Jon

Moving swiftly into the Small Council chamber Jon didn't do anything to hide his scowl as he moved to his place.

"Well…" Cersei Lannister said, having decided to join them for the first time since Tommen had named him Hand of the King, "…it is good of you to pull yourself away from your comfy chambers and actually see about handling the rule of the realm, considering how much of a mess you've made of it."

"That is enough, Cersei," Kevan Lannister said and the way she leaned back showed how startled she was by the rebuke; it was clear to Jon that she had thought that the rest of the Small Council would join in with her mocking of him. That this was like the Small Council of old, where they were all simpering for her attention and delighted in fighting against one another, sniffing out blood and knowing it meant weakness.

But that Small Council was long gone. In its place was the Small Council as it was meant to be, forced into being by Tywin Lannister and now Jon's raw will.

"Uncle… you can not mean to forgive him for what he did?"

"And what, pray tell, has Jon done? Did he suddenly grow tentacles and attack the city? If he did they he is doing quite while hiding them now."

"He allowed this to happen on his watch!"

"And you allowed two kings to die and a fleet to nearly take the city," Oberyn replied lazily from his chair, snacking on a peach. Juice dribbled down his chin as he glanced up at her. "We have a saying in Dorne: those that live in glass houses should not throw stones."

Cersei grew red faced at that, whipping around and glowering at Oberyn before, in a shrill and hateful voice, declaring, "None of that would have happened had I actually been allowed to rule! But you fools… you stupid, meaningless, men!"

"Of course, of course," Oberyn stated. "Had you been given full control Stannis would have decided to stay home with his wife and produce a thousand heirs in peace, Baelish would never have gotten it in his head to stab Joffrey, and Robert would have given up his drink and become as pious as Baelor the Blessed."

His comments did not, in any way, calm Cersei down. "Stannis attacked because he knew my brother, that stunted little worm, was too weak to hold the city and it was only my father's arrival that ensured that we did not all die. Something, I would remind you all, I begged him to do!"

'Yes,' Jon thought, 'and had he done that he would have-'

"And without him in the field," Varys said, cutting off Jon's thoughts, "the alliance between the Tyrells and the Lannisters… I'm sorry, the Crown… would never have come to pass. The city would still have been starved and Stannis would have been able to simply wait us out while the Starks and the Tullys took back complete control of the Riverlands and, quite possibly, marched into the Westerlands and taken your lands." Cersei opened her mouth but Varys continued, smiling sweetly. "It is understandable for you to not see that point… these things are so complex. A thousand moving pieces."

"I-"

"Enough, Cersei," Kevan snapped and once more she was startled. Jon had learned during his time in King's Landing that Cersei Lannister was used to her family always jumping to her defense and coddling her when she wanted things. As odd as it was to think of Tywin Lannister doing that it seemed, in his own stern and rigid way, he had allowed her far more leeway than he would have anyone else. She was allowed to, at the very least, make a dramatic show. And many times the Lannisters around her would actually help her, hoping that by joining in with the most beautiful of the Lannisters they would receive rewards for their actions.

"Uncle-"

"We are here to rule," he said darkly. "We are not here for you to put on this childish performance."

"I am not-"

"Your Grace," Jon said tightly, staring her down. He didn't know what it was but when she glanced at him all the dismissive fury that had been on her face drained away. "While you are always welcomed here-" And he didn't miss the way Oberyn smirked at that or how Varys, master of disguises as he was, nearly cracked at that, "-this is not a dinner where we make small talk. Time is of the essence and I will not waste another minute more. I am more than happy to allow you to listen in and offer advice, based on your long time ruling and the knowledge you have gained." Which was none unless it was how to drink and be a vain little creature but Jon didn't say that. "And if not then you are welcome to go elsewhere and I will have someone, even myself, give you a summary of this meeting after the fact."

Cersei opened her mouth… and then her remaining flesh and blood hand squeezed into a fist and she let out a huffing sigh. "I will not waste my time on you fools and I do not need a summary. If you are not going to listen to what I have to say then you can all rot as far as I care. I will go and seek out those that will listen to my wisdom."

Jon frowned at that. There was something… off… about Cersei there. Her words sounded like her, her voice was her own… but it was as if she were a puppet and someone else was speaking through her mouth. He couldn't say what it was that was bothering him but something was wrong…

"Of course, your grace," Mace Tyrell said with a happy smile. "I do believe my daughter was having tea along with her ladies in waiting." He waved his hand and a Tyrell guard stepped forward. "Please escort the queen there." The guard, dressed in armor that was more for show than it was for battle, nodded and Cersei shot them all a glare before leaving but the heat wasn't there at all.

Odd.

But Jon couldn't focus on that. No… he needed to deal with the situation that they currently had on hand.

"How are the repairs?" Jon asked.

"Should we not discuss Lord Otto first?" Grand Maester Pycelle stated.

Jon though shook his head. "King's Landing has been attacked again… what matters is its people. That they are safe and cared for. Revenge doesn't fill bellies."

"But it does ensure that attacks don't happen again," Mace argued.

"And we will be addressing it shortly," Jon said. "But for now I want to know about the damage and the loss of life."

Thankfully the actual dead numbered very little. Only a handful. Gwen had done quite well in keeping-

'Gwen,' Jon thought with sorrow.

They had done well to hide her disappearance. As much as all of them had wanted to shout it from every rooftop that she was missing it was something that Jon and the Spiders couldn't openly admit. Too many questions would have been raised why Gwen was missing from King's Landing. There were far better hostages to take, after all. So why her?

Jon knew she wasn't dead… it had been seen by enough witnesses that one of the Spiders, along with Sandor Clegane (which was another oddity he needed to puzzle out) had been taken by Doc Ock to a ship which had then sailed out of the Blackwater.

So they had claimed that she was ill, helped by the fact that she hadn't been seen the day of the Open Court. May was seeing to her, refusing to let any others care for her wellbeing, while Miles and Petyr did their best to hide their grief and their fury. Both of those emotions seemed to be warring within them, mixing and twisting and fighting for dominance.

But the loss of life in King's Landing had been very little, thanks to Gwen. He would thank her for that when he saw her again.

Because it was no question that he WOULD see her again.

"Lord Jon," Mace spoke up, "why have we not declared Lord Otto an enemy of the crown? We know that it is him who is this tentacled creature, the one the small folk have dubbed Doc Ock. They bay for his blood for this attack and your refusal to name him as the cause has them wondering if you are not in league with him."

"In league with him?" Jon asked, surprised and startled by the claim.

Mace nodded. "Oh yes. Lord Jonah has begun having his Buglers proclaim that your silence means that you are in league with him."

Lord Jonah. Jon grit his teeth at that. The man was a pain in his side that he didn't ever seem to be able to get rid of. A pompous blowhard who took every action and twisted it into the most foul of gossip. And the worst part was that Jon could do very little about him. If he tried to have the man thrown in a Black Cell it would only confirm to the Small Folk all he claimed. So Jon had to let him roam free; he couldn't buy him off, could threaten him, couldn't do much of anything.

"I am sworn to protect King's Landing. What benefit would there be to me if I were to aid one to attack it."

"Ah, but there are plenty of examples in the histories of rulers creating the very terrors that they seek to solve," Maester Pycelle commented. "In Essos it is quite common. Some Lord or self-styled king will unleash wild beasts in his city or hire sellswords to attack. Scare the populous and make them think there is some outside force that seeks to destroy them. Only their ruler can save them and when he is done he will ask for only a small thing or two… a few rules made that benefit him, the public to forget about this scandal or that. When it comes out it is always a messy affair but often times it takes decades, if not hundreds of years, for the truth to be ferreted out."

"Careful, Grand Maester," Oberyn said with a smile that was as sharp as his spear point. "One would think you were questioning the honor of our Regent. And considering he rules in the name of King Tommen that could be seen as treason."

Pycelle sputtered at that.

Jon was thankful for his goodfather saying that. He had to balance being stern and strong with being open handed and accepting of those around the table. He couldn't afford to make enemies on the Small Council but he also couldn't look weak to them. A frustrating, annoying, aggravating dance. So it was nice when Oberyn or Varys stepped in and helped him out, making the snide little comments he couldn't.

"Doc Ock looked like Lord Otto," Jon said, "but that doesn't mean he is Lord Otto."

"My Lord, I know that Lord Otto was your selection for the Small Council so this is a matter of pride-"

Jon cut him off again. "This has nothing to do with pride, Grand Maester. It has everything to do with the world we now live in." He gestured towards the windows. "Knights fly. There is a trio of spider people that swing about. It is said that Brienne of Tarth has grown to the size of a giant and is green in color. There are whispers of an army of wolves in the Riverlands. We live in strange times, my Lords… why not one that can change their face?"

"Foolishness," Pycelle said at once.

But it is Jiffsum that spoke up before Jon could. "You haven't been out in King's Landing recently, Grand Maester… the Open Court doesn't count because it was carefully controlled. But things have become odd out there. Different. Strange." He shook his head and pulled out the little note book he used to keep track of everything. "The Vulture King being able to actually fly. Someone called 'The Shocker' who was able to shatter rock simply by thrusting out his fists. Reports that there are citizens living underground who call themselves the Morloks. A man who has declared himself the only true Kingsguard, the Moon Knight." He closed the note book. "It feels as if every day my men tell me of some new impossibility."

"Perhaps then you need better men," Pycelle said with a huff. "If they are so delusional-"

"You saw the Iron Man," Jon pressed. "Did you not?"

The old man muttered something but refused to answer. Which was an answer in and of itself.

"Until we know the truth of it I will not slander Lord Otto. After all, a member of his household is also missing, is he not? The steward?" Jon looked at the Small Council who nodded in agreement. "Is it not possible that Lord Otto and this man were taken just so Lord Otto could be framed for these crimes? A way to embarrass the crown twice? First by making it seem as if we put on this council a criminal and then, when we denounce him, reveal our error?"

The rest of the Small Council was staring at him and Jon knew what they were thinking. They believed that he was grasping at straws, trying to find some reason, any reason to avoid admitting that they had made a grave error and allowed such a vile man into their midst. And, perhaps, that was the case. Jon couldn't dismiss it out of hand that he was thinking that way.

But he was reminded of the lessons that Natasha had been giving him. The 'Spy's Sense', as she called it. She had told him that agents of the Council had to learn how to sense when a situation wasn't right because they weren't the only ones that sent people out to pretend they were something they weren't. Many times there would be other spies, belonging to lords or kings or the like, who were trying to find out the information you were or to complete the task you had been assigned… or to do the opposite. Take a life you were meant to save (or the reverse, though Nat never said that out loud, preferring to think that Jon didn't know that his wife had killed). Being able to sense, even though every fact and point of reason screamed at you that all was okay and alright, that something was horribly wrong.

While his Spy Sense would never be as great as Natasha's or Varys' it had been developed enough that he had been able to get out of several problems that he didn't even realize were problems. Most recently while walking the halls towards his chambers a maid had come to him, asking if he needed anything. Jon had replied no only to see something in her face, the slightest of twitches. He had known at once he could not return to his rooms, despite having been desperate to go there and change into something after training in the yard, and instead had turned on his heels and gone to seek out May Parker to talk. It had only been later that Varys had told him that the maid had followed him and going to May Parker had been the best move he could have made, for she was well trusted in the Red Keep.

"That and," he had said with a slight smile, "she is a woman."

"What does that matter?" Jon had asked.

"Because with a man the maid could have claimed that you both took her but none would believe the widow of Benjen Parker to engage in such things."

"Take her?!" Jon had exclaimed. But before Varys had been able to speak the pieces had fallen into place. "She wanted to cause a scandal."

"A great one," Varys had confirmed. "She is one of the Queen's chosen girls… one the queen has sent to the whore houses as of late to pretend to be a prostitute. Paid well by both her clients and the queen… and requesting only men with hair of dark coloring and pale skin."

Jon had grit his teeth at that. While the Dornish didn't much care if a man had a bastard or three it was known that the Martells at minimum told their partners of their lovers. For Jon not to inform Natasha he had been with a maid and gotten her with child would have been scandalous… and a maid who could claim Jon had raped her?

His Spy Sense had saved him there.

(He didn't think about what had happened to the girl; he tried not to consider that it was very likely, with a bastard in her belly and failure upon her head, that her next time in a whorehouse wouldn't see her pretending to be one of the whores.)

'And it is screaming to me now that this isn't right,' Jon thought to himself. 'Why be so brazen in revealing his face? Had he worn a simple hood and mask no one would have suspected him. This figure… they wanted us to see Lord Otto's face on Doc Ock's body. They want us to jump to this conclusion. And with how many strange and wild foes I have had to face as of late I can't put aside the chance that this is a skin changer or the like.'

He didn't bring up the Northern Belief of the Skin Changers, for he knew that it would only result in mockery from much of the Small Council. Even in the North, amongst lords who had grown up with the tales, it would have been seen as him being strange and childish. The tales themselves couldn't agree on what a Skin Changer could actually do. Some claimed that they removed their own skin and put on a new one, so that one might become a man, a woman, a child, a ruler, a cad… all in the span of a single day. Others though claimed that the Skin Changers could alter their faces like puddy, shifting their features to resemble others. More tales claimed that the Skin Changers stole faces from people or forced them to wear different faces while they claimed the original ones, while still others stated that if a Skin Changer held an item of importance for a person they could assume their form.

Jon didn't know what Doc Ock was. But he wasn't going to blinding label him Lord Otto. Not yet.

He saw Mace Tyrell open his mouth but Jon held up his hand, shaking his head. "No… we will not act until we have all the information. I know the people hunger for action but we know that the Small Folk are irrational, dancing from one demand to another. Today they want Lord Otto declared a traitor to the crown. Tomorrow something new will be revealed and suddenly he is a hero and we are the evil villains who sullied his name. We must not allow the winds of opinion to blow us into the rocks."

Kevan Lannister nodded at that. "We are working to repair the damage caused and we are making clear that Lord Otto is missing. People know we aren't protecting him. That will buy us some time."

"And what of Lord Jonah?" Grand Maester Pycelle pressed.

Jon glanced at his goodfather. "You are rather friendly with certain people in this city, aren't you?"

"I've learned how to keep people from wanting to stab me in the back," Obery replied. "Now they want to stab me in the front, which is much more entertaining."

"And you have a reputation for being rather entertaining, do you not?"

"A song, a story, a swing… I can do it all."

"Yes," Jon said with a slight smile. "And I suppose if you were to begin speaking of some rumors concerning Lord Jonah… a man who has made plenty of enemies with the rich and powerful and those loyal to them… people would listen?"

Oberyn chuckled as he stroked his beard. "People always listen to me. The ones that don't are dead."

Jon didn't say anything else. There was no need too. Oberyn was smart enough to know what Jon wanted and honestly it would give him deniability if things went wrong. But he was willing to bet that Obery would, at minimum, distract Lord Jonah by turning himself into the target of his ire.

That settled he looked to the Grand Maester. "Now, unless there is anyone else that is causing problems and stirring up resentment towards us…" Jon made sure the threat was clear in his voice and the old man clearly heard it as he gave a bit of a start. But before he could say more Jon turned to Varys. "And speaking of information what can you tell me of the ship that Doc Ock claimed as his own?"

"Very little, I am afraid," Varys stated. "It hadn't docked in King's Landing so it wasn't required to notify us of where it was going or where it had come from. My little birds of course keep watch but if it had passed…"

And he paused.

"Lord Varys?" Mace asked.

The Master of Whispers frowned.

"My Lords…" Ser Kevan suddenly said, "what is the name of the island that Lord Stannis retreated to?"

No one had an answer. None of them could name it. They knew the island existed… knew that it should be somewhere nearby. But for the life of them they couldn't answer.

That derailed the entire meeting and in the end Jon had been forced to end it early. All had been startled by the fact that they could not remember something that they knew was important and Varys had gone to see if he could learn the name… and if only they were affected. All had been shaken by the revelation, or rather the lack of one, with even Mace Tyrell being silent and ashen as he had left.

'Is this something else Doc Ock has done?' he thought to himself. 'Or is it merely more strangeness that has popped up at the same time as his attack?' After the Battle of the Bywater King's Landing had suffered many odd occurrences, with Jiffsum many days having to sort fact from fiction. The existence of the Spiders proved that it was entirely possible that the loss of the name of… that place… was something else entirely. 'But what?' he thought just as Happy entered the room.

"My Lord, there is someone that wishes to speak with you," he said.

"And just who are they?" he said, knowing that it wasn't like Happy not to give him every ounce of information he could.

"My Lord… she says that… you must see her first, before she will give her name."

"Happy…" Jon said slowly, now truly worried. This wasn't like the man at all.

"Lord Jon," he dropped his voice into a whisper. "Please…"

'Something is wrong… something is very wrong,' Jon thought to himself. Happy would never put him at risk but he also wouldn't leave him in the dark. The only answer was then that the mysterious woman had to be someone powerful enough-

Jon froze.

"Oh…" he whispered, realizing just WHO it had to be. "Show her in."

Happy nodded, the motion short and sharp, and hurried out of the room, leaving Jon just enough time to stand and retrieve his sword, which he had kept leaning against a wall. While one was supposed to be safe in the Red Keep Jon would never forget that even if he was the Hand of the King and the Regent… he was also a Stark and the Red Keep wasn't a good place for them. Three had died, after all: his uncle, his grandfather, and-

"Well… we finally meet. Though from what I have heard you came here seeking me out."

Jon narrowed his eyes. "Do you have a name I might address you with? Or would you prefer merely 'The Night's Queen'?"

The woman was and at the same time wasn't his sister. Wasn't because the body of Sansa Stark had been radically altered by the being before him. She was well over 6 and a half feet tall with skin that was so white it looked like chilled milk. Her hair was blindly white as well but it didn't make her look like a crone for it was so smooth and silky that it could only belong to one that was young. She wore a loose summer dress despite the chill that had entered the air of King's Landing and soft slippers that allowed her to walk without making a sound. Her lips were a deep blue that stood out against her pale skin and made her teeth look far more dangerous when she opened her mouth to smile, which she did so with no warmth. Indeed there was nothing within her one might have called 'warm', not even her eyes which were like a pair of blue stars on a cold moonless night.

And yet… even though the woman was far too old, her hair the wrong color, her skin like that of a frozen corpse… he could see Sansa's chin. Her nose. Her cheeks.

This was his sister's body… mutilated and twisted to serve the creature that now wore her skin.

"Are you going to kill me with that little sword of yours?" the Night's Queen asked with a laugh that was like icicles falling onto stone. "You know what they say about kinslaying."

"You'd have to be my sister for it to be kinslaying," Jon retorted. "And you'd have to still be alive."

"Well well well… someone has been informed quite a bit. I should have come to see you sooner, would have made things far more interesting." The Night's Queen began to move lazily about the room, trailing her fingers along the walls. But Jon knew there was nothing slothen about her actions. Indeed, he could see thin trails of ice forming in the wake of her fingers, clinging to the stone to trace her path. "It has been so bothersome to be able to get everything I wanted. Joffrey was utterly pathetic and his mother… well, she has been hollowed out by so many men that it was rather easy to use her as a puppet.

"Tyrion Lannister never trusted me. He and his little group. But he is gone now and his pet sellswords are too busy working for you and Oberyn to cause me any problems. Not that they ever actually did, as Tyrion preferred to take a wait and see approach with me. His father though…" She smiled at that, but it was a disappointed little gesture. "I had thought that it would be delightful matching wits with him but after my plan succeeded I found it… pathetic. The great and powerful Tywin Lannister was just a love sick puppy, chasing after my heels.

"But then there is you. You have been rather competent in running this city, haven't you? And you understand what I truly am. Oh, the battles we could have had if we actually had the time. Perhaps we still will." She then paused. "That is, unless…"

The Night's Queen began to move towards him, reaching up with a hand to pull on the top of her dress, causing it to fall to expose her pale white breasts, each one topped with a dark nipple. Once free she then reached down, grabbing onto her dress and lifted it to expose her nethers to him.

"Aren't you a bit curious, Jon?" she whispered. "I know you are. Back at Winterfell you used to stare at Sansa and dream of taking her. 'That will show Catelyn Stark… I will fill her precious daughter's belly with my bastard and her only way of avoiding a scandal will be to allow us to wed'. How many restless nights did you spend lying in bed, dreaming of what this quim tasted like-"

Jon drew his sword and pointed it right at her chest.

"The only thing I will penetrate you with is Shadowfang," he warned.

That caused the Night's Queen to laugh. "I am dead! You said so yourself. Stab me and I will only keep going!"

'She doesn't know,' Jon suddenly realized. He had knowledge… knowledge passed to him by Gerion. Knowledge she didn't. 'Somehow she doesn't know about Valyrian Steel… or she does know but thinks I don't, so she is trying to bluff her way out. Either way… I can't reveal what I know. If it is the former than I have a grand advantage. But if it is the latter then I will be prepared if she tries to act against me.' Internally though he grit his teeth. 'I could kill her right now… but Sansa's soul is trapped within her. I have no idea what will happen if I strike her down. Maybe Sansa will be freed… or maybe she will join her in whatever Hell awaits her. I can't risk it, not until I know there is no hope of saving her.'

Thus Jon did not lower his sword. But he also made no move to strike her down.

"Well, I suppose I must admire one of you humans for being able to think with something other than your loins," The Night's Queen said as she redressed. "Truthfully I have never come to understand the delight all of you take in the act… perhaps there is some pleasure but it is such a messy affair that it hardly seems worth it."

"What do you want?" Jon asked. "You didn't come here just to try and seduce me."

"Very true," the Night's Queen admitted, moving back to one of the walls, lightly ghosting her fingers upon it. The air was growing chillier and Jon was beginning to be able to see his breath.

'If this keeps up I'll have to act… she'll try and freeze me in this room.'

"As enjoyable as it would be to spend time matching wits with you… I have discovered that you and I have a common enemy. We- one moment."

And suddenly The Night's Queen slammed her hand into the wall, causing the ice to rapidly race along its surface, causing the stone to crack and groan before, with her other hand, she slammed into it and caused it to shatter. Jon shielded his face as bits of rock and stone flew all around him and when he was able to look again he saw she had ripped from the wall one of the many spies that were forever creeping through the walls of the Red Keep, listening in. He could just make out the hidden passage the stiff and still maid had been hiding in before the Night's Queen lifted her up by the throat, bringing her to her face before she locked lips with her.

Jon took a step forward to do… well, he wasn't for sure what… but it didn't matter as he saw rather quickly that there was no hope of saving her. The poor woman broke out of her shock but for only a moment, thrashing wildly even as Jon watched her body go ramrod straight. Her veins, starting in her face and moving downward to the rest of her body, pulsed and expanded along her body even as ice crystals formed along her eyes.

'She's freezing her blood,' he realized in horror.

The Night's Queen finally broke away from the horrid kiss and held the woman aloft before, without a care, she let her drop. Jon jumped back as her body shattered upon hitting the ground, reduced to a thousand different jagged chunks.

"I want this to remain private," the Night's Queen said as casually as one might discuss the rising and falling of the tide. "And I have no need for any more Wights. There are plenty already keeping watch on things."

Jon narrowed his eyes, knowing that what he had just witnessed was a demonstration and a warning to him. A reminder of how powerful she was.

'Sansa,' he reminded himself, even as he hated that he couldn't end her right there. 'Damn it all… I know what I should do but I would never be able to live with myself if I damned her to an eternity of torment with this beast.'

"This tentacled creature… Doc Ock… he has captured my Knight."

Jon blinked at that before he put the pieces together. "The Hound." He had been told that the Hound had been made Sansa's sworn sword… or rather the Night's Queen's sworn sword. He had wondered if the man knew of what she truly was but now it was clear to him that it didn't matter as the Night's Queen had laid claim to him.

"I can not leave the city to claim him as I have things I must deal with here. You will retrieve him for me."

He hated that she was making it sound like he was his errand boy but he also knew he would be going after Doc Ock no matter what. He had Gwen… that had to be dealt with.

"But I know that you can not merely go blindly into this," she stated, one foot reaching out to idly roll a chunk of the slain maid back and forth along the ground. "It wouldn't do to waste your time searching all of the Seven Kingdoms for him."

"…you know where Doc Ock's going."

The Night's Queen chuckled at that. "My connection to my Knight is strong… and I have managed to slip a few Wights into the crew Doc Ock chose to man the ship. Or, should I say, Mysterio."

"Mysterio?" Jon asked.

"Quintin Beck. A disgruntled servant of Lord Otto… and a rival of his at the Citadel, though I get the sense Lord Otto never knew that. He certainly has been surprised by these turn of events."

'Then Otto is innocent… and he is with Sandor and Gwen,' Jon thought.

"They are currently sailing for Gulltown… and from there The Eyrie. An old enemy of both of us has returned, deciding to cheat the death that awaits all of you mortals."

"Who?"

"Baelish."

Jon wanted to protest. To argue. To say that it was impossible that Baelish was alive because Jon had watched him lose his HEAD.

But he was talking to the body of his dead sister, her soul used to fuel an ancient evil. He had no room to talk.

"Return my knight to me, Jon Stark." She paused. "And perhaps, if you do it well… I might even consider making you my Thrall."

She turned to leave but Jon couldn't help but voice the one question that remained on his mind. "What do you want? You and the Others. What is it you truly want?"

The Night's Queen merely looked over her shoulder and said, "An end to the living."

And with that she was gone.