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

16. Emerging from the Shadows

I am so, so sorry for how long it's taken me to finish this chapter! Believe me, when I posted the last chapter back in November, I never expected it would take me until FEBRUARY to finish this one! But what can I say? Life happened at unexpected times and it was hard for me to get the chapter finished. The good thing however is that it is finally finished and you all can read more now! I hope you all enjoy this latest update! :D

I'd also like to take a moment to give my thanks to both Longclaw 1-6 and WrathofAvarice for their help in brainstorming certain areas in this chapter I hit writer's block on. Thanks a lot for all your support, guys!

Oh, and I should add that the song in today's chapter was loosely changed from the Game of Thrones-inspired song "You Win or You Die" by Karliene on YouTube. Seriously, go check it out! It's a beautiful song!

Now, onto reviews! Woohoo! We beat the review goal at 302 reviews! I'm in my happy place right now and you wanna know why? Because we have now officially beaten my review record for a story at 296 reviews! Howl of the Dragonwolves is now officially my most reviewed story here on FanFiction! I'm stoked by that! :D

Now for this chapter's review goal... How about we try for a somewhat easier goal this time and strive for maybe 315 reviews? Consider it my way of saying thank you for making this my top reviewed story here on FanFiction by striving for not as many reviews this time! Good luck, you guys!

Well, I won't keep you all any longer! Enjoy today's chapter, and be sure review when you're done!

Happy Reading!

- Elphaba818

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Chapter Sixteen: Emerging from the Shadows

"How is it coming?"

"G-Good, I think. I'm just trying to figure out the… the right order for the second half. And I don't know one word."

"Which one?"

"'Ward.' Should I just… j-just write it down in the Common Tongue?"

"Certainly not, and never consider doing so again! Adding in words with no direct translation in High Valyrian to the Common Tongue has become a terrible habit in Valyrian speakers today. Without the Valyrian empire influencing the language, people have forgotten one of the most important tricks to that issue."

"Oh, I didn't know! Sorry…"

"No need to apologize. It's a bad habit that's been spreading among the users for at least two generations, if not longer. I had to correct Rhaegar on this error too when I saw he made that mistake when writing in High Valyrian."

"I understand. But what should I write down instead? I… I don't know what else to write instead for this sentence."

"What is the context in which you are trying to use the word 'ward'? As in warding off danger, or as a guest?"

"Guest."

"Use the word zentys. That literally means 'guest.'"

"Thank you," Lyaella murmured, scribbling the word down on her sheet of parchment. She and Maester Aemon had been working on her High Valyrian for most of the morning now and it was necessary for her to try writing sentences as well as reading them. Every morning when she finished her daily swordplay training they met up in the library, drilling over the pronunciations for reading and speaking basic words and phrases. Maester Aemon had insisted on the daily lessons as soon as she was healthy again, and after their first session, Lyaella understood why. The more she tried to understand how grammar rules changed and phonetics differed in the ancient language, the more confused she became. Instead of following the same sentence structure as the Common Tongue where things were laid out as subject-verb-object, in High Valyrian they were recited as object-subject-verb. Whenever she translated something, she had to remember to correctly mix up words in the new order before remembering the direct adaptation in High Valyrian. Step one was hard enough without remembering step two, but then adding in the special pronunciation rules in step three for almost all those words made her want to cry. The complexities of it all were enough to make her head spin.

Finishing her rough sentence, she glanced back up. "I think I'm done, now."

He smiled. "Good, good. Now, try repeating it back to me."

Lyaella reddened, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear before clearing her throat. "All right. Um… B-Brōzio ñuha iksis Lyaella Sōnar. Iksan zentys hen Bantis Urnēbagon."

Maester Aemon nodded, white eyes full of mirth. "I assume you were trying to say, 'my name is Lyaella Snow. I am a guest of the Night's Watch?'"

She frowned. "Did I m-mess up a lot?"

"Not terribly, only two errors. The first is that your dragon's name of Sōnar directly translates to 'winter.' If you wish to say 'snow,' you must shorten it to simply sōna, and you forgot to include the transition of iā in between iksan and zentys in your second sentence."

"Oh! I'm sorry!"

He laughed and waved off her flustered words. "It's all right, you're learning. You'll remember and do better soon so long as you practice."

She shrugged, averting her eyes. "I… I hope so…"

"Now, now, no need to get upset. Everyone's a beginner when they start learning something new. There's no shame in being a slow learner."

"But I don't have time to go slowly. I have to learn right away to help Jon."

"Yes, I know. It's important for you to know our family's mother tongue, but not at the cost of learning incorrectly. Better to take your time and go slowly than to rush and learn incorrectly. Patience is an important quality, Lyaella, and after everything you told me about how you came to be here, it will have be one of your top qualities when it comes to him and the rest of our family."

"I h-hope you're right, Maester Aemon."

"Come now, what did I tell you to call me when we're in private?"

She blinked, then promptly straightened. "Oh, right… sorry, Uncle Aemon."

The old man beamed. Ever since she'd finally confessed to him who she was and that she'd come from the future, Maester Aemon had been quite insistent on having her call him 'uncle' whenever they were alone. He'd listened to her tale with an open mind and never once accused her of being mad or a liar. Aside from an occasional question, he'd heard her out thoroughly and when she was done he'd simply smiled and said how happy he was that he could help his family once again. Before meeting her, he feared he'd die alone at the Wall without being able to help his last trueborn descendant across the sea. Words couldn't describe how overjoyed he was knowing that not only could he help her now, but that he'd already been helping and offering counsel to a second unknown relation for the past few years. Maester Aemon believed her, and more importantly he was helping her now. He was old and sick, but he'd help her however he could in changing her future parents fates. And that meant everything to Lyaella.

A low rumble and whimper from off to the side drew her attention, and Lyaella turned to see Sōnar and Ghost rising from their spots in front of the hearth. She beamed as they approached. "Ghost! Sōnar! Coming to cheer me up?"

Her dragon trilled sweetly, but Ghost's fluffy tail swayed back and forth as he trotted forward. She giggled and slid onto the floor, her arms open wide as he bounded into her arms.

She sank her fingers into his soft fur and peppered him with kisses. Ever since she'd had her lung problems, the white direwolf had been following her everywhere she went, sort of like how Shadow had taken to following Torrhen around when he was a pup. It made sense they had that in common, but nothing compared to snuggling up with her future father's loyal companion. Well, except maybe—

A low gust of wind tousled her hair and she glanced up. Sōnar was standing over them, blue eyes narrowed in obvious jealousy.

"Oops! Sorry, girl! Hope you're not mad," she fretted, standing and showering her with attention. "I didn't mean for you to feel left out."

Sōnar snorted, but her blue eyes lost their edge as she nuzzled against her small mistress. Lyaella giggled, enjoying the embrace. As silly as Sōnar was for being jealous of Ghost, she was still her dragon sister. And if Sōnar hadn't grabbed her attention right then, her thoughts would've drifted back to that time. Back to Wisp…

She shook her head, frowning at her drifting thoughts. No, she mustn't dwell on that. She couldn't fall to pieces in front of her kind old uncle. So long as she and Torrhen always remembered that day, it was fine not to think about it. They were Northerners, so they mustn't ever forget that terrible day. It was their culture to remember and forever be shaped by terrible experiences, after all.

Ghost whimpered, sensing her shifting mood. Tucking his snout under her arm, he wiggled his head under it to lick her cheek. Lyaella shrieked with laughter. "Ghost, hey! Stop, that tickles!" He wagged away, pleased by her giggles. Even Sōnar rumbled and nuzzled her harder. Lyaella couldn't help herself. The more they kissed and snuggled her, the harder she laughed. "You two are… the best I could ever ask for! You both knew what I needed, didn't you? You sensed my thoughts, right?"

"Oh? What were you thinking about?" Maester Aemon asked, making her turn. "Were you feeling sad?"

Grateful that he couldn't see it due to his blindness, Lyaella forced a weak chuckle and climbed back in her chair. "Just for a second, Uncle, but it's nothing, really. S-Shall we continue, now?"

"Actually, I think we can stop for the day. We've been working for quite some time already."

"Oh, very well. I'll clean up." Setting her High Valyrian book off to the side, Lyaella collected the spare sheets of parchment and screwed the cap back onto the ink pot. Tucking them and her quill in the inner pocket of her cloak, she gathering the various scraps of parchment she'd been practicing writing on. "Should I go get Rhaegar's letters and the old tome we've been trying to transcribe? Or should I just… just find the books we were looking through yesterday?"

"No, don't bother. There'd be no point."

Her sleeve nearly caught fire as she whipped around from the hearth, several scraps of parchment fluttering away and entirely missing the flames. "What? B-But… But I thought you agreed with me about Rhaegar's theory. I don't know if he was right or not about… about the L-Long Night being related to the Andal's conquest, but if I'm to have any chance at all in h-helping my parents, I need to know more about the legend and Westeros' history back then."

He smiled. "I do agree with you, Lyaella, and it's wise of you to look into the facts on the legend and research Westeros' history back then instead of just believing blindly. But there's no point in continuing to search for that information while here at Castle Black. I've already told you everything I know and remember about the legends and my letters to Rhaegar. I've given you his letters and that music box so you can read through them any time. But we've gone through just about all the books on these matters here in Castle Black's library. The information you're looking for most likely isn't here."

"O-Oh, I see…"

"Indeed. Were you not a girl and a few years older, I'd suggest to Lord Snow to dye your hair and go with Sam when he sends him to Oldtown to be the next Maester of the Night's Watch, then you could continue researching at the Citadel. Sadly, my fellow maester's are against allowing women and children access to their library."

"Mmm," she murmured, her smile strained.

Maester Aemon sensed her uneasiness. "You don't trust Sam?"

"I… I think he's a good person. He's better to me than most even if he's uneasy around Sōnar. But…"

"But his actions in your timeline make you reluctant to turn to him for help."

"Y-Yes, I'm sorry."

"No, no, it's perfectly understandable. I'll admit I was surprised when you told me about some of his choices in the future."

Knowing he couldn't see her nod, Lyaella sighed and tugged Ghost's head onto her lap. Beckoning Sōnar closer, she leaned back against her long neck. "I get why he didn't like my mother, but my father… he turned his back on Jon when he needed him. And he was so odd around me and Torrhen when we met him. I don't know what to think about him now."

"Sam's a good man, Lyaella, really. He saved Lady Gilly and her young son from death on two separate occasions beyond the Wall. And unlike many in the Night's Watch, he's the only one who knows that knowledge and wisdom are what really matter in this world. Anyone who swings a sword and charges blindly into battle can die a hero, but becoming an excellent swordsman depends on strength. Strength will eventually fade, but a good education will last your entire life. He's down here almost every day, reading every book he can find about the Long Night. He knows we'll need to know as much about the first War for the Dawn when winter comes."

"Because of the army of the dead?"

"Indeed. Had it been your brother and direwolf who landed here instead of you and Sōnar in the past, I'd be very concerned for their safety in the coming war. He probably would've been forced to take the black to save himself from Stannis had everyone immediately realized his Valyrian lineage. Being bound to the Wall is not something I wish for either of you, Lyaella, and certainly not when death is on the march."

Lyaella wished he could see her simply nod in reply. It'd be easier to keep her reservations about the Night King and white walkers a secret if she wasn't forced to verbally answer everything he said on the topic. "Right, of course."

"Do you have any suggestions on how you can continue your research into this? I'm afraid Castle Black's library will be of no further help to you in this matter."

"N-No. I'm not… not really good at planning ahead. Torrhen's smarter than me there. I usually t-think up good ideas in the spur of the moment."

"Then perhaps it's time you start doing so. As the Stark words say, Winter is Coming, and it's not just death that comes with it. If what you've told me about the future is true, then Winter will be the time for wolves, too."

She tensed, one hand automatically reaching for her dragon pendant and music box key while the other froze while stroking Ghost's fur. A lump formed in her throat, waves of pain flooding her memories. "Y-Yes, I know."

"I'm glad you trusted me with the truth of who you are, Lyaella. Words cannot express how overjoyed I am you trust me to know about the future and you wish to ensure our House survives to see the far-off Spring. But we both know I'm old and dying, child."

"Don't say that, Uncle! You're fine!"

He smiled tiredly in return. "It's the truth. I am old and dying, Lyaella. Which is why it's imperative you consider trusting someone else here on who you are."

Lyaella froze, eyes going wide. "W-What? But… I can't!"

"I'm not going to be around for much longer. I can feel it," he explained. "I'm more than happy to help you before my time is up, but that could happen any day, Lyaella. When I do pass on, you'll have no one to confide in again, so you must trust at least one more person with where you're from."

She frowned, staring aimlessly at the table. "I… I don't know. Lady Kinvara warned me and Torrhen about telling people we're from the future unless we trust them completely, and considering how our parents were ripped apart because of… well, that truth I told you about, it's risky even whispering it to someone else. I trust you because you're family, uncle, and family's supposed to be the one thing you're always supposed to trust. But…"

"But considering how the family you were raised by betrayed that trust towards your parents, you're hesitant about trusting those who aren't your family now?"

"Our aunts and uncle are not family to me and Torrhen," she quickly explained, squeezing her pendant. "They… They lost the right to call themselves that a long time ago…"

He nodded in understanding. "I see."

"I'm… I'm never telling anyone about who my father truly is ever again. It's too dangerous for us to even talk about it right now…!"

"You're right, and the fact you know that without me even needing to tell you means you are a very smart girl, Lyaella."

She jerked. "I… I am?"

"Certainly. When I said you ought to try confiding in someone else, I didn't mean you should tell them everything. If you feel like certain details in your story are too dangerous to share, do not share them. Tell only what you feel is necessary for them to know and no more. Truths such as your father's true lineage are not truths that should be in circulation even as a secret between anyone aside from you and your brother. Do you understand?"

She hastily nodded before stopping herself, remembering he couldn't see. "Y-Yes, uncle. I understand."

"Still, you do need someone else to talk to about this, and considering what you've told me about the future, my first suggestion is that you should tell Sam."

Lyaella gasped. "What? No."

"Lyaella—"

"No, uncle. I… I don't think he's a bad person and he's been decent to me so far, but… but I told you how he helped tear my parents apart in my timeline. I know he must've been upset about… about his father and brother, but he still took part. And then how he acted around me and Torrhen the one time we met him… I don't trust him with this. I-I-I can't. I just can't…"

The resounding silence from her elderly relative felt so judgmental that Lyaella hung her head, ashamed. Sōnar warbled and tried to nudge her shoulder in comfort, but Lyaella ignored her. Not even Ghost pressing up against her lovingly while licking her fingers brought a smile.

It seemed like an eternity passed before Maester Aemon broke the silence. "People often make mistakes in judgment when it comes to family, Lyaella. I imagine you and your brother have very few if any good memories when it comes to your relatives, but for someone like Sam, he probably has many good memories of his younger brother and at least a handful or so of his father despite his cruelty towards him. My best guess is that the Sam that you knew before was tricked into contributing into your relatives scheme by playing on his emotions at the time. He's a good man, Lyaella, believe me."

"I know… but he still took part, and that doesn't explain why he treated me and Torrhen so rudely when we met him once…"

"Oh, that's simple. He was ashamed."

She blinked, puzzled. "A-Ashamed?"

Maester Aemon nodded, his expression thoughtful. "Sam is Jon's closest friend here at Castle Black. They met during training and have been two of the closest brothers here at the Wall that I've seen over the years. Were it not for the fact I grew up in King's Landing and know how to spot a lie, I'd assume you were mad to spin a tale of Sam betraying Jon. But I know you're not mad, Lyaella. You're shy, quiet, and must learn to embrace the words of our House more into your everyday life, but you're not insane nor a liar. Which means the Sam you knew in your world was ashamed of his actions and couldn't bear to be around you or your brother. It's that simple."

Lyaella bit her lip. "I g-guess that's possible, but… I don't know. I still don't think I c-can trust him with this secret. I'm sorry…"

Maester Aemon sighed. "It's all right. Trust needs to be earned after all, and considering your circumstances, earning your trust for sharing your past mustn't be easy. Still, I do think you should reconsider sharing your tale with him, Lyaella. He'll be heading to the Citadel soon and will have access to a wealth of knowledge. If your facts are right, he'll read about a certain event in your grandparents past while there without realizing its importance. If nothing else, he must know not to share that event with your uncle."

"I… I hadn't thought that far ahead."

"Indeed, it's important to always think ahead and be prepared. Consider talking to him, Lyaella, even if you don't tell him the full truth. If you want to trust someone else with who you are, then I advise you only tell that other person if you trust them as much as you trust me, and only if they themselves have been drastically changed due to your presence here. It's too risky speaking to someone about all this if their life hasn't changed significantly due to your presence in the past, but someone who's life has already drastically changed will already be affected and can be approached about this. Do you understand?"

"I think so."

"Good, very good. Thank you for listening, Lyaella… heaven knows Brynden never did," he murmured quietly.

She furrowed her brows. "B-Brynden?

Maester Aemon fell silent, stiffening somewhat at her inquiry. "Yes, Brynden Rivers," he said, voice growing sad. "He was the last relative I had the pleasure of speaking to in person before you came here."

Lyaella blinked "Brynden Rivers… that sounds familiar. I t-think I read it in one of the Targaryen history books…"

"I wouldn't be surprised. He's one of the most famous Targaryen bastards of our House, though you'd probably remember him better by his nickname. Bloodraven."

Her eyes bulged. "B-Bloodraven? The one who saved Westeros and was punished for it by A-Aegon the Unlikely?"

Maester Aemon turned to her at once. "You know his tale? I thought you didn't know much about our ancestors."

"I don't know much, but his story is one of the few Maester Marlon actually… actually stressed over when teaching me and Torrhen about history. He liked comparing him to… to our father…"

"Ah, I see. Because he too was sent here to the Wall for becoming a kinslayer."

"Mm-hmm. We really sympathized with his story."

"Well, don't. If there was ever a Targaryen sentenced to Castle Black that deserved to be here, it was undoubtedly Brynden Rivers."

Lyaella couldn't help but gape at how hard his expression suddenly became. "U-Uncle…?"

He sighed. "Forgive me, Lyaella, I'm sure you're surprised to hear this, but trust me when I say that despite the similarities between his story and your father's, the reasons that are explained in the history books on why he was sentenced here to Castle Black don't explain everything regarding him."

"What did you mean?"

"It's a long story, child, and quite complicated. Not for you to worry about. Just know this. In many cases love is the death of duty, as I told Jon once before. In his case, duty was the death of love, a very rare occurrence. Sadly, neither of those situations were what happened with Brynden. If anything, love was the death of sanity."

She blinked. "I… I don't understand…"

He shook his head, smiling absentmindedly. "Never you mind about it, Lyaella. The point is he is one of the rare few of our House who deserved to be banished here. It's just a pity I too chose to come here at the same time he did and I never got the chance to see anyone else from our House again until you arrived. At least as far as I knew, anyway."

It was obvious how he started shuffling through some discarded papers he was done talking about this. Lyaella still didn't understand what was so bad about Brynden Rivers to make Maester Aemon be so dismissive about him, but she knew better than to ask. "Still, it must've been nice being here with him for at least a l-little while. I know he disappeared while out… out ranging one day. It must've been hard knowing you never got to say a proper goodbye to him. And… And he l-lost one of the swords of House Targaryen when he disappeared, right? Maester Marlon told us he brought Dark Sister with him when he was sent here."

She said this as a closing question, for him to simply agree and to afterwards change the subject with hardly a second thought on the matter. So she was rather surprised when he started chuckling. "I don't deny that happened, Lyaella, but—"

"Maester Aemon? Lyaella? Are you both down here?"

Lyaella squeaked and jumped so hard that Ghost and Sōnar flinched in alarm. She didn't apologize though, not when her full and undivided attention was riveted on Jon as he poked his head in through the stairwell entrance.

Her heart started pounding, mouth going dry. She'd been trying to avoid her future father ever since he'd yelled at her. He'd made it clear he didn't want her clinging to him anymore, so it was necessary. It was getting harder and harder to find new places to hide from him, though. Every time she seemed to think she'd found a perfect place out of the way, he'd show up right when she least expected it. If she didn't know better, she'd think he was purposely seeking her out, but that was impossible. He was the one who'd wanted her to stay out of his way, after all.

Still, he'd never appeared during the middle of one of her and Maester Aemon's language lessons. This was terrible.

Maester Aemon only lifted his head and smiled pleasantly. "Ah, Lord Commander."

"Good day to you, Maester Aemon. I apologize for interrupting, but—"

"Oh! S-Sōnar, are you getting r-restless in here?!" Lyaella cried, nearly tripping over herself as she scrambled to her feet. "Do… Do you wanna go out for awhile…?"

Thank goodness her dragon knew her so well. She kindly played along and warbled longingly at the stairway exit.

Lyaella gratefully kissed her snout. "O-Okay, girl. We'll go. Can w-we continue… continue later, M-Maester Aemon?"

Her uncle turned to her, his smile never fading. "Certainly, Lyaella. If you're dragon wants space, then by all means go ahead. We'll try again whenever you're ready."

"T-Thank you!"

"Wait, Lyaella—"

She ignored Jon and hurriedly collected her things. Sōnar nudged her shoulder as gathered up all the parchment she been using and the books she'd been reading through, but she was barely aware of it. Not even Ghost pawing at her leg broke her frantic trance, but she did notice that her father's direwolf was right on her heels when she finally collected everything and rushed past Jon to the stairs. While she was beyond happy that Ghost instinctively understood who she was, it still surprised her how between her and Jon, he seemingly favored her more. Even so, she wasn't complaining. Even if Jon never accepted her now in the past, at least she had Ghost's companionship. The old direwolf had always been so important to her and Torrhen before he died. It was wonderful to have him back.

Still, with any luck maybe Jon would at least grow to tolerate her presence here at Castle Black sometime soon. Even if he never came to like her, if he just didn't hate her anymore, that'd be enough. Not that she expected that to happen soon. For now, the best thing she could do was stay out of his way like he wanted. Keep her head down and don't bother him. That's what he wanted, after all.

---

It took everything Jon had not to sigh as Lyaella zipped past and hurried up the steps, her dragon and Ghost right behind her. The first few times she'd run off when he'd found her, he'd thought nothing of it. After how he'd snapped at her after Slynt's execution, it was natural she'd want to keep her distance. But now he was getting annoyed. He'd lost his patience with her, but she couldn't avoid him forever. He needed to talk about that letter with her.

Still, it seemed like that conversation would have to wait a little longer. Lyaella wasn't the only reason he'd come down here right now, after all. "Shy little thing, that girl," he murmured, shaking his head as he approached the ancient maester. "Never met a girl so quiet or skittish as her. Hard to believe she's a distant Valyrian descendant…"

Maester Aemon turned his way, his milky white eyes full of laughter and mirth. "Lyaella's indeed shy and quiet, but she is a Targaryen regardless of her last name. She just doesn't know how to be one while still being true to herself."

He blinked as he sat down, puzzled. "Maester?"

"She's alone, Lord Commander. Her brother's the only family she recognized before coming here, and she has no idea where he is. The family she did find here was one she didn't expect to find, and sadly can't be of much help to her. Alone, sick, and dying."

"Don't say that, Maester Aemon."

"It's the truth, Lord Commander. We both know it," he countered. "Aside from teaching her High Valyrian and being a friendly ear, there's little else I can do for her. All too soon I'll be forced to leave her, and as I said that day in the courtyard, a Targaryen alone in the world is a terrible thing… which is why it's good you're here too, Lord Snow."

Jon jerked. "What?"

"She won't be alone here after I pass on. You'll take care of her and keep her safe. That'll make all the difference for her."

The kind smile on his face just confused him further. What was he talking about? Jon had no relation to Lyaella whatsoever. Was Maester Aemon's mind being affected by his advanced age? He certainly hoped not. There were things he desperately needed his wisdom and counsel on right now. If his mind was starting to run away on him, he didn't know who he'd turn to for guidance.

Sighing heavily, he let his eyes wander for a moment before focusing back on the task at hand. "I was hoping you could give me some advice on a few matters."

Maester Aemon's smile brightened. "Of course, Lord Commander. Ask away."

He paused, unsure where to begin. This first matter was technically the more important one, but it was quite complicated to discuss. He didn't know how Maester Aemon would react. "Well, there's something that I want to do, or rather… something I know the Night's Watch must do, but the men will hate me for it. The second I give the order, some will understand, but most will never forgive me."

To his surprise, Maester Aemon's smile amused. "Half the men hate you already, Lord Commander, and they already'll never forgive you for being chosen as the new Lord Commander. Do it."

"But — But I haven't even told you yet what it is—"

"Is it in regards to Lyaella?"

"No, it's—"

"Then it doesn't matter. I'll admit I have very particular advice to offer in regards of my distant relative, but other than that, it doesn't matter that I don't know what you know needs to be done. You do." He raised his hand, feeling around blankly for his companion. Swallowing thickly, Jon purposely shifted himself so he could find his shoulder. It startled him how strongly he grasped on. "You will find little joy in your command, I'm afraid, but instead you should find the strength to make the hard choices others won't, and do what needs to be done. Kill the boy, Jon Snow. Let the man be born."

Jon stayed silent, letting his words sink in. He had no idea what to expect when he came to Maester Aemon, but he'd at least thought he would have heard him out thoroughly about this before giving him counsel. He hadn't even gotten past the first line of the whole speech he'd prepared before being given his thoughts. It was beyond unexpected… but then again, he wasn't sure why he was so shocked. Maester Aemon had never ceased to surprise him since he'd been a green boy newly sworn to his vows, and he'd always been one of the few rare people he'd known since leaving Winterfell that always told him the cold, hard truth on things. Other than Mance, the only other man he'd ever known to do the same was his father. Things would be so much simpler if everyone simply told the truth all the time instead of lying left and right.

"Thank you, Maester Aemon. I'll remember that," he promised.

"Good, I hope you do. There's so much I wish could tell you, Lord Commander, good and bad, but alas, not all those things are mine to share."

"Maester?"

He chuckled, his toothless grin hinting at some unspoken secret. "Should you be fortunate enough to live to be my age, Jon Snow, you find you become the one person the young always come to for advice, or be the one they confide in with their secrets. You also discover the choices you made when you're young will forever shape the way the next generation sees you when you're old, and to break that illusion would be unforgivable. All I can say is that the young one who hurried out of here before has entrusted me with some of her most precious secrets, and that I'd sorely betray her trust if I were to say any more than that."

A smile tugged at Jon's lips. "Ah, right. Lyaella's very secretive, I'll admit."

"Indeed. She's a bright girl and recognizes what is and isn't wise to tell people, but her upbringing makes her reluctant to trust people all together. She's not nearly as shy and quiet when she does open up and be herself, but one wrong move and she'll completely withdraw…" he sighed, shaking his head. "If I could, I'd give her aunts and uncle a piece of my mind with all the fire and blood House Targaryen is known for. Whether intentional or not, their negligence in raising that little girl has made her all but afraid of embracing her Targaryen heritage. She's afraid to speak her mind. That one of the few survivors of my House has been so emotionally damaged by the cruelty of others… it breaks my heart."

"I'm sorry…"

"No need to apologize, Lord Commander. You are not at fault for how her relatives treated her or her brother, but if you truly wish to show her there's indeed good people in this world, you must get her to stop running away whenever she sees you. I know you lost your temper with her before, but she's the type of child who won't open up unless someone else makes the first move. She's unwilling to let herself be hurt again."

Jon grimaced. "That's actually the other thing I wanted your help with. I… I was hoping you might be willing to ask her thoughts on something for me."

Maester Aemon blinked. "Are you that against her presence here, Lord Commander? I know it mustn't have been easy with her following you around, but—"

"No, no. That's not it," he quickly protested. "It's just that Lyaella doesn't seem willing to stop running away from me anytime soon, and enough time's been wasted waiting for her to get over that. I need to know her thoughts on this immediately, because if that other matter plays out the way I hope it will, I want to send this letter by a personal messenger straight away. Then hopefully she'll be on her way to someplace safer than here by the time everything's resolved."

"Letter? What letter?"

He rooted around inside his cloak before finding the note in question. Thank goodness he'd brought it with him. He'd taken to carrying it around everywhere recently in the event he finally managed to catch Lyaella before she could run off, but considering who its intended recipient was, it was only fair that someone transcribed anything the blind old man wanted to include in it before it was sent off. "This letter, maester. The one I hope to send to Daenerys Targaryen."

Despite his blindness, Maester Aemon's head immediately snapped around, his eyes bulging. "You have my full and undivided attention, Jon Snow. Please, continue."

"Well, it's too dangerous for Lyaella to stay here much longer. Between her breathlessness, the dead, and all the dishonorable brothers here at the Wall, it's just a matter of time before something truly bad happens. I don't know much about your niece, Maester Aemon, but if the rumors are true, she's seems like she's trying to do the right thing… even if she's going about it the wrong way."

"The wrong way?"

"Aye. I'm sure things can't be easy for her trying to end slavery, but she's too ruthless from what I've heard. Still, Lyaella would be safer with her than if she stayed here. And if the stories we've heard are true, she'd know more about how to take care of Sōnar than we would. I want to invite her to visit Castle Black so I can see for myself if it's safe for Lyaella to go with her. I'm more than willing to include anything you would personally like to add into it to Daenerys, maester."

Maester Aemon sat up straighter, his smile threatening to split his face. "That's a wonderful idea, Lord Snow, and very wise, too. I'd be delighted to have Sam scribble down my own personal message to my niece. I honestly feared I'd never get the chance to offer her any help before I passed."

"Maester Aemon…"

"We both know it's true, Lord Commander. No need to pretend otherwise. Still, this is a fine idea overall, so why come to me for advice?"

"…Because I'm reluctant to send it until I know if Lyaella is okay with this," Jon reluctantly admitted. "She's made it clear she doesn't want to go back to her Northern relatives, and to be honest, I don't think I'd release her back into their custody if they came here looking for her. Not after what you said about how her breathing condition's been handled in the past."

He nodded firmly, brows furrowing in stern agreement. "I hope I meet the maester who made her take that horrible tonic someday in the seven heavens. I'm old, Lord Snow, but I'll be sure to beat him down into the seven hells for force feeding her that sickening remedy."

Jon cleared his throat to hide his snort. "Aye, and she also doesn't want to go with Stannis. I don't know why since she's friendly with his daughter and he was willing to spare her, but she turned him down. Still, that's all she's said. She's never distinctly said she wants us to contact the Dragon Queen or not. Maybe she'd rather I didn't, or maybe she'd prefer to reach out to the Martell's instead. Maybe neither of them. I want to know if she's okay with me sending this before I do anything."

"Very kind of you, Lord Commander, but I'm afraid it's not my place to get involved here. You must be the one who asks her thoughts on this."

A heavy sigh escaped him and he looked away. "Maester Aemon, she won't even stay in the same room as me anymore, and she's been having Edd work with her on her swordplay in the training yard instead of me. How am I supposed to talk to her when she won't let me?"

"Well, how have you been trying to approach her, Lord Snow? As the stern Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, or as the kind young man who calmed her down from her terror when she first came here?"

"What?"

The maester closed his eyes, his face thoughtful. "Lyaella's hardly been given comfort or compassion from adults, and upon coming here, she's been treated much better than I presume she ever has on a daily basis. Granted, it's only from a few people, but it's still a vast improvement. But then you yelled at her after Janos Slynt's execution."

"I didn't mean to snap at her like that. I just… I had to set an example to the men. They needed to know what the consequences were for not obeying me . She… She just came up to me at a bad time and didn't get it when I tried to shake her off. I didn't mean to lose my temper, though…"

"I understand, Lord Snow. I've been the maester of the Night's Watch for many decades, so I know how important it is for leaders to act strong and aloof in front of others. I'm not saying it was wrong to do the same with Lyaella right then, but she's still just a child. She's the blood of the dragon, but her upbringing has made her inner fire dim and weaken. She needs to be around people who can help her burn brightly, rousing the dragon within."

"Aye, she's way too shy. No confidence…"

"Indeed, someone has to teach her how to be brave and believe in herself. Someone patient who can empathize with her," he turned to face Jon again, smiling kindly. "She's certainly become well acquainted with Ghost, Lord Commander. Perhaps she needs a wolf. A wolf with no surname, just like her."

Jon sucked in a breath. Was Maester Aemon trying to say he shouldn't send Lyaella to Daenerys Targaryen? Why? He'd agreed that contacting his niece was a smart plan, so why wouldn't he want Lyaella to go to her? It wasn't safe for Lyaella at Castle Black. Period. Was he overthinking things? Was he suggesting he should try bolstering her confidence until the Dragon Queen came to collect her…?

"Right. I'll, uh… I'll keep that in mind, maester," he said, shoving the letter away before pushing back his chair. "Thank you…"

"One last thing," said Maester Aemon, making him pause. "It's clear Lyaella's very hurt by how everyone aside from myself and young Shireen Baratheon treats her dragon. It's not a monster in her eyes, or dangerous. It's her sister and dearest friend. I think she'd be very happy if she saw someone here trying to befriend Sōnar. She's become very close with Ghost, so perhaps you could try spending time with her friend in return? And besides… fire kills wights. If you truly intend to contact my niece the Dragon Queen, Lord Snow, it'd be wise to become more familiar with dragons in general. I have a feeling my niece and her dragons will be vital in defeating the dead when they march South."

He bit his lip. "I… I'm not so sure about that idea, but — but I'll consider it. Thank you."

And with that, Jon swiftly headed back up the stone stairs. He could see and understand where Maester Aemon was coming from, but he honestly didn't know if he'd follow his advice on that. It was a good idea for getting Lyaella to open up around him again, but even so… Sōnar was a dragon. One wrong move around her and he'd be devoured or roasted alive. Aside from the few times he'd been forced to go near her, he'd been purposely trying to steer clear of Lyaella's white-scaled friend. Still, he supposed he should at least keep it in mind if all else failed. He couldn't send that letter off until he finally talked to Lyaella.

But that conversation would have to wait just a little longer. First, he needed to have someone bring Tormund up to his office to discuss his idea regarding the Free Folk.

---

Her quill feather fluttered as she tapped the tip repeatedly against the parchment, frustrated beyond words. "Throne… throne…" Lyaella murmured, furrowing her brows. "What rhymes with 'throne…?'"

Sōnar rumbled and craned her long neck around to peer over her shoulder. Her movements however cast a deep shadow over the parchment, making it impossible to decipher the what her mistress had written already. It was so dark inside Ghost's rickety shed without adding in extra shadows from one another on top of it. She already was sitting on the ground right next to the biggest hole in the walls to be able to work in a solid stream of direct sunlight. No need to make it even harder for herself by blocking out what little light she had to use.

Lyaella sighed, faking anger as she playfully shoved her friend away. "Back off, girl. You're blocking my light." Sōnar hooted and reared back, affronted. "Don't give me that look. You know I can't write without—" she cut herself off, gasping as a white-scaled tail pointedly smacked her arm. "Ah! Sōnar!"

Her dragon only nudged her snout in her hair in return. Anyone else would assume Sōnar was trying to apologize, but Lyaella knew better. She'd seen that mischievous twinkle in those ice blue eyes countless times before.

"No, stop that. You're not gonna make me drop my guard this time, so stop."

Sōnar squawked, blinking repeatedly.

Lyaella folded her arms, fighting to keep a straight face. "No, girl. I'm not falling for it this time, so just quit it."

She warbled sadly, drooping her head.

Her heart ached at her friends' disappointment, but she knew she had to be strong. Sōnar was certainly much better at minding her manners than Shadow most days, but every now and then she had a tendency to be exactly like her brother's direwolf, and in the worst possible way. All those years of the two of them growing up together with her and Torrhen let them rub off on each other, and this habit was a thousand times worse than when Shadow drenched Torrhen in kisses.

Sticking out her tongue at her honorary sister, she glanced back down at her parchment page on her lap. She'd been trying to scribble down the lyrics for the new song she'd inspired to write after Maester Aemon showed her the Targaryen music box. The first few stanzas were relatively easy, so she'd breezed through the opening verse with hardly any trouble. It was probably going to be the shortest song she'd ever written when she was done, as it was the repetitiveness of the refrain that she was emphasizing in this piece rather than the verses. Trouble was, she was only using the refrain as the bulk of the piece because of the first and last lines. The two lines in the middle were what she was really struggling with. Not to mention she was considering reworking a few lines in the verses she'd already finished. Her gut told her that this rough draft on the verses wasn't nearly good enough yet. They needed to be redone when she was done with the refrain.

Clicking her tongue, she dipped her quill into the ink pot and jotted down a test phrase off to the side. Blowing on it for good measure, she readily cleared her throat. "A cold Iron Throne," she light sang, bouncing her hand in tempo with each syllable. "The five kings claim their own… Yes, yes that works. It's six syllables instead of five, but it works. What do you two think?"

Ghost rose from his bedding of tatty blankets and stretched before sitting up properly. He stared at her curiously, red eyes blinking. Then, for no apparent reason, he turned to look at her lyre, propped up beside her against the wall. Sōnar trilled, pushing it closer to her with a friendly nudge.

Lyaella frowned. "If you're both trying to get me to play accompaniment with those phrases—" Sōnar chirped and Ghost's tail began wagging "—there's no point. I have a loose idea how the beginning might sound, but I don't know what the rest of the score will be yet. Torrhen's the musically gifted one. I'm just the lyricist."

Both of them were unfazed by her protests and kept staring at her expectantly.

Lyaella's frown only deepened, and she turned back to her unfinished lyrics. "Please… I'll think about playing it later. Right now, I really need to—"

Sōnar suddenly bounded forward, and before Lyaella could even jump, her dragon shoved her whole head directly at Lyaella's legs until she tilted forwards. Sliding down the length of Sōnar's neck until she was sitting backwards on her body, her dragon began walking around in the most absurdly bounciest manner.

Lyaella shrieked, bending over to hug the sides of her friend's wide rump to hang on. "S-Sōnar! Sōnar, stop! N-No, put me down!"

Her dragon warbled, prancing harder.

"I'm serious, Sōnar! Stop it! G-Ghost, help!"

The direwolf did nothing to assist her, though. If anything, his tail just wagged harder in amusement. Sōnar chirped appreciatively.

"Sōnar, e-enough! Put me down or… or I'll—!"

She cut herself off as the shed door flew open. "Goodness! What's goin' on in here?"

Sōnar squawked and halted in surprise. That was all Lyaella needed to take action. With a half-hearted kick of her heels as punishment for her naughtiness, the little girl scrambled off the dragon. Sōnar moaned as she stomped around to glare at her directly, not even pausing to see who had entered the tiny enclosure.

"What have I told you before about doing that, Sōnar?! Bad dragon!" Sōnar bent her head, trying to nudge her apologetically. Lyaella shoved her snout away. "No! That's not gonna work this time! I've told you before to not shove me on you like that! Bad girl!"

Ghost cocked his head, mystified by her sudden anger and confidence. As was their other spectator. "Never thought I'd see yeh yell at yer dragon, Lyaella. Let alone yell at all."

She glanced to the door. Gilly was there with a basket in hand, watching her curiously.

"G-Gilly," she said, forcing a nervous smile. "Did… Did we bother you? W-Were we too noisy?"

The kind Wildling woman set down her load and cautiously entered. "Not at all. I was just takin' care of some chores and heard the ruckus. Is everythin' all right?"

"Yes, we're… we're fine. S-Sōnar was just being naughty. Sorry f-for bothering you…" Lyaella flushed at her sudden shyness and averted her eyes. It was so stupid how she acted, being able to talk normally when around Sōnar and Shadow yet automatically reverted back to her hesitant stuttering when someone else approached. Why did she have to be so shy? It was downright embarrassing sometimes.

"No, no. It's no bother," Gilly assured her, smiling brightly. "How 'bout comin' out of there, Lyaella? It's very dark. Yeh don't even have a candle."

"I'm fine, really. I… I'm used t-to hiding away in dark p-places like this…"

Gilly's lips parted. Lyaella's face grew hot as she focused back on her lyrics. It was humiliating to admit, but it was the truth. Whenever Torrhen couldn't be around to stand up for her when bullies or adults would become downright horrible towards her, she'd generally take Sōnar and hide away in the crypts for a while. It was the one place in Winterfell where none of them could follow her, as only those of House Stark were permitted entrance. Sometimes she'd only have to stay down there for a few minutes before Torrhen came bounding in and dragging her back out. Sometimes she stayed down there for hours before venturing out alone. Or if she couldn't make it to the crypts in time, she'd find a nice little nock in between the corridors or stonework to hide herself until people wandered away. There were so many great places to hide in Winterfell if one knew where to look, some of which were so obscure and unnoticeable that no one would see them unless they knew to look for it. It was good to do that sometimes instead of running to her brother. Torrhen had his own troubles while growing up in that wretched castle, and it wasn't fair to make him protect her all the time. Now he wasn't here. She was all alone aside from Sōnar and Ghost.

She dipped her quill back into the ink pot and jotted down a test phrase in one of the verses, but before she could start brainstorming possible phrases for the next line, Gilly purposefully strode forward.

"Used to it or not, yer not spendin' the rest of the day in here." She plucked away the quill and dragged her to her feet. "Yeh've been hidin' away too much lately. Ever since yer breathlessness, yeh've been avoidin' everyone. Yeh don't even come help Shireen and me with my readin' lessons."

"I-I-I'm sorry, Gilly. I didn't… I didn't mean t-to stop helping you, but—"

"Yeh can help me now. I've gotta pass out food to the Free Folk prisoners. Come with me."

"W-What? But… But I—"

"Come on."

Collecting her scattered sheets of parchment, ink pot, and lyre, she passed them all to Lyaella and steered her to the door. Lyaella was too startled by her insistence to protest, and could only whistle over her shoulder at Sōnar and Shadow to follow before they were outside.

"Pull up yer scarf, Lyaella," Gilly said, picking up her basket. "Yeh know what Maester Aemon told yeh."

"Mmm," she murmured, tugging it up her face. Maester Aemon had been adamant about her keeping a scarf over her mouth and nose all the time while she was outside nowadays. Something to do with warming up the cold, stale air she inhaled to ward off coughing and wheezing. It didn't make much sense to her, but she didn't mind all that much. It only really annoyed her when she practiced her swordplay. "Thank you, b-by the way. For… For knitting it…"

"It was no trouble. I was happy to… though I am sorry 'bout yer dress."

"It's all right, really."

"No, it's not. It's my fault it's like that now."

Lyaella glanced down at herself. Her blue dress had been so filthy after tumbling in the sooty snow that terrible night. Gilly had been nice enough to change her into her newly sewn tunic and britches for swordplay training and wash it for her… but she'd realized too late that she'd done so in the wooden tub the newest Night's Watch recruits had been using to dye their clothes.

Instead of being wintry blue, her dress was now the same pitch black as the clothes of every other man in Castle Black. Upon realizing the accident, Gilly had tried for hours to rinse out the dye, but it was no use. Her dress would never be the same wintry blue again unless it was dyed back to its old shade, and sadly there was no way to get such dye unless they imported it from down South, which obviously would never happen. At least the white snowflake embroidery around the edge of her collar and sleeves had been saved from the black dye. It'd been too late by the time Gilly realized what happened to save her whole dress, but she did manage to rinse out enough of the dye from those areas to salvage them to a slightly muted gray color. Not the same as before, but still better than being bland black.

"It's… It's not a big d-deal, Gilly," she insisted, forcing a smile as they trudged past some men sparring. "I don't mind it being black."

"Still, I feel terrible."

"D-Don't be. I… I kinda like it like this."

Gilly blinked, surprised. "Truly?"

"Uh-huh," she nodded. "My relatives… they n-never let me and Tory wear clothes in our Targaryen House colors b-black and red. I'm a little sad my dress's not blue anymore… but I'm n-not upset it's black now. I'm okay with this, really."

"Well, if yeh say so," she murmured, both of them pausing as the men training cut in front of them during the heat of battle. They returned to where they were originally upon noticing them there, but Lyaella's cheeks caught fire upon catching their attention and bowed her head, too shy to meet their eyes. "None of that, now," Gilly went on, urging her along before she was ready. "There's no need for it."

"For what?"

"That. Back there. Bein' all shy and quiet whenever people stare at yeh."

"I… I can't help it…"

"Yeh can't go through life bein' afraid of everythin', Lyaella. Especially not about what people think about yeh. I mean, look at me. I'm from beyond the Wall. Aside from Sam, Jon, and some others, everyone in Castle Black hates me and Little Sam. They only see me as one of my father's wives and—"

"W-What?!" Lyaella gasped, head snapping up. "You… You married your own father?!"

Gilly tensed, her face suddenly growing very fixed. "Aye, I did. I'd appreciate it if yeh pretended yeh never heard that, though."

"Why?"

"Never mind why," she insisted, quickening her pace. "Come on. The Free Folk are waitin' for us."

Lyaella blinked, and scurried along after her. She could tell Gilly didn't really want to talk about this, but her thoughts were a jumbled mess with only one thing being adamantly clear to her right then. She pressed her lips together, trying to figure out how to best phrase her next question. "Little Sam… is… is he…?"

"That's none of yer business, Lyaella," Gilly said shortly, tightening her grasp on her basket. "Let it go."

"I'm not j-judging you, Gilly. I just… I just want to know if you wish Little Sam hadn't been born."

The woman stopped short, turning to her abruptly with wide eyes. "What? What in the world makes yeh think that? I… I love my son, no matter where he came from."

Lyaella relaxed. "Good. I'm g-glad you think that."

"What?"

"I… I was w-worried you might be ashamed of Little Sam because… because of him b-being born of incest. People in Westeros h-hate Targaryens because of the incest in our family. I'm glad y-you still love your son despite that."

"I could never be ashamed of him. I'd go through everythin' I did all over again if it meant he would be here. He means everythin' to me."

"Good. That's good."

Gilly smiled as they approached the door to the storeroom where the other Wildlings were being held, and knocked politely. "Heil, ek færð þinn matr fyrir í dag."

"Þú gerði? góð." called out a voice inside. "Kominnr."

"What's that?" Lyaella asked, expression muddled. "I… I don't understand…"

"It's the Old Tongue, Lyaella. It's the common language amon' the Free Folk," Gilly explained, shifting her basket to unlock the door. "I'm not surprised yeh don't know it. I know yeh say yer a Northerner, but almost every Southerner has forgotten the ancient language of my people."

"S-Southerner…?"

"It's what we call anyone born on yer side of the Wall. If yer're not from the True North, yer a Southerner. That's just how we see it."

Lyaella blinked. "Oh."

The Wildlings were quite cramped in the tiny storeroom. There was at least fifteen of them squeezed together in this first room alone, and Lyaella knew that there were even more prisoners in two other storerooms and some down in the Castle Black cells. They smiled gratefully to Gilly as she passed out their rations for the day, murmuring their hello's and thank you's in their strange language.

Signaling to Sōnar and Ghost to stay outside for now, Lyaella stayed next to the door. Gilly was very kind to her, but she hadn't spent any time around the Wildling prisoners since Mance Rayder's execution. She'd been avoiding them as much as possible, as all the stories she'd heard over the years regarding them only making a temporary peace with the rest of the North because of the dead was in the forefront of her mind. Apparently after the dead were defeated, they all left to go back beyond the Wall… though occasionally some of them would sneak back over to loot and pillage the smallfolk. Wildlings were dangerous, plain and simple. As much as she hated Queen Sansa, Lyaella couldn't deny how hard it had to be for her aunt between trying to fight off Queen Yara's ironborn attacks and the North's food shortages. Dealing with the occasional Wildling raids couldn't have been easy, especially since they happened so rarely it wasn't worth reassembling the Night's Watch to deal with them.

Shuffling her feet idly, she chanced a curious glance around the room, jumping when she noticed a particularly grungy-looking Wildling man looking at her. "Aren't yeh the Dragon Girl? What're yeh doin' here, visitin' us?"

The others all suddenly glanced her way, noticing her for the first time. "Aye," nodded a woman, her eyes narrowing suspiciously. "Yeh're on the crows side, right? Or that Southern cunt king Stannis? They send yeh here? They want yeh to burn us alive like they tried to with Mance?"

Lyaella's cheeks flamed red, and she involuntarily stepped back. "I… I… Well, I…"

"This is Lyaella," Gilly said kindly, dragging her closer. "She's only here because I asked her to help me. Here—" she pulled out two loaves of bread from her basket, breaking them in half before handing them to Lyaella "—pass these around."'

Nodding slowly, Lyaella silently did as she said and helped to distribute the bread. It was only when they were drawing close to emptying the basket that she heard voices approaching the storeroom.

"Yeh're serious about this, King Crow?"

"Aye. We both know what's coming, Tormund. If we keep fighting each other, none of us will survive."

She froze. That first voice for sure belonged to a Wildling judging by his accent, but that other voice was definitely Jon's. Why was he coming to the cells now, while she was here? Was he intentionally following her? She still wasn't ready to see him yet! Shoving the roll in her hands at the closest Wildling, she scrambled behind him to hide.

"Oy! What're yeh—?!"

"Please!" she whispered, crouching down. "I'm not here! All of you, please pretend I'm not here!"

The Wildlings were baffled by her behavior, but Gilly threw her a pitying look before casually passing out more bread. Less than a minute later the heavy footfalls entered the storeroom. "Yeh better not be lyin' to me, King Crow. If this is a plot to kill all my people—"

"It's not. I swear it's not."

"Better not be. If it is, I'll come back as one of them dead fuckers and tear yeh to pieces!"

Jon half-heartedly snorted. "I'll speak to Stannis about borrowing his fleet. As for your other condition…"

"It comes. End of story."

"I can't agree to that, though. It's not—"

"Aye, it's not yers, but I won't go otherwise."

"I'll ask, but I can't say what'll happen. I can only ask."

"Fine."

Lyaella held her breath until Jon headed back out. Sighing with relief, she slowly stood and shuffled back around the man to continue helping Gilly. The new Wildling gaped incredulously when he finally noticed her, his eyes bulging from his thick, tangled red beard, but the other Wildlings just gave her puzzled looks. The man she'd been hiding behind was especially confused. "Yeh mind tellin' us what that was all about?"

"I… I j-just didn't want him to know I was here, that's all."

Gilly furrowed her brows sadly while the other Wildlings shrugged away her behavior. The new Wildling who'd been brought in however cocked his head, looking almost amused.

"Oh? Why's that?" He chortled, moving closer. "Did yeh come here to free us, perhaps?"

"F-Free you…?"

"Aye. We don't know much about yeh, lass, but from what we've heard them crows and the cunts in that Stannis fucker's army say, yer the Dragon Girl, which means yeh must be connected to that so-called Dragon Queen across the sea. The one who's somehow freein' people. Yeh gonna have yer dragon set us free like her?"

Lyaella squeaked and shook her head. "N-No. I'm sorry but… but I c-can't do that. The Dragon Queen… she's a much stronger person than I am. I couldn't imagine d-doing something like that… I'm sorry." She slowly backed away to the door, readying herself to run. They were going to get upset with her now. They were going to yell and attack her until she agreed to get Sōnar to set them free. She mentally braced herself for the onslaught—

"Are yeh afraid of us, girl?" Tormund chuckled, eyes twinkling. "Yeh think we're gonna chop yeh up and boil yeh for supper?"

The others snorted, watching her with equal mirth. Lyaella just stared, squeezing her lyre tighter. "Uh, w-well—"

"Relax, I'm only jokin'. None of us are Thenn's, and I didn't expect yeh to agree with me," he went on, moving to lean up against a barrel. "Yeh can stay here if yeh want, or yeh can go. We're the Free Folk, lass, so we're not gonna force yeh to do anythin' yeh don't want to. Yer free to do as yeh wish with us."

She blinked repeatedly, the tension within her slowly fading away. This Tormund man seemed almost… kind. Friendly. Not at all the cruel, savage brute she'd been expecting him to be. And the other Wildlings weren't acting that way either. They were smiling and watching her curiously, not narrowing their eyes and discretely whispering to each other on how best to slit her throat. Even if they hadn't been planning to hurt her, it was still surprising they weren't glaring at her or watching her suspiciously. It was strange how kind they all were, especially since they were Wildlings.

Still, she kept her guard up. Gilly she knew and trusted, but not the others. For all she knew, they could have been playing on Gilly's kindness and immediate trust from being a Wildling herself to lure her here. What if they wanted to use her as a hostage to ensure the Night's Watch forced Stannis to free them? Maybe they wanted to force her to have Sōnar threaten everyone outside so they could leave without a fight. Anything was possible.

Gilly somehow understood what she was thinking, and turned to her with a warm smile. "There's no need to be scared, Lyaella. Yeh're safe here, I promise. They won't hurt yeh, and if one of them does, all yeh have to do is scream. The Night's Watch will come runnin', and yer dragon and Ghost will break down the door."

True, very true. She loosened her grip around her lyre and moved to sit on a wooden crate a few steps away. She was willing to relax a little, but in case something bad did happen, she was still close enough to the door to get out fast. Maybe she was being overly paranoid, but she couldn't help it. Growing up the way she had made her wary of strangers in general.

Tormund seemed to realize she was still on edge, and smiled kindly. "Lass, I swear we're not gonna hurt yeh. Yer not a crow nor with that cunt Stannis. We've got no reason to hate yeh… we don't even understand why all them kneelers out there are against yeh just for bein' alive."

Lyaella tilted her head, brow quirking. "Crow…? K-Kneelers…?"

"Crow's what we call all them men in black out there. From far away, they look like crows," said a Wildling man somewhere in his middle-ages. "And kneeler's what we call all yer lot South of the Wall. Yeh kneel for yer kings and queens, lords and ladies. We do not kneel."

"What?" said Lyaella, even more puzzled. "But… But Gilly said you called us all S-Southerner's, and that m-man Stannis was gonna burn… Mance Rayder for being your king—"

"We call yeh all kneelers and Southerner's," said Tormund, his smile dying. "Either way's fine. And Mance was the king we chose. We followed him 'cause we believed him."

"Oh…" she murmured, sensing the somber mood. "I'm s-sorry, I didn't mean to upset you."

"It's fine, lass. We know yeh didn't," said a woman, waving away her words. "If anythin', we admire yeh for stickin' up for him."

"Pardon?"

"What yeh said back there, when that fuckin' king tried burnin' him alive. Yer the only one there who said the obvious. That killin' him like that was wrong."

"It's a sad day when a child has the guts to be brave like that," Tormund added, earning a round of nods from the others. "We all were thinkin' it, and yet it was yeh who said it, and we don't even know yeh. Us Free Folk owe yeh our thanks."

Lyaella could only stare. "I… I wasn't trying to b-be brave… I was just saying the truth, that's all."

"Exactly, and if there's one thin' we've learned about Southerner's over the years, it's that they all lie. But yeh didn't. Yeh told the truth of what everyone was thinkin'. We respect that."

"Aye, especially since burnin' people must be easy for yeh with that beast out there, Dragon Girl," added another man. "Where'd yeh find that thing, anyway?"

Lyaella tensed, her whole body growing rigid. "Sōnar's my sister, just like Shadow's mine and Tory's brother. She's not a thing. Don't call her that ever again… And we know very well how p-people lie to get whatever they want. Our parents… they're d-dead because our relatives are cruel and g-greedy. We won't ever be liars like them. We always tell the truth."

Tormund chortled. "Glad to hear it, lass, though we are sorry 'bout yer folks. But yeh didn't answer the question. Where'd yer friend come from? Last time we Free Folk saw a dragon…" he paused, closing his eyes to think. Then he let out a low whistle. "It's almost a legend for our people."

"A legend? Wait… are you s-saying there's some sort of ice d-dragon beyond the Wall?" Lyaella asked. "If you all really want to get on this side of the Wall s-so… so badly, why not use that?"

The Wildlings all heartily laughed. "No, no, lass. Yeh misunderstand. There's no dragons out in the True North. Not one we know of, anyway."

"Aye, if there were, we'd've stormed Castle Black years ago. Probably before yeh were even born."

Even Gilly chuckled as she stepped forward "What he means is many generations ago, some of the Free Folk claim they saw a dragon flyin' over the Wall."

"They… They did? Truly?"

"Aye," said Tormund. "Must've been a hundred years ago, but our people say they saw a great silver dragon flyin' over Castle Black like yers does all the time. Our people were terrified. Thought the crows were gonna hunt them down and burn them alive. But it never flew past the Wall. It'd land on top sometimes, but never flew over it. Not even when the woman ridin' it tried commandin' it to go over."

Something about this story sounded very familiar to Lyaella, but she wasn't sure why. It took her a few seconds before she jerked in realization. "Silverwing!"

The Wildlings and Gilly stared at her blankly.

Lyaella blushed. "I… I t-think you might be talking about the dragon Silverwing," she murmured. "She was… She was ridden by Good Queen Alysanne m-many years ago. She'd been touring the N-North with her dragon and visited Castle Black. I remember reading she tried f-flying over the Wall with… Silverwing a couple times, b-but her dragon refused to f-fly past it."

"Huh. Maybe… but why'd she want to fly over?"

"I… I think she just wanted to explore, b-but I don't know. That wasn't… w-wasn't mentioned in my history book."

"Hmm… if she was only explorin', then us Free Folk weren't in danger. Our ancestors were ready to band together and storm Castle Black if it dared come near our clans."

"Aye, and even if that Silverwing dragon was three times bi'er than yers is, we'd've fought to the last man standin'. We weren't gonna risk it hurtin' our people."

Lyaella sucked in a breath, suddenly very nervous. "Are you… Are you planning to do the same to Sōnar?"

Tormund did a double take. "What? No, 'course not. We've all seen it's tame unless yeh're threatened, and yeh're not with the crows. So lon' as yeh don't burn us, we don't care what yeh or yer dragon does."

Her shoulders sagged in relief. "Good, you w-worried me there."

"I don't know what yeh've heard 'bout us Free Folk, Dragon Girl, but we're not gonna hurt yeh so long as yeh don't hurt us. Our ancestors were only scared 'cause they thought the crows were plannin' to kill us with that dragon. That's the difference."

"Why do you… you keep calling your 'Free Folk?' I mean… you're Wildlings, right?"

"That's just a name yer people gave us. Our true name is—"

"Oh! There you are, Lyaella!"

Lyaella jumped and whipped around. Shireen was standing right in the open doorway, smiling brightly to her.

"Shireen!" Gilly exclaimed, setting down her empty basket as she hurried forward. "What're yeh doin' here? Do yer folks know yer here?"

"Hello, Gilly. No, they don't know I'm here, but I'll be leaving in just a second. I just came to find Lyaella." Darting around the Wildling woman, the Baratheon princess and walked straight up to the other small girl, frozen in surprise. "I've been looking all over for you. We've hardly talked at all since you were sick."

Lyaella fidgeted, eyes darting in every direction as she avoided looking at her former friend. "H-Hello…"

Shireen was oblivious to her discomfort and only beamed. "You've been practically a ghost since you got sick. It's impossible to find you these days, and that's surprising, especially when you have Sōnar and Lord Commander Snow's direwolf for company. It's name's Ghost, right? Have you been making yourself scarce like his namesake to imitate him?"

"Um—"

"I must say, I've been running all over to find you! You never came to talk to me after your whole ordeal, so I've been worried! I mean, I get why you might not have wanted company right after everything happened when you still weren't feeling well, but it's been ages now! If I didn't know better, I'd say you were avoiding me!"

"I—"

"Did I upset you at all? If so, I'm sorry. But even so, you shouldn't just avoid me just because you were angry with me for some reason. We could've talked things over! Was that it?"

"W-Well—s"

"And now it's—"

"Lass, yeh talk more in a minute than yer friend can breathe! Give her a moment to say somethin', will yeh?"

Tormund's words made Shireen jump, and after an instinctual glance between him and Lyaella's wide-eyed stare she backed down, giggling halfheartedly. "Sorry, I was just excited. Take your time, Lyaella."

It took Lyaella a few seconds to process this before reddening in shame. "I'm… I'm sorry if I upset you, Shireen. I didn't mean too…"

"That's all right, I'm just glad I found you now!"

"Y-Yes, it was nice… nice to see you again. Goodbye, now!"

Gilly and the Wildlings all blinked. Lyaella ignored them as she hopped down from the crates and made a quick, clumsy curtsy. It didn't matter what they thought. She needed to leave before Stannis or Selyse found her with their daughter and got angry with her for being near Shireen again. Nodding politely, she scampered to the door.

But Shireen wasn't that easily deterred. "Hey, wait!" she cried, snatching the edge of her gray cloak. "Don't go! I just got here!"

She bent her head to hide her frown. "I k-know, that's why I have to leave."

"What do you mean? Are you mad at me, Lyaella?"

"No…"

"Then what's the problem? I thought we were friends."

"I… Well—"

"Aren't we friends?"

Lyaella bit her lip, twiddling her fingers as she slowly turned back around. "I… I liked us being friends, but… but I've been embarrassed about m-my weak lungs and how I acted that night. I didn't… I d-didn't know what to say…"

"There's nothing to be embarrassed about, Lyaella. You couldn't control that. I don't think of you differently because of it.

"It's not just that… I-I-I also thought I wasn't supposed to be around you anymore…"

"What? Why would—?"

"You're mother made it clear that I s-shouldn't… shouldn't be around you anymore. And since I t-turned down your father's offer to help him, I thought he'd get mad at me too if we kept p-playing together."

Shireen blinked repeatedly. She glanced over at Gilly and the Wildlings for a moment before turning back to her. "That's it?"

"W-What?" Lyaella tilted her head, puzzled. "What d'you mean?"

"Just what I said! That's it?"

"I don't understand…"

"That's it? That's the reason?" she clarified. "You've been avoiding me just because of that?"

"W-Well, yes…"

The little doe shook her head, eyes wide with disbelief. "I knew you were shy when we met, but I didn't know you were this timid, Lyaella! You were avoiding me just because you were afraid of my parents?"

Her cheeks burned even hotter. "Shireen, I—"

"Don't try denying it. Everyone knows I'm right," she exclaimed, marching forward. "I know you're a Snow, but you're still a Targaryen, Lyaella. You need to be more confident and stand up for yourself."

"But your father… he's trying to take the Iron Throne. I c-can't just—"

"Yes, but so long as you're here at Castle Black, you're untouchable. You should've just ignored my mother. She's always mean, so it's not like she's going to be extra cruel to you. And if my father says anything, I'll take care of it. Don't worry."

"But—"

"Today's the last day we can play together, Lyaella, and I wanted to hear you sing and play your lyre at least once. I overheard my father talking to the Onion Knight about finally marching on to Winterfell tomorrow. Please don't let my parents scare you off from being around me! And besides, you promised you'd play for me, remember?"

Lyaella stiffened. Tomorrow? Stannis was going to have his army pull out tomorrow? Exactly how long had she been here at Castle Black exactly? Surely not too long, right? Hardhome wouldn't be coming up anytime soon, would it? She hoped not. Even though she'd yet to see anything to convince her the army of the dead was real, it would still be a slap in the face for her if it turned out that major battle was just around the corner and she'd done nothing so far to try and prevent it from happening. Even so, if Stannis was going to leave Castle Black, that mean Shireen's death would be happening sometime in the coming weeks. There was nothing she could do to stop that without jeopardizing Stannis' necessary death, but it still hurt that her friend would be gone. Her first and only friend aside from Torrhen, Shadow, and Sōnar.

She bit her lip, then hesitantly nodded. "Okay."

"Really? Thank you!"

"But one song only! I-I-I really only ever play for myself or with Torrhen. I'm not used to an audience…"

A heavy guffaw made her jump and turn back to the Wildlings. "Dunno what a lyre is, but if yeh like singin', yeh like music, don't yeh?" Tormund asked. "What's the point of music if yeh don't let others hear? My older girl's barely older than yeh both, and she's always playin' her ocarina in front of everyone. Drives me crazy!"

The others laughed, and even Gilly snickered. Lyaella only went redder. "I… Well, I—"

"Come on," Shireen said, seizing her hand. "You can play outside, that way Sōnar and Ghost can sit with us!"

Lyaella couldn't even protest before the Baratheon princess dragged her out. Sure enough, her dragon and future father's direwolf immediately perked up from where they'd been sitting, but aside from giving them both small pats, Lyaella barely even acknowledged them. Her main focus was on all the men in the Night's Watch and Stormlands army that were loitering about in the courtyard. Though only a handful glanced over to them, Lyaella couldn't help but feel on edge.

Tugging her towards some barrels, Shireen plopped down and smiled as Tormund and some other Wildlings poked their heads out of the storeroom windows to watch. Lyaella took a seat next to her as Sōnar sat down on her other side to nuzzle her with her snout. Ghost meanwhile settled down directly in front of them, watching inquisitively.

Self-consciously tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, Lyaella turned to Shireen. "Do you… Do you have any requests that you'd like me to play?"

"Not really. I just really wanted to hear you play once, that's all."

"Oh." Lyaella bit her lip, then glanced over at the Wildlings. "What about y-you? Do any… Do any of you have any requests?"

"Yeh wouldn't know our songs."

"Do what yeh like."

"We don't care."

Gilly appeared in the entrance. "We like music, Lyaella, but we don't know any Southern songs. Just sing and play what yeh like."

"B-But… But I don't know what to play. I wasn't expecting to give a p-performance right now…" Everyone fell silent at that, but suddenly Ghost stood and padded his way up to her, nosying her side. "Oh — G-Ghost, stop that! I don't mind giving you p-pets and scratches, but — whoops!"

His antics made her sheets of unfinished lyrics slip out from inside her cloak. Lyaella hurried to collect them before the wind could send them flying all over the mucky courtyard.

Shireen managed to grab a few on her own, and she scanned the pages curiously as Lyaella tried gathering the rest. "What's this? A poem?"

"Lyrics. Just lyrics I've been working on for my own song."

"Really? I didn't know you wrote music."

"It's just… just a silly hobby. Tory writes the score. I d-do the lyrics."

"That's still interesting. Why not sing this, then?"

Lyaella squeaked and nearly slipped on a patch of ice. "W-What?! But… But it's not finished yet! And other than a f-few notes in the beginning, there's no music yet. I started writing it after I got sick the other night, so… so I can't use m-my lyre after a certain point."

Shireen waved away her words. "That's all right, just play as much as you can. And I can tell you whether what you've done in the lyrics so far sounds good or not. I'll give you my honest opinion on them."

She bit her lip, letting her eyes wander. She didn't want to do this, sharing her song before it was ready, or at least not like this. It was one thing to show Torrhen her ideas for lyrics for a new song and then sing them out loud for him — he was her collaborator. It was a whole other thing to do so when he wasn't her only audience. More importantly if her audience happened to include the Baratheon king claimant himself as well as her future father considering her song was something she'd been writing to express her feelings on particular matters. It was not a song she ever intended for Jon or Stannis Baratheon to hear… and an absentminded glance towards the wooden walkways revealed the two of them locked in a hushed discussion while Ser Davos and Lady Melisandre listened attentively.

Just seeing them made her mouth go dry… but nausea crept down her throat when Jon suddenly noticed her, and his shift in attention made Stannis turn, too.

"I-I-I know lots of other songs, Shireen! Better songs, finished ones! Or — Or w-what's your favorite song? If you hum the m-melody, I'm sure I could p-play it! I could even teach you how to play my lyre, if you want! Here, j-just—"

"What? No, no, that's all right," Shireen insisted, cutting off her babbling. "We can do that later."

"But—"

"Are you embarrassed to let me hear it? I don't mind if it's not done. Truly, I don't. I won't laugh, I promise."

"N-No, that's not it!"

"Then what's wrong?"

Lyaella couldn't answer her. Not when her eyes were darting back and forth between Shireen and their father's ending their conference and heading towards the stairs.

Shireen noticed where she was looking and turned. "What? My father, is that it? Don't mind him."

"S-Shireen—"

"You promised you'd play and sing for me, Lyaella. Today's the last day we get to see each other." She passed back her last few sheets of notes, brown eyes pleading as she softly smiled. "So, please. I want to hear what you've been working on."

Her stomach dropped. How could she turn her down now? "All right…"

"Wonderful! Thank you!" She hopped down on the barrel again, beaming happily. "Go ahead, then."

Trembling anxiously, Lyaella forced herself to not look back at Jon or Stannis as she climbed up on the other barrel. She didn't want to do this, but she didn't want to disappoint Shireen, either. She could only hope Stannis wouldn't get mad at her for the song lyrics and she could slip away before Jon got upset.

Sōnar and Ghost moved to sit in front of her, watching raptly. They were her official audience along with Shireen, Gilly, and Tormund and the other Wildlings watching from the storeroom windows. No one else was paying them close attention. If she was lucky, no one else would care to listen. For all the Night's Watch and the Baratheon army knew, she was just a little girl playing and singing a random tune they'd never heard before. Yes, that was the best way to think of this. So long as she sang and played quietly, none of them would hear her or care.

Steeling herself with a deep breath, Lyaella lightly plucked a few strings, soft notes filling the air. They steadily grew louder the more she played, and after a few moments she started singing.

A raven flies from the North to the sea,

It knows who stole the throne, crown, and Red Keep,

A cold Iron Throne,

The five kings claim their own,

A crown laced in lies,

You win or you die

There had only been a handful of watchmen and soldiers glancing their way before, but when the music reached their ears they went very still. Some turned and gave Lyaella their full and undivided attention. Others resumed their duties, pretending they weren't listening. Even the Wildlings were blinking repeatedly, eyes wide. They didn't know much about the war for the Iron Throne, but they did understand the Seven Kingdoms were being torn apart because of it. They pressed closer to the windows, watching her curiously.

The watchers guard the Northern ice Wall,

A dragon East stakes her claim known to all,

A cold Iron Throne,

The five kings claim their own,

A crown laced in lies,

You win or you die

On the wooden steps, Jon, Stannis, and his advisors stopped short. Ser Davos' lips parted while Lady Melisandre brought a hand to her chest. Stannis shifted, his expressionless mask cracking as he glanced between her and Shireen. Jon just stared, too bewildered to react. Lyaella tried to avoid looking at him as she set aside her lyre. Her accompaniment had been perfect in the first verse, but this was as far as she'd gotten when writing the score. Torrhen would have to help her with the rest of it. For now, she could only sing the third verse on her own and hoped it sounded okay.

She steeled herself to continue, but paused when low rumbling and a deep howl filled the air. Sōnar and Ghost. They were making their own music in tempo with the beat. They were so kind to help her like this. Maybe one day they could do this again with Torrhen, Shadow, and their mother's three dragons. Softly smiling, she sang on.

A brother brave fights for honor not pride,

His sister sad and shy must only hide,

A cold Iron Throne,

The five kings claim their own,

A crown laced in lies,

You win or you die

Sōnars rumbles slowly faded as she finished, but Ghost kept howling. It sounded so pretty over the distant breeze, like he was adding his own extra flourish at the end. It was so natural how well his howling accompanied the tune. She'd have to remember to tell Torrhen to write music scores for the direwolves and dragons for all their songs whenever she found him. If Ghost sounded this good just by howling freely, it'd be even better if they learned to properly accompany all their songs.

It took Shireen a few moments to start clapping. Softly. "Beautiful, Lyaella," she murmured, her smile now fixed. "That — That was beautiful…"

Lyaella forced a nod and turned to pet Ghost, unable to meet her gaze. Even her friend sensed just how morbid the lyrics truly were. "Thank you."

"It's… It's very honest about the war for the throne. What's it called?"

"You Win or You Die."

"Oh… Oh, I see."

"Mmmh," she murmured, cautiously hopping off the barrel. Some were still pointedly ignoring her, but others openly gawking at her, eyes wide and faces blank. She clutched her necklace, shifting uneasily on the barrel. What were they all thinking? Was Stannis angry with her? Was Jon? Why weren't they saying anything?

Shireen blinked. "What's wrong?"

"I'm — I'm just—"

"You! I told you to stay away from my daughter!"

Lyaella whipped around. Selyse Baratheon was barreling furiously across the courtyard, her gaze fixed solely on her.

The Night's Watch and Baratheon army gaped, yet no one dared to stop her. She was Stannis' queen after all, and the woman looked like the true epitome of the Baratheon House words. Pure fury was coursing through her veins, and no one wished to be on the receiving end of it. If anything, most of them pointedly averted their eyes from her and the two girls while a handful only peeked at them sparingly, intrigued yet not wanting the queen to know.

Even the little doe understood just how angry she was. "Mother," she said, standing and hurrying forward. "I — I wasn't expecting—"

Selyse's eyes snapped to her, and Shireen flinched. "I shall deal with your sinful disobedience later!"

"But — But Mother—!"

"Silence, Shireen!"

"It's our last day here at Castle Black! Please!"

"Silence!" she screeched. Shireen jumped and shrunk away, appropriately chastised. Satisfied, Selyse's gaze snapped back to Lyaella, making her flinch. "You! I thought I made it clear you were to stay away from my daughter! You think just because you're friends with monsters you don't need to listen to me?!"

Lyaella trembled. "N-No… I'm sorry, Lady Selyse, b-but—"

Smack!

Shireen shrieked as Lyaella fell to the ground with a hard thud, her lyrics scattering in the wind. "That's Queen Selyse to you, bastard Snow!"

The Night's Watch and Baratheon army now openly stared. Some looked stunned, but those who were personally against Lyaella smirked in approval. Jon, Stannis, and his advisors were among neither group though and hurried down the stairs to try defusing the situation. They speed walked at first, but had to break out running when Sōnar and Ghost roared and growled as they leapt forward in Lyaella's defense, spitting embers and snarling in Selyse's direction.

Chaos erupted as Stormlands soldiers whipped out their swords and scrambled between their queen and princess and the beasts. Even some of the Night's Watch drew their blades, eager to slay the dragon should it attack.

Selyse's fury only grew at the dragon and wolf's reactions. "There! You see?!" She raged, spinning around and waving wildly at the animals. "Look at them! They're dangerous! Violent! They should be killed before they burn us or tear us to shreds!"

Murmurs of agreement erupted from the crowd, and quite a few advanced forward.

Jon rushed past Stannis and shoved through the crowd. "Your grace—!"

"It's me you h-hate, my lady. Don't… D-Don't hate Sōnar or Ghost."

Everyone turned. Lyaella was slowly rising, pressing a clump of snow against the red welt on her cheek.

Selyse shifted slightly at her reluctant words, but wasn't deterred. "I am the queen, child! You'd do well to remember that! And that were you not in the custody of the Night's Watch, you'd already be dead! You and that wretched beast of yours!"

"I know, b-but you're not my queen, Lady Selyse… nor are y-you the first or cruelest who's w-wished me as such."

Selyse stared at her. Shireen stared. Everyone stared. They stared, blinking repeatedly at how nonchalantly she said as such. Lyaella rubbed her cheek and quietly murmured Ghost and Sōnar to stand down. She wasn't going to let her father's direwolf or her dragon sister be harmed just because the Baratheon queen had slapped her. So many others had said and done worse in the past. If anything, the stag queen was kind in comparison.

Bowing her head, she collected the few music sheets close by and tried wiping away the bits of dirt clinging to them. She needed to disappear for awhile. So long as she got out of here fast, Selyse wouldn't be too angry with Shireen and would focus her hatred on her. Better for her to be hated than Shireen. She spied another page that had blown off towards the forge and moved to grab it, but Selyse barred her path, glaring down at her with her usual sneer.

"Are you mocking me, Snow girl?!"

Lyaella blinked, confused. "M-Mocking you…? Why — Why would—?"

"I am your queen, whether you like it or not! My husband is your king! My daughter is his heir, the princess! You are to give us proper respect when we address you, not turn your back to us! Were you not within these walls right now—!"

"Mother!"

"Shireen, return to your solar! Now!"

"No! You apologize to Lyaella! You're the one being disrespectful!"

"Sinful child—!"

"It's all right, Shireen," Lyaella murmured, quietly stepping around Selyse to grab the flyaway sheet. "I d-don't mind…"

Shireen gaped. "How can you say that, Lyaella?! My mother—"

"Stop talking to that wretched girl!"

"—just smacked you! She's saying such horrible things! Why are you letting her?!"

Lyaella didn't respond. She couldn't. If she did, she wasn't sure what would come out of her mouth.

"Are you ignoring me now, Lyaella?! Why?!" she demanded, her voice rising. "I'm on your side! I'm speaking up for you! Why don't you speak up for yourself?!"

She clutched her dragon pendant, squeezing it with a fistful of fur from her cloak.

"You're allowed to say what you think! Get upset when people yell at you!"

Her shoulders quivered, chest hitching.

"Be angry once in a while!"

Tears gathered, making her sniffle.

"Talk back when people like my mother throw the first insult! You can't just—!"

"The Lord shall punish you for your wicked tongue, child! How dare you—!"

"You're lucky you have a loving mother, Shireen. Don't insult her."

It was a like a candle had been snuffed out, how still everything became. All murmuring hushed. The wind died. Sōnar and Ghost stopped growling and snarling. Shireen and Selyse went quiet. Even Jon who'd nearly made it to the front of the crowd froze from pushing and shoving others out of his way. Silence. Chilling silence.

Lyaella thickly swallowed. Why wasn't anyone saying anything? Were they all staring at her now? Wondering if she was insane or mad? She knew why they'd all assume as such, but it was the truth. She knew it was.

Straightening her shoulders, she brushed off the snow on the last sheet and slowly walked back to the barrels, her head still bent. As soon as she grabbed her lyre she could leave. She'd hide away for a while, at least until Shireen went to bed. It was only because of her that Selyse was angry with her daughter. As cruel as Selyse had been, Lyaella didn't want to be the cause of anymore strife between her and Shireen. She could smack her again if she wanted to. It didn't matter.

And it seemed like she planned to, as the woman caught her shoulder as she tried to step past. Lyaella didn't look up at her, though. She only sighed and stared down at her feet. "Go ahead."

"What?"

"Slap me. Or smack me. Do… Do whatever you want."

The grip on her shoulder lessened slightly, but Lyaella still didn't look up. Whether she looked up at her or not wouldn't matters. A smack was still a smack in the end, even if the target wasn't paying attention.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you'd want me to strike you."

She shook her head. "I d-don't, but you do so… so why d-delay it? Go ahead. I… I won't mind."

Selyse pressed her lips together, a muscle growing taut in her cheek. "That's a lie," she accused.

"It's not."

"It is! If I were to hit you again, you'd have those beasts tear me apart! That's what you want to do to my daughter! I know it is!"

Lyaella sighed and purposefully stepped back and out from her grip. "I'm not a liar, Lady Selyse. M-My brother and I never lie. Lying… our relatives do it everyday, and w-we will never be like them."

"I don't believe you!"

Her shoulders shook, chin trembling. "Why… W-Why are you using me like this?"

She blinked. "What?"

"Using me… to show Shireen you actually care about her…"

All rage and confusion was wiped clean from Selyse's face. She froze, thunderstruck. Shireen jerked and did a double take, baffled at her words. Stannis and his advisors all tensed, lost for words. Everyone else just held their breath. It was anyone's guess what would happen next.

Lyaella ignored them. She stared at the ground, massaging her cheek as the snow melted away. "I don't… I don't understand why y-you treat Shireen the way you do, my lady, but it's n-none of my business, so… I don't judge you for that. But I c-can see you care about her. You wouldn't be so against me p-playing with her if you didn't… That m-makes you a better parent than my relatives, anyway…" she murmured, her voice choking. "They wouldn't have done anything if you'd s-slapped me. Of if you'd had your soldiers beat me. You're… You're protecting Shireen. They never protected T-Tory and me from people like you…"

No one said anything. There was no murmuring or hushed whispers in the crowd. Just utter silence.

Her vision blurred, eyes hot and wet as she fought back her gathering tears. "I-I-I know you won't believe me, but I'd n-never… never hurt Shireen, L-Lady Selyse. I don't care about the throne. I don't c-care that she's a Baratheon… S-She's my friend. My first friend! The only friend I've ever had other than Torrhen!"

It was all too much. With a choked sob, Lyaella buried her face in her hands as she burst into tears. Iit was impossible to keep holding them back. Ever since her spout of breathlessness, she'd been putting on a brave face and continuing her days here at Castle Black while avoiding Shireen to keep from crying. Yet today — the last day she'd ever have with the little doe — she was being forced to explain all this just so Selyse wouldn't yell at Shireen anymore. From what she remembered from her and Torrhen's history book, Selyse only realized how much she actually loved her daughter when Lady Melisandre was already burning her as a sacrifice.

Maybe explaining all this was good, actually. The Red Woman was a murderer even if she'd done good things for her parents. There was nothing Lyaella could do to prevent Shireen's death, not when she had to stay close to Jon so things would be better for him and her mother. But maybe she could make Shireen's final days better than they had been in the first timeline. Perhaps playing Truth or Half-Truth to hint at a few things could make Selyse Baratheon treasure Shireen for what little time was left.

With splotchy red cheeks, she forced herself to meet the stag queen's gaze. "I'm n-not… I'm not gonna hurt Shireen, L-Lady Selyse. If anything… if you wanna keep her safe, then keep her away f-from Lady Melisandre!"

Gathering her skirts, she made a quick curtsy and darted back to the barrels to grab her lyre. There, she'd said it. She'd been vague, but that was more than enough warning. Perhaps now Shireen could develop somewhat of a relationship with her mother before—

"Excuse me?!" Selyse shrilled, snatching her wrist. Lyaella whimpered as she whirled her back around, face twisting as her nails dug into her flesh.

"Mother!"

"Selyse, release her!"

"Queen Selyse, I warned you about harming the ward of the Night's Watch! Let her go!"

"Silence, Shireen! The Lord shall punish you for your insolence! Stannis, I will not let allow this monstrous bastard speak ill of Lady Melisandre! She's been a blessing in our lives and shall guide you to the throne! And you do not command me, Lord Commander! I am not one of your men! I am the queen of the Seven Kingdoms! You do not give me orders!"

"Yet you and his grace's army are seeking shelter here from the war! If you wish to spend one last night within these walls, you will let go of Lyaella Snow! Immediately!"

"Selyse!"

Lyaella hadn't thought it was possible, but Selyse somehow swelled with even more fury from the demand, her face puffing redder and redder. Shooting daggers at her husband and Jon, she reluctantly let go of Lyaella's wrist. Lyaella trembled as she rubbed it, but froze when Selyse's gaze snapped back to her. Her eyes were bulging and wild with rage as she towered over her.

"You" — Lyaella flinched at her deadly tone — "will never speak ill of Lady Melisandre again! Understand, Snow girl?! She's a messenger of the Lord of Light! She proclaimed Stannis as the Prince that was Promised! She guided him here to fight against the coming darkness! The night will be dark and full of terrors if he doesn't fulfill his destiny — a destiny he wouldn't have known about had she not been counseling him! She's performed miracles in his name! Miracles you couldn't even dream of! You don't—!"

"Miracles?! You call the things she does to be miracles?!" Lyaella surprised even herself by how strong she sounded, and based how Selyse jerked back with wide eyes, she thought the same. "There's nothing miraculous in what that woman does! Not when it comes from burning people!"

"The Wildling man? He'd named himself a king! There's only—!"

"Not just him! I mean all the people she's burnt at the stake!"

That shut Selyse up. She gaped at her, stunned, then shot a quick glance over her shoulder. Stannis was as rigid as a statue, his face seemingly blank as he stared at them, while Davos recoiled and refused to look his way. The Red Woman's lips parted as she stepped forward slightly, surprised yet intrigued by her words. Lyaella couldn't see Shireen's reaction, but the Night's Watch only looked puzzled by her words and turned to the Stormlands soldiers for clarification. The soldiers ignored them, too dumbstruck to say anything.

She glanced away, too overwhelmed to keep looking the stag queen in the eye. Still, her hands balled up into fists and she forced herself to keep going. "I've h-heard stories about what's she's done. I know she's burned… burned m-more people at the stake for Lord Stannis. And I k-know about the rumor."

"Rumor? What rumor?"

"The rumor about h-how his brother died. That Renly Baratheon w-was killed by… a shadow with Stannis' face." Stannis jerked, his face flickering with genuine shock for several moments before returning to its blank state. "I didn't k-know what to think when I first h-heard this, but having met h-him and Lady Melisandre, I think they're t-true… So if you really c-care about your daughter, then consider this… Who is S-Shireen really in more danger around? Me, the girl with a dragon who h-hasn't hurt anyone… or your h-husband and the Red Woman who already killed h-his own brother?"

Silence filled the courtyard, no one daring to say anything. What they all thought was none of Lyaella's concern, though. She had to get out of here before Stannis or Lady Melisandre snapped out of their shock and punished her for say thing all this. Gathering her skirts, she made a fast curtsy to Selyse and darted past. Tilting her head for Sōnar and Ghost to follow her, she grabbed her lyre and turned to leave. As she hurried past Shireen however, she stopped, her whole body trembling as she stared dead ahead rather than turning to her.

"I… I'm v-very sorry I said all that in front of you, Shireen…" she murmured, hot tears gathering again. "I h-hope you don't hate me now, but… b-but I don't want you to die. You're my friend… and I k-know you will die if you're parents keep l-listening to the Red Woman!"

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Shireen gape. The little doe reached out to her, but Lyaella didn't let her. She ran to the lift before anyone could say anything, her dragon and the white direwolf right behind her. Climbing inside, she saw Sōnar spread her wings and fly up to the top of the Wall, but Ghost dared not enter the compartment. He simply sat down in on the platform and stared ominously at their onlookers, guarding her from them. Whispering a quiet thank you to the wolf, she threw her weight down on the lever and let the lift rise.

She didn't dare look back at the crowd as the pulley took her higher. She just gave into her emotions and cried.

---

It had been a long, tiring day for Jon Snow. But it wasn't over yet. Not by a long shot.

He'd failed once again to talk to Lyaella in the library, talked to Maester Aemon, negotiated a plan with Tormund to work together with the Free Folk, pulled Stannis aside to ask permission to use his fleet, and then witnessed quite the dramatic scene in the courtyard with Lyaella, Shireen, and Selyse Baratheon. The song she'd sung prior was disturbing enough considering Lyaella herself wrote it, but then everything afterwards with the stag queen? It'd left him utterly speechless.

But that'd been hours ago now. Ever since she'd run off, Ghost had been guarding the front of the lift, letting no one go up after her. Many had tried, but his direwolf would immediately snap and grow to ward them off. The only exceptions were when Shireen, Gilly, and Maester Aemon tried approaching. For them, he wouldn't act threatening, but he would consistently bar their path, not letting them approach the pulley system. Jon had no idea why Ghost was so attached to Lyaella, but it was clear his direwolf wasn't going to let anyone bother her so long as she wanted to be left alone.

Jon hadn't been too concerned at first, as he figured Lyaella would come down after an hour or so. He'd had to round up all the men in the Night's Watch in the meantime and explain his plan for bringing the Free Folk onto their side of the Wall. The men hadn't been pleased to hear this, especially not Thorne, but he refused to let anyone change his mind. The white walkers and the army of the dead were the true threat beyond the Wall, not the Free Folk. Defeating them was the only thing that mattered, and the only way that would happen was if the Free Folk and Night's Watch learned to work together. Olly hadn't been happy with him either, as he refused to even look at him now unless he had to give the boy an order. Jon understood his anger, but it was clear his steward had no intention of forgiving him anytime soon. He only hoped the boy would come to accept his decision. Holding on to hatred the way he was wasn't healthy. He was still young, though. There was still plenty of time for him to come to grips with how his parents died.

However… that had all happened hours ago. It was almost sundown, and Lyaella had yet to come down from the top of the Wall.

Jon ran his fingers through his hair as he approached his wolf. Ghost had to let him up there so he could bring her down. It was going to be dark soon, and Maester Aemon had stressed to everyone after her breathlessness the other night about how imperative it was for her not to be on top of the Wall after nightfall. The air was so much colder and drier up there to begin with which made it bad for her lungs, but apparently it would be even worse for her up there at nighttime. That's probably what led to her breathlessness that one night in the first place. She'd been coughing a lot in the days leading up to that attack, but spending hours up there after sundown that day was what truly triggered it. Even if she had that scarf Gilly made her, it was still risky for her to stay up there. Someone had to go and fetch her, but since Ghost wasn't letting anyone go up, it was up to him to make him stand down. He only hoped his friend would listen to reason.

"Ghost, down," he ordered.

Red eyes blinked at him, and a moment later Ghost stood and trotted up to him. Tilting his head curiously, his wolf regarded him for a moment before biting down on the edge of his cloak and trying to drag him forward. Jon jerked and tried to break free, but Ghost had a firm grip on him and refused to let go until they were both in front of the lift. He stared at him expectantly for several moments, then glanced pointedly to the compartment before looking back to him.

Jon sighed. "I get it. You didn't have to drag me here, boy."

Ghost whined lightly, then moved to sit in his guard position as he had before. His direwolf was quite strange sometimes. For whatever reason he had, Ghost had been sitting here all this time to stop anyone except him from going up top to talk to Lyaella. Jon had no idea why. For some reason, his wolf had become very fond and protective of the little girl. He followed her around and protected her almost as much as he did with him.

Shaking his head, Jon simply climbed into the lift and turned the lever. There was no use pondering over his wolf's attachment to Lyaella right now. He had to focus on what he was going to say to that little girl. If nothing else, Ghost's strange behavior would allow him to finally talk to her one-on-one without interruption.

He found her at one of the lookouts some ways off from the lift. None of the other watchers dared approaching her though, not when Sōnar was sitting there with her. They were close to the edge, yet Lyaella wasn't looking out at the view. She was sitting against the sculpted out ice wall with her knees tucked up to her chest, face buried in her knees. Her dragon crooned softly, nudging her with its snout, but Lyaella just ignored her friend. Was she still crying? Had she stopped at all since Queen Selyse confronted her?

Jon sucked in a breath. This wasn't going to be easy. But somehow he had to get her to stay here and talk to him, regardless of what happened earlier. With any luck, perhaps he could figure out some way to cheer her up before he got into all the matters he needed to talk to her about.

Nodding to himself, he cleared his throat and stepped forward. "Lyaella."

Her head snapped up, revealing puffy red cheeks and alarmed, bulging gray eyes. "L-Lord Commander!" She squeaked, scrambling up. "I-I-I'm sorry! I — I didn't know you'd be c-coming up here! Sorry to b-bother you, I'll just go and—"

"No, you don't have to go," he said, moving to stand on the opposite side of lookout point to avoid her dragon. "It's not dark yet. After dark I'll insist you go down because of your lungs, but you're fine for now. You can stay."

She blinked at him, then stiffly nodded before sitting down again. "Oh, okay…"

Other than the roaring wind, an uneasy silence spread between them. Lyaella seemed determined to not look up at him or the amazing view and kept her eyes firmly fixed on her dragon, pointedly stroking its white scales. Her dragon however had its blue eyes locked solely on him, cocking its head curiously. Jon wanted to say something more and get a real conversation started, but he couldn't. He was too on edge from how Sōnar was staring at him and could only look out at the snowy wilderness to avoid staring back.

Sōnar suddenly rumbled, and Jon couldn't help but glance back. If he didn't know any better, he would say that the dragon was shooting them both indignant looks, as though annoyed by their uneasiness. Jon gaped though when the dragon suddenly began pushing Lyaella closer to him with her head, as though trying to force her to talk.

"S-Sōnar, stop! No!" She exclaimed, climbing to her feet to try pushing her away. "S-Stop that!"

Jon tensed, yet didn't move away. His instincts were screaming at him to back away from the fire breathing reptile, but he forced himself to stay put. Maester Aemon had advised him to try showing Lyaella he wasn't afraid of her friend, after all. He had to try getting used to the dragon.

Sōnar didn't stop pushing her until she was right next to him. Lyaella still didn't look at him, though. "Sorry for S-Sōnar's rudeness, Lord Commander," she murmured, staring down at her feet. "I didn't think she'd d-do that. I'll… I'll s-scold her later for making me b-bother you…"

"What? You're not bothering me. Why'd you think you were?"

She shrunk away, still not looking at him. "W-Well… we must be if we're here while you are… That's why I've b-been staying out of your way so much. I… I t-thought you wanted me t-to stay away from you after you b-beheaded that man…"

He shook his head, mentally slapping himself yet again for how he reacted. "I didn't mean to give you that impression. I'm sorry for how I reacted."

"You… You are?"

"Aye. I've been meaning to apologize to you for what I said. I… I had a lot on my mind right then, but I shouldn't have taken it out on you. I'm sorry."

There was a slight pause, then she hesitantly glanced up. "Thank you. I… I forgive you."

Jon smiled. Okay, this was a start if nothing else. She was looking up at him, at least. Now he just needed to keep her talking. He tilted his head invitingly, gesturing to the view. "You can come closer, if you want. Hard to see anything if you stay back there."

Lyaella bit her lip, but before she could do anything, Sōnar approached. Jon went rigid as the dragon peered down at him, but he didn't dare move away. Like Maester Aemon said, he had to show Lyaella he was willing to open up to her friend. As it sniffed him curiously, he stiffly raised his hand, reaching out to its snout. Lyaella blinked in amazement as he nervously patted her companion, but he didn't dare glance over to her. He kept his eyes locked on Sōnar, afraid that only one wrong move would make her bite off his hand or set him on fire.

But Sōnar did neither. If anything, her bright blue eyes twinkled as she happily trilled, pressing closer to his palm. The dragon liked him it seemed, but he still couldn't get himself to fully drop his guard. It was strange to not do so, though. Part of him wanted to let go of his reservations and absorb the incredible sensation of being able to touch this amazing beast, but the rational side of himself wouldn't let him. He had to listen to that side and stay guarded. Lyaella herself was harmless and kind, but he remembered all the stories he'd heard about Targaryen dragons. They were unpredictable creatures, and not even their riders could fully control them.

Lyaella was ignorant of his inner thoughts though and stepped closer to pamper her friend in kisses. Sōnar warbled, nudging her appreciatively with her wing. "You like Jon, right?" She asked, leaning into her scaly neck. "You like h-how he petted you?" Sōnar trilled, bobbing her head. Lyaella giggled and looked back to him. "You don't have to be afraid of her. She won't hurt you, I promise. You… You can keep petting her if you want."

It took everything he had to casually wave away her words. "Perhaps another time. How about letting her fly off for awhile? If she's been up here with you all this time, she might want to stretch her wings."

She considered him for a moment, then turned to look her friend in the eye. "Go ahead, girl. I'll be fine."

Warbling affectionately, Sōnar nuzzled her silver hair one last time before spreading her wings and leaping out into the sky. Squawking loudly, she flew out over to the Haunted Forest before doubling back, circling high overhead as she enjoyed crisp fresh air.

Jon would have kept watching her for a few moments, but a sudden gasp from Lyaella made him glance back to her. She stared out at the snowy landscape in amazement, lips parted as she crept a few steps closer to the edge.

"Wow… It's beautiful!"

Jon quirked his head, puzzled. "Wait… haven't you seen the view yet? You came up here before."

"It was t-too dark the other day to see anything when I c-came up before. And I only came u-up here now to be alone. I didn't l-look out over the edge," she explained. "This… This is the f-first time I'm seeing this."

Jon was surprised. Aside from when one looked at the Wall itself for the first time, coming to the top and looking out at the horizon was one of the few things that drew people to visit the Night's Watch. That Lyaella had come up here before and not taken in the view was definitely surprising. Still, he held his tongue and let her drink in the sight. He remembered how wonderstruck he'd been when he first took it in. Uncle Benjen had still been here, and he admitted he'd wanted to be with him when he first saw it. Yet Lyaella was all alone. Other than himself, there was no one here who cared to be with her when she first looked out at the snowy horizon. Hopefully she didn't mind him being here right now. Unless there was someone in particular she wanted to come up here to share this moment, he hoped he wasn't a bad choice for her first glimpse beyond the Wall.

He broke out of his thoughts as she cupped her hands around her mouth. "Hello…" she shyly called, her tone just barely above her usual speaking range. "I'm… I'm on top of the world…!"

Jon chuckled. "Impressive. Now repeat yourself a few times while going quieter and it'll sound like an echo."

She flushed, bowing her head as she twiddled her thumbs. "Tory'll be jealous when I t-tell him about this…" she muttered. "H-He'll be mad when he realizes he m-missed out on fulfilling one of his d-dreams…"

"His dreams?"

"Mm-hmm," she nodded. "He told me once a l-long time ago that… that i-if we ever got to visit the Wall, he w-wanted to jump off the edge of it."

Jon's eyes nearly popped out of his head. "What?!"

Lyaella giggled. "Don't worry, it's not w-what you think. He didn't mean it as in k-killing himself. He meant is as a game."

"A game…?"

"A game with Sōnar. He… He was joking that someday when we're older and S-Sōnar's bigger, he'd jump off the edge and l-let her catch him in midair. It was his idea of fun."

"Huh." Jon blinked incredulously, unsure what to say. "You — You don't intend to do that yourself, do you? As Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, I'm forbidding you from ever attempting such a stunt."

Lyaella shook her head, her cheeks brightening further as she fiddled with her dragon pendant. "N-No, I don't plan to do that. I'm… I'm not nearly as b-brave as him to try. And even if I w-was, I couldn't. Sōnar… she's still t-too small. We c-couldn't ride her yet if we tried."

"Good, don't try that. Ever," he ordered.

Lyaella shrugged in return, but Jon hardly noticed. While he was relieved she didn't intend to perform such a reckless stunt, part of him wondered if she was even aware of just how big her dragon really was. While still too small to carry a child as small as Lyaella, Sōnar seemed somewhat bigger now than she had been when they first came here. Recently she seemed to be constantly bumping her head on the tops of door frames when following her little mistress indoors, and her head curved down more than it used to when looking down at people. Not to mention her wing span had increased significantly. People were always on the lookout now to give advanced warning to others loitering about in the courtyard if it seemed like the dragon was going to land amongst them. People had nearly been knocked over once when she'd swooped down with her wings fully extended. No one wanted there to be any accidents caused by Sōnar's growing wings.

Still, he knew better than to tell her any of this. If there was one thing he'd come to realize about Lyaella Snow, the slightest thing could make her shy away and abruptly end a conversation. "Sounds like you're very close, you and your brother," he commented. "You must miss him."

She nodded, staring wistfully back out at the snowy landscape. "We are. He's… He's my best friend. The only real friend I've ever had before Princess Shireen. And we're twins, and we only have each other. You… You have no idea what it's like having no one who truly cares about you…"

Jon grimaced, a heavy sigh escaping him. "I suppose that's true. I'm a bastard too, but I know was luckier than most. I grew up in a noble family, with lots of siblings and a good man for my father."

"Ned Stark?" He nodded. "What… What was he like? Was he really as honorable as people say?"

He nodded, smiling kindly. "Aye, he was. The most honorable man you could imagine. He always tried to do the right thing, regardless of what anyone else thought. And he always — always put his family first. I try to follow his example as best I can. I can't imagine a better man to look up to than him."

Lyaella nodded, her expression thoughtful. "He sounds like a good man."

"He was. The very best. I — I was the only stain of dishonor on his name. Jon Snow, the Bastard of Winterfell." Memories of growing up under the scrutiny and judgmental sneers from Lady Catelyn flooded his mind, and he solemnly turned to glance towards the setting sun. He'd long since come to terms of his status in life as the only white wolf among the pack of grays, but still… "There's only two things I always wanted him to do yet he never did."

"Really? What?"

"Telling me who my mother was, and asking the king to legitimize me as a Stark."

Lyaella whipped around, blinking incredulously.

"You know who both your parents were, right?" She slowly nodded, eyeing him carefully. "That's good. Well, you probably won't understand this, Lyaella, but not knowing who my mother was… it's hard to explain. I'm know I'm a Stark, but there's this whole other side of myself I'll never know that comes from my mother. I don't know if she was highborn like him, a milkmaid, or a wh—" he paused, suddenly glancing down at her. "Or even of the North. He didn't even tell me if she's still alive. I wish he could've at least told me her name, if nothing else."

Lyaella frowned, suddenly becoming quite interested in playing with her pendant. "I see…"

"And my name… you know better than anyone what it's like to be a Snow. You know how hard it is." She stiffly nodded, not daring to look up at him. "So to be a Stark… to have the same name as my brothers and sisters… I'd go to the Godswood sometimes and pray to have a different last name. To be trueborn and just as worthy as my brother Robb… He could have Winterfell and the North. I just wanted to be as worthy of the Stark name as he was."

Lyaella bit her lip and stared down at her feet. Jon didn't even know why he told her all that. Yes, she was a bastard like him, but she was just a little girl. He shouldn't be weighing her down with these heavy ideas. But even so, it was strange she was staying so quiet. If he didn't know any better, he'd think she was purposefully trying to distance herself again by not answering. That didn't make sense though, as she claimed she'd forgiven him for how he treated her before. So why did she seem so resigned and quiet?

Finally she sighed. "You're very strange, Jon Snow. Very, very strange."

He blinked at her. "Pardon?"

"You're strange," she shrugged. "I don't understand your logic. It's strange to me."

"You're confusing me, now. What're you talking about?"

"Well, I get why you think so highly of Ned Stark. He sounds like a good person… but why would you want to keep following his example? I mean… honor cost him his head, right? Don't you think that makes him a bad role model?"

Jon frowned. "He might've been foolish, but being honorable and doing what's right is something we should all try to do. He made the mistake of going to King's Landing when he should have stayed in the North. He'd still be here if he'd stayed. We Northerner's don't play the same stupid games Southerners play."

She shook her head. "If you believe that, you're just as foolish as he was. Everyone plays those games, Jon. Including Northerner's. Torrhen and me… our parents are dead because our Northern relatives played their games with them. They didn't care they died because of their schemes. They got what they wanted, that's all that mattered."

Jon was chilled how matter-of-fact she was while saying this. What kind of life had this little girl led to make her say these things?

"And as far as being legitimized goes—" she paused, wrinkling her face in disgust "—that's a horrible thing to wish for. You should be thankful to Ned Stark for not giving you the Stark surname."

He jerked. "What? Why in world would you—?"

"Unless you're lucky enough to be legitimized at birth, being legitimized is one of the worst things a bastard can ever have happen to them," she went on, her voice growing hard. "It's insulting to be legitimized later in life."

"Insulting…?"

"Yes."

"Why… Why do you—?"

"That's a long story, and one I don't wanna talk about. Tell me more about your life in Winterfell. And your other mother."

Jon furrowed his brows, confused. "Other mother?" She nodded. "I just told you I don't know anything about my mother, and I don't have another one."

"I mean your stepmother. Lord Stark's wife. What was she like?"

His thoughts fell short, words escaping him. "I… I'm afraid you've got the wrong idea. Lyaella."

"The wrong idea…?"

"Lady Catelyn… she was a decent woman. She cared for my father and was a good Lady of Winterfell. She was a good person… but she wasn't like that with me."

Lyaella blinked, surprised. "She… She wasn't?"

He shook his head. "No. You need to understand, Lyaella… me being raised at Winterfell alongside my brothers and sisters… it's not the norm with what happens to highborn bastards. To Lady Catelyn, me living there was a huge insult to her. I didn't like how she treated me, but I understood why. Like I said, I was the one dishonorable stain on my father's past. She hated looking at me and remembering that."

She turned to lean back against the ice wall as she considered this. "I see…"

"Don't get me wrong. She was a good person. Loved her family more than anything in the world. And my siblings didn't follow her example… well, except maybe Sansa."

"Sansa?"

"Aye. She was always desperate to be the perfect little lady. Followed Lady Catelyn everywhere trying to be exactly like her. She… She wasn't exactly cruel to me. Think of it more as her simply ignoring me just to get her mother's approval. She'd smile and be kind on occasion, but when Lady Catelyn was around she'd pretend I wasn't there, if that makes sense."

"That's where you're wrong. If she acted differently just to get Lady Catelyn's approval, then that makes her just as cruel as her mother. They both sound like terrible people."

Jon gaped at her, stunned. "That's — That's not true. You don't know what you're talking about."

"Actually I do, because Lady Catelyn sounds like a slightly less cruel version of my aunts and uncle, and if you're sister wanted to be just like her, she must have been as cruel as she was. Torrhen and me had to deal with our cruelest aunt everyday, our other cruel aunt randomly, and then our puppet-like uncle once a year, so I know I'm right. I wouldn't be surprised if our relatives learned how to be cruel from Lady Catelyn. She must've taught them well."

"No… that's not… I…" he closed his eyes and sighed, unsure what to say. "Look… I'm probably exaggerating a bit. I don't know who your relatives are, but the way you described them and what Lady Catelyn was like… it's not the same thing. I swear it's not."

"I disagree. Like I told Lady Selyse, Tory and I don't lie. Ever. Our relatives lie all the time, and we decided a long time ago we would never be like them. So we had to learn how to tell the difference between truths and lies to know when they lie to us. So I know you're lying to me right now."

"What? No, I'm—"

"You are, but you're only lying 'cause you're humble, so that's different. What you said before about Lady Catelyn and Sansa was the real truth, because the first reactions people have are always the most honest ones. They were just as cruel to you as my aunts and uncle are to me and Torrhen. End of story."

Jon wanted to disagree, but there'd be no point. She truly believed everything she was saying was right. Perhaps there was some amount of truth as to what she said regarding Lady Catelyn, but when it came to Sansa he knew she was wrong. Sansa had always been colder towards him than the rest of his siblings, but she was never deliberately cruel. What had Lyaella's relatives done exactly to make her so jaded about people? If he were her father, he never would've let her or her brother endure the life they had. He would've treasured them and made sure they knew nothing but joy everyday.

Come to think of it… maybe the reason why he'd been trying to keep her at arms length all this time wasn't because of Ygritte and the life he almost had with her. Maybe it was because deep down, Lyaella was almost a perfect mix of both his sisters. Lyaella was kind and polite, very ladylike just like Sansa always was. Yet at the same time, she was adamant to become a fighter and despite being very shy, there were moments when she could muster her inner strength and be rather plucky, rather like Arya. He'd treasured Arya so much while growing up, and even though Sansa kept her distance from him, he'd loved her too. Being close to Lyaella made him remember the best qualities in his sisters, and that made him depressed. His sisters were either dead or had long since decided not to look for him. If they were still alive, he only hoped they were all right.

But as for Lyaella herself… even if her relatives came to the Wall looking for her or her brother, he wouldn't send her back to them. Not unless he saw undeniable proof that Lyaella was wrong in her beliefs about them. For now though, she had to go somewhere else. Somewhere safer than here. Which reminded him…

"There's something I need to talk to you about Lyaella. Something important."

"What?"

He shifted a bit, feeling the letter slide around in his cloak. "I'm sure you've realized that you staying at the Night's Watch can't go on forever. Which is why I've been trying to figure out where to send you where you'll be safe."

She stared at him, surprised. "You… You don't want me here?"

"No, no," he said, shaking his head. "It's not that, Lyaella. It's just the Night's Watch is supposed to be politically neutral from the rest of Westeros. You staying here however puts us in a position where we can't stay that way. By hiding you here from the rest of the world…" he paused, struggling to find the right words. "Let me put it like this. If we threw you and your dragon out right now with only the clothes on your back, we know you wouldn't make it. But if we keep you here and the Lannister's somehow find out about it—"

"—t-they'd accuse you of siding w-with a Targaryen restoration." She finished, frowning as she slowly slid down against the ice wall to sit with her knees tucked up to her chest again. "B-But… But I already told Stannis that me and T-Tory don't want the Iron Throne. We… We'd be happy if D-Daenerys Targaryen won it, but we… w-we really don't care who sits on it in t-the end…"

Strange, she'd stopped stuttering and hesitating over her words for quite some time he hadn't even realized she'd stopped, but she was doing it again. Jon made a mental note to talk to her about it later, though. Right now, there were far more pressing matters to discuss. She'd mentioned Daenerys on her own… Maybe he had to frame this another way.

"Other than Maester Aemon, the Dragon Queen is the only Targaryen left. That'd make her your last living relative, not counting your aunts and uncle. Right?"

Lyaella bit her lip, slowly nodding. "Y-Yes, our aunts and uncle… they're r-related to us from our — our other p-parent's side. They're not related to House T-Targaryen themselves."

"Which side, though? Your mother or father?" She shook her head, refusing to answer. "Well, that still makes her the last of your family. Did you and your brother ever want to meet her?"

She quirked a brow, muddled. "Why… Why d-do you ask?"

Steeling his nerves, he reached around inside his cloak. "Because I think you'd be safer with her than you are here." He fished out the letter. "I wrote this for her. Explaining you. You, your dragon, and that missing brother of yours."

Her brows shot up. Taking the letter, she unfolded it and skimmed over the lines, eyes wide in surprise. Passing it back when she was done, she was quiet for a moment, her expression thoughtful. "You're… You're g-going to send her this?"

"I want to… but first I need to know if you want me to."

"W-What?"

"What do you want to do, Lyaella? If you want me to send this to Daenerys Targaryen, I will… but is there someone else you'd like me to write to instead? I understand why you wouldn't want to reach out to your relatives… but would you prefer if I sent a raven to House Martell? Other Targaryen supporters? Or what about those people you and your brother somewhat trust? You mentioned before there was a woman you both got ravens from all the time who knew your mother, and then there was another man… the one who taught you a little on High Valyrian. If you tell me their names and where they're from, I could send a raven to them."

Lyaella vehemently shook her head, eyes going wide. "N-No, no! That's…That's not possible…! Y-You can't!"

"It's no trouble, Lyaella, really. I don't—"

"Y-You just can't! Really, you can't…" she murmured, hanging her head. "Writing to t-them… it's n-not an option. That's all I can say…"

Jon furrowed his brows. There was definitely something more to that than she was saying. He'd have to ask later. "All right… but I do at least want to send this to the Dragon Queen instead. Unless you have a good reason for me not reaching out to her, I insist on doing so."

She fell silent again, thinking as she twirled a loose strand of her silver hair around her finger. "I'm… I'm n-not against meeting her, really… I-I-I've always wanted to meet h-her, actually. Me and T-Tory both wanted that…"

He smiled. "All right, then there's no problem. I'll go and—"

"But… B-But I don't w-wanna leave, either!" she exclaimed. "Shireen's l-leaving, but… you're here! You've been n-nice to me, Jon… And so has M-Maester Aemon and Gilly and S-Sam… I'd l-love to meet Daenerys Targaryen… but n-not if it means leaving! I don't… I d-don't wanna leave you… a-any of you!"

Jon heavily sighed, taking a seat against the wall next to her. "Lyaella, even if we somehow managed to keep the rest of the Seven Kingdoms from finding out about you, it's too dangerous for you to stay here."

"Because of Stannis and the W-Wildlings?"

He shook his head. "Not just them. You probably don't realize this, but there are people here at Castle Black other than Stannis who hate House Targaryen, or… or who enjoy hurting people deliberately. Even if you weren't of Targaryen descent, I'd be worried about you staying here long term just because of them. And I haven't even brought up your breathing condition and the army of the dead…"

She sat up straighter, eyeing him carefully. "The… The army of the dead?"

Jon fell silent. Had no one taken the time to explain to her about the true threat beyond the Wall? That'd certainly explain why she was against leaving."Aye, that's right. You've heard the stories about the Long Night, haven't you?" She nodded. "Well, you remember how they talked about white walkers and dead men?"

"Yes… and I admit I've h-heard rumors about how they're… they're c-coming back to life on the other s-side of the Wall. I don't know if t-they're true or not, though…"

"Aye. Well, I can tell you right now they're true. All of them."

"Right…"

He frowned. "You don't believe me? I thought you said you could tell when people are lying? You realize the Free Folk wouldn't have been so desperate to attack the Watch if something bad wasn't happening out there, don't you?"

She fidgeted a bit, staring down at her lap with red cheeks. "I… I don't not believe there's n-nothing bad happening out there, and… and I d-don't take you for a liar, Jon, b-but… it's just hard t-to wrap my mind around. I m-mean… maybe something else is h-happening out there that the Wildlings t-think are the white walkers. That's… That's p-possible, isn't it?"

"I'd agree with you if I hadn't seen them myself."

"You… You have? W-What are they like?"

Jon tensed and didn't answer. She was just a little girl. She didn't need to know how scared he'd been when he'd saved Jeor Mormont from that wight in his office. Or when he witnessed a white walker carry away that baby boy from Craster's Keep. And she especially didn't need to know about the bloody spiral of slaughtered horse remains at the Fist of the First Men. She get nightmares just from thinking about such things.

Lyaella soon sighed. "You're n-not gonna explain, are you?"

"Look… The danger out there is very, very real. They exist, Lyaella, I swear. If anyone's still out there when Winter finally comes, they'll suffer a fate far worse than death."

She scoffed. "Death… Death isn't such a t-terrible thing," she murmured, letting her eyes wander to where Sōnar was swooping through the air. "It's hard on those l-left here, but… it's n-not the worst thing. Life is worse…"

He stared at her, bewildered. "What do you mean?"

"Well, the Night's W-Watch is a good example…" He stared at her, thoroughly baffled. She sighed. "The W-Wall's where criminals are sent, right? It's supposed to be a… a m-mercy instead of death. You're alive, b-but you're forced to spend the r-rest of your days here, and you can't be with your family…" She hugged her knees to her chest, shivering as an icy gust of wind whipped through. "If y-you're stripped of your freedom on h-how you want to live your life, and you're n-never allowed to be with your family again, that's… that's not life at all. D-Death is more merciful…"

"There's honor serving in the Watch," he protested. "All the men here help protect the realm from danger. I wasn't banished here, you know. I came willingly as a volunteer."

"Then you w-were stupid to do so, because you gave up l-life with your family. You… Y-You could've joined Robb Stark when he m-marched off to war. Maybe even saved him at the R-Red Wedding. But you were here… D-Don't lie and say you didn't regret your vows when you l-learned what happened."

"…All right, that's true. But consider this — if I hadn't joined the Night's Watch, I wouldn't have been here when we found you and Sōnar beyond the Wall. I almost abandoned the Watch when I heard my brother was marching to war, but my friends stopped me. If they hadn't… well, you were very scared, that day. If I hadn't calmed you down…"

She turned, blinking repeatedly. "You… You tried to leave once?"

"Aye," he nodded, "I did. Part of me wishes I'd just ignored my friends and just left. I'll always miss Robb, and I'll always wonder if I could've saved him… but I know I did the right thing, staying. I've lost a lot, Lyaella, but I can still do what's right. It doesn't matter who sits on the Iron Throne. This war we're fighting here at the Wall, it's the only war that matters. The Great War. And right now, the one way I can keep the odds hopefully in our favor is by honoring my vows and protecting all the realms of men."

Lyaella only tilted her head, puzzled.

"I talked to Tormund earlier," he explained. "I'm the new Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, now… and I asked if it'd be possible for the Free Folk to come over to our side of the Wall."

She jolted, leaping to her feet in alarm.

"Hey, hey now!" He got himself, kneeling to look at her directly. "I'm sure you've heard lots of things about the Free Folk before, but I've spent time with them. I even had to live amongst them for awhile. They're not monsters or savages, I swear."

She didn't appear to be listening, though. She was staring down at her feet with wide eyes, and muttering under her breath. "Free Folk… this side of the Wall… has it really been that long?"

He frowned. "What was that?"

"N-Nothing… Will you go talk to them soon, then?"

"Aye, very soon," he slowly nodded, still eying her curiously. "Stannis agreed to let us borrow his fleet. I'll be leaving with Tormund and some others in the Watch for their encampment at Hardhome after his people clear out. We'll be heading out in the next few days."

"Can I come with you?"

His head snapped to her in alarm. "What? No."

"Please? I… I want to help, and with Sōnar with me, I'll be fine. And I might finally find Torrhen."

"Your brother? I thought you said you before that he must've ended up somewhere else."

"I know, but maybe… maybe I was wrong. Maybe him and Shadow were found by some of the Free Folk who escaped Stannis' ambush. That Wildling man — or Free Folk, as you said — their king… That man, Mance… He and Tormund said it was possible their people took them with them to Hardhome. Maybe… Maybe they're there! I don't know why I ended up on the wrong side of the Wall, but… but if I woke up there, maybe they were close by and I just didn't find them before you found me! It's possible, right?"

"I suppose…"

"Then I have to go! I have to find them!"

Interesting. She'd stopped stuttering again. But why? Was it because she was excited about possibly seeing her brother again? There was definitely something that triggered her nervous stammers, though the question was what. Still, Jon let it go for now and kept his face in a stern mask as he shook his head. "Absolutely not. It's too dangerous, Lyaella. I promise I'll ask around while I'm there if they've seen a boy like your brother, but you're not going."

"But—!"

"No. End of discussion… but if you really want to help, there is something you can do."

She perked up at that, smiling brightly. "What? I'll do it, whatever it is."

Jon paused. He was glad she wanted to help, but there was a good chance she'd second guess that when she heard what it was. Why in seven hells did Tormund have to make this a dealbreaker for his help? "Well… first you need to understand, Lyaella, that the Free Folk hate the Night's Watch. To them, we're the enemy. We kill them just because they try climbing the Wall in hopes of a better life… Do you understand?" She nodded, listening attentively. "The Night's Watch… it was originally founded so we could keep watch for when the Long Night comes again, but that was thousands of years ago. We forgot why we're here and focused more on the Free Folk raids. There's generations of bloodshed on both sides. The men weren't happy with me when I told them about this, so imagine how this'll sound to their people when they hear it."

She nodded, sighing sadly. "They won't wanna believe it, even though it's their only chance…"

"Aye, exactly. Tormund… he has two conditions he demands of me before helping me with all this."

Lyaella blinked, tilting her head curiously. "Two conditions?"

Jon nodded. "The first is I go to Hardhome with him. That I understand. His people need to hear from me that they won't be hurt if they do this."

"Because you're Lord Commander?"

"Aye, it's my duty to go, but the other thing he asks…" he stopped, running a hand over his face. "It's technically not my decision to make… I don't know how to say this…"

"What? Just say it."

"Tormund… he's demanding we take your dragon, too."

A strong gust of wind whipped past, making their cloaks billow out behind them. It was so strong actually that Jon had to grab hold of Lyaella's arm as she teetered dangerously close to the edge. She nodded appreciatively, but otherwise stayed silent, staring at him with bulging eyes. Then she turned to glance out at Sōnar in the distance, still not saying anything. Jon wished she would. She was so utterly blank it was impossible to figure out what she was thinking.

"Why?" She said finally. "I… I don't understand…"

Jon sighed. "Tormund… he says he the other Free Folk here have been paying attention to you. They don't understand what the problem is of you being a Targaryen, but they don't care. It's Sōnar that's got their attention."

"Sōnar? Why?"

"Because dragons breathe fire, and fire kills wights," he explained. "As far as we know, there's only two things that kills — fire and dragonglass, and dragonglass also kills white walkers. I wish you fully believed me on all this, but I understand why it's a lot to wrap your mind around. Still, Tormund and his people have been fighting to survive for ages, Lyaella, and they want the rest of them who don't know about her yet that there'll be… hope when Winter comes."

"Hope?"

"Aye. I know you don't believe me, but they all think you and your dragon are going to be vital in defeating the dead when they come for us."

"But I'm a little girl. What can I do?"

He snorted. "If we're lucky, Winter won't come for another five or six years. You could do something then, right?"

A ghost of a smile spread across her face as she giggled. "I don't ever wanna grow up. I like being a little girl. You should tell them to charter a ship and talk to Daenerys Targaryen about this."

Jon laughed. He'd never realized just how charming her childish innocence was. "Either way that's what they think, but other than them and the few that escaped Stannis' attack, the rest of the Free Folk don't know about you. They don't know there's a better chance of surviving Winter on this side of the Wall because you and your dragon exist."

"Hmm," she hummed, glancing back out into the distance. "I still don't know what to think about the dead, but you said I couldn't go with you. If… If I can't go, then why would Sōnar—?"

"Tormund understands it's too dangerous and risky for you to go, Lyaella, but your dragon… she has to come with us. He insists that the Free Folk at Hardhome need to see her. It's the only way they'll understand that trusting my promise for their safety is their only chance at surviving the dead. He won't go unless your dragon goes… so I need your permission to borrow her for this trip."

"Oh… Well, I'm sorry, but I can't help you with that."

He closed his eyes, fighting back his frustration. "Lyaella, even if you don't believe in the dead, this is serious! Please—!"

"No, you — you don't understand… I really can't. Sōnar won't just leave me here alone…"

He blinked, furrowing his brows. "Come again?"

Lyaella bit her lip, wringing her hands before heavily sighing. "Dragons… Dragons aren't the same as pets… I tell Sōnar what to do sometimes, but… but it's not like teaching a specific command to a cat or dog… It's like how Ghost is."

"Ghost?"

She nodded. "Ghost is a direwolf, and he's smarter than other animals. You know that, right?"

"…Aye," he said, slowly nodding. "He's very smart. I found him as a pup, and we've been together ever since. He… He just knows things right away, understands more than I'd expect… We have a bond."

"Yes, exactly," she smiled. "It's the same thing with me and Sōnar. She has emotions, just like you and me… She understands everything people say around her. She listens, thinks for herself… and she and I have a bond, too. Other than Tory, she wouldn't listen if someone else tried giving her orders. Not unless she had reason to think they were trustworthy and friends with me, Torrhen, or Shadow."

"All right, but why does any of that matter? I've been separated from Ghost before, and I've never had any trouble with him."

"I told you, we're bonded. Sōnar won't leave me here alone."

"You're not making any sense…"

Lyaella paused, tapping her chin as she pondered how to better explain. "Well, let me put it like this… Sōnar knows that I miss Torrhen. We've always been together. Always. Other than Sōnar and Shadow, we've never… we've never had anyone else that hasn't died, left us, or… or just disappointed us…"

Jon cocked his head. "Disappointed you…?"

She sighed and leaned back against the ice. "Making us think they actually care about us," she murmured, gazing out listlessly at the snowy landscape. "They made us believe we were loved… only we'd find out later it was just another lie. It… It'd hurt… It'd hurt so much…" She hung her head, bangs covering her eyes as her lower lip trembled.

There was definitely a story there, but Jon knew better than to ask. Perhaps when she was a bit more comfortable around people it'd be okay to prod more into her history, but for now he let it go. There were more pressing issues at hand.

"I'm sorry, truly I am. But is that related to you lending your dragon to us for this trip?"

"Because Sōnar knows that without Torrhen and Shadow here, she's all I have. So she won't go with you. She won't leave me here alone."

Jon just stared at her, mind going blank. "Well… can't you ask her to do so just this once? I need her to—"

A sharp, humorless laugh cut him off. "Were you not listening to a word I said?" Lyaella demanded, eyes narrowing as she folded her arms. "Dragons — aren't — pets! Sōnar's her own being. She makes her own choices. She listens to me because she knows me, but because she chooses to do so. If you want me to ask her to do that, I will, but I'm already telling you what she'll do. She'll ignore that request and refuse to go. She won't leave me."

He stared at her for a few moments before sighing and turning away. This was a problem. He couldn't take the dragon up there without taking Lyaella? Fuck, fuck, fuck! And the worst part, he had no way of confirming if she was telling the truth or not. He'd been avoiding her dragon as much as possible since she'd arrived, and for the limited knowledge Maester Aemon had about real dragons whereas learning about them in books, Jon doubted he'd know either. What could he do…?

Adjusting his cloak, he felt the letter slide around a bit in his pocket, and a thought occurred to him. It took everything Jon had to continue at an even level. "You know, we seem to have gotten off track from what I was asking you about before. What do you think about me sending a letter to Daenerys Targaryen?"

Her head jerked back a bit at the reminder. "Well… can I have some time to think it over? It's a big decision…"

"Any other day I'd say yes, but since I don't know if you're telling me the truth or not about your dragon, you need to say yes or else you can't come."

Lyaella blinked, puzzled.

"Consider this a compromise. You let me send word to Daenerys Targaryen, and I'll let you come to Hardhome."

"I-I-I'm not lying, though! I'd never—!"

"I don't know that though, Lyaella. I want you safe, but if I absolutely must take you to Hardhome so your dragon will come, then I want reassurance you'll eventually go somewhere safer. Do we have a deal?"

She bit her lip and let her eyes drift down. "…Okay," she murmured, wringing her hands. "Okay… we have a deal…"

"Good."

"But I want you to send one of Sōnar's dragon scales with it! She sheds them every now and then, so… so it'll be proof that she exists. Daenerys will recognize it as a dragon scale, I know she will. And I want to write her a letter, too. I'll introduce myself and tell her about Torrhen and Shadow. I still don't know where they are, but maybe… maybe he made it across the Narrow Sea and is with her now."

"I doubt a boy as young as you could make it across the sea on his own, even if he's with this so-called Shadow and looks more Northern than Targaryen."

"Still, we don't… we don't know for sure. Like I said, I think they might also be with the Wildlings — I mean, Free Folk at this Hardhome place. But if not, they could be with the Dragon Queen. Anything's possible."

Jon shrugged. "I suppose so, though I do think it's still a stretch. Still, I don't see the harm in you writing your own letter."

"Really?"

He nodded. "Do what you must to get a dragon scale, and write whatever you want in your letter. I think I'll ask Maester Aemon if he'd like for someone to write down his own message for the Dragon Queen. That'd make him happy, I think…"

Lyaella beamed. "Yes! He'd… He'd be very happy if you asked him that! I know he—" Suddenly she stopped, one hand flying to her mouth and the other pressing down on her chest as she hoarsely coughed.

Jon tensed and glanced out at the horizon. They'd been talking for so long he hadn't realized how late it'd been getting. The sun had almost completely disappeared behind the far off mountains, leaving only a few faint traces of light glinting down on the land.

"Call your dragon and pull your scarf up. Time to go down."

Wiping her hand on her dress, she weakly nodded and cupped her hands around her mouth. "C'mon, Sōnar! We're going down, now!"

A roar answered her, and moments later the snowy white dragon swooped away from the Haunted Forest and glided overhead to their side of the Wall.

Nodding approvingly, Jon nudged Lyaella to remind her about her scarf and steered her back towards the lift. That hadn't been as hard as he'd thought it'd be, talking to Lyaella Snow about all this. He still wasn't in any rush to spend more time than necessary with her dragon, but Sōnar seemed relatively tame for the most part and Lyaella was a sweet girl. Granted, a very shy girl who needed to find her inner strength if she was to survive in this world as a Targaryen bastard, but still very kind. It was such a shame she wasn't trueborn. If she was, Jon was sure many would've flocked to her name should she stake a claim on the Iron Throne. She was smart, and wasn't the slightest bit insane as people claimed the Mad King was. With the right support and education, she would've made a good queen one day. It was truly a shame…

Still, he'd try to be more open around around Lyaella Snow now. She was so innocent in how the world really worked. And although she understood that cruelty existed judging by the little she'd shared about her life so far, she was still naive on what people could do.

If nothing else, someone had to look out for her. And until Daenerys Targaryen knew about her and could send someone to collect her, Jon would be the one to do so.