THE GOODSISTER

The guard-fires roared in a great arc around the camp, whole trunks of soldier pine and bushels of spikeleaf fed to the flames in the night. Atop the hills nearby were yet more, protecting the lookouts. All to stop the cold and worse.

From the top of the Wall, the camp looked more empty than it ever had before. A line of torchlights showed that the animals and families kept moving through the Wall, as they had day and night since the Canadians opened the way. Still more had been dispatched to the Nightfort to use the gate there. Soon, perhaps the next day, there would be only menfolk in camp.

In the lands beyond, there was nothing but darkness. The clouds hung low, almost as low as the Wall itself, cloaking moon and stars from what meagre light they could provide but reflecting the fires' orange glow.

Rain, Val thought idly, her mind finally doing something other than processing what was to come. She had taken herself to the top of the Wall to see the lands beyond one last time. There would not be time later. In the morning, she would depart for Winterfell. It would be a long time before she saw the land of her birth again. It seemed a bone-deep certainty to her.

As she predicted, rain began falling, the droplets splashing on the gravel and ice around her and freezing. The water pattered to either side loudly. Val sighed and pulled her fur hood up over her head, tucking her long braid in for good measure. I wonder how warm the South really is.

There was a clank from behind, telling that the winch cage had made it to the top of the Wall carrying its passengers.

Unable to see who it was past one of the giant catapults, Val waited, preferring to be alone and not wanting to be interrupted by Crows. Many black cloaks had already been released from their imprisonment to continue their work keeping the Wall up. Three had already been gelded by spearwives. Whittling down the rapers will take some more time, Mance had said, when Val had made an issue of it, But Lord Crow knows none will escape and has no objections.

To Val's surprise, Dalla and Jon Snow appeared from behind the wooden frame of the catapult, giving each other their farewells with more warmth than Val thought appropriate. The wolf followed behind, the rain bouncing off its fur. Val could tell it was going to be an enormous thing when fully grown, yet it seemed as biddable as any dog. Warg, she concluded of its master.

The beast followed Snow as he went and took the place of the Crow on watch further down the Wall. Dalla came over, her walk careful as the gravel shifted and crackled underfoot. She had a smile on her face, the source of which Val couldn't place.

"The wolf?"

Dalla gave half a roll of a shoulder. "He warmed up to me."

Val glanced at the wolf again, causing the animal to return the gaze. Easy, pup.

"What did you want with Jon Snow?"

"To know more about his brother," Dalla replied, "Someone you should have asked about yourself."

"I know enough. He's a kneeler. He will treat only with other kneelers."

"That is not enough."

Val looked away from her sister, and back north. "Does it matter when I have no chance of convincing them? And my escape from Winterfell will depend on the Canadians believing I am not false in talking peace?" Merely pretending to make a generous offer would not work out well, for Val or the people depending on her.

She took hold of the end of her braid, fiddling with it. This was not a conversation she wished to have. "And all the worse that we have to wear that ridiculous name, the name of a family that would have happily flayed or impaled our father. 'Umber'. The kneelers themselves will not recognise it."

Dalla sighed. "It is our heritage, sister. We are who we are. Because of that, the kneelers will doubt. Enough to listen. And Mother will be with you to back your words."

"Mother is no more convinced on this than anyone else. She just defers to Mance, like he is a kneeler king."

"She defers to Mance because he protects us both, and our tribe. Because he has made me a queen, contrary to the traditions of our people, and made them accept it. And because I am carrying his child."

Val half-lurched, barely keeping her footing. "How long?"

"Not long," Dalla replied, "Two days since I have known for sure."

Her heart swelling with joy and fear, Val drew her sister into a fierce embrace. "I knew this would happen some day. And I am glad we made it south before it did, though life must not end for fear of death."

Dalla returned the embrace, before pushing away gently, smiling the way their mother used to. "Thank you. The babe will need your protection. We have the Wall to stop the Others. That leaves only the kneelers, including our own mother's family. The duty falls to you, to do what is necessary."

Val's throat and chest tightened. "Then I am doomed."

Glancing back at Jon Snow, Dalla swallowed air and steeled herself. Val felt her stomach drop. Oh Gods, what does she intend?

"There is something we can offer the Starks," her sister said, switching to the Old Tongue, "Something the Canadians cannot know of."

Val narrowed her eyes. "The chieftains heard nothing of that sort at Mole's Town. They have not voted."

"The chieftains of the Laughing Tree were there," Dalla replied, "We could not tell their chieftains. Nor can we tell others, those who hate the Starks so much that war is the only path they will ever take."

Val just barely kept a scowl off her face. That the Free Folk had come together to decide on their fate had been a great achievement, she had thought. "So you are undermining the chieftains," she said, "You will offer something that was not agreed. It will divide our people and we will end up fighting each other, while the Starks laugh."

"What do you think I have been doing all day?" Dalla asked, "Every chieftain who is not mad or desires to die a bloody death, I have talked to on Mance's behalf. All have agreed to the new offer, with their own terms."

"What terms?"

"Rights to use land in the Gift, mostly. Some are more … difficult."

Val realised the significance at once. "What have you bought with such terms? It must be a mighty demand. Surely, the chiefs have not agreed to kneel?"

Dalla shook her head. "No, they have chosen the only route that prevents us needing to kneel, save for war. Fighting the kneelers would cost too many lives and too much time. The chieftains have accepted the idea of an alliance with the Starks, to offer our military strength in addition to theirs."

Val's eyes widened to the point that the cold stung them, forcing them to tear up and shut again. "What?!" she hissed, wiping the tears away.

"Mance has talked much of the wealth of the far South in the past," Dalla replied, "They haven't forgotten. Many wish to go south to raid."

"And Mance thinks this is a good idea?"

"As do I. The men are not like to stand upon the Wall, awaiting the Others' blow. Any peace would be under constant threat from the raiding clans. What better way to relieve it than to let them do as they wish against the Starks' enemies?"

Val couldn't believe her ears. "The chieftains have not considered that them going south would make them hostages as much as any child held in a castle?"

Dalla exhaled an amused breath and shook her head. "Mance has done his work well. They are already dreaming of all they can steal."

"Fever dreams," Val said in disgust, "And why must the Canadians not find out about this? Surely they would be greatly pleased if they knew most of the council favoured an alliance?"

"They are a strange people," Dalla sighed, "A people born for war, yet they ferociously mislike it while making its practice a prayer. Even now their new followers practice marching."

She gestured to the camp. "The clans most enthusiastic about alliance are those that would never agree to peace, but see this as a chance to despoil as much of the kneelerlands as possible. The warriors of Canada would not stand by as Free Folk warriors raid villages that have nothing to do with the survival of our people. Yet allowing the clans the chance to do just that may be the very key to that survival."

"The Canadians would be right," Val stated, "The Starks' enemies have done us no harm. And what if we lose?"

Dalla looked off north to the camp, troubled. "Mayhaps they are in the right. But the alternative is to kneel to Stark. Whether that is openly or by so many oaths and hostages held against us... Is that a price you are willing to pay?"

All true, Val thought. The only ways to stand with the Lord of Winterfell as an equal were to defeat him or to prove their worth in battle some other way. And the southrons beyond the Neck were no friends. Their victory would be the death of the Free Folk. They knew nothing of the Wall or the Others. They did not wish to know.

"So you wish me to offer alliance to Stark?" Val asked, "How do I do that without the Canadians finding out?"

"Our agreements with the Starks are not the business of this Canada of theirs," Dalla said, "But that is not the biggest obstacle. The kneelers do not do alliances as we do between clans and tribes. They prefer permanent arrangements. The lords are held together by other ties…"

Val looked up at the sky, wondering what Dalla meant. And it hit her, like a falling star. "You can't mean…"

"Would you have me say it out?" her sister half mumbled, at least having the dignity to be embarrassed.

"I cannot marry the Stark boy for an alliance," Val stated firmly, "That is not our way. And I am not some bauble you can trade like an Essosi merchant at the mouth of the Antler."

"Your sacrifice of our ways will protect them for the future," Dalla replied, "I do not take this lightly. Neither does Mance. We are not ordering you to do this. We ask that you consider it. Get the measure of the young Stark in Winterfell, and make the decision yourself. As I said, the fate of our people is in your hands."

"The lords will not accept it."

"If you present yourself as Val of the House of Umber, if you come offering to solve their problem, and if you offer the concessions our council has already approved… they may have no choice."

Val was suddenly glad that Dalla was with child, for she would have throttled dear sister otherwise. "Does Mother know you are doing this?"

"She does. She accepts it."

"What did she say?"

Dalla hesitated. "Nothing."

Val was not convinced. "What did she say, sister?" she repeated.

"She said nothing before agreeing, but she seemed lost somewhere else for a moment," Dalla said, before joking, "Mayhaps she dreamed of being a kneeler lady again, of seeing us honoured as nobles. Now we both will have that."

Or we will die. "Honours... And Mother is of the Free Folk now. She cares not for such honours."

"She cares that her family would recognise us," Dalla said, "We are now south of the Wall. The land of her birth. That we can live here and bring her grandchildren into life here is what she wants."

"You are guessing."

"Not without knowledge. Do you think me mistaken?"

Val had no answer. Her sister was not mistaken at all. It would be just like Rowan Umber to think such a way. Above being Free Folk or kneeler, her mother was a survivor. But Val did not want to believe that her mother had become that person again. She had spent her childhood listening about the strange ways of her grandfather's people. And their hatred for the Free Folk.

Dalla was waiting for an answer when Val next returned her attention that way.

I need some cause to reject the idea. "Robb Stark is young. Too young."

"He is like his father. Honourable. Strong. Good with a sword. Better with a lance on horseback. A warg like his brother as well. You would have no reason to complain, in time. And I would think you would enjoy a younger man, though you are not so much older."

Val grumbled incoherently, struggling to form a response that wasn't at volumes the nearby Crows could hear. Not least Jon Snow.

Dalla laughed. "But if you feel elsewise, simply offer what we said before and rely on the Canadians to get you out if that fails. The terms are to be made in good faith, and the so-called northmen are the blood of the First Men, mostly. An oath before a weirwood binds them as much as it does us."

"So not at all," Val shot back with a false smile, "The ones among the Free Folk most like to break an accord are the ones least likely to care for oaths."

"Aye, and the southron lordlings are no doubt the same. But not the Starks. We swear oaths with them, and the lords that fight us will find their own liege on our side."

Val eyed her sister. "You speak like Taryne."

"Mayhaps. But Taryne would betray us to the Canadians in a breath's moment. So don't share notions of alliance with her."

Why would I? Val thought idly, Taryne is no friend of mine. "I have not said I will do as you ask."

Dalla waved her off. "I know you will. You have not threatened to slit Robb Stark's throat yet. So you know the weight of the task I have put on your back."

"Aye, I'll be on my back. And we know what the lords will want done while I'm there. I have little desire for children, sister, not yet. I will not be able to keep a straight face when I make the offer, sister. Or a calm tongue."

Dalla's lips thinned. "You would not need to give him the offer. Mance is going with you."

Val looked at her blankly. "Mance is coming south?"

"Yes. Disguised as one of the unicorn riders. They haven't forgotten their oath to him."

They aren't born of stolen women, Val thought, Not like the Laughing Tree's other clans. "It is unwise to test their loyalties. And won't the army fall apart without Mance?"

"Not if he's gone for a certain time only," Dalla replied, "The chieftains will be told he's going on a tour of the Gift, to see what points may be defended easily. Only one who knows the truth is Giantsbane, because he's going to command while Mance is gone."

Val rubbed her face. Any more surprises? "Do the Canadians know?"

"They'll find out," Dalla stated, "They just do not need to know yet. A King Beyond the Wall must not appear to grovel, after all."

Then why was I chosen at all? Val's mind asked, hurt, Was I not to be trusted with this negotiation in the first place? "I care not, sister," she said, "If Mance is going to talk to the Starks, then I will stay here. It was our King who 'volunteered' me, yet he would come along? Clearly he has no more need of my being at Winterfell."

Having no more to say about the matter, Val made to leave. Dalla gently grabbed her arm, holding her in place. The wolf took notice, ears up.

"Val… The lords need to see us as more than savages. They think they know us, but they know only the raider in the night. If Mance goes alone, they will see only him. And what is he? Aye, handsome to my eye and a great man. But also a Crow that flew away, his black cloak sewn with red silk, his winged helm on his head. An armed traitor."

Dalla touched the side of Val's cheek. "If you are the one they see instead, what is it they will glimpse? A proud woman of the Free Folk, speaking good sense, beautiful and the very image of what they think nobility is. All their expectations will be shattered."

Val's jaw set with annoyance. "So I am to lead in talking to Stark because the lords shall think me pretty?" she said, "Somehow, that feels more an insult than them rejecting me for my wildling blood."

"They're men," Dalla smirked, "Their fantasies can confound their good sense. Something we must use to our advantage. Despite the bluster, Mance would avoid war with the lords. He is of a mind with the Canadians in this more than with the chieftains. Our people need this, sister. Tell me you will do what we ask."

Val scowled, and pulled her arm out of Dalla's grasp. But the words she wanted to speak rejecting her sister's request could not come. Instead, her eyes were drawn north again, searching for the Others in the gloom beyond the guardfires. "I will do what is required," she said instead, "No further, unless it pleases me. And I think it shall not please me."

Dalla breathed a sigh of relief. "Then it is all in the hands of the gods now," she said, "All preparations made."

Val shook her head. What manner of woman have you become? "You have changed, sister," she said, "A year ago you wouldn't have bargained my life for anything."

"I am a queen," Dalla replied, "While that does not mean much to our people, it is not without meaning entirely. I feel… burdened by it, sister. As if the bards will sing of my failure if after having escaped the Others, the Starks ride us down, shaming me for all eternity."

Val looked at her sister like she had just asked for a dragon. What a foolish notion. "You won't be around to experience eternity," she said, finally leaving, "Better to think of the here and now."

"Where are you going?" Dalla asked.

"Taking your advice," Val replied over her shoulder.

Seeing that Jon Snow hadn't moved from his post, she walked carefully across the icy gravel, moving further down the Wall. Her progress was tracked every step of the way by the white direwolf. The creature eventually broke away from its master's side, padding over to inspect her.

As it reached her, Val stood absolutely still, allowing it to sniff her. Not here to hurt anyone, wolf, she thought, I would know your master, is all.

To her surprise, the wolf acted as if it heard her mind, and it threw its long nose under her gloved fingers. She found herself scratching the beast on its large head by force of habit, to its delight. It panted silently, an eye the colour of weirwood sap peering up at her as she found a spot behind the ears that was particularly favoured.

"That's unusual," Jon Snow remarked, "Ghost doesn't usually take to people like this."

"Mayhaps I am not just anyone," Val commented. She stopped scratching the wolf, and got her hand pulled on for her trouble. Despite the size of the teeth clamped around her glove, she could tell it was just asking for more.

Jon Snow laughed loudly. "Mayhaps Ghost just knows the people who scratch the best," he said, "Even those who are brave enough to approach are not always brave enough to touch him for long."

Val retrieved her hand from the wolf's mouth, getting a silent huff of breath in response, and joined the Crow at his post. "Tomorrow we leave for Winterfell."

The young man inclined his head. "We do. What brings you to me, my lady?"

Val hesitated. It didn't seem proper to simply ask about his brother, though she was sure that was what Dalla had done. But she did feel there was something to speak with him about, now that she knew what she had to do.

"I would talk with you. We're alike, Jon Snow."

The young Crow raised an eyebrow. "How so?"

Val eyed him, not sure she should even hint at what she had been asked to do. He is easy to look at. A pity he wears black. "We're both trapped by duty."

Apologies for the lateness of this chapter, I have been ill for a number of weeks now.

Also a shout-out to LadyAstraan on the PureASOIAF Discord for recommending this story. Thanks!

LadyAstraan