A/N: Here we are again!

I've been meaning to open with this for the last several chapters - Anne and I are so excited that we have over 100 favorites and follows already! Thanks to everybody who's dropped in and read even a single chapter; we hope to keep bringing you much more of this story for a while yet. You make the writer's block and long nights of writing worth it.

So this chapter, we get to start off with a little bit of what Sansa's up to, before we go back to the Wall. Don't worry, we'll have more coming from the South very soon. Stay tuned. ;) We hope you enjoy this chapter!

Even on calm waters, the rocking ship nearly made her sick. They had sailed away from King's Landing almost a week ago, and Sansa still didn't have her sea legs under her yet. She tried to keep her eyes on the horizon as one of the more sympathetic crewmen had told her, but her attention kept drifting. She kept thinking back to King's Landing, sitting with Tyrion at the wedding, watching Joffrey choke to death on air…

She could vaguely hear Petyr Baelish talking to the first mate on the aft deck. She wanted to hear what they were saying, but was afraid that moving might actually cause her to lose the few remaining contents of her stomach.

It was...strange, being in Lord Baelish's debt. He seemed to do this out of fondness for her late mother, but…Sansa had learned the hard way that no one ever did anything out of the kindness of their heart. Everyone had an ulterior motive; the problem was finding it and turning it to your advantage. But much as Sansa had learned to recognise the manipulations of court, she was not yet a master herself. And she knew she would need to be to survive in this world.

"It won't be long now, before we meet your aunt," Baelish said with a smile as he walked up to her, startling her from her reverie. "Just a few more days. A week at most."

"Are you sure going to my aunt is the right thing to do?" Sansa asked. "She is known for her…eccentricities…" she trailed off uncertainly.

"Where else would you go?" Lord Baelish asked. "The whole of Westeros will be searching for you, and you would not be safe when they got their hands on you. Trust that I'm looking out for your best interests, Sansa," he said, putting his hands on her shoulders. The resulting proximity made her a little uncomfortable, but she wasn't entirely sure how to extricate herself without angering Baelish. And, at least for the moment, he was her only salvation.

"What about Jon?" she blurted. "He's at the Wall, no one would look for me there." And it would make an excellent base for retaking Winterfell, she thought, but figured that showing her hand this early wouldn't be a good idea. Appearing as a naive, easily manipulated child would be a much more manageable position. Now just to make sure that she wasn't actually manipulated…

Baelish blinked in surprise. "The bastard?" Then his eyes turned thoughtful, looking off into the distance. "I suppose now that he's Lord Commander of Castle Black, he would be able to hide you, should he so choose. And its proximity to Winterfell could prove advantageous," he mused. He turned his eyes back to her, his gaze sharp and calculated. "That was a very insightful choice, Sansa."

She shrugged and looked down at her boots. "I just want my family, and I don't know my Aunt Lysa at all. Jon's my brother, he'd take care of me."

"Then the choice is made. To the Wall we go," he said - a smile evident in his voice - before turning to go back up to the top deck. Sansa assumed he was going to tell the captain of their change in plans, and compensate him for his trouble. Nevertheless, she smiled to herself. If she couldn't go back to Winterfell just yet, this would have to suffice.

/*/

Jon hung up his practice armour on the rack for the day, rolling the tension out of his shoulders as he nodded curtly to Ser Alliser. The man glared daggers at him, like usual, but Jon decided to let it go. The other men were returning to their duties with no squabbles; there was no reason for him to start one, especially as Lord Commander with the First Ranger.

As he walked back to his quarters, he contemplated. The last he knew of the Wildlings...they should have arrived by now. Jon sighed. Mance was likely biding his time, playing mind games. He snorted to himself as he imagined Ygritte in Mance's tent, encouraging him to rattle Jon as much as possible before attacking.

He opened the door, and was more than slightly surprised by what he saw. Margaery was sitting in his quarters, drinking tea with the girl he and Sam had saved from Craster's Keep - Gilly, that was her name. Her baby was sitting at her feet, playing with the hem of her dress.

The women looked up at his entrance. "Good afternoon, Lord Commander," Margaery said, a smile teasing her lips. Gilly looked down, almost looking guilty at being in the Commander's private quarters.

Jon nodded and did his best to mask his surprise. "Ladies. I trust you had a good morning?"

"We did. Ghost saved us from a brute, but he didn't seem inclined to stick around afterwards. I rather suspect tea isn't his favourite," Margaery answered cheekily.

Even Gilly smiled at that, reaching down to keep little Sam from munching on Margaery's dress. Jon himself couldn't stop a grin. The wit of that woman. She was definitely one of a kind. "He's not always as much of a gentleman as he is around you, Miss Flowers. He must think you're special."

Margaery raised a single, delicate eyebrow, and the mirth in her eyes increased tenfold. "Really? I'm flattered."

"And I must be off," Gilly said timidly as she gathered her son in her arms. "I still have chores left to finish."

Margaery stood up, a kind smile on her face. "I meant what I said, if you ever need someone to look after little Sam, I'd be delighted."

Gilly smiled gratefully, nodded respectfully at Jon, and then made her way outside. Jon felt for the girl; he knew life couldn't be easy for her here, but there wasn't a lot he could do to shelter her. "You have a fondness for little children then, my lady?" he asked, sitting behind his desk.

"I always have," Margaery smiled. Jon thought he saw her face fall as she spoke again. "When I was in King's Landing, I visited at least one orphanage a week. More in the Reach, when I lived there." Her smile somewhat returned. "The honesty of children is so...refreshing. Especially after being wrapped up in politics for so long."

A chuckle escaped the Lord Commander. "I'm sure you've heard the adage about the mouths of babes," he smiled.

Margaery let her hand rest on the mantle over his fireplace. "Did you spend much time with your siblings when you were younger, Lord Commander?"

He snorted, which only served to make Margaery's smile grow. "All the time. Robb's close to my age, so we got into a lot of trouble together as boys. I've told you about Sansa, always wanting to be a proper lady. When Bran still had the use of his legs, he always enjoyed sports and adventures. Rickon was usually trailing after him."

"As I recall, you have another sister, do you not?" she asked. She knew Sansa hadn't gotten along with her little sister very well, so she was curious to know what Jon's opinion of her would be.

"Arya," Jon replied with an affectionate grin. "She's a spitfire, that one. You're more likely to see her stealing one of the practice swords and trying it out on her brothers than see her in a dress." He turned thoughtful. "Come to think of it, I think she burned one, once."

That surprised a chuckle out of her. "She burned her dress?"

He paused again. "Actually, it might have been Sansa's. Arya lived to torment her," he said, affection clear in his voice. But slowly, his smile fell away. "At least, she did live for it. No one's seen her since the day my father was executed."

Silently, Margaery put a hand on his arm, offering her support. "I can't even imagine all that you've lost," she whispered almost inaudibly.

Jon offered a sad smile, putting his hand over hers in a silent gesture of thanks. He was surprised by the softness of her skin, even after all she'd been through. But their quiet was shattered when there were two loud horn blasts from atop the Wall. Jon shot out of his chair, listening closely.

"Jon?" she asked anxiously. "What is it?"

"Two blasts," he replied, not facing her. "Wildlings." He grabbed a spare cloak from his chair, sweeping it over his shoulders. "Stay in here," he ordered. "Lock the door; don't let anyone in. I'll unlock it when I return."

"Yes, sir," Margaery answered; she curtsied out of habit from hearing that authoritative note in his voice. "Good luck."

He offered a smile. "Thank you, Margaery." Nodding once more at the lady, he made his way out of his quarters and to the courtyard. Alliser Thorne was already waiting for him, glaring. Since Jon couldn't think of anything specific he'd done to anger the man, he reckoned Thorne was just in a bad mood, as always. The Lord Commander curtly brushed past him to see what was going on. Two breathless rangers were standing in front of them; they'd clearly run all the way from their posts on the top of the Wall to make it down the stairs.

"Catch your breath, men," Jon said calmly. "What's out there?"

"Wildings, sir," one of the men said.

Jon narrowed his eyes, his brow furrowing in thought. This couldn't be good. "Where, exactly?"

The two men glanced at each other. "Just behind the tree line, sir," the other man said, his gaze going back to the Lord Commander. "We could see their torches right before the forest thickens up."

Sighing, Jon ran a hand over his face. "It isn't good, to be certain. But it's just a threat."

"Just a threat?" Ser Alliser spat. "They're practically at our gate!"

"How much time have you spent undercover in a Wildling encampment, Ser Alliser?" Jon snapped. "Please, let me know when you've memorized all of Mance Rayder's strategies." He took another deep breath. "They're playing with my mind, I know it…" he muttered, almost to himself.

"And what part of your time in the Wildling encampment tells you that, Lord Commander?" Ser Alliser snapped back.

"All of it!" he barked back. He paused to gather his thoughts. "I told the Wildlings we had over a thousand men at Castle Black alone." He continued, despite the barely-contained fury on the First Ranger's face. "Mance has all he needs to crush us - he just doesn't know it yet. If he finds out I lied, he'll throw his full strength at us - and even if every one of us kills a hundred Wildlings, there's still not a thing we can do to stop them!"

Silence fell over the courtyard as Thorne and Jon stared each other down, though the latter could clearly see his adversary was considering his words.

From behind them, Pyp spoke in a small voice. "I don't think I can kill a hundred Wildlings."

/*/

Margaery waited anxiously in Jon's chambers for him to return. She didn't know much about the Wildlings, apart from the horror stories she'd heard growing up. But the worry on her host's face had been enough to jump-start her own anxious thoughts. What if they did attack the Wall? What would they do with her if they found her? Probably the same thing as they'd do with any other woman they found...which couldn't be anything good.

She was shaken from her thoughts when a knock came to the door. "Bethany? It's Gilly."

The other woman sounded nervous, and Margaery could hear little Sam crying softly. Jon had said not to let anyone in, but surely that didn't mean her friend? She quickly unlocked the door and let them in. Gilly did indeed look worried, clutching her son close as she was.

Margaery promptly re-locked the door and sat down next to her friend. "Are you alright?"

Gilly nodded. "I just…I didn't want to sit in my room by myself…I hope you don't mind?"

"No, of course it's alright," she said gently, putting a hand on her shoulder. "We'll be safe in here until the Lord Commander gets back."

Little Sam was starting to fuss louder on Gilly's lap, and the young mother groaned. "Oh, stop crying, please…" she muttered to him, patting his back as he started crying into her shoulder. "Shh, shh…"

"May I?" Margaery asked, gesturing to the squirming baby.

Gilly nodded. "Maybe he'll calm down if you hold him," she said softly; Margaery detected a note of exhaustion and almost resignation in her voice. Margaery took the baby, who was now almost screaming, and started to pace the floor, singing softly:

The Father's face is stern and strong,
he sits and judges right from wrong.
He weighs our lives, the short and long,
and loves the little children.

Gilly raised her head attentively after the first stanza, but Margaery's eyes were closed as she continued singing. Her voice was not the prettiest, but she carried the tune well. Already, little Sam's cries had less heart to them.

The Mother gives the gift of life,
and watches over every wife.
Her gentle smile ends all strife,
and she loves her little children.

The Warrior stands before the foe,
protecting us where e'er we go.
With sword and shield and spear and bow,
he guards the little children.

Gradually, he was starting to settle down. Margaery adjusted her grip on him and continued.

The Crone is very wise and old,
and sees our fates as they unfold.
She lifts her lamp of shining gold
to lead the little children.

The Smith, he labors day and night,
to put the world of men to right.
With hammer, plow, and fire bright,
he builds for little children.

The Maiden dances through the sky,
she lives in every lover's sigh.
Her smiles teach the birds to fly,
and gives dreams to little children.

As the baby finally drifted off, Margaery finished her song.

The Seven Gods who made us all,
are listening if we should call.
So close your eyes, you shall not fall,
they see you, little children.

Just close your eyes, you shall not fall,
they see you, little children.

She kissed his head as she sat back down next to Gilly, handing over the baby, who only half-heartedly waved his tiny fists as his mother took him back. "That song…" she said softly. "Sam sang that to me when we were on our way to the Wall."

Margaery's smile grew. "My father sang it to me and my brother all the time when we were little." She sighed softly as she felt a pang of homesickness. She missed Highgarden so much...she missed her family more than anything.

At that moment, she heard the bolt turn in the door and it slowly creaked open, pulling her from her memories of home. The Lord Commander looked even more tired than when he'd left before, sighing heavily as he closed the door again. "Hello, Gilly," he nodded to the young mother. "I didn't realize you'd be here."

Gilly's cheeks instantly heated up, and she looked down. Margaery frowned. "That was uncalled for, I invited her in here," she said forcefully.

"And what did I tell you just before I left the room?" Jon asked testily.

Margaery stood up and raised herself to her full height, despite the lingering pins and needles in her feet. "As long as I'm staying here, I reserve the right to invite whomever I please. Gilly is my friend, and she is welcome wherever I am currently staying!" she snapped.

"You don't make the rules here, Bethany!" the Lord Commander barked back at her. She was too shocked to answer; she'd never heard him so angry before. After the awkward pause, he took a deep breath and sighed. "You're right. As long as this is your home, you can invite anyone you please." He sat behind his desk and turned back to Gilly. "I apologise. There are Wildlings approaching the gate, I'm a little…concerned."

Gilly smiled shyly. "It's alright. Sir. I need to put Sam to bed," she said, standing. Margaery put a friendly hand on her shoulder in goodbye as she left, shutting the heavy door behind her.

"I'm sorry for that outburst, my lady," he mumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I shouldn't take my frustrations out on either of you. It's...not befitting of the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch."

Margaery waved dismissively. "At least you apologised. My father doesn't handle stress very well either, but he's not very good at admitting when he's wrong." She sighed. "Loras is boneheaded that way too, sometimes."

A small smile came across Jon's face. He looked amused by her assessment of her brother. "I'm sure you miss them very much."

"I do miss them," she said heavily. A melancholy look came over her face. "I miss home. The smell of the gardens, the ever-present breeze on the hot days that makes sure you're always perfectly cooled off…" She was tired from the long day, and perhaps that was the reason she was feeling so nostalgic, but she really did miss it.

"Makes the cold seem even more harsh here, doesn't it?" Jon said.

Margaery turned to face him, and offered a small smile. "The North does have its own charms. I've never seen such vast forests, and there's an untamed wildness that feels ancient. It's like no other place in the world."

Jon's smile grew into a wider, slightly crooked grin, and Margaery decided that she particularly liked that look. "That's a very nice way of saying it's rough up here," he teased lightly.

His playfulness surprised a laugh out of her. "I suppose there is a roughness about it, yes. But it's a different sort of roughness, if you will." She sat down. "It's the kind that makes you feel secure, even though there's so much out there." A brief look crossed her face that he couldn't quite decipher, before she moved on. "Have you ever been to the South, Lord Commander?"

He shook his head a little sadly. "I've never been south of Winterfell, actually."

"Perhaps one day, you will."

Smiling softly, he nodded. "Yes. Perhaps I will."

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