A/N: Hello beautiful readers!

This is Anne, updating instead of MaryEvH, since she's travelling and thus not in posession of an internet connection. But have no fear! Zorro is he- wait, no, wrong fandom... Oh well. I'm still here to update in her place, and I can tell you that the revisions on chapter 4 are nearly done! Yay!

As for this chapter; we finally get some Jon POV, you guys had to wait long enough for that. Also, we made Pyp a ranger because we didn't want to create an unnecessary OC. Oh, and Jon was elected Lord Commander in season 4, right around the time the Purple Wedding took place.

We know it's been 2 weeks since our last update, so we won't keep you any longer, enjoy, and leave a review!
-Anne&Mary

As if patrolling south of the Wall in the summer snows wasn't bad enough, Pyp was in a patrol party with Ser Alliser Thorne. It had made enough sense that Jon - or rather, Lord Commander Snow - had appointed him First Ranger, but why did it have to be him? There was never a nastier, more sour old man.

Grenn's voice caught them both by surprise, and jerked Pyp out of his self-pitying reverie. "Ser Alliser!" he shouted, a few yards off. Pyp could see that he was off his horse, squatting in the snow next to a dark shape. "You may want to come take a look at this."

The First Ranger spurred his horse to the right, following the sound of Grenn's voice. Pyp followed suit, squinting through the falling snow to see what Grenn had found. "Is that a girl?" he asked, trying to keep an incredulous note from his voice.

Ser Alliser dismounted, crouching down next to Grenn. "Aye," he confirmed in his rough voice. "And she's not in good shape."

Pyp got off his horse and took a spot between his two fellow Rangers, looking over the girl. Ser Alliser's assessment appeared to be a serious understatement - besides the fact that she was unconscious, Pyp could see huge blisters on her feet through the tatters of her boots, some of which had cracked open and started to bleed. She had various cuts and bruises all over her body, and her hair was horribly matted.

"Shouldn't we take her to Winterfell?" Grenn asked dubiously. "They're Wardens of the North."

"Are you mad, Grenn?" Pyp snapped. "The Boltons are in Winterfell, and they'll not do anything good with her. They're treasonous bastards. We're in the Gift, at any rate. This is Night's Watch territory. We should take her back to Castle Black, so Maester Aemon can patch her up."

Ser Alliser nodded curtly in agreement, as he always did. "Help me tie her to my saddle, and we'll go straight back. The sooner we get her to Maester Aemon, the better."

/*/

Lord Commander Jon Snow went through the papers on his desk, counting the pleas for more men that sounded more and more desperate as he read them over. They'd all been signed; now Sam simply needed to tie them to ravens and send them off. He'd gotten a rather alarming message that morning - "His Grace King Joffrey is dead, killed by his uncle, the Imp. The Crown offers 1,000 gold dragons to anyone who can locate his conspirators, Lady Sansa Stark, wife to the Imp, and Queen Margaery Tyrell."

Gods be good, Sansa. Be careful. He worried for his younger half-sister, still trapped in the political circles of King's Landing after all that had already happened to their family. He reached down to pet a sleeping Ghost as he thought. Father beheaded, on Joffrey's orders. Bran and Rickon burned at Winterfell. The castle put to the torch by the ironborn. Sansa married off to Tyrion Lannister. Robb and Lady Stark butchered at the Twins. And no one's seen Arya since-

A knock on the door interrupted his macabre train of thought. "Lord Commander," Ser Alliser's voice said through the heavy oak. Ghost woke up at the sound, shifting to stretch out his long legs.

"Come in."

The door creaked open, and in strode his First Ranger. "Ser Alliser," Jon greeted tiredly. "How was the patrol?" He hadn't expected anything out of the ordinary had happened. After all, it was the northern side of the wall they had to worry about.

"We found something, my lord."

Jon looked up, much more alert, even as dread filled him. "Wildlings?"

"Nothing of the sort, my lord. We found a girl."

For a moment, Jon just stared. Then he blinked. "A girl?" he asked, uncomprehending. What did he mean 'a girl'?

A sneer crossed the older man's face. "Yes, a girl. Can't have been that long since you've stuck your cock in one, as I recall. Didn't we discuss your Wildling bitch on the panel?"

Jon glared as he stood up from his desk. "Get to the point, Ser Alliser," he said coldly. Behind him, he heard Ghost growling softly, his hackles raised.

The First Ranger smirked. "We were on patrol, found the girl just south of Queen's Crown. Ain't anything more to it."

Jon was quickly losing his patience. "Where is she now? Did she say anything? Was she wearing any kind of sigil?" he questioned. He made it clear with his tone that he didn't appreciate Ser Alliser's purposefully incomplete report. Echoing his master's frustration, Ghost barked, snapping his jaw at the older man.

Narrowing his eyes minutely, Ser Alliser put a hand on his sword, clenching his fist. The huge direwolf clearly made him nervous - and he wasn't even fully grown. "She was unconscious when Grenn spotted her. No sigil or heraldry of any kind, but she looked like she'd been spit out of the seventh hell. Maester Aemon's looking at her now."

"Perhaps I'll ask him for a report then. You're dismissed, Ser," he said. From the sour look on his face, it was clear he didn't appreciate being treated like a common soldier, but Jon couldn't care less. Ghost followed him as he went straight from his chambers to the small infirmary, almost on the other side of Castle Black.

He knocked, and Sam promptly answered the door. "Ah, Lord Commander," he smiled. "I've almost finished tending to this cut on Olly's head."

Jon leaned around the corner to see his steward sitting up on a cot, a reckless grin on his face. "You finished getting into mischief now?" he teased gently, also grinning. The Night's Watch had taken in the boy when Wildlings sacked his hamlet, and after his election, Jon had immediately taken him under his wing, as the Old Bear had done for him when he arrived at Castle Black.

"And to what do we owe this visit, Lord Commander?" Maester Aemon's wiry voice called from the other side of the room.

Jon turned to face the source. He would never understand how a blind man could do such an incredible job as a healer. "I just got a...rather incomplete report from Ser Alliser," he said carefully. "He told me that he found a girl in the woods by Queen's Crown, and that she was in bad shape, but nothing more. I was hoping you could expound on that."

The elderly maester chuckled, turning on his little stool next to the mystery girl's cot. "That's certainly one way of describing this girl's condition. There are multiple bleeding wounds on her feet, and I don't think she's eaten in several days. Other than that, she has some minor scrapes and bruises, saddle sores-"

"Saddle sores?" Jon asked sharply, though he had never dared to interrupt the maester before. "Ser Alliser said they'd found her passed out in the snow, he didn't mention a horse."

"They're half a week old," Maester Aemon replied. "Judging by the condition of her feet, she most likely continued on foot when she couldn't ride anymore."

Jon frowned in thought as he tried to piece together all this strange information, looking her over. "What was she running from that she kept going, even in her condition?" he wondered aloud.

"What lies south of here, Jon Snow?" Maester Aemon said slowly, in a reasonable voice.

He took a deep breath, a frown crossing his face. "Winterfell…" But something about this whole situation seemed off to Jon, so he pushed it to the back of his mind. Anyone with half a sound mind would run from the Boltons. He'd ask the girl when she woke. Curiously, he stepped closer to take a look at this strange girl, and noted her light hair. It was matted, but pushed back from her face, which was… pretty. She might even be beautiful after she washed off all the grime. But he didn't recognise her. Not that he'd thought he would, but even so…

He ran a hand over his face. It was going to be a long day, and he was already tired. He would leave for Craster's Keep the next day to deal with the remaining mutineers, and he wasn't looking forward to it. He should get back to his chambers to get a few moments of rest before the long journey. But before he could leave, a thought held him back. If he thought she looked pretty now…

"Sam, is Pyp still here somewhere?" he asked.

Sam looked up. "Uh, I think he's outside," he said as he finished up with Olly.

Nodding, Jon turned to the youth. "When you're done here, get him and set up a watch schedule with him whenever you have time. I don't want any of the men harassing her. And tell Maester Aemon to keep an eye on her too. I want her moved to my quarters once I get back."

His best friend frowned. "You're setting up private protection? And doing it yourself? The whole Watch will talk about it, Jon."

"Let them talk," Jon answered firmly. "I don't know what this girl was running from, but I'll be damned to the seventh hell if I don't keep her safe. Besides..." he grinned at his friend before heading to the door, "I'll have plenty of help, won't I?"

/*/

The candles had burned low on his desk, and Jon Snow was still pacing his quarters. Here he was, the 998th Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, about to do something that had probably never been done by any of his 997 predecessors.

He sat on his cot, staring at the one on the opposite wall meant for the mystery girl. Maester Aemon had patched up all her wounds, but she'd need more treatments over the course of at least a week. He hoped to be back at Castle Black by then, but he couldn't be certain. He just hoped Pyp would keep his eyes open and watch her carefully.

As soon as she was conscious enough to think clearly, and Jon was back at the Wall, he'd have to ask her who she was, where she came from, and what on earth she'd been running from that left her with saddle sores and bleeding feet south of Queen's Crown. And then he'd have to figure out what to do with her. They wouldn't be able to keep her in his quarters forever...

Unable to sit still, Jon got another fur to put on the cot. The nights were even colder here than the days, and she had the look of a southerner about her. Then he walked to his desk to look over paperwork, which he managed for about two minutes. He'd have to remind Sam to send the last half of those ravens tomorrow. He started pacing again, trying to keep from worrying too much, to no avail.

Finally, someone knocked on the door. "Come in," Jon called out, sitting back down at his desk and attempting to appear composed. Olly pushed it open, looking mildly uncomfortable. "Maester Aemon gave her milk of the poppy. She should be asleep for another few days," he said. It sounded as though the Maester had made him memorize it, which almost made Jon smile in amusement.

Jon nodded in approval. "Thank you, Olly." The boy nodded. "Anything else you require, Lord Commander?"

"Not tonight. You're dismissed."

The door closed, and Jon was alone once again. He ran a hand over his face and leaned back in his chair. What in seven hells was he doing? He felt the urge to go see the mystery woman, and - after another few minutes of pointless work - gave in to the temptation.

Pyp stood outside the Maester's chambers, and nodded to Jon as he passed him. Inside, it was almost silent, save for the quiet breathing of the woman on the cot.

He took a cautious step towards her, as if he was afraid to wake her. He could see that her hair had been washed and combed; it looked significantly better than it did before. It occurred to him to wonder who would've taken the time, but he brushed off the thought as he gently brushed a lock of hair back from her face. He had been right about one thing - she was very pretty, and looked no older than Sansa. He wondered what her name was.

Behind him, he could hear Ghost softly padding up to her cot, sniffing curiously at her bandaged feet. He hadn't even heard the Wolf follow him inside. Jon looked to the beast. "What do you think, Ghost?" he murmured softly, scratching his direwolf behind the ears. He made a noise deep in his throat. Jon would call it a purr if it had been made by a cat. He grinned. "I'm glad you like her; you can help me keep the lads away from her when we get back. That sound alright to you?" Ghost looked up at him, tilting his head. Jon almost thought he saw approval in his red eyes. "Good boy," Jon said softly, scratching his head. "Now, let's get some sleep. We've got a long journey ahead of us tomorrow."

/*/

Margaery didn't know how long she'd been unconscious when she finally woke up. The first thing she noticed was that her whole body was incredibly sore, but her wounds had been bound, and...she was wrapped up in something. Something warm. As she cracked open her eyes, she struggled to remember where she was, but all she remembered was pain and cold. The room was dark, save for a candle on a writing desk in the corner of the room. She could make out a few other cots and some shelves, and concluded that someone must have brought her to a Maester.

Abruptly, she sat up, though she immediately winced and had to lay back down. But that didn't diminish her panic. She'd been in the North. The only Maester they could have brought her to was at Winterfell. And she knew what the Boltons did to their enemies.

However, looking down at the bandages covering her body - and the slightly ill-fitting men's clothing she now wore - she couldn't help but be confused. The Boltons would surely have thrown her into a dungeon or flayed her alive, so why were her wounds tended to? Why was she on a - more or less - comfortable cot? In a passing thought, she hoped to the gods that the Maester had undressed her, and not a Bolton man.

But the fear wouldn't recede, and as time slipped by, Margaery became more and more afraid that a Bolton guard would come in and drag her down to a torture chamber. So, despite her protesting body, she sat up and threw her legs over the side. For a moment, her breath left her lungs as her body screamed in pain. Biting her lip, Margaery forced her muscles cooperate and pushed off the bed… her vision went black, and when she opened her eyes again, she was on the ground trying her best not to cry out.

There was a shuffling at the door, and panic seized her again. But the pain was too much, and she couldn't move on her own.

"Seven hells!" someone muttered, and soon, a few more candles were lit and a round-faced man appeared in her line of vision. She tried to shy away from him, but there was nowhere to go. "It's alright, I'm not going to hurt you," he said gently, slowly reaching out a hand. "My name's Sam. You're at the Wall, miss," he said.

That gave Margaery pause. The Wall? Had they drifted that far north? A stab of pain went through her heart as she remembered her brave knights falling one by one, but she pushed it aside. She had more pressing concerns.

"The Wall?" she rasped. Her throat burned, too, now that she was paying attention to it. How long had she been asleep?

"Yes, at Castle Black. Please, can I help you up? That can't be comfortable," he said. He had a soft, gentle voice, more of a tenor than a bass. That and his accent - she could tell he was from the Reach - were enough to make her think that perhaps he was telling the truth. And besides, laying on the floor like this was only aggravating her smarting body. She nodded hesitantly.

He reached out slowly, and took her by the arms, helping her down onto the cot again. While it had felt hard and uncomfortable at first, it was like laying on clouds compared to the cold floor. "There, that's better," he said, and walked over to the writing desk. For a moment, Margaery felt her fear spike again, but then he returned with a goblet of water, and she mentally chastened her own frayed nerves. She took a careful sip, even though she wanted to throw the goblet back and guzzle it in one go. If there was one thing she had learned from her 3 weeks on the road, it was that drinking too much all at once - especially if it had been a while since you'd drunk anything - was a bad idea.

"How long was I unconscious?" she asked softly, her throat slightly better off with the water she'd drunk.

"Well, you've been here for about 4 days now, but we're not sure how long you were out in the snow," the man - Sam - said hesitantly. He seemed friendly enough, and Margaery felt herself relaxing, even as her body still ached. Her eyes were falling closed, but she was scared of what would happen if she fell asleep.

Some of her fears must have shown on her face, because Sam was quick to reassure her. "The Lord Commander ordered me and Pyp - Pypar, he's a ranger - to watch over you and make sure no one bothers you. Maester Aemon wouldn't stand for it either. And you'll be under the Lord Commander's personal protection when he gets back, besides."

She wanted to ask more, to get some answers, but her eyelids were so heavy. They slipped closed even as she fought it.

"You'll be safe, here, miss," Sam said softly, blowing out a candle.

She blinked. The candles were all gone, and Sam had apparently taken up his vigil near the door again. Perhaps it wouldn't be too bad if she slept, just for a little while. Just… a little… while…

A/N: So, lots of stuff happening, and more stuff being set in motion. I had to rewrite a whole ton of this because we realized some of our timing didn't add up. So I edited it, and MaryEvH looked it over for plotholes and general inconsistencies. If we left any in, please let us know!

And please let us know what you think about the chapter!

-A&M