to her dragon, the Free Folk chieftains had nothing against her and had simply let her be while they talked with him. But now she was scrambling in front of him and throwing out her arms like a human shield, as though she could somehow shield him from all of them with just her small body.

"No, you can't! You can't hurt him!" She cried. "Y-You'll… You'll have to kill me first if you want to kill him! No one's gonna—" she suddenly stopped, throwing a hand over her mouth as she broke out coughing.

"Lyaella!" he cried, whirling her around to check her over. "Lyaella, are you okay?!"

It took all her energy to try and fight back her coughing and look up at him. "J-Jon," she wheezed. "Jon, I—" more coughing cut her off.

"What's wron' with her?" Asked Karsi. "She was fine a second ago."

"She's got breathin' problems," said Tormund, stepping forward and patting Lyaella affectionately on the back. "Wheezin' or somethin' like that."

Dim Dalba raised a brow. "Yeh brought a sick lass all the way out here? Yeh daft or somethin', crow?"

Jon shot them a glare. "I didn't want to bring her, but Tormund left me no choice. His condition for him leading me here depended on her coming along." The chieftains were puzzled, but he ignored them and reached inside his cloak for the extra ingredients for Maester Aemon's tea remedy. He held them out for the clan leaders to see. "I know you all must hate me now, but she needs a remedy to get better. Please, may I brew this for her?"

They stared at him and at the still coughing and wheezing Lyaella for several moments before exchanging silent glances amongst themselves. Finally, Karsi held out her hand. "We'll brew it. Tell us what to do, and we'll make it."

"Fair enough. Grind up the herbs and get some water boiling over the fire. Toss them in when the water's hot and pour her a cup."

They gave him dirty looks, but they begrudgingly took the bag — they were wildlings, but children were innocent. Soon, a crudely carved wooden cup was steaming from the brew as it was held out for Lyaella to take. She eagerly drained the whole cup as fast as she could. Her coughing somewhat subsided, but she was still a bit wheezy and held out the cup again.

"T-Thank you… Please, may I h-have some… some more?" They poured her a second cup. This time she sipped it politely, drinking it slowly and savoring the taste as the last of her breathlessness faded away. "Thank you… Thank you very much…"

For a little while, the Free Folk chieftains were all quiet as they watched her drink her tea — the tension still there but seeming to ease. Finally Karsi stepped forward and squatted down to Lyaella's level from where she sat on an overturned bucket. "Why're yeh here, lass?" she asked. "Why'd the crow say yeh're only here 'cause Tormund demanded it?"

"And why're yeh defendin' him if yeh know he murdered our king?!" demanded Loboda. "Yeh're just a lass! If yeh're not one of them, why're yeh defendin' that damn murderer?!"

She took another small sip of her tea before responding. "B-Because… Because Jon killing him with an arrow w-was far more merciful than… t-than what Stannis Baratheon tried to do t-to him."

"What?"

"S-Stannis Baratheon, he's the king claimant who defeated your people. He… He was going to b-burn your king alive to send you a message. Ask T-Tormund if you don't believe me. He… H-He was there. He saw it all."

Everyone immediately looked to Tormund. "She's tellin' the truth. That lass's the one with a dragon, but that Southern cunt's the one who used fire as a weapon. Jon Snow spared Mance a lotta pain and sufferin'. What he did took courage, and that's what we need now. To find the courage to make peace with people we've been killin' ever since them Southerners built the fuckin' Wall."

"They've killed us too, Tormund! My father, uncle, and two of my brothers! Dead from fightin' the damn crows!" Karsi snapped.

"I'm not asking you to forget your dead!" Jon protested. "I'll never forget mine! The night Mance attacked the Wall, I lost fifty brothers, two being my friends since I swore my vows!"

"And the Night's W-Watch are only monsters because their duties forced them to b-become your enemies. But their vows of n-neutrality might be the only reason I'm s-still alive." Everyone turned back to Lyaella, but she didn't meet anyone's gaze. She just stared listlessly at the fire, watching the flames crackle and burn. She didn't need anyone to prompt her to continue though, she just kept talking. "S-Sōnar and I woke up on this side of the Wall in the… the middle of Mance's camp when S-Stannis attacked. I d-don't know why we ended up there, but until Sōnar found me I t-thought for sure he would kill me."

"Why'd he wanna kill yeh?" called out a voice in the corner. The Lord of Bones had been sitting on a barrel as he kept a slab of raw meat over the deep bruises swelling up on his face. "Yeh kneelers are all the same. Yer just a lass. Why'd he want yeh dead?"

She bit her lip, idly twirling a loose strand of her silver hair as she considered her next words. "It's h-hard to explain unless you all know the overall history of my f-family line… Basically, his whole claim to the Iron Throne is based on the fact that his family usurped the throne from mine. Other than me and my brother who are… are b-bastards and have no r-real claim, a trueborn woman across the sea, and those w-who gave up their claims by swearing the v-vows of the Night's Watch, all of my family's died out. I might n-not be a real Targaryen, but between Sōnar and my own existence, he saw me as a threat to his claim. D-Does… Does that make sense?"

They still looked moderately puzzled, but nonetheless nodded to show they got the basic picture.

"Well, if Sōnar hadn't shown up right then, he probably would've killed me… but I definitely wouldn't have gone back to Castle Black if Jon Snow hadn't calmed me down and promised me he wouldn't let anyone hurt me."

Everyone glanced back to him, surprise and confusion in their eyes.

"He promised me no one w-would hurt me, and no one did. He c-could've… could've j-just left me out there in the snow to die from S-Stannis or the cold, but he didn't. He d-doesn't… He doesn't know where Torry or Shadow are any m-more than I do, but he brought me back to Castle Black and k-kept me under the Night's Watch's protection. He's kept me safe the b-best he can… so if anyone h-hurts him, I'll tell to Sōnar protect him. I d-don't want her to burn or devour any of y-you… but I won't let any of y-you kill him either. Jon Snow… he's one of the f-few people I've ever met who's been k-kind to me. I… I won't let you kill him!"

Jon could only stare in disbelief. Lyaella thought that highly of him? Sure, he'd only recently started growing fond of her, but until a few weeks ago he'd been set on avoiding her as much as possible. Now he felt like an even bigger asshole for how he'd treated her after Slynt's execution.

The Free Folk chieftains murmured quietly amongst themselves as they mulled over Lyaella's earnestness. Finally Karsi turned to her again. "That still doesn't explain why yeh're here, lass. Yeh and yer dragon."

"And who's Torry? Why does he and his shadow matter?" Loboda asked.

Lyaella blushed. "T-Torry's short for Torrhen, that's… that's my brother's name. And Shadow's his pet, his brother l-like Sōnar's my sister. I'm here because Tormund insisted on Jon bringing Sōnar here, and she wouldn't … wouldn't come without me. I also hoped that maybe I'd find Torrhen and Shadow up here with you all. I mean, if I was found by Jon close to the Wall, maybe all of you found Torrhen and Shadow… and brought them here to stay safe."

The chieftains immediately shook their heads.

"Nope, lass."

"Haven't seen them."

"No silver-haired boys or dragons among us."

"Sorry, never heard of them."

But Lyaella wasn't deterred. "No, no. You've got the wrong idea. Torrhen's got black curly hair and violet eyes, not… not gray like mine. And Shadow's not another dragon. He's a direwolf."

Jon jerked. "What? Your — Your brother's pet is a direwolf?!"

She blinked. "Did I not tell you, Jon? Yes, Shadow's a direwolf. A black one. With red eyes, just like Ghost here." Ghost whined, pressing up closer against her legs. She lightly giggled, scratching him behind the ears. "Why do you think I love spending time with him? He reminds me of Shadow."

He mutely stared, his mind racing. Her brother had a direwolf for a pet, just like him and his siblings. It was unusual for Northerners to bond with direwolves if they weren't of House Stark, but it wasn't completely unheard of. Just very rare… Could there be some distant Stark branch… or House Karstark maybe? He wished he could have time to completely process this.

"Sorry, lass. We don't know any lads with black direwolves. Wherever yer brother and wolf are, it's not with us. We've never seen or heard of them."

The hopeful light in her eyes died. "Oh…"

"Still, why'd yeh insist on draggin' her dragon here, Tormund?" Dim Dalba asked, turning to the redhead. "If it wouldn't come without her, yeh should've let the crow come alone. Last time I saw yeh, yeh were determined to kill all them damn crows so yer brood could get beyond the Wall. Now yer bringin' a lass like them out here?"

"If that dragon could've come alone with only pretty King Crow here, I'd've been happy. I never wanted to brin' a lassie as youn' as my babes out here. But I knew yeh lot needed to see that dragon! And as bad as her bein' here is, maybe it's good she came. Yeh've seen for yerselves what she's like, and how that beast listens to her."

"What?"

He waved his hand wildly in Lyaella's direction before doing the same to where Sōnar could be seen outside. "Look at her! She's the shyest, kindest little lass yeh've ever met. She's a kneeler with a dragon, but she's more scared of us hurtin' her, her dragon, or King Crow here than we are of her settin' that beast on us. And the dragon! It flew here ready to protect her, but it listened when she told it to stand down. It's ready to attack if it has to, but it obeys her. Don't yeh all see it? If the dead were to attack the Wall, this dragon could stop them! Fire kills them fuckin' wights! Dragons breathe fire!"

Loboda scoffed, folding his arms. "It's barely bi'er than a horse. The dead'll kill it easily if they swarm it on the ground."

"Aye, it's small, but it's still growin'! Give it a year or two and maybe it'll be bi'er than the mammoths! Don't yeh see what a better chance we'll all have if we make peace with the Night's Watch? We might live to see the next Sprin'!"

"Think about your children," Jon added. "Don't you want them to see Spring? Don't you want them to have children of their own someday? Us banding together might be their only chance that'll happen."

"I still say we're better off out here than we are with yeh, crow!" Loboda snapped. "Yeh might be tellin' the truth about not wantin' the white walkers addin' us all to their army — that'll be fuckin' hell for yeh crows as well as us — but what's stoppin' yeh from slittin' our throats and burnin' our bodies the minute we step foot in Castle Black?! I ain't gonna take what's left of my people from one enemy to another when I know that's what's gonna happen! I ain't doin' it!"

Despite the bitter cold, a bead of sweat trickled down the back of his neck. Shit… How could he make them understand that he honestly just wanted to save them? Yes, the Night's Watch and the Free Folk had been enemies for thousands of years, but desperate times called for desperate measures. What was he supposed to do to convince them?

"You're right to think most people on our side of the Wall would do that. But Jon's not one of them. If anything, my relatives would do something like that before he would."

All heads snapped back to Lyaella, but she was unaffected by the sudden attention. She just kept gazing listlessly into the fire from her perch on top of the overturned bucket.

The Lord of Bones recovered first from her unexpected interruption and snorted derisively. "Right, 'course they would, lass," he chuckled. "That's why yer with the Lord Commander, right? They were terrible and yeh and yer brother wanted nothin' to do with them?"

"Yes, that's right. But we didn't runaway just because of that. We ran because they tried to kill us," she stated. "They made sure our parents died when we were babies. They're responsible for lots of other people dying, too. Killing means nothing to them. They do it all the time and no one tries to stop them."

Aside from the crackling fire, a deadly silence fell over the meeting hall. Jon's mouth suddenly felt very dry. Lyaella… she mentioned in passing before that her first aunt was cruel and the other sometimes killed people, but she hadn't specified the full extent of what she meant. He was suddenly very anxious about whatever she might say next.

If Lyaella was aware of how on edge they all were now, she didn't show it. She just sighed and wandered closer to the fire to warm her hands. She stayed silent though, not saying anything more.

Karsi was finally the one to break the silence. "Don't just say somethin' like that and not explain yerself, lass. What d'yeh mean?"

Lyaella blinked at her, utterly nonplussed. "Well… exactly what I said, Lady Chief. They do that. All the time. Nobody tries to stop them."

"I ain't no lady, lass. Ladies are what yeh Southerners call yerselves in yer fancy dresses and stone castles. And how would yeh know that for sure? What makes yeh certain, I mean?"

She tilted her head, closing her eyes for a moment, then turned to directly look at the Thenn chief. "May I ask you something, Lord Thenn? It'd be better if you told me your answer to this in order for Lady — oh, um… sorry, I don't know what the proper title is for lady Free Folk chieftains — for… for her to understand what I mean."

The Thenn rolled his eyes. "I'm sure as hell no lord. Just call us by name, that's what we do."

"Oh, very well… Well, may I?"

"Fine, be quick."

She paused, fiddling with her silver dragon pendant for a moment as she mustered her courage. "W-Well… I admit I don't know much about the Free Folk, but… but from what I understand, T-Thenns — your people… y-you eat people, right?"

Jon blinked, exchanging a look of incredulity with Tormund. What in seven hells was Lyaella doing?

Even the other clan leaders were caught off guard, Loboda most of all. "Why the fuck do yeh care? Yeh thinkin' about lecturin' my people for that? We don't give two shits what little Southern lasses think of us."

"N-No," she murmured, shaking her head. "I — I think that's d-disgusting, but I'm not doing t-that. I just want to k-know if that's true, and if it is, for you to answer one more s-simple question…"

Loboda glanced over at him, but Jon mutely shook his head. He had nothing to do with this and had no idea what Lyaella's purpose was. Apparently the blankness in his face convinced the chief he was not involved in whatever she wanted to ask, and he nodded. "Fine, it's true. We do hunt down other Free Folk and crows and use'em to fill our bellies. What do yeh care?"

She blanched and swayed at the confirmation, but forced herself to continue. "Oh… I s-see. Then… T-Then as the only person I know who eats other people r-regularly, do y-you… do you make dishes out of other people?"

Loboda quirked a brow. "Dishes? What, yeh think we carve out tools out of their bones, or somethin'?"

Lyaella shook her head. "No, not r-real dishes. D-Dishes as in food. Like… Like roasted b-beef, baked potatoes, soups… do you m-make those kinds of dishes?"

Loboda met his eyes again before cautiously shrugging. "We roast'em over the fire, if that's what yer askin'. Don't do any fancy with the meat."

"But would you? If you could do something fancier with—" she paused, looking rather faint for a moment as she covered her mouth "—with your food, would you do it? Actually cook them, I mean?"

"Why're you asking him that, Lyaella?" Jon demanded, unable to stop himself any longer. "What does that got to do with anything right now?"

She slowly turned to face him, her eyes sad yet shining earnestly. "Because the younger of my two aunts did that once. She killed two sons of a man she hated, butchered them up, and served them in a meat pie to their father. She didn't tell him he was eating his own sons until he'd eaten most of it, and then she killed him, too."

The bag of dragonglass slipped out of Karsi's hands and landed on the ground with a loud thump. No one moved. No one spoke. No one dared to breathe. Everyone's full and undivided attention was locked solely on Lyaella. Jon's thoughts screeched to a halt as he stared at her. Did she really just say what he thought she did? No, he had to have misheard her. There's no way in all seven hells that—

"Would you do the same if you could cook people like that, Chief Thenn?" she asked, nonchalantly turning back to Loboda. "If you could cook people like that, would you? If not, then would you consider someone who did something like to be insane murderers? You're the only cannibals I've ever personally met, so you can probably judge that better than anyone else out there."

Loboda stared at her for the longest time, then forced a weak, fake chuckle. "Yer a brave lass, lassie. Never met a Southerner who'd dare ask somethin' like that."

"Brave? I'm not brave," she said, furrowing her brows. "I'm just explaining myself and asking this so Karsi will understand why I think the way I do about my relatives. That's not bravery, that's honesty."

That earned a real laugh from Loboda and a few other chieftains. "Mance would've liked yeh, Crow Princess. I'm sure of it…"

"Well, would you or not?"

"What do yeh think? Even we have our lines we don't cross, lass. Dunno who that aunt of yers is, but we'd never truss up someone like that and feed it to someone. Not even to the crows. Yer aunt is a murderer."

Nodding in thanks, she turned to Karsi. "Do you understand now?" Karsi mutely nodded, eyes bulging. "Then you should know that Jon Snow would never do anything like that. There are people beyond the Wall who are just like my relatives, but he's the exception. I swear he is. I swear it on whatever it is you need me to swear on to believe it."

The Free Folk were still too flabbergasted to say anything, so Jon awkwardly cleared his throat and set a hand on her shoulder. "Lyaella, how about you take Ghost and sit outside with your dragon? We'll be done here in a minute."

"'Kay, c'mon on, Ghost."

Gathering her skirts, she politely curtsied to everyone before exiting the meeting hall, Ghost right on her heels.

The tension in the air dissipated as soon she was gone. Everyone was still very quiet, but it was out of relief this time rather than stunned horror. Waiting until he saw Lyaella quietly greet her dragon and Edd move closer to her in case something happened, he turned back to the rest of the room.

"We all know Winter is coming. Those are the words of my father's House, but it's also a fact. The Long Night will be upon us soon, and the death come with it. No clan can stop them. The Free Folk can't stop them. My men in the Night's Watch can't stop them. Seven hells, not even all the Southern kings can stop them. Only if we work together will there be a chance, and even then it might not be enough. But if nothing else, we'll give them a real fight. We can only try, but that's better than doing nothing and letting death come for us all."

There was another long pause as the chieftains considered everything, then finally the Dim Dalba turned to Tormund. "Yeh vouch for this crow, Tormund? Yeh really trust him?"

The redhead nodded. "Him and the Crow Princess are prettier than both my daughters, but he knows how to fight. I don't get the whole reason why all the kneelers were against that lass, but he treated her kindly. He's youn', but he's a natural leader. He didn't have to come and talk to all of yeh. He came because he needs us. And we need him if we're gonna survive."

Loboda furrowed his brows, weary yet still bitter. "My ancestors would've let me out in the cold to freeze as a babe for even considerin' breakin' bread with a crow," he grumbled.

"Mine would too, but fuck'em. They're dead, we're not," Karsi reminded him. Glancing back to him, she stepped forward and gave him a long, careful once over from head to toe. "I'll never trust a man in black. But children are somethin' else entirely. Yeh Southerners lie all the time unlike us Free Folk. Children don't know how to lie… I do trust yeh though, Tormund. If yeh tell me that lassie wasn't lyin' about everythin' she said and this is the way, I'm with yeh."

Tormund smiled. "I can't say nothin' for what she said 'bout her murderous aunt. That was as much a shock to me and King Crow here as it was to all of yeh, but everythin' else she said was true. This is the way." She smiled.

"I'm with Tormund," Dim Dalba added. "We're sittin' ducks out here. At least with King Crow, we'll have a chance."

A loud growl echoed throughout the room. Jon turned to the giant in squatting down in the far back corner. Even he was nodding in agreement to go back with them to their side of the Wall.

The Thenn chief however shook his head. "Keep that new life yeh want to give us. And keep yer glass, King Crow," he spat. "I wasn't born yesterday, and I'm apparently the only chief amon' us who remembers who our real enemy is at the end of the day." Shooting him a sneer, he turned to the rest of the room. "Yer all fools for believin' this pack of lies. As soon as yer all on those ships, they'll slit yer throats and have that dragon burn yer bodies to a crisp so yeh won't come back as one of the dead. That's our enemy," Loboda added, pointing straight to Jon. "That's always been our enemy, and just because we've got a common enemy now doesn't make him our friend."

He left without another word. His fellow Thenn's in attendance as well as a handful of other clan leaders filed out behind him. Still, a good portion of chieftains remained, still watching him warily, but at least not as disbelieving as Loboda had been.

Karsi must've seen the disappointment shining in his eyes and clicked her tongue to get his attention. "Ignore'em, King Crow. I fuckin' hate Thenns, so I do."

He forced a smile and nodded. "Aye, I'll keep that in mind. For now, all of you go talk to your people and tell them to pack up. We want to leave by nightfall."

---

The silence that echoed through Hardhome at their arrival was shattered with all the bustling activity. Back and forth the rowboats went between the harbor and the Baratheon fleet packed with passengers. Aside from a handful of rafts that moved some of draft animals, little was brought along that couldn't be carried on their person. While some climbed aboard eagerly, others did so warily, keeping their weapons close at hand as they watched the Night's Watch brothers with evident caution. Many were dragged on board by their families or forced to join out of guilt. The majority of this group was made up of Thenns, despite how their Magnar had turned down Jon's offer. Many in his tribe felt differently and were willing to risk trusting the Night's Watch to leave.

Having found a small barrel only a few yards away to sit and watch it all, Lyaella leaned her head back against Sōnar's neck and ran her fingers through Ghost's fur. She'd been mentally counting the people who'd decided to leave to see if the number of survivors recorded in her history book were different now thanks to her and Sōnar being here. It was hard to say since it was difficult counting moving targets, but unless her math was wrong, they were well on pace to overcome that number, give or take a couple hundred. As far as she knew, The Song of Ice and Fire history book had approximated only five thousand survivors had made it out of Hardhome. And of that original number, only two thousand of them were skilled craftsmen or warriors that'd been able to partake in the battles in the years to come.

Whether or not that number had also changed she couldn't say, though. Counting the number of potential fighters amongst them would've been overwhelming. Priorities were given to any nursing mothers, young children, or elderly to go first into every skiff before throwing in as many able-bodied men and women with them. It was enough to keep the Free Folk culture alive.

Watching as the chieftain woman from the meeting hall pushed her way to the front of the lineup with her two children, Lyaella felt a pang of loneliness clench her heart. She was too far away to see if they were boys or girls, but she could tell the siblings were clutching each other's hands for strength as they basked in their mother's love. She missed her big brother. Even if she and her father were growing closer, she wished Torrhen was here. If he'd been here all this time it would've made the distance between her and their future father up until now much more bearable. And she certainly wouldn't feel lonelier than ever as she watched those children wave to their mother as their boat rowed away from the shore.

Sōnar had a sixth sense when it came to knowing her mood though, and suddenly warbled while nuzzling her hair. Lyaella forced a smile. "Hey, I'm all right, girl, really," she murmured, lightly scratching underneath her chin. Sōnar crooned in delight and leaned closer. "Just… Just miss Tory, that's all."

Ghost tilted his head at her, blinking curiously.

"Do you wish to hear more about my twin brother, Ghost? Or Shadow?" His ears perked up, pink tongue swiping its way across his nose. "I'll take that as a yes. Well, Torrhen is—"

"Hey, are yeh the one who stood up to the Thenn chief?"

Lyaella jumped and whipped around. Standing behind her were two young girls, one definitely a few years older than she was while the other was around her age. The younger girl had flaming red hair and was smiling cheerfully as she gazed in awe at Sōnar, but the older one had muted brown hair and her eyes were darting nervously between her, her dragon, and her father's direwolf. She was clearly on edge around both of her animal companions.

Lyaella couldn't help but tense herself. She'd purposefully been sitting here out of the way so the Free Folk wouldn't pay her any mind, but now some of them had come up to her while she was all alone. Granted, she knew Sōnar and Ghost would protect her if anything happened, but after a lifetime of being told that the Free Folk were dangerous, she couldn't but be wary. "H-Hello…"

"Yeh's the one with the dragon," the redhead asked.

"Well duh, stupid," the brown-haired girl replied, looking close to Lya's age. "She's sittin' wid the beast."

"I knin see that, Munda!" Lyaella couldn't help but stifle a snicker. They bickered as she and Torry often did - it was clear they were related.

Rolling her eyes, the older one smiled at Lyaella. "Sorry for mi'sister 'ere." The redhead stuck her tongue at the brunette. "I's Munda, and this is Yerrah."

"Hi," Yerrah stated. "What's yer name, dragon girl?"

Most girls her age shunned her like the plague at Winterfell. Lyaella had experience with Shireen, but she was a polite highborn. These gruff wildling girls were greatly different… so she decided just to be honest. "I'm Lyaella, and yes, I'm the one with the dragon."

"Knew it!" Yerrah bragged. "Pappa said he knew the dragon girl."

Lyaella furrowed her brows. "Who's your father?" She wondered which wildling that came with Jon had fathered these girls… whom she couldn't help but like. Instinct, she supposed.

"The one dubbed Giantsbane." Munda was pretty proud of her father's name, she showed.

"Wait, Tormund Giantsbane?"

"The one and only."

Her eyes bugged out. "Tormund is your father?!"

Munda's eyes narrowed. "Aye, why? Got a problem with that?" While kindly like Shireen, she held a rough and tumble fierceness that the Princess lacked.

A cold sweat breaking out, Lya raised her hands. "No… no problem with that. It's just… he's so bi...big, and you two are so…" She trailed off, not wanting to risk their ire.

Eying her sister, suddenly both Munda and Yerrah burst out laughing. "We're just yankin' yer rope, dragon girl," Munda giggled. "Aye, dat's what all people say."

"Thin' we're all big bear's of a wom'n, like pappa." Yerrah grinned. "We's had a mudder, and she 'ooked like us. Swit and delicate-like," she said with an attempt at a fancy southern accent. It wasn't very good, but got the point across. "Our brudder's the one who looks like pappa. Well, nice to meet yeh', Lya. Anyone mi'pappa likes is a friend to me and Munda."

Lyaella smiled. They seemed genuine, if coarse. Queen Sansa hated coarse women even though Lady Arya was one… perhaps that was why her younger aunt rarely visited Winterfell… or at least one of the reasons. Lyaella was adamant not to be like her heartless queenly aunt, so she resolved to be friendly with these two. "Tormund… I was scared of him at first, but he's nice."

Munda chuckled. "Pappa's like dat with everyone. One moment, he beats yeh in the ground, next yeh're laughing over a horn of milk."

"He does that?" Lyaella asked.

"Once a week, I's think." Munda shrugged. "Probably how he became friends with yer King Crow." Lyaella couldn't deny that. "Pappa said yeh're musical. Ever play the ocarina?"

"An ocarina? W-What's that?"

They turned to her, blinking repeatedly. "Yeh've never heard of an ocarina before? Seriously?" Munda asked. Lyaella's cheeks brightened as she shook her head. Munda gaped like a fish, her eyes impossibly big. "What?! Yeh Southerner's must hate music, then! No mistakin' it!"

"What? No, w-we have music. I even have lyre I like to play and sing with all the time."

"Huh? Yeh play and sin' sometimes with a liar? Yeh like singin' yer lies?"

"No, not a l-liar." Lyaella couldn't help but beam — wildlings though they were, she was enjoying herself. The girls of Winterfell had always shunned her but these looked to her as if she was the most interesting person. "A lyre is an instrument. I play it sometimes, and my brother Torry has a lute he loves to play. Now, what's an ocarina?"

They just looked puzzled. "An ocarina's an instrument, too. Yeh blow in it."

Lyaella furrowed her brows. "Blow in it? How… How can you make music by blowing in something? Aren't there any s-strings to pluck?"

"Pluckin' strin's? We value our warm clothes! We never pluck any strin's from them!"

"No, I mean from the ocarina. You… You don't play it by plucking strings to make music?"

They stared at her as though she'd grown a second head. "What the hell kind of instruments do they play beyond the Wall? 'Course not! Yeh blow into it and use your fingers to make different sounds!"

"Huh?"

Yerrah shrugged and jerked her head for them to follow her. "Come on. We'll show yeh mine."

Munda eagerly followed her sister, but Lyaella lingered for a moment before slowly trailing after them. Sōnar warbled and tried to follow her just like Ghost, but she was simply too big and massive to be able to safely navigate the crowd on foot. And it was simply so crowded that trusting to follow her from the air was just about impossible, too.

"Wait here, Sōnar. I'll be back in a minute," she murmured, kissing her snout and heading off. Her dragon sister rumbled, but settled down in the snow to sit and wait. Everything was fine. They'd be right back, so as long as Ghost stayed with her no one would bother her.

Like the sisters had said, word had apparently spread like wildfire throughout Hardhome about her existence and everyone stopped and stared as she followed Munda and Yerra beyond the enormous gates. They were inquisitive rather than the cold stares everyone at Winterfell would give her and Torrhen, but it still made her instinctively bow her head. She couldn't help it. It was all but natural for her to avoid meeting people's eyes.

Munda must've noticed her self-consciousness and lightly nudged her with her elbow. "What's wron'? We say somethin' to hurt yer feelin's?" She looked apologetic. "Sorry, if we did."

"N-No, no, that's not it." She smiled reassuringly. "You two have been more than friendly to me. I… I just h-hate it when this happens…"

"When what happens?"

"This," she murmured, gesturing vaguely to the onlookers they passed. "Everyone s-staring at me. Judging me…"

Yerrah glanced back at her, puzzled. "Judgin' yeh? For what? Yeh haven't done anythin' wron'."

"It's… It's a long story, but people always do that to m-me and Torry. Now your people are doing it, too."

Yerrah glanced out at the crowd before promptly shaking her head. "Yeh've got the wron' idea, lass. Everyone's starin' at yeh, aye, but not because we're judgin' yeh. We're just all stunned."

"Stunned?"

"Aye, stunned. No Free Folk warrior has seen a dragon in livin' memory, so seein' yeh with yours it shockin'. And yeh were brave enough to actually ask the Thenn chief about whether he and his people really are cannibals. To Chief Loboda, out of all of 'em! We're just shocked by yeh, Crow Princess."

"D-Don't — Don't call me a princess. I'm not one, so — so, don't."

"Why?"

"Just… Just don't, okay? Don't…"

Munda opened her mouth, but seemed to think better of it. "Alright, Lya. Just curious, is all."

Shuffling past a small family on their way towards the gates, Tormund's daughters approached a small, crudely constructed wooden hut squashed between several other roughly built structures and waved for Lyaella to follow them in. Poking her head inside, Lyaella watched as Munda and Yerrah rummaged through several different bundles of furs and wickerwork baskets for whatever they were looking for. Munda paused as she stumbled across a rag doll and stone dagger and left them to the side to bring with her, but it was Yerrah who eventually cheered.

"Here it is," she cheered, pulling out a small, hard object from underneath several sets of furs. "I knew it was here somewhere!"

Munda glanced up eagerly. "Yeh found it, really?"

"Aye, it fell into the furs. Gotta stop leavin' it there before bed. One day one of us will roll over it in our sleep."

"I's told yeh before, Yerrah, just keep it over yer neck all the time. Pappa carved the string hole into it so yeh wouldn't lose it."

"Aye, I know. But it's not comfortable sleepin' with it. It always digs into me when tossing and turning in bed. Turning to Lyaella, Yerrah passed it over for her to examine. "See here? This is an ocarina, a Free Folk instrument."

Lyaella turned it over in her hands. It was beautiful. Carved entirely out of bone, it was round and carved to resemble a swirling seashell while being hollow on the inside. At the end of the shell was an extra tidbit protruding from the rest of the piece with a hole at the end, and six other smaller holes had been carved out around the sides of it too. Along the top of it though was another protruding area with a tiny hole, though instead of showing the hollow interior, it jutted out from the rest of the curvature design so that a thick loop of leather string could slide inside it and be tied off to make it into a wearable necklace.

"Wow… this is pretty," she murmured, running her fingers along the swirling shell design on one of its sides. "Is this really an instrument? I mean... why make a shell out of bones instead of just doing this with a real shell?"

"Seashells aren't stron' enough to be carved like that," Yerrah shrugged. "We just carved it into a shell so it looks pretty. But here, listen to this!"

Taking it back from Lyaella, Yerrah brought it up to her face and wrapped her lips around the protruding area with the hole. Sucking in a deep breath, she arranged her hands to hold the ocarina in a specific way and then began to blow. Immediately, a high pitched tone emanated from the bone shell, only to go immediately lower when Yerrah covered some of the holes with the tips of her fingers. When she moved them again, the pitch went higher, but she started blowing into it more softly and the tone changed again.

It was beautiful, the little tune Yerrah played. Lyaella felt her breath escape her as she listened. "That sounds beautiful! I really like it!"

Munda giggled. "There's nothin' like a cold, snowy night in front of a fire while listenin' to a Free Folk ocarina. Best thin' in the world!"

Lyaella smiled. "Maybe you could play your ocarina with me while I play my lyre, Yerrah. I think we'd play well together."

"Maybe, if I like how it sounds. I'm curious 'bout what yeh make music with down south. I'll know when I hear it."

"'Kay, fair enough."

Yerrah turned to Munda. "Yeh got yer knife, right? Everythin' else is with pappa?"

"Aye, I's got it right here. That and Dorlie," she said, holding up the doll. "Pappa had Dryn take the rest to the boats already."

"Good." Pausing to grab a spear with a sharp bit of stone at the tip, Yerrah motioned them to follow her out. "C'mon, the boats are fillin' up."

She and Munda began trekking their way through the snow back to the gate, but as Lyaella made to follow, she realized they were missing someone. "Hey, wait a minute! Where's Ghost?"

The sisters stopped, looking around in puzzlement. "The direwolf? Thought he was with yeh, Dragon Girl."

"He was, Yerrah… but I don't know where he went. Hang on, just give me a second! Ghost? Ghost, where are — oh! There you are!"

Ghost had wandered away from the hut and was looking up at a bird perched some ways above them on a snowy cliffside. Lyaella couldn't see it very well beyond its dark color, but she ignored it and hurried up to her father's direwolf.

"C'mon, boy. We've gotta get going. Jon's gonna be wondering where we are."

Ghost ignored her though, keeping his eyes trained on the bird up above. The bird suddenly glanced their way. Tilting its head at them, it squawked loudly before spreading its wings and swooping away from the cliff. Lyaella blinked as it went, but otherwise dismissed it to clench her fingers through Ghost's fur.

"Ghost, we gotta go. Come on!"

Her father's direwolf whined at the tug, but listened nonetheless and let Lyaella steer him back to where the other girls were waiting. She smiled apologetically as they approached.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, I didn't think he'd be so… so…?"

"Stubborn?" Munda guessed.

Lyaella laughed. "Yes, stubborn."

"Not surprising. All beasts with magic are smart. Unless yer born a warg, humans can't fully understand that," said Yerrah. "Dunno what he found so fascinatin' 'bout that black bird, but whatever. Time to—"

Ghost's ears suddenly perked up before his head snapped around towards the far off mountains. The girls stared as a low growl suddenly escaped his throat, hackles steadily rising.

"Ghost?" Lyaella murmured, confused. "Ghost, what's wrong?"

The white wolf ignored her, his growl growing louder. Lyaella turned to Yerrah and Munda in confusion. "Is — Is there something over there? Something that might have spooked him?"

They shrugged and shook their heads. "No, don't think so."

"Not that we know of."

"Ghost, what's wrong? Why're you so—?"

Without warning, Ghost suddenly sprang up and clamped his jaws along the hem of Lyaella's cloak, forcefully dragging her with it towards the gates. She shrieked and fell over within just a few steps. Ghost didn't even give her time to sit up before biting down on her boot to keep dragging her along.

"Bloody hell!"

"What's wron' with him?! Has he gone mad?!"

"G-Ghost, stop that! What're you doing?!"

"Munda, help me shove him off her!"

Nodding gratefully, Lyaella did her best to wiggle her foot free as Tormund's daughters shoved Ghost off her. Still, she barely had time to stand before Ghost broke free of them and bit down on her cloak again to drag her towards the gates.

"Ghost, n-no! Stop, please! Why — Why're you—?!"

Out of nowhere, a dog started barking some ways off. Then a second one. A third… and then multiples all at once. All across Hardhome, everyone slowly dropped what they were doing and turned to the dogs in confusion. Just like how Ghost had been growling at the mountains, all of them were barking at the mountains now… and in the distance, a cloud of powdered snow was steadily descending from the mountain peak.

Lyaella blinked at the storm cloud before turning to her new friends. "Is that a snowstorm in the distance? Is that common here beyond—?"

"Tell that wolf of yers to start walkin' back to the gate. Now." Yerrah demanded. Roughly grabbing hold of Munda's wrist, she gave Lyaella a firm push to follow and began speed walking with her sister as fast as she could without actually running.

Lyaella jumped at her tone, but whistled for Ghost to follow before hurrying to catch up. "What's wrong? Why're you so—?"

"Shh! Drop yer worried expression and just walk!"

"We gotta get back inside! Before they come!"

"They? They who? Who're you—?"

A bloodcurdling scream cut through the air. Lyaella whipped around. In the distance, she could see a lone Wildling man farther back in the crowd drop everything he'd been carrying and broke out running as fast as he could towards the gates. A second later, a woman did the same. A young couple grabbed onto a little boy waddling between them and dashed past her. All along the sea of huts and tents, every man, woman, and child caught outside the gates dropped whatever they'd been doing and took off sprinting to the harbor.

"Fuckin' hell! Come on!"

Lyaella yelped as Yerrah smacked her with the side of her staff to get her attention and tore through the crowd with Munda on her heels. Confused yet scared as to what could be happening, Lyaella sped after them the best she could, the panicked crowd quickly turning into a mob as everyone rushed around them to get to the gates. Were it not for Ghost snapping warningly at the few who literally tried shoving her to the ground to get her out of the way, she was quite sure she'd have been trampled.

"W-What's going on?! Why's everyone panicking?!"

Munda nearly tripped as she whipped her head back towards her. "Yeh're here, yet yeh don't know about the dead?!"

Lyaella's blood went cold. "T-The — The dead…?"

"They're comin'! Quit yer yappin' and run!" Yerrah yelled.

Her heart pounded like crazy as she tried to keep up. All this time, she'd been doubting the plausibility of the army of the dead's existence. Something bad had indeed come from beyond the Wall in her parents time which led to the second Long Night in the North, but still… the idea that the so-called Night King and his army of dead men were so farfetched Lyaella hadn't ever taken it seriously. It just seemed so implausible because it meant that the actions of their Stark relatives and the rest of the North didn't make any sense. If an enemy of over a hundred thousand dead men had marched on the North, why hadn't their relatives and the rest of the North been more appreciative of their parents choices? Her father had sacrificed everything in order to bring help and a powerful ally, and according to Lord Tyrion, her mother had abandoned her lifelong goal for the Iron Throne just to come and save the North in their darkest hour. Why couldn't anyone have at least expressed their gratitude to what their parents sacrificed to save them all?

That was why she hadn't taken the stories about the dead seriously whilst growing up. Now, though? She had yet to officially see any dead men, but there was definitely something out here that had everyone there terrified like Lyaella had never seen before. If — If in the slim event that the dead were real though, she mentally prayed that they would live to see nightfall tonight. Because unless her history book in the future was wrong, so many people died today because of the Night King's army.

They were less than twenty yards away from the gates however when the Free Folk on that side started pulling them closed. All at once, thousands upon thousands of terrified screams erupted from the crowd around them as people scrambled as fast as they could to get inside before they fully shut.

"Wait! Wait, please!" Yerrah hollered, shoving her way through the crowd. "Don't close'em! Please, don't close'em!"

"Pappa!" Munda screamed, thick hot tears flooding her eyes as she clutched onto her sister's hand. "Pappa, we're out here! Help us!"

Lyaella whimpered as she struggled to keep up. What would happen if they didn't get back inside before the gates shut? Surely dead men and white walkers weren't really going to descend upon them… right?

Still, the gates were rapidly swinging closed. So many people were scrambling to slip between them before they fully shut. Yerrah glanced down at her little sister. "Drop yer doll!"

Munda gaped. "Yerr—?"

"Drop it and grab the Crow Princesses' hand! Now!"

With a heartfelt sob, Munda reluctantly dropped her toy and reached out behind her. Fisting one hand in Ghost's fur so she wouldn't lose him, she lunged forward and grabbed on. Within seconds, Yerrah broke out running twice as fast, zigzagging between dozens upon dozens of terrified wildlings to make her way to the very front of the crowd. Lyaella nearly tripped over herself in the sudden burst of speed. Had Yerrah only been going as slowly as she had before because of her? Just what was about to happen?

Shouldering one last man out of the way, Yerrah managed to squeeze her way out of the mob and dragged Munda and Lyaella behind her as she dashed the last few meters to the gate. They were going to make it! The gates weren't fully closed yet! Five more meters… four more meters… only three… now two… one—

BANG!

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Longclaw 1-6:

So Lyaella as made two friends right before all hell breaks loose. She won't ever doubt the existence of the Army of the Dead again after the next chapter, yet hopefully more Wildlings can be saved.

And in Stannis' war camp, Shireen is being more assertive. One can only hope her fate can be changed.

The more reviews, the sooner we'll post part 2! :D