The time to den down and wait out the endless white was passing, for wolf as well as man. Their floundering, panicky mounts would go no further than the man-den's open wooden teeth, but that would change when the herds trampled the snows without. He'd watched one of the mammoths trundle unbothered through a drift that stood higher than a man, chasing the grasses that lay beneath. Were the green dragon on hand, he might have given a discontented rasp, but he had long since flown from sight. It was no less than his way. Even the most patient among the Pack were eager to put the man-den behind them, to feel snow and cold earth beneath their feet instead of round stones pressed tight together. How many spats between the restless young had needed breaking up? It was time to run, to sing, to fill the air with the notes of the Call from one roiling expanse of water to the other. The brother returned would even join the nightly song, he with more reason than any to resist the urge to run and wander. The wilder one, dark and savage, itched to fling himself on some quarry full of fear and blood, hot or cold. We are losing that tilt, if we've not lost it already. The other's voice was saddened, but the moon had made of his own brother what she would, and it was no one's place in the world beneath to question her. Seeking him out, he was not surprised to find the wild brother had gone beyond the stone confines of the man-den, calling to those not fond of the scent of man (among other stranger creatures) who hid their ranks within the safety of the trees. Leave him to it, boy. There's no use in you trying to wrangle him, any more than there is in me trying to talk sense into Rickon. Which of them stood outside the stones, wearing only what birth had wrapped him in? His affect changed, and this time his brother heeded him, uncertainty flickering within the haze of rage that blazed in his eyes. He lay a moment later, head on his paws, until he bent to nuzzle to the top of his brother's dark head. At once he was on his feet again, beside himself for want of a direction to bolt in. It would not be the trees, there was nothing in there they could not get easier on the moors to the south. He drew up to his full height, put his nose to the stars, parted his teeth. The Call issued forth rich and deep, every member of the Pack from his own siblings to the mongrel half-timberwolves at the edge of the sleeping circles joining in for miles around. If the men would not run, that was their thicket to push past. The Pack would run, and whether men would run with them was no longer their care.
Jon found Rose at her window howling the room down, the song enough to earn more than one nervous trumpet from the mammoths present within Winterfell.
"Enough of that. As if your mother needs that racket." Jon said, picking her up, though he was grinning ear to ear and knew it was a fool's hope to hide that he was doing so.
"A sweeter racket than the sort cockerels make, if louder." Val intoned from the fire, voice raised to be heard as Dalla peeked out from her side. Oh, gods, I needn't have bothered. He found Dany sleeping soundly, bundled up in blankets as she so loved to be, with Ned hidden somewhere in the ball. Only when he eased Rose down and sat in his customary chair beside the bed did he give her the gentlest nudge. As if that'd wake her. I'd do as well to nudge a mountain, they're as like to move. Dany's eyes eased open and she regarded him with childish sullenness, but her moment of mischief-making passed when she heard the wolves and then her purple eyes went wide. "I don't much think Ghost is in the mood to linger any longer, Dany." She sighed.
"Oh, bother. I will so miss the springs…" Her unbothered air caught him most off-guard.
"About ready to head out onto the moor, then? Sick of sleeping in the most comfortable bed in Winterfell?"
"It would be, but some wit sees fit to slip a wolf in it every night. Hmph!"
"Oh, is the queen tired of all the bounty, then? Too much venison, cheese, fresh fish pulled from the lakes and rivers?"
"Brought by some wild thief. Stolen, the lot of it." Dany replied, playing cross, going so far as to cross her arms (beneath the warmth of the blankets, of course).
"As are you, I might add." Jon said, kissing her on the forehead while she grumbled. "If it puts space between you and I, I might be bothered for a bit of a journey." "Truly?" Jon asked. "If nothing else, I'd have thought the hatchlings too young." Dany's playful air faded.
"Drogon, Rhaegal and Viserion were younger still when my khalasar crossed the Red Waste. And we, my sweet king, were younger than Ned when we were taken from our mothers' sides." Jon kissed her well-wrapped hand next.
"Will the Dothraki take to moving through the snows well? It isn't ground fit for horses, perhaps we'd best follow the herds south to White Harbor."
"Who's to say they don't go in a different direction?" Dany asked. "They might go in for all the fields that never saw a harvest scythe, and those around White Harbor are some of the most bountiful in the north. I suppose it couldn't hurt to have a few mammoths clearing the way though, and giants aside to tend them."
"Might be you get all the giants you could want, Jon Snow, just not the kind to mind their mammoths and their business." Val called, stoking the hearth and shushing Dalla when the girl burbled. Rose stole an opportunity to slink under the bed, giggling coming from underneath the queen. Aye, Jon thought, but there's an answer to that, too.
It never stopped. He'd followed the trees north and toward the sunrise until he found the great lake, then went beyond it to find low, flinty hills running still further on. The sight of movement void of life ahead made him snort, but by the time he'd reached it he found only dead men beneath him, shuffling aimlessly about. He heard the sounds of man-craft, spotted the fallen trees being gathered and other workings of those too weak to wear the wind, but all beneath him were dead, with no more need for shelter from the cold than he. A chorus of hoots, eerie to men's ears but only irritating to his own, rose to meet him as the cold drakes began to appear, one by one, each accompanied by a rider. Bait, he knew. Meant to draw him away from the defenseless dead below, or else pester him until he left off. They were not strong creatures, nor his equal in cunning, but they were light and fast, and if he charged them they would scatter only to re-form where he was not. All of them were quite keen to give him as wide a berth as their riders would allow, and it pleased him to see the riders themselves seeing fit to hold to their mounts' instincts. This was not the behavior of an enemy, nor was it the witless fleeing of prey. He snorted. He could not catch them, and they could not kill him. His irritation drowned out the leader of the man-pack's unease. Why are wights gathering wood? It was foolish to disregard his thoughts, for where flame might be loosed had proved as important as being able to loose it in the first place when the cold winds had blown their hardest. No crude den of wood would be proof against one of his kind, but the dead did not have minds to know such a thing. Then again, they did not have minds to ward themselves against peril, so why gather the wood? That one or more of the cold race was present and working towards an end was obvious, but what end? He continued south, shrugging off the other's dogged attempts to work it out. Voices carrying over the snow pushed the sheep from his mind. It was aught to them. Dead sheep were still sheep, and in the new world of white, there were things far more worthy of their attention.
He found another den poking up out of the white, sitting on the northern bank of a frozen river. He snorted contemptuously. Even distasteful as he found man-dens, the pile of stones beneath him was nothing to the one the Pack had taken up in, even with the battering it had been given. Nothing moved within or out, living or dead, the den home only to the snows piling within. His dark once-brother would have landed and bellowed, making himself heard for miles. He opted to push on until he could see them on the moor before him, rising until the cold made him feel twice as heavy as he was. There were eight of them, and even unscathed they could not hope to flee. Should they scatter, the other thought, they will but cost you a few extra beats of your wings. He began to descend, giving them ample time to notice him, and notice him they did. The shouts rang out and those among them strong enough to stand began hefting whatever arms had survived the fires of the battle. A roar from him put an end to their bravado, a curtain of bronze flame descending in a graceful arc had them running this way and that. Perhaps they thought their prone fellow would serve as enough of a distraction, perhaps he had been slowing them down for some time, perhaps an end of time and wounds had by fate's whimsy been replaced by one of his own bronze teeth. He circled lower, ignoring the vetrarjond's pained protestations, landing near enough to answer cold curse with fiery retort. A handful of snow was the most he could manage, followed by a hiss and a wince. So near, he could see the burns winding and running down the vetrarjond's form, what hair he might have had long since lost to flame. To stand would be much to ask of him, let alone flee, to say nothing of actually fighting back. Despite the pain clear in his face, a roar was answered with a yell that saw the vetrarjond's face going blue to match the she-hatchling. The fire rose in his throat…and then he let it recede back into his chest.
"Stand." The vetrarjond's eyes popped, surprise trumping pain. He rumbled impatiently, feeling bronze flame tickle the back of his tongue. "Stand or die." Panting hard and sweating boulders, the vetrarjond stood, finding in himself a well of willpower yet untapped. He doesn't want to look weak in front of you. Nor do any of his race, I imagine. The other's notion had him thinking on the one he'd killed. He had not been half as afraid of death as of dishonor. At least, a cold giant's notion of honor. He turned and gave the vetrarjond a swing of his tail- not enough to send him flying but enough to have him doubling over, biting his lip until it bled to hold back a scream. He bent like a sapling in a blizzard, but he did not lose his feet. "Go." The vetrarjond winced anew, and not from the touch of teeth nor tail. He rumbled again, spreading his wings. "Go or die." Then he left the ground, his patience for the hard, unfeeling, unchanging earth beneath him at an end.
Jon tried to brace himself but as soon as he found himself back in his bedchamber, his knee felt like it was trying to chew itself in half. He grit his teeth but made no sound, half fearing Rhaegal would be able to tell if he let out a wince of pain.
"Fuck me, does that hurt."
"Never fear, Your Grace." Maester Wolkan said, helping Jon to free his knee for a look. "Pain means it is healing, and I should think it was more a battering, if a bad one, than a break anyway." Jon frowned, unable to remember the maester being in the room when he had reached for Rhaegal.
"I bade him come when you didn't return in the first few minutes, Jon." Daenerys called from the bed, Ned burbling at the sound of her voice. "You ought know better than to let your knee and back lock up, silly wolf." He looked out the window and was dumbfounded to see that day had reached its height. "At least we'll hear no howling for awhile, hmm? No…" Dany said, looking down into her arms, a hand reaching up to cup her cheek. Someone outside shouted for a maester and Wolkan heeded the summons, leaving Jon alone with Dany and Ned.
"Is Rose still under the bed?"
"Tormund came up to see if anyone was hungry…" Dany fought to keep her face straight.
"And I suppose you could hear her gobbling up everything in sight from up here." Jon supposed wryly. "What of Val and Dalla?" Dany went from amused to bemused.
"Dalla was up all night wandering the room, babbling to herself and tiring only when the moon did. Val took her into the other room, I suppose they're both asleep by now." Jon rubbed his brow.
"Well, babes sleep queerly." Jon stood, tested his knee, and gingerly moved over to his queen's bedside. He started at the sight of her hand. Three white wooden fingers rested where before none had, poking out of leather strips that were half glove, half brace.
"A gift from the Singers. Wood that would have gone to waste, they claimed." Dany said, cheeks pink. "At least it means I can throw a snowball now." He took her hand and made no effort to discern wood fingers from flesh when he kissed it.
"You may be comfortable-"
"Of course I am, but too am I certain I'm of better use up and about. I haven't flown with Drogon since the battle, he could use a bit of fawning over…"
"And Ned?" Jon asked, though he had a feeling Dany had not left such a matter unspoken for.
"The Dothraki women use harnesses to keep their babes close while they remain ahorse. They're not used often, women seldom have a need for a mount more pressing than a man, but such will serve and more." Jon nodded.
"I was thinking about taking Rose up, but the poor dear is rather excitable."
"By turns, anyway. You ought have seen her, Jon. Her eyes were wide, but there was no gaping and no rushing about. Her ears were deaf to all but the pack's song…" she eased herself up, turned to let her legs slide down the side of the bed, and stood. "I fear she knows better how to wolf than to girl, and a bath and a pair of shoes won't change that."
"Perhaps in the time to come, she'll come around in turn. Certainly, she's passing fond of Jaehaerion where a wolf pup would hide behind its mother. Speaking of, he didn't much appreciate Little Sam looking Rose's way, did he?"
"I daresay we have more pressing matters at hand to contend with." Dany's reluctant smirk had begun to battle her nerves again.
"No less. For one, I'm sure you're hungry."
"Is it quite polite for a king to inquire so?" Dany asked with a high-handed air.
"Is it quite polite for a queen to let her stomach grumble fit to match a herd of charging mammoths?"
"Hmph!"
There was nothing for it but to visit the godswood and gather Jaehaerion and Aemyxes. As day had come and Dalla was sleeping, they left Dhaegelle beneath the fallen tree.
"The little dear…" Dany said.
"She is as she is, if anything a dragon besotted with the dark and ever hungry for wight flesh is something to be celebrated." Another thought occurred to Jon, easily voiced with Jaehaerion warbling and burbling on Jon's shoulder like some great orange rooster. "And when comes the time, should she wish to go to ground for…another reason, the cold and dark and threat of dead men nearby will keep the bold and the foolish away."
"Another reason." Dany said, looking dubious as Aemyxes coiled around her shoulders. "I'd have thought Shireen and Bytarys' efforts were evidence enough that eggs need fire to live, let alone hatch…they'd not survive in some dark hollow who knows where." Jon only shrugged.
"It's hardly my quarry to track. If Dhaegelle's going to be peckish for the Others' chattel, though, she'll find slim pickings in places of light, heat and noise." The Great Hall was full as ever, people tripping over each other in their haste to make way for the pair of them. With the way clear the high table was unobscured and the sight of Rose's flyaway red hair had Jaehaerion launching himself from his perch, gliding to clatter among the midday meal's dishes as the people nearby laughed or applauded. Her giggling had him clambering about until he'd managed to perch atop her chair, nuzzling the top of her head while Tormund laughed himself red-faced at the end of the table below.
"Kissed by fire indeed!" he chortled. Aemyxes needs not try, Jon thought. He's precisely where he wants to be. That the iron dragon's focus had left Ned made Jon look again, just to make sure he wasn't seeing things. The bright slivers in his black eyes flashed in the direction of the men from the Reach, all ringing Gilly and her children. Little Sam shrunk behind his mother a bit, but it was the bundle in Gilly's arms that Aemyxes prized.
"Come." The queen's utterance had Aemyxes trilling in what might have been a peeved tone. "None of that, ember. You missed the battle, I'll remind you. What is yours is what your elders decide is yours." she said sternly. Almost Starkly. What's this? What happened to the hungry kitten pining for cream, fruit and cheese?
Once they had found their seats, Jon leaned over.
"D'you know, if you're going to much put on a northern air, I might ask you to show a northern sense of industry." he teased. "The gods know it took enough to get you out of bed."
"Away with you, wolf." she murmured back, nuzzling Ned's nose with her own as Aemyxes peered off her shoulder for a look at the hall entire.
"Fine, I've been meaning to stretch my legs anyway." He looked to Rose, showing table manners worthy of a wolf pup.
"You might recall you're not very bendable at the moment, Jon." Dany said over his shoulder, her playful tone persisting until he didn't respond. "Or am I mistaken? Oughtn't a queen know of such things?"
"Maybe I'm spending too much time with Ghost and Rhaegal, but I would know how well Rose retakes to the wilds."
"As opposed to what, castle life? Hiding behind Winterfell's walls while the Others hammer us with a drunken giant's abandon scarcely counts, Jon. Just because we're out of the wind and eating food we didn't find ourselves hardly makes this court."
"All the same, our life's out there. At the least, we'd do well to press on to White Harbor and see what we'll see from there. The Valemen haven't been home in years, now. Talk of Gulltown will turn their heads." He found Alys Karstark sitting with several of the Mormont women as well as Ned Umber and the rest of the northern lords, one of her daughters in her lap and another in Ned's, while the last bounced on Alysane Mormont's knee. Certainly, they're in no hurry to reclaim their families' domains. Then again, why bother? Stone walls have proved little defense against determined cold monsters. The Manderlys across from them were anything but reticent to engage with the Karstark girls as well, Aynikka burbling and giggling as Wylla made faces at her. "Behave yourselves a moment, hm?" Jon said, one hand in Dany's and one in Rose's.
"Hmph!" Came the twin rebuttals.
"There's not a thing to be done for either of you." Jon said evenly, kissing princess on her head and queen on her cheek, making one giggle and the other blush.
"How have you lot been getting on?" Jon asked, sitting on an empty barrel at the end of the table before he looked into the faces before him.
"I'm hardly about to complain. My girls have warm furs on their backs and hot food in their bellies." Alys said, kissing each in turn. Aynikka babbled happily, her sisters joining in to make a splendid racket.
"Thenn and Karstark run well together." Jon observed. Alys' face set into a stone mask.
"Aye." she replied.
"Bran's gone on to Sea Dragon Point with Meera and the ironborn, but Stark and Reed aside, I should think we've enough of us present to start reordering."
"Reordering?" Ned Umber asked, Torrha fumbling for his plate before her on the table.
"You are more than Little Ned Umber. You are, too, Lord of Last Hearth."
"Lord, aye, and small good that did me when the slaver's-whip decided to taste my palm, still less when the Others were raining ruin on anything with hot blood and hot breath." Ned replied, while Alys only snorted contemptuously. Jon could only grin ruefully.
"I thought you might be of that very mind, I just wanted to make certain." Ned frowned.
"I've no desire to squat on stones and shiver my way through winter with whoever's mad enough to throw their lives away on such a venture. Without the Wall to ward away the cold winds and cold ones, I imagine Last Hearth is all but indefensible, and Karhold in no better a position."
"Aye." Alys said. "I've heard talk of White Harbor and that's the only sort my ears find sweet enough to think on. The castles to the north can wait, they're useless anyhow."
"We are your vassals, Your Grace. You and the queen's, and House Stark's as well." Ned said. "My place is with you and with them, not some ruined castle." A chorus of "Aye!"s from the Mormont women followed, Lady Alysane's powerful hand swallowing Lord Umber's shoulder as she clapped down on it.
"The road to White Harbor may be peril enough, to say nothing of establishing ourselves in the city." Wyn Manderly added.
"Where's Malakko?" Jon asked. She turned pink and tried to hide a smile.
"I told him to get word to his lads that we're like to get a move on soon. He was out of here like an ice spider was chasing him." she replied.
"Well, no ice spiders will chase us on our way to White Harbor." Jon said. "I've, ah…" How to explain? "They're loathe to leave the cover of the trees even at night, let alone with the sun up, and anyway I think by now the cold monsters have learned the dragons are best steered wide of." They looked to each other.
"Is it true the green can speak?" Alys asked in the Old Tongue. Jon thought for a moment. There are things best kept from them and things they're better off knowing. Shortly, he nodded.
"He saw a raven cawing nonsense in the Common Tongue. It rubbed him sore the wrong way to be faced with a common bird doing something he couldn't. What it could do, so he could do, he thought." Jon leaned forward and took a cup of ale as Ned gaped. "He thought right. While Viserion's gone nannying krakens and Drogon dozes the days away, Rhaegal's been having words with any cold giant he comes across. With his tongue when they're not too obstinate, with his teeth when a lesson is needed. They know they're better off far north, where our concerns are minimal."
Wylla Manderly blurted out a colorful utterance suddenly. Her mother's rebuke was interrupted by a weight like a heavy raven on Jon's shoulder, Aemyxes' iron head snaking past Jon's face. The hatchling took the northern lords in as they shuffled in their seats. Rather more fidgety, even squirrely, than when having words with a king. Comport yourselves, we're northmen. Jon introduced them in turn, Aemyxes' focus evidently singularly unnerving. Even Jon found it out of the norm, what with Jaehaerion sounding content to help Rose devour everything set in front of her. I suppose dragons have as much right and more to differ from each other as men do. That thought had him leaving the small among dragons for the small among his own kind, turning to look at Rose and whatever could be glimpsed of Ned. To his very great surprise, the babe sat in Dany's lap, looking around the hall with wide, watchful eyes. Stark eyes. A big man in a raider's garb of mismatched pelts and sheepskins shuffled through the crowd two tables over, fumbling with something in hands like hams. More than one head turned when he approached the high table but Jon's eyes were focused on his queen, proud of her poise and cool bearing. To his surprise she held out a hand, into which the man put something wrapped in a rag. At her thanks he nodded, turned, and waded back into the wall of bodies seated and standing. Jon gave her a moment and then returned, Aemyxes' head turning this way and that to take in the Seven Kingdoms' assembled peoples as well as the wider world's present. To Rhaegal, men are wolves or sheep. Aemyxes doesn't seem to cleave so cleanly to such a stark and broad division. On Jon sitting down, the iron dragon slinked nimbly down onto the table, chirping and burbling at Ned. Even as Aemyxes' head drew near, nudging Ned here and there, the babe didn't cry out or shrink into his mothers' arms, instead blurting loudly in the speech of babes.
"Is all well?" Jon asked.
"Well, it was before you came back up here." Dany said crossly.
"I wonder if all Hasty girls have been so fiery. At least your eyes are Hasty purple."
"And Hasty green as well, or so you swear." Daenerys replied, though she had begun to blush furiously.
"Is this lout being a bother? Away, wolf, and give the woman peace." Val's voice from behind Jon had him turning, Dalla babbling to match Ned on seeing his face. "We stopped by the godswood. Alas, with the sun up and no grasping dead arms on hand, Dhaegelle was not forthcoming."
"No matter. Just shows she's smarter than these two." Dany said from her seat, watching Aemyxes try to puzzle out if there was room for him as well in her lap and Jaehaerion demolish a leg of mutton by himself while Rose gleefully sopped stew out of a bowl with a crust of bread. The white fingers on her hand bent outward, exposing the little parcel.
"What's that?" Val asked. "No mischief of yours, I hope." She told Jon.
"It wasn't the White Wolf but the black dragon's doing." Dany said. "I'd do it myself, but…"
"Aye." Jon said, taking it while her own arms were occupied. It wasn't heavy, exactly, but it was hard, and when he eased away the rag, he found out why. While Val spluttered and struggled to keep herself from spitting out a mouthful of red, Jon stared into his hand at a black diamond bigger than a chicken egg, jagged and toothed like a misshapen lightning bolt. Immediately he rewrapped it and eased it back into the queen's wrapped hand, taking a cup of wine himself. "Well, I didn't expect that." he said finally.
"Drogon's face itched a bit on returning to Westeros. The man called the Weeper pulled it out from between the spikes…"
"However did Drogon manage to get something like that wedged in his cheek?" Jon asked.
"I can only guess it got stuck when he was in the Green Hell." Daenerys said, in a small voice. "I'm sure there are more, they must just not bother him." Such a stone could pay for a year of feasting.
"Well, he's welcome to them, our cares are a deal closer than Sothoryos." Jon said, a hand on her knee. She pursed her lips and nodded.
"Is it White Harbor for us, then?"
"Indeed, and I might take Rose out with a few of the lads for a day or two of hunting on the way. I mean to see where the princess ends and the wolf begins, if there's such a point in her person to find in the first place. Someone ignorant of the truth might see it as the wild ways being for Rose and the princely path for Ned, but you and I know each is the other." Jon told her, while Dany gave a furtive smirk.
"The picture will get muddier when more princes and princesses follow, anyhow. See what the grey robes think of that." she said, giving Ned a gentle bounce. Intently, the prince rested a hand on a pudgy cheek.
"And Dalla?" Val asked, unable to hide the worry in her voice.
"If there's anything of you in her, she's not going to be some lordling's blushing bride." Dany opined. "Perhaps what means and ways Dhaegelle takes to will give some hint, but for now, they're babes. Fussing, hunger, crying, waking in the night for a bit of a babble…enough to be getting on with. As for the dragons…" she trailed off.
"They're dragons. They will go where they want to go, and when they want to go at that." Jon finished.