Warg Maiden

Disclaimer: I do not own Game of Thrones

Chapter 44: For Shame

Jon's POV

Jon tried to keep himself busy since reclaiming Winterfell. Although last night was a nightmare, the sounds of agony filled the air of the wounded men who fought.

Imogen wouldn't wake, as Fenrir explained that only time would wake her. Her soul needs to repair itself from the trauma of experiencing death. Jon felt guilty, knowing he was the cause. A small part of him tried to convince himself that Imogen made this choice. A choice that saved Rickon and gave them more time against the cavalry. Yet seeing her in such a condition brought the guilt back of Ser Alliser Thorne flogging her.

Wanting to make this right, Jon had Imogen placed in the Stark Quarters. As Sansa suggested, Arya's chambers. Afterward, Fenrir took over treating his daughter. Not wanting to waste the Maesters' and healers' time. But Sansa assured Jon she would get a Maester to check on Imogen.

After that, Jon couldn't sleep as he helped his men. He walked around the keep, seeing if there was anything that needed to be done. The adrenaline is still burning through his veins. As much as exhaustion and awake were clashing, Jon kept moving.

He stopped to check on Rickon, as his brother was in his room. Rickon was unconscious as well, as the caretaker informed him that the boy was given Milk of the Poppy. He took a look at the wound, noting the arrow hole was in the shoulder, away from vital organs. However, there is a chance Rickon wouldn't be able to use his left arm properly. Only time will tell.

Afterward, Jon made his way to the courtyard, where he needed some fresh air. Finally, the exhaustion was taming the adrenaline down. Though he was in search of something. Jon noted that Ramsay did not have Dark Sister on his person. Either Ramsay gave it to someone else or tossed it. He made a mental note to have the sword searched. For Dark Sister, it was important not only for him and the war but for Imogen as well. It was her sword.

Jon walked to inspect the keep one more time before going to bed. During the walk, he made a mental list.

The Free Folk were on their side.

House Bolton has been eradicated.

Rickon and Sansa are safe.

The list would have continued when Jon heard the sound of hounds growling and barking. Along with the cries of a man being attacked. Quickly, Jon made his way over but stopped to see Sansa standing at the entryway that led to the kennels. Jon realized what Sansa had done. Ramsay stated he had starved his hounds for seven days to feed them. Now Sansa returned the favor.

Sansa stood for a moment before walking away with a neutral expression. Until a smirk lifted her lips. No doubt she was satisfied that her husband was dead and she was free. No one will dare call her Lady Bolton now.

Jon watched her yet did not approach as Sansa made her way towards the Stark quarters. After a few moments, Sansa was out of sight. Jon made his way over to the Kennels to see several dogs feasting on Ramsay's remains. There was no indication of life, and if there was, the hounds ate the part of the body that allowed Ramsay to express it. Seeing that the bastard was officially dead satisfied him. Even though he preferred killing Ramsay himself, Sansa had a right after being raped and tortured by this man.

The rage Jon felt…that moment he became something he was not.

All he wanted to do was kill Ramsay.

Jon couldn't tell if that was the effect of being resurrected or if the pent-up emotions over his lifetime had caused him to snap.

Ramsay and Jon were in similar situations. They were both bastards, raised by their fathers. However, that is the only similarity they had. Ned Stark made sure Jon was wanted, even though Lady Catelyn despised him. In the end, Jon had a family—his father, brothers, and sister at the time. They kept Jon sane while Ramsay had nothing.

Staring at the corpses being feasted upon, Jon decided he had had enough and returned to his chambers.

There is so much to do.

.o0o.

Imogen's POV

The sharpness entered through my back and into my lungs. The pounding of hooves bashed into my flesh as the weight of the horses trample me down. Repeatedly seeing through the eyes of Frigg and the horses haunted me in a loop. Their deaths are suffocating333.. me. Their deaths became my own.

"Imogen," a voice murmured. "Shh, you're safe now."

I clenched my fists, unable to wake up, as I felt each death of the animals I used. Even though the horses weighed more, it was Frigg's death that was killing me the most. Repeatedly being stabbed in the back by the arrow.

All my strength had vanished.

Only darkness engulfed me. There was no light or anything but pure darkness. It was cold and comforting, and I wanted to succumb to it, allow it to take the pain away. Until the coldness became unbearable, I opened my eyes to be face-to-face with the Night King. Those starburst eyes stared at me, along with a third on his forehead like the Three-Eyed Raven.

I opened my eyes to find myself in some chamber, no longer in the cold void. My sight was blurry as I tried to make out where I was. It was some room that was warm while lying on a bed with furs and blankets on top of me. Slowly, my sight came to me, finding myself in a room where the House Stark's sigil hung on a banner over a fireplace.

Turning my head to the side, I saw Fenrir sitting on the bed. The worry on his face melted away to relief. He took my hand, kissed it, and then rested his forehead against my own.

"You're awake," he murmured.

"How…long…" I managed to whisper.

Fenrir pulled back, "A few days."

I blinked a few times.

"What is the last thing you remember?" Fenrir asked.

I tried to remember. The only thing I recalled was Jon punching Ramsay. The moment Jon left, my mind went blank.

"Jon punching Ramsay," I answered.

Fenrir nodded, "You grounded yourself and suppressed the pain. However, suppressing it too long will put you in shock."

I could only nod, for this was the first time I was in an animal that was killed. Now add multiples at the same time.

"You somehow made your way to the Godswood," he continued. "I found you there staring at the frozen pond in front of the Heart tree. You wouldn't respond. I tried to ease you back, but you were spiraling. It wasn't until Jon came with Frigg's remains that you snapped out of it."

"Jon was there?" I whispered.

Fenrir nodded, "That is when you collapsed."

How is it that Jon is there for my worst moments? Slowly, I sat up, and Fenrir helped me to lean against the headboard of the bed. That is when I realized I was in a Southerner shift instead of my clothes. I stared at my hands, seeing them clean and my wounds tended. I then touched my hair, seeing it was undone and partially clean.

"Sansa and a few ladies help clean you up," Fenrir answered my silent question/

"My clothes?" I asked.

"Being washed," Fenrir answered with a smirk.

I glared at him, "What?"

Fenrir went over to a chair where the fabric was on the back. He lifted it up, revealing a gown.

"Is that a silk dress?" I groaned.

Fenrir snicker, shaking his head. "No, it's similar to what your mother wears but fancy."

At least it is not as fancy as Sansa's velvet gown. The gown was in a dark green, almost like the color of leaves. Fenrir brought it over and set it on my lap. I touched it, noting it was not velvet but a dye wool and spindle in a way that the fabric was smooth. On the sleeves was embroidery work of red leaves.

There was a knock on the door. Fenrir answered it before letting the person in to be Sansa. She gave a small smile when she saw me.

"Sansa," I greeted, but my throat was raw.

Sansa noted this as she went to the table to pour a glass of water from the pitcher. Afterward, she came over and sat on the edge of the bed, handing it to me. I accepted, taking a sip of water.

"I'm glad you're awake," Sansa said.

I could only nod, "Your brother…Rickon?"

"He's alive," she answered. "The wound is not lethal, though the Maester needs to check for infection."

I nodded, relieved that Rickon was alive, except it came with a price.

Frigg, I thought sadly as my eyes watered.

I bowed my head, allowing my hair to cover my face. I'm tired of crying. Yet Frigg was my familiar, one for the skies. As I recall, trying to tell her to fly. But something happened, and she resisted, pushing me out of her mind. I tried to redirect her, but she pushed me out, but not fast enough. As I felt the arrow pierce me as she was killed.

Sansa took my hand, "I'm sorry for your loss."

I took a deep breath and nodded, "Thanks."

"Since you are awake, I'll get a bath ready?"

"A bath?" I asked.

Sansa couldn't help but smile.

Fenrir cleared his throat, suppressing a laugh, "I shall let you ladies be."

I was confused as men came in with a copper tub.

.o0o.

Jon's POV

Jon managed to find Dark Sister. The sword was still on Ramsay's horse. It was some miracle that no one had taken it. Still, it irked him how little care Ramsay had for anything. The bastard is lucky that he is dead. Once Jon had Dark Sister, he spent any free time sharpening it. During the day it has been spent observing and helping in the cremation.

The dead needed to be cremated before the decaying got worse, which led to the plague. There were thousands upon thousands as they separated the Houses, the Free Folk, and the Boltons. Jon even found Smalljon Umber and Harald Karstark's bodies. Jon recalls Tormund killed Smalljon. But Harald…it appeared he was mangled by some animal. A direwolf or a bear, probably, as he remembers the large animals with their wargs mangled many men.

Anyway, Jon organized the bodies to be sent home and those to be burned. The Free Folk went straight for the burning, except for the Dires and Giants. Fenrir explained there was a custom, and they would wait once Imogen was awake. Jon assumed that Imogen, being a priestess's daughter, knew some ritual.

It has been a few days and she hasn't woken up yet. It was eating at him that Imogen was in the state she was in because of him. Tormund assured him it was to be expected from Wargs. When a Warg controls an animal that suddenly dies, they go into this state. To experience death without dying.

Death is a sensitive subject to Jon. Not sure if Imogen would experience the dark void of nothing. It's probably best not to ask her that.

After cremating the dead, Jon would check on Rickon, who was still recovering. The Milk of the Poppy had him sleep. But when Rickon was awake, he told Jon what had happened to him. Apparently, after Shaggy Dog and Osha left Bran with the others. They headed west towards the Last Hearth. Osha taught him how to hunt and use a spear. It was a slow process since they traveled by night and rested in the day. However, by the time they reach a village outside of Last Hearth, they heard what happened to Robb and the Boltons taking over Winterfell.

Osha had a bad feeling and decided not to go to the Umbers. As whispered spread of House Umber planning on allying with the Boltons. They were planning to head east, until Lord Overton and his men found them. It took some convincing as Lord Overton mentioned Jon, and promised to take him to them. Osha agreed with caution, and so they were making their way back to Overton Keep. Until Lord Umber had a search party looking for them. As the villagers mentioned them with Shaggy Dog.

Rickon became silent, and Jon put the pieces together for what happened next. As Shaggy Dog and Osha were dead, he tried to comfort him, letting him know that Lord Overton was alive. This brought a small smile to Rickon's face before he went back to sleep to rest.

After checking on Rickon and other duties, he would go to his room and sharpen Longclaw. Commander Mormont showed him how to sharpen Valyrian steel without cutting oneself. Once he was done with Longclaw, Jon would then sharpen Dark Sister. It's the least he could do, as he noted the blade needed it. Then again, Imogen probably didn't know how to sharpen Valyrian steel.

The following day, Jon continued his routine.

As the cremation process continued.

Lord Royce had joined with the Lords of the Vale's help. Jon thanked the man, remembering him coming to Winterfell to escort his son, Ser Waymar, to the Wall to join the Night's Watch.

"Lord Baelish had us here a fortnight ago," Lord Royce said. "We are glad to help."

A fortnight? Jon thought.

Something didn't seem right. Lord Baelish had been the man who sold Sansa to the Boltons. This added caution to not trust the man called Littlefinger.

It would be noon when Jon made his way back to Winterfell. The moment he entered the courtyard, he saw Sansa talking to another lady. At first, Jon thought nothing about it, but then he made his way over to greet Sansa. He barely got a chance to speak to her. Other than Sansa saying she will take care of Imogen.

Once he was over, he stopped to see who the woman Sansa was talking to. Dumbfounded could be one word as he stared at Imogen dressed like a Northerner from Winterfell. Her face was clean, her hair loose with half of it pulled back.

"Well, you rip my pretty silk dress. I'll blacken your eye," Ygritte's voice whispered in his head.

Only he could no longer see Ygritte.

Nor did he imagine seeing Imogen in a dress.

Sure, he has seen Imogen topless, clean-faced, and her hair down on separate occasions. But seeing this Fierce Maiden dressed as a Lady…. baffled him. The only thing that stood out was her tattoos, as the wolf stood out from her neck and the torc around her neck.

Confliction stirred Jon, for it has barely been a year since Ygritte's death. Jon tried to tell himself that Imogen was attractive, but nothing else.

"Imogen…you look…" he tried to find the right words.

"Don't say anything," Imogen grumbled.

Sansa chuckles a little, "Imogen is such like Arya."

Jon could see the resemblance, which helped ease his conflict. Imogen was his friend and ally—nothing else. Yes, she looked beautiful, with a wildness to her. Yet, seeing her dressed so…normal was strange.

"How are you feeling?" Jon asked.

Sorrow flashed across her expression before vanishing as she said, "I'm fine."

Jon knew that was a lie.

Yet he will not call her out in front of Sansa. When they are alone, he will ask her again.

"Oh," Jon adjusted his cloak and pulled out Dark Sister.

Imogen's eyes widened as she stared at the Valyrian blade. Jon carefully gave it back to her. She held it, staring at the scabbard and handle. Tracing her hand over the ornate pummel of flame. Sansa looked at the blade as her eyes widened, realizing what the sword was.

"You found her," Imogen whispered.

Jon nodded, "Sorry it took this long."

Imogen stared at him, "Why give Dark Sister to me? You earned it."

"Dark Sister was yours," Jon said. "Stannis didn't steal it properly, nor did Ramsay."

Imogen nodded as she hugged the cased sword and looked at him with near-watery eyes. "Thank you."

Jon gave a small smile.

"I need to go check on Rickon," Sansa said. "Can you show Imogen around the keep."

Jon blinked a few times but nodded. Sansa patted Jon on the shoulder before heading off. Once Sansa was gone, he cursed himself, for he came to talk with Sansa about what happened during the battle. How she brought the Knights of the Vale into the fold. He stared at Imogen, holding the sword.

"Let's go find you a belt," Jon suggested.

Imogen only nodded. They headed to the armory, where Jon found a sword belt suitable for Dark Sister. Fortunately, she did not need assistance as she put it on and secured her sword. Afterward, Jon showed Imogen around Winterfell.

After a while, they entered the Great Hall.

It had been cleaned up as the wounded were escorted to their tents, lodgings, or rooms in Winterfell. Jon was impressed by how fast it was cleaned as if the servants were expecting a feast. Maybe later, but not right now. Imogen walked along the massive room in a slight daze.

"The Raven would show me visions of this room," she said. "Celebrations and mourning. People dance to the music."

She stopped at the center and turned to face him. "I never thought I would be here, in the home of my ancestors."

Jon nodded, for it had been roughly six thousand years since Kilan Stark's bloodline was severed. He leaned over the table, hands resting on the head chair, facing out to Imogen. She stared at him with those silver eyes that seemed to illuminate during the day.

"When we had feasts, our family would sit up here…and I sit down there," he said, then gestured to a corner.

Imogen followed his direction as a frown formed her lips. She was about to say something when footsteps entered the Great Hall. The frown deepens on Imogen's face as Melisandre comes in with a pleased smile.

"Could have been worse, Jon Snow," Melisandre said. "You had a family. You had feast."

Jon gave a chuckle as he thought of the good moments of spending time with Robb. Let alone getting drunk in the corner. Then again, most Bastards wouldn't be accepted by their Lord Father.

"Aye, you're right," Jon agreed. "I was luckier than most."

Another set of footsteps could be heard, one that was hurried. Imogen turned around to see Ser Davos. The knight bobbed his head to her yet held the expression of anger. Ser Davos came over but stopped himself. He tossed something at Melisandre, which she caught. In her hand was a chard Stag figurine. Horror could be seen in Melisandre's blue eyes along with regret.

"What is that?" Jon asked.

"Tell him," Ser Davos seethed.

Melisandre hesitated as she twiddled the figurine.

"Tell him who it belonged to," Ser Davos demanded.

Imogen walked over to Ser Davos, setting a hand on his shoulder. The same expression she had was written on Jon's face. All three pairs of eyes stared at Melisandre. The guilt was written on her face.

"The Princess Shireen," Melisadre confessed.

"Tell him what you did to her," Ser Davos demanded once more. "Tell him!"

Melisandre faced Jon, then avoided his stare as she murmured, "We burned her at the stake."

A child…burned at the stake, Jon thought in horror.

A flash of Mance Rayder was being burned. Until turning into Princess Shireen. A girl who survived greyscale. A girl. Out of everybody, Shireen should have been alive. At first, Jon thought Shireen had succumbed to the woes of war and was murdered by the Boltons. Not burned at the stake like a witch.

Ser Davos nearly broke down as his eyes glazed in tears, "Why?"

Melisandre faced the Onion Knight, "The army was trapped. The horses were dying. It was the only way."

"You burned a little girl alive!" Ser Davos bellowed.

"I only do what my Lord commands," Melisandre defended.

"If he commands you to burn children, your Lord is evil!" Ser Davos yelled.

"We are standing here because of him," Melisandre defended.

"Fucking shit," Imogen spat. "We are here because we fought for it."

"Jon Snow is alive because the Lord willed it," Melisandre disagreed, gesturing to Jon.

"I loved that girl like she was my own," Ser Davos struggled in fury and tears. "She was good. She was kind. And you killed her."

"So did her father," Melisandre reminded them. "So did her mother."

Ser Davos became silent.

"Her own blood knew it was the only way," Melisandre continued.

"The only way for what?" Imogen demanded. "To win a war?"

Ser Davos shook his head, "They all die anyway."

Melisandre's eyes watered as she tried to find her words but couldn't.

"You told everyone Stannis was the one," Ser Davos accused. "You had him believing it, all of them fooled. And you lied."

"I didn't lie," Melisandre exclaimed, then mumbled. "I was wrong."

"Aye, you were wrong," Ser Davos agreed. "How many died because you were wrong?"

Silence engulfed the room.

Ser Davos turned to Jon, "I ask your leave to execute this woman for murder. She admits to the crime."

Fear is shown in Melisandre's eyes.

Jon knew, by the laws of men, that if a person kills a child, they shall be executed. Especially in a brutal murder. Melisandre was a zealot who manipulated a third of a house, burning non-believers and many innocent people for the R'hllor religion. Shireen Baratheon deserves justice. However, Melisandre saved his life, returning him from the dead. Her actions gave her a second chance to be reunited with his siblings and take back Winterfell.

"Do you have anything to say for yourself?" Jon asked, giving her a chance for remorse.

Melisandre gave a small, sincere smile, "I've been ready to die for many years. If the Lord was done with me, so be it, but he's not. You've seen the Night King, Jon Snow. You know the Great War is still to come. You know the army of the dead will be upon us soon. And you know I can help you win that war."

Jon took her words into consideration as he made his way over. His dark eyes stared into her blue orbs. This woman wanted to serve him. However, he can not have a zealot who will go behind his back. Nor a child killer.

"Ride south today," Jon ordered. "If you return to the North, I'll have you hanged as a murderer."

Exile is the small mercy he will give her.

Melisandre stared at him for a bluff, except Jon was not bluffing. Realizing this, she set the figurine down on the table. She made her way down the Great Hall until Ser Davos stepped in front of her.

"If you ever come back this way, I will execute you myself," Ser Davos promised.

Melisandre stared at him before walking away.

Jon, Ser Davos, and Imogen stood in silence.

Someone they trusted was a liability and a risk.

Imogen glances out the window, "I should prepare for the funeral pyre."

The men only nodded as they each went their separate ways.

Jon had two men escort Melisandre to her chambers and another to gather supplies with a fresh horse. As much as he wanted to despise the Red Woman for her crimes, he simply could not.

He stood on the outer battlements, watching Melisandre take the Kingsroad for the south. It was nearing dusk. He wonders if he did the right thing in exiling Melisandre. Only time will tell.

Soft footsteps caught his attention as he glanced up to see Sansa joining him.

There were a few things that needed to be discussed.

"I'm having the lord's chamber prepared for you," Jon announced.

Even though Rickon is the male heir, it only seems fitting that Sansa be the regent of House Stark until the boy comes of age.

"Mother and Father's room?" Sansa asked to be sure, baffled by this. "You should take it."

Jon smiled, appreciating it, but said, "I'm not a Stark."

"You are to me," Sansa said.

Jon sighed, "You're the lady of Winterfell. You deserve it. We're standing here because of you. The battle was lost until the Knights of the Vale rode in. They came because of you."

Sansa remained silent.

"You told me Lord Baelish sold you to the Boltons," Jon started, looking at her.

"He did," Sansa confirmed.

"And you trust him?" he asked.

Sansa chuckled, "Only a fool would trust Littlefinger."

She looked at him, guilt written on her face, "I should have told you about him, about the Knights of the Vale. I'm sorry."

Jon stared out to the field, feeling a slight betrayal of Sansa holding this information. If he had known, things would have been different. The field was a graveyard of good men who died believing what was right or conscripted to do so.

He got closer to Sansa, staring into her eyes, "We need to trust each other. We can't fight a war amongst ourselves. We have so many enemies now."

He cradled her head and kissed her forehead.

When Jon pulled back, Sansa stared at him, relieved.

Jon stepped back, for he needed to partake in the Dires' funeral.

"Jon," Sansa stopped him.

He stopped and faced her.

"A raven came from the Citadel. A white raven." She informed him, then took a deep breath. "Winter is here."

Jon took those words as snow began to fall.

Jon couldn't help but laugh, as did Sansa. The autumn season is over after two years. Although the North has snow, the winters will be harsh. Let alone the possibility of the Second Long Night coming. It was time to gather the forces and warn the Seven Kingdoms of a great threat. Jon said he did not want his sister to worry.

"Well, Father always promised, didn't he?"

Sansa gave a small smile and nodded.

With nothing else to say, Jon went to the northern side of the keep where the Dires would do their ceremony.

One more chapter for Season 6.

Thanks for reading, and please leave a review!