3

JON

"Go on Ghost, I'll be fine."

Jon was lying and he knew it.

His horse was faltering, weak from hunger and tired, meanwhile their pursuers were closing in upon them.

Whoever they are.

The horse had managed to amble toward a thicker copse of trees but could go no further.

When Jon had dismounted, he found that his legs were so sore from riding that fleeing on foot was no longer an option. So instead he leaned against a tree and waited, watching and listening for a sign of the party that had been following them since midday.

As he waited for his pursuers to fall upon him, Ghost paced in a circle, nudging at his leg as if urging Jon to continue forward. He didn't want the wolf to face whatever fate awaited him, but a part of Jon was thankful for his old friend's loyalty.

Jon didn't want to die alone.

"This is it my friend, go on now." He pushed at the direwolf but the beast would not budge. It seemed that Ghost was intending to stay by his side until the very end. "You have poor taste in friends Ghost. It's just my luck to always pick the wrong armies… the worst luck…"

Weeks later, he still dreamed of the Blackwater burning. There were still nights where he awoke to the screaming of dying men in his ear. Those few times Jon risked building a fire to warm himself, he would look into the flames and see the green inferno, the bright explosion that lit the battlefield like some demonic sun, flames flicking off the walls of the capital.

During Stannis's march through the Kingswood, his army came under continued attack by wildlings in service to the Lannisters. When Jon had proven that Ghost could warn against such attacks, the two of them had been put to use in scouting for enemies.

Unfortunately, doing so meant he'd gone from a sure place in the main fight to being placed in a party of outriders, screening their march against further raids.

It had still meant fighting though and it was a bloody business all around. Jon killed his first man in those woods. He had always known that one day he would have to kill someone, and Jon had worried that when he killed his first man that their eyes would somehow haunt him. In truth, he hadn't really seen his attacker's face. Most of the raids came at night, under the cover of darkness. He'd killed two more before they emerged from the Kingswood and Ghost five, to his best account. According to the party's leader, a Mullendore captain named Henry, they were the only outrider party to survive and reach the banks of the Blackwater.

When the Blackwater had been set aflame, Jon had watched as ships and men burned in a way he had never thought possible, the flames impossibly hot, spreading as if the inferno had a hunger all its own, one it sought to sate by feeding on their army. Wildfire was as terrible as they had been warned but everyone seemed as surprised as Jon that there was so much of it. As he watched the carnage, Jon couldn't help but think of his night with Melisandre and how she probably would've enjoyed seeing such butchery and he became disgusted with himself once again for lying with such a woman.

It was through that chaos that Jon and the others sailed. Some small crafts had been saved and were used to ferry the men across the bay, to begin their assault against the walls.

Even with the bay in flames and most of Stannis's fleet lost, they still hadn't lost heart. Victory had still been within the king's grasp. The attack had pressed on. Jon was part of the force trying to breach the King's Gate while the main battle geared up around the Mud Gate to their left.

Jon had wanted to be a part of the main attack and it had frustrated him that he could see so much of the battle unfolding yet his party was to continue guarding the flank, facing the river, away from the battle at the King's Gate. He had come all this way and once again he felt like a spectator, unable to help, to fight, to serve with honor.

If he was to save Sansa and Arya and he couldn't do so as an outrider.

Yet I swore to obey. That was Stannis's price for my being a part of this.

The other men in his riding party had been no happier to watch and wait. When a foray from the city broke the attack upon the King's Gate, moving the men there further down the riverfront, Jon had been eager to take part then. He had been among a group that called for riding against the rear of the city defenders but Henry had held firm.

"Look, the broken men reform even as we speak." Henry had pointed to the survivors of the gate siege gathering again at the riverbank, forming a line for another attack. "If their leader has need of eight riders he'll send word but for now let's guard the way from any attacks so that they have the chance to reform."

"Against what attacks? Wildlings? They're on the other side of the bloody river! All we're doing is staring at fucking water!" A man-at-arms named Rigsby had argued and Jon realized then that they truly were the only eyes on the flank of their force. Then he noticed Ghost disappearing into the darkness up west, towards the direction where the assault on the King's Gate was being attempted once more.

"Someone should ride further upriver." He'd said and the others called him craven. "I wish to fight as much as you, but Rigsby is right, the river is guarding us south. If a counterattack comes, it'll come along here from the west and sweep us, maybe even take our men at the Mud Gate by surprise."

"Alright bastard, since you seem to be the expert, you'll be following your own advice." Henry had laughed. "Marc and Ian, you'll join the bastard here for a little ride upriver. Just in case…"

They'd ridden off to the catcalls of the others and Jon had been furious to be sent further away from the gates.

Something, it turned out, had saved his life.

They were still riding about the walls, moving further and further west when a cheer went up behind them. He imagined that the Mud Gate had been breached and Jon cursed himself for being so far from the battle. Then Ghost suddenly veered north, toward the Lion Gate where there was no battle yet some instinct told Jon to follow after him.

He remembered thinking that Ghost was acting like he did during a hunt just before the direwolf made a kill. His prey this time had been another group of riders, three men flying a lion banner, and with the direwolf scaring their horses it was a fight his party had the better of.

Jon had cut a man down himself before they heard the trumpets sounding.

That was when he had truly lost heart.

Even in the darkness beyond the city walls, he could see thousands of dark shapes moving down the river towards the battle. They had thought the river would guard against any attacks on the army's rear but this force was on the north side of the Blackwater Rush, somehow having stolen a march on Stannis, burning no torches to warn of their coming. Jon would later realize that the men his party had attacked were sent ahead to tell the city of Lord Tywin's arrival.

"Back! Back!" Marc had yelled. Too late it turned out, for they'd been cut off from doing so by a group loosing crossbow bolts at them.

His two comrades fell to the bolts and there had been nothing he could do for them. Jon barely escaped death himself. A bolt had chewed through his shield and stabbed into his side. It had been a shallow wound though and he'd ripped the bolt out as he rode after Ghost. More riders were shooting at them and the only escape Jon and Ghost had was away from the rest of Stannis's army, into the charge of the Lannister one.

Ghost and he slipped through an opening in their lines and somehow outlasted those who gave chase. He imagined they probably sought more glory than killing a single outrider. There was a better fight to be had as the Lannisters fell upon the Baratheon flanks, just as Jon had warned might happen, though he had never dreamed a force would come in such large numbers.

It shamed him that he wasn't there to warn anyone but his route back to Stannis's army had been blocked by tens of thousands of the enemy and the capital itself.

Within its walls Sansa and Arya were still imprisoned. He thought then of Sansa brushing out Lady's fur, singing. He thought of Arya jumping into piles of leaves in the Godswood, laughing when Nymeria joined by jumping on top of her. Freeing the girls was something he wanted more than anything in the world but it just seemed so impossible now. The river, the army, the wildfire… so much stood in his way.

Jon was lost as to how to survive the night, let alone somehow saving his family. The army marching on the capital seemed endless and deep inside Jon had known that his family was out of reach once again. He'd even given thought to letting the Lannisters capture him, just to see the girls again. They could at least be prisoners together. He could give Sansa and Arya courage and maybe hold them in his arms one last time, even if those arms were chained to a dungeon wall. After all of the waiting, the idea had been tempting.

Ghost would have none of it though. The beast had done everything he could to keep them moving, save attacking Jon's horse. They continued on, away from the city and his family. His friend somehow guided them through the night and past whatever men screened the Lannister advance. Soon they both saw morning.

Jon spent most of the early day watching from a nearby hilltop for any sign that things were not as dire as he feared. He'd hoped Stannis had somehow overcome the arrival of the Lannister reinforcements and Jon looked to see any defeated remnants of Stannis's army fleeing nearby that he could regroup with.

Yet none came. Instead what came forth was the sound of bells ringing with the city and Jon knew then that the siege had been broken.

The Lannisters had won.

Jon sat upon his horse watching the smoke rise from the battlefield for some time longer. The smell of burnt men had been wafting in the air even there, far from the city. His thoughts had been ringing in his head, even louder than the bells.

Stannis is defeated and even if I could return to him, I'd be a prisoner again.

He'd looked to Ghost and saw his friend pacing warily, as if eager to leave the place. Yet where would they go? Jon thought on that for a long time. That he suddenly had the freedom to choose his course was an altogether new thing for him. All his life, Jon had done as his father bid him. Then his father had placed him under Robar's care and Jon had done as Robar bid him, then later Stannis. It was hard for Jon to even remember what it was like, to just want something for himself. He couldn't be sure what that even was anymore.

The one thing you've wanted since the night you fled Highgarden, he'd realized.

To fight alongside your brother. To fight beside Robb.

We can save the girls together.

It didn't matter that he had little to no idea on how to make such a thing happen. Once the goal was in his head, Jon decided that that was the only path he could take.

So at as quick a pace as they could muster, Ghost and Jon made their way north towards the Riverlands. He had scorned trying to find the Kingsroad out of fear for which side may control it so the pair followed the river as it headed west. He knew from maps he'd seen at Highgarden that it would eventually curve north and branch off in two directions, one toward Harrenhal and the other toward Pinkmaiden, south of Riverrun. He had spent hours staring at those maps, thinking of where his brother Robb and the Northern army was marching, where his sisters lay captured, so Jon felt confident in the route. They did their best to avoid any riders or settlements, opting to sleep beneath hedges and live off what game Ghost caught.

Ghost and he were not the only ones trying to avoid catching attention. Over the days of riding, Jon spotted camps hidden within untended fields or amongst overgrown hedges. The people all had the look of smallfolk trying to escape the fighting that was raging north. Most often they hid from Jon and he did not think to bother them.

They were fleeing the war while he sought to find it.

Yet days with only Ghost and his mount to spend the time with wore on Jon. His thoughts would torment him. Thoughts of his mistakes and the things he'd lost.

So when the river finally forked and he found a ferry to help them cross, he also sought news from the ferryman. The man was old and his barge was barely afloat, yet it did well enough to get them across and he shared with Jon what other travellers had told him.

"Truly?" Jon couldn't believe what he had heard. "The Tyrells joined with the Lannisters?"

"Tis what some Marbrand riders said."

"But… but the Tyrells were going to fight the Lannisters! Why would they join them?"

Jon hadn't wanted to believe it. In his time with Renly's army, he had grown critical of their wasteful and decadent march, of their constant boasting without any action, but he never once doubted that the knights and lords truly believed in what they were marching for. They had denounced the Lannisters as evil, Queen Cersei as a schemer, the Kingslayer as a villain, and young King Joffrey as a dishonorable little monster for taking his father's head.

Stannis had thought otherwise of the army, even the ones who ended up joining him after Renly's death. Though Jon had rarely shared audiences with the man, he heard Stannis accuse those who followed Renly of being nothing more than opportunistic sots. That they sought to defy their rightful king, and depose the Lannisters, not for honor or for duty, but so they could place a king on the Iron Throne who would flatter and shower them with favor. Though Jon had had the foresight to keep his opinions to himself at Dragonstone, he had quietly disagreed with the man's denouncements of the Tyrells and their armies.

I thought them fools, knights of summer, but that their chivalry was true.

Was it all a lie?

"Do you think Tywin Lannister and the Knight of Flowers share their secrets with me?" The old man had wheezed and laughed at Jon's shock. Then he had noticed the baleful look that Ghost was giving him and the old man composed himself.

"I heard Stannis lives though. Hard man, King Robert's brother." The ferryman hacked up that news with some discolored mucus. "Seen 'im once, hard is the only thing to call the man. The Imp's fires couldn't do for 'im, nor the lions or the roses. Traitor that he is, of course."

The man had added the last part as if conscious of the respectful tone he had been speaking with. Jon didn't ask the man which king he supported, showing the same courtesy the ferryman had shown in not asking about Ghost. It cost Jon what little coin he'd had and even his own sword to afford the trip across the river.

Many nights Jon slept with no more than a belly full of wild berries and his saddle to rest his head upon. When there was a chill, Ghost and he would share the ground and Jon would have nothing but the wolf's fur to keep him warm. Jon knew their travels were taking their toll on him. His breeches fit looser, he was at the last notch of his sword belt, and he began wondering how much fight he could offer if it came to it.

Most days he was too worn from the journey to practice at the sword, and when he found the strength to try, he did so alone with a blade that was not his. Robar's sword was finely made, gifted to him by Bronze Yohn Royce himself, and Jon felt unworthy wielding it.

But I will.

I won't be taken prisoner or killed without fighting back.

It had been the first thing he thought of when their troubles worsened.

One morning he awoke and had somehow known they were being followed. Jon put it down to the strange dreams he'd had of moving through the trees and fields at night, yet doing so as a wolf and seeing the world through a wolf's eyes instead of his own.

The world would be alive with sounds he usually couldn't hear and smells he'd never noticed. Most often he was hunting, sometimes watching himself sleep by the embers of a dying fire. This time he'd smelt their coming; men on horses, moving through the darkness.

He'd awoken with a start as Ghost licked his face. There was no reason to think the dream was true save for Ghost's earnest efforts at getting him to rise. Still, Jon made sure that they had left their camp at a quick pace. Hours later he spotted them upon a ridge in the distance.

And now they were moving between the trees towards them.

"Ghost, go. Please my friend." He tried again to push the wolf onward but Ghost did not move. "Please. Find Robb, or the girls. There's no helping me anymore."

If Ghost understood his words, and Jon suspected the bloody beast did, he ignored them. The direwolf moved to Jon's side, as if to stand his ground

Just as I must, he almost laughed, at least I'll give them a fight.

They can't take that from me.

He unsheathed Robar's sword and straightened up to a proper fighting stance as they came on.

Six riders on ragged horses emerged from the trees, doing their best to navigate the heavy brush. They bore no sigils or banners, their cloaks and armor giving them the look of outlaws rather than outriders. Jon spotted two archers among them yet neither had drawn their bows nor had the others pulled their swords. Yet.

Ghost and Jon were in a good position for battle, the large trees behind them prevented an attack from the rear and there was too little space between the trees in front for any of the riders to charge him.

Even better, some of the horses were shying from the scent of Ghost.

Maybe we can take a couple of them down before they kill us.

"Good day to you." A fleshy-looking man called out. He was holding a large mace and eyed Jon intently as the riders moved into a semi-circle about them.

"Always a good day with no rain." Jon kept count of the men carefully.

"Quite the beast you have there." A cross-eyed man wearing a halfhelm pointed at Ghost. "Are you a scout for the wolves? Sworn to Lord Leech?

"I have no gold and no possessions beyond what you see." He gestured about his person and towards his exhausted mount. "I ask you to leave me with them."

"And what would be in that sack you're hiding under your cloak?"

The bands Melisandre had entrusted with him were tied behind his back and he cursed the outlaw's good eyes. He'd kept them well-hidden during his march with Stannis's army and even from the prying eyes of the ferryman, for fear the man would exploit his desperation. He didn't truly believe Melisandre's prophecies when she'd made them but after the river burned, and the battle was lost, he was loath to lose them.

The outlaws had their own ideas and were declaring them loudly.

"Gold for Lord Leech to be paying his Bloody Mummers most like."

"Hand it over and you'll be doing the king's business lad, no shame in that."

"Come no further or you'll pay in blood. That I swear." Jon answered with a strength that hadn't been in his voice before. He took up a stance towards the most eager of the thieves and Ghost bared his teeth.

Now swords were being drawn and the archers notched their arrows. Jon wished he had a shield against the arrows. He could always run behind the trees should they come yet leaving Ghost to their mercy was too shameful to imagine. So he stood and hoped their aim was poor, trying to maintain as brave a face as he could.

Yet a wave of helplessness fell over him as another pair of riders appeared behind the others.

These two were different than the outlaws. One was a young boy with pale blonde air and queer colored eyes. He was ordinary-looking compared to the other rider though, who had the look of a scarecrow made of bones and human skin. His head was caved in at one part and one eye was bound over with dark cloth, yet those wounds paled to how stick thin he appeared, making Jon feel positively fat in comparison. As shabby and threadbare as their clothing was, Jon could see that it had once been lordly garb. They also carried themselves differently than the others, in such a way that Jon thought them highborn.

"Hold!" The man commanded and the would-be thieves all heeded him. His one eye moved between Ghost and Jon several times before he finally spoke again. "That is a direwolf. How did you come to have a direwolf?"

"I keep him and he keeps me."

"I've only heard of one family who could boast such about the company of direwolves." The disfigured man said in an oddly powerful voice considering his frail appearance. "What is your name lad?"

Say nothing.

"I'm just a man trying to make his way. Let me continue on and I will be no trouble to you… my lord." Jon bowed slightly without taking his eyes from the weapons arrayed against him.

"No trouble… I think that true, no matter how poorly you lie." The thin man dismounted and walked slowly towards him. "That's a fine blade you hold, good looking without being lavish… a warrior's blade. My memory is not what it was but I remember a tourney… a tourney where I met a knight who wielded such a blade. I remember that he was a good man and a better knight… I remember that he was to take a squire before he left the capital…"

"Please, come no further." Jon warned as he moved the point of the sword towards the lord's approach, more out of fear for what Ghost might do if he felt threatened than fear of the lord himself.

"That squire… his father was a man I knew. A man I respected. His face is not yet lost to me."

"I said stop." Jon took a step forward and the other riders all cursed and threatened as he did so.

The scarecrow lord continued on, his gaze fixed upon Jon's face. Something about the way the man's eye bore into his own made him uneasy. His gaze had an intensity that he'd seen in Robar's eyes when he sparred against a worthy opponent, or Melisandre as she gazed into the flames.

"You're Lord Stark's natural son? He too had a direwolf, Robar bragged about that much."

"Jon Snow?" The boy who rode with the strange man spoke for the first time and Jon was shocked that someone knew his name. "Be you Jon Snow?"

"Yes, Edric has the right of it. I so name you Jon Snow, son to our late Hand." The thin man now stood before Ghost and held out his hand to the wolf. Jon was surprised when the wolf merely sniffed at it before allowing the mystery lord to stroke the top of his head. "Speak to it."

If they're going to kill you anyways, why not let them know who they kill?

If you can be proud of anything, take pride in who fathered you.

"I am Jon Snow." He said through gritted teeth, his eyes moving across the riders now. "Eddard Stark was my father and I am his son, and an enemy to any who call House Stark theirs."

Someone whistled and a few of the men began to talk amongst themselves while the battered lord only gave the slightest of nods.

"Robar would not have given his sword away. Either you stole it or my friend's fire has been extinguished."

"He fell in battle." Jon admitted. "He was betrayed by his sworn brother. I was forbidden from seeing his bones home. All I could take was his sword and I hope to return it to his father at Runestone one day, to honor his memory…"

"Such a blade could pay for a good bunch of food, m'lord." The cross-eyed man urged his horse forward which Ghost answered by snapping at the mount. The outlaw continued to argue even as he struggled to keep his horse from fleeing. "Or better horses! The lad could have stolen it-"

"I am no thief. There are enough of those about." Jon made sure to look about at the outlaws then, raising his eyebrow at the thought of them accusing him of thievery. "This sword will be returned to Lord Royce and I would sooner die than balk from that task."

Silence followed his words. Again, men seemed to tense for battle but the mystery lord merely stared at him. Whether the lord was being truthful or not Jon couldn't say but he hated the idea of having to cut down a friend of Robar's with his own sword.

"To die rather than run from what you must do… it is something I understand well Jon Snow. You are too harsh in what you think of my men. We may steal, but we do so in service to our king. To spare his subjects the cost of war, to see the king's will done as your lord father tasked us… to see the Mountain brought to justice…"

Bring the Mountain to justice?

As my father bid them to do?

Jon remembered now when word had reached Robar and he upon the road to Highgarden, of a party sent forth by his father to hunt down Gregor Clegane and bring him to justice for the crime of raiding and pillaging in the Riverlands. They'd both been disappointed to miss out on such a noble quest but Robar had insisted that they press on. Jon stared hard at the man's tunic then and through the bloodstains and grime, saw what he had missed before.

A purple lightning bolt.

"Lord Beric? Lord Beric Dondarrion?" He dropped to a knee without hesitation.

"Rise Jon Snow." Beric's hand pulled upon his shoulder. "Rise and meet the brotherhood your father created."

JON

"They're waiting for us, just like the shepherds said."

"Speak quieter boy or they'll know we know they know." Merrit whispered, sounding exasperated at Edric and looking even more so when the rest of them started shaking their heads at his words. "They will! Keep talking like that and they'll hear us, you'll see…"

"Yes, we know." Jon whispered back, his eyes still scanning the darkness for any sign of Ghost. The ten of them were hunkered down behind some fallen trees, far enough in the woods to avoid being seen but close enough to the river and the bridge to do what needed to be done. "How many Edric?"

"Eight riders, some archers I think, but mostly spearmen." He could almost hear Edric grinning in the darkness. "They're a smelly lot too."

"You got that close?" Jon frowned despite being impressed at the young Lord of Starfall's ability at scouting. As the smallest and lightest of them, it had been Beric's squire to go forth and find the waiting ambush and report back on its size.

"That or they have never bathed in their lives." The squire whispered back before Merrit growled at them to hush again.

It had been over three weeks since he'd met the Brotherhood and Jon still marveled at how the motley group had survived all this time. He had grown used to them now but it had taken some time for Jon to trust men who were, no matter what they said about themselves, essentially outlaws. The first night with them had been the hardest.

It was Beric that told him Robb was still off fighting in the west and that trying to reach him by travelling alone through the Riverlands would essentially be suicide. Then it had been Beric who broke his heart.

"We have had this news from a trusted source some days before we found your trail Jon…" The lord had seemed hesitant to continue but Jon had pressed him, fearful that Robb had been defeated or trapped somewhere. "No harm has befallen your eldest brother…"

"My eldest brother?" He'd asked, wondering why Beric had felt the need to make the distinction. Bran and Rickon were safe at Winterfell, the only members of his family he didn't need to fear for.

How wrong he had been.

When Beric had told him about the fall of Winterfell to Theon Greyjoy he'd been furious. Jon had always distrusted Theon, less for his Greyjoy heritage and more for his callous and selfish nature. Robb however had always treated Theon fondly and seemed to look to him as an older brother. Theon seemed to return the affection and held a fierce loyalty toward Robb, the only part of his character that Jon cared for. There were even times when Jon grew jealous of the brotherhood that Robb and Theon shared. That he had betrayed Robb and the Starks in their time of need was something Jon had not thought Theon capable of.

Which is what made Beric's next words the hardest to hear.

"He didn't… no. Theon is greedy and vain but he's not a monster… they are but children… they are safe in Winterfell… they were safe… safe."

Those were the only words he could utter before his disbelief struck him silent. The murders of Bran and Rickon cut into him as badly as his father's, maybe even more so. He'd never prepared himself for the possibility that the boys would be doing anything but waiting for him back in Winterfell. His father had been in danger in the capital, the boys protected in the castle.

Where he'd left them.

"Oh gods… I was there… I left them." He drew his sword and the other men gathered about had drawn their own in fear. Instead of lashing out though, Jon had fallen to his knees in grief and screamed, clutching Robar's sword to his chest, feeling more impotent than ever.

You were there and you left them.

If you'd stayed, you could have protected them.

You killed the boys.

Just like you killed father.

He'd slept that night only because he could drown his grief in a skin of wine that Kyle had given him. When he awoke, the pain in his head did not compare to the one he carried within himself. There was a hole where his heart had been cut out of him, the edges bleeding and raw, aching with every breath he took.

Simply living has become painful.

It had still been dark out, very late in the night, but Beric had been sitting by the dead fire staring at him, as if waiting for when Jon would wake from his stupor.

"You feel you have failed in everything." The outlaw lord tended to the cooling fireside. "Your duties, your family, even yourself."

"Do not try and tell me I haven't. My family has been fighting a war for over a year now and I have scarcely been in a battle. Not even one where I'd been on their side…"

"It is not for me to say how you feel, only to tell you that I have felt the same. I was a lord once, a man with lands and a castle of my own. Honor and a sense of worth I thought well deserved… now it is all ash… turned to dust before me." Beric had thrown a few pieces of kindling into the embers then. They caught flame and lit up his gruesome features in the darkness. "The fire… it gave me the chance to have some of what I lost returned to me. I do honor to King Robert and your lord father in fulfilling their last orders to me, and I take worth from how I serve their subjects. Your brothers are dead… but others could live because of you."

"They were innocent…"

"There were many innocents among the bodies I've seen in this war. But there are more who live and may continue to do so, as long as my men do not give up the fight. As long as good people do not lose heart in the face of the darkness, they can always find the light and warmth our fire offers." Beric tossed some more bits into the flames before staring deep into Jon's eyes. "My men would have me ransom you back to your brother. Sell your sword and those bracelets you carry as well. It can supply our efforts and the lands before us which lack for so much."

Jon had risen to argue but he faltered in his stance from the sickness the wine left behind and he was lost for words as to why anything mattered. So he'd lowered himself again and Beric had continued.

"You told me those bracelets were given to you by a red priestess of R'hllor. I doubt she gifted them to you so I could sell them for grain. And I would much rather have you wielding your sword beside us than selling it. Right now there is a famine about Stoney Sept and we seek to relieve it. We were going to seek food to the north but my friend Thoros had a vision in the flames that we'd find what we sought to the south as well. So he journeyed north while we went south of the God's Eye. I began to doubt his vision until we captured a rider from the capital with information. To act on what we learned, I need men."

"I would return to my brother's side…" Jon finally managed. He still had one brother left. He still might save the girls.

"And you may… when you have earned the coin to pay me back for what I have allowed you to keep. Part of your payment will be serving as one of us, defending the smallfolk as we do. The other will be to give your word to me that you will continue to serve until I say so. When I believe it to be possible for you to seek your brother without killing yourself, I will release you from your vow. If you're unwilling to do this, hand over your horse and possessions right now and I will wish you a healthy walk."

The terms meant keeping him from Robb's side even longer yet he knew that he couldn't make it for long, riding alone as he had been doing. Lord Beric offered him the chance to fight for a cause that Robar and he had both deemed worthy and one his father had set the Brotherhood upon. Besides, Beric's group was heading in the very direction he meant to and they knew the lands better than he ever could.

So he'd accepted.

They continued riding and little by little, Jon learned how the war had devastated the Riverlands. He'd never seen more freshly dug graves in his life than in those weeks of riding, and they were far to the south from where the main battles had taken place. The slaughtered smallfolk, the burnt homes, the damaged villages, it wasn't because of fighting. It was all the work of raiders and foragers. To his shame, Jon learned that it wasn't all Lannister work.

"The wolves finally get the Lannisters and those fucking Mummers out of Harrenhal, and what does Lord Leech do? He hires the sellswords on to work for him." Kyle told him.

Apparently Roose Bolton had set forth the sellswords and his own men into the countryside, raiding as far as they could for supplies. Jon understood that it was to deny the enemy a means of feeding themselves but it also left the smallfolk starving. A small part of Jon thought it a good strategy, to starve the enemy out rather than face them in pitched battle and risk the lives of good soldiers but then he saw women and children dead in large piles, their corpses thin and wasted away, and it made him wonder how a man could bear making such a decision.

As far as Jon could remember, his father had never had a foul thing to say of Roose Bolton but he never said a kind thing either and that spoke to the lord's character more than anything. How Robb could trust a lord their father didn't with such a responsibility and then allow such crimes to happen, Jon couldn't understand, save that his brother campaigned far from the Riverlands and knew little of what was happening in his name.

They'd struck first upon the Gold Road, for the rider they'd captured from the capital carried a message asking that a series of supply trains be brought from the Golden Tooth, to re-supply the city's coffers. Their ambush numbered only two and ten men, with only half mounted, yet their enemy had apparently expected little fighting this far south and were completely unprepared. It was the first time since the war had started that Jon fought against Lannister men in a pitched battle.

There were only a score of riders guarding two wagons in truth, not so much glory befitting a song, but in Jon's mind it would always be the Battle of the Gold Road. He wasn't sure whether it had been the sight of Ghost or Lord Beric with his flaming sword charging forth from the trees, but as soon as the attack started, a third of the riders fled from the battle.

Jon's own horse had done well. He'd come alongside one of Lannister guardsmen as the man struggled to settle his mount and Robar's blade had swung true. The man's neck had been awash in blood after his pass and Jon had moved on to attack one of the crossbowmen emerging from the wagon next. The man's shot went wide, passing over Jon's shoulder while Robar's sword cut deep into the man's thigh, sending him hurdling from the wagon.

In the end they captured eight horses and both wagons of gold. Men had escaped though, some heading east towards the capital while others went back to the west, possibly for reinforcements, so they did not linger long. Beric figured they had enough gold to feed three villages for a few moons at least. People couldn't eat gold so they set out to find food to buy.

They stayed south of the Blackwater Rush where the foraging parties hadn't reached but Beric had sent two riders north with sacks of gold for a reason Jon couldn't fathom at first. Meanwhile they bought only what could move with them, some cattle, goats, and sheep, becoming slower with every animal they added to their party. Yet they gained information for every farmer who heard their reason for buying the animals, sharing what they had seen or heard along the river and from the west. After a few days they had a small herd following their party and Beric decided to return north. The goodwill sown among the smallfolk paid off as they were shown goat trails and hidden footpaths that cut through hills and streams, shortening their ride. That's when they met the riders Beric had sent north, their sacks of gold gone.

"The mummers come m'lord." Merrit had reported when they'd found him at a farm a half-day's ride from the crossing. "We gave every family coin like you said, for as far as we could ride in them days, and they told us themselves that the mummers heard about the gold we took. We try crossing north and they'll be waiting."

"Let's not keep them then." Beric had said and Jon thought him mad.

Jon thought himself a fool meanwhile. Ghost and he swam the river with some rope tied around Jon's waist, the other end fastened to a tree. Ghost had the strength to cross the river without moving too far downstream and beyond the reach of the rope and waited for Jon on the other bank as his master pulled himself from the river, shivering and feeling tricked somehow. The rope had almost grown taut by the time he stood on the other side and it was their job to march it back upriver to and tie the rope to something so the others could cross.

Then prepare to ambush the ambush.

"Lord Beric will come soon… we should move closer." Edric whispered as Jon checked that his sword belt remained tightened.

"The Lightning Lord told us to wait…" Merrit started but Jon hushed the man and gestured for the others to huddle close.

"If Edric thinks we are too far, I trust him. We need to be as close as we can for this to work, so we stay low and move quietly." With that he was over the log and carefully creeping his way through the brush towards the crossing. The others followed behind and he hoped wherever Ghost had disappeared, he would be doing the same soon.

The torches foretold Beric's coming more so than the sounds of the animals. The glimmer of the flames could be seen far south of the river but grew closer by the second. The first sign that the sellswords were stirring came from a flurry of movement just ahead of them. It drove the outlaws to crouch low. Men were positioning themselves to either side of the trail leading from the bridge, obviously hoping to catch the Brotherhood in a vice as soon as Lord Beric's party crossed.

A crashing sound to his right alerted them to the approach of a particularly clumsy man who'd blundered into a hedge and was now cursing loudly in a language unknown to Jon. It was strange to think blunderers such as this could have surprised them, had Beric not shown such foresight.

Then the Brotherhood was crossing the bridge, the wood creaking under the weight of so many hooves. Beric himself was clearly visible under the torch he held, riding at the front of the column and making a tempting target for any archers among the mummers. The lord had said they would wait until all had crossed the bridge before attacking so Jon waited just as long before signaling their own ambush to commence.

The last man had ushered the straggling sheep from the bridge when Jon rose and launched himself forward.

"Winterfell!" He yelled as the first shadow rose to face him. He swung and his sword cut deep into what he thought was boiled leather. A gruesome scream answered his blow and then the sound was drowned out as all around him the hidden outlaws began yelling bloody murder and falling upon what foes they could find.

It was chaos, Beric and his outlaws to the other side of the trail must have launched their attack at Jon's shout for the sounds of battle and panicked animals rang through the trees ahead. In the darkness, a shorter form he thought to be Edric cut at a shadow running towards him with a spear. The man fell and Jon stabbed downwards into something soft, the act answered by a choked gurgling.

A torch was thrown upwards amongst their fray and in the faint light it offered he saw outlaws cutting down any sellswords who thought to stand their ground. He even saw two of the mummer's wrestling with each other before they were both knocked down and set upon by a white beast he knew too well. Ghost could fight as well as ten of them in this darkness so Jon didn't worry; instead he grabbed Edric and ran towards the trail.

This fight was easy to keep track of. Men on horses battled the outlaws almost man to man. Kyle was hard-pressed by a man swinging a curved sword, turning his shield to kindling. Jon came behind the Kyle's attacker and jumped up to wrench the man down from his saddle, his body striking the ground like a sack of wet suet. Robar's sword was half buried in his neck before the dark-skinned sellsword could even realize what had happened, and Jon kicked at the man's chest to pull it loose when he lay dead.

Kyle had taken the sellsword's horse and rode to join in another fight, as had many of the other outlaws. A horse with a flaming mane and burning rider galloped by Jon's path, man and horse screaming, and for a brief moment he was back at the Blackwater, surrounded by dying, burning men.

"Jon!" Beric shouted from further down the line. "Gain your saddle! We ride before they can regroup!"

He wanted to argue but did as he was told. This was Beric's command. He found his horse tied to the reins of another. The outlaw tasked with leading the horses across lay dead upon his saddle so it fell to Jon to lead the man's horse and body on.

Edric had gained his horse again, as had Merrit and Kyle, Jon glad to see that they had survived. They had only lost four men in the fight and Ghost had herded back most of the livestock that had fled from the battle.

It was a victory as sweet as any Jon could imagine. They fought enemies none denied were foul, all to feed innocents in need. When he'd been told that he could become a knight, this was the type of battle Jon had pictured himself fighting.

They made camp not far from the crossing, in a field where their animals could graze and Ghost could easily keep them penned in. Ghost was no more a shepherd's dog than Jon was an outlaw but they both played the roles that some strange fate offered them.

The same fate that had brought Edric Dayne and himself together, apparently for the second time.

"Edric, may we speak?" He found the lad as he tended to a fire alone. Beric must have been walking about the perimeter, for Edric rarely left his lord's side, save when the man ordered him to.

"If you wish Jon." The younger man said hesitantly, eyeing him with a caution Jon felt guilty for instilling in him. "Lord Beric said you led the men well. I told him it was you who made us move closer…"

"Then I must tell him of the bravery of his squire. If you hadn't done as you did, I would not have known to move us so close. The smallfolk owe you much my lord."

"I'm not a lord yet, not for a few more years at least. Call me Edric, please. We shared the same breast after all…"

"Yes." He spoke more curtly than he meant and the boy started, his purple eyes widening some. "Edric, I wanted to apologize for how I acted when you tried to speak to me before… I had just learned of my brothers' deaths and what you told me was something… emotional… for me… my father had promised to speak with me about my mother, but died before he ever could."

It had been days after they met when Edric had come to him and spoke of how he'd known Jon's name. The young lord talked about his father coming to Starfall with a baby and a woman, and leaving the woman behind. A woman who would later become a wet nurse to young Edric and one Jon's father never told him about. At the time, Jon had felt betrayed that this stranger knew the secret of his mother before he did and he had raged at the boy. Only later when his grief had numbed did Jon come to his senses and realize how unjustly he had acted.

"Wylla? Her name was Wylla you said?" He asked and Edric nodded. "I sent you away in anger and I'm sorry for it. I'd hear now what you could tell me about her, for if she is who you claim, I only know as much of her as you've told me."

"Of course. She is a kind woman. All said that she was very gentle with me as a babe. My family treasures her dearly… oh and she sings very well. I remember she sings well."

My mother sings.

No one ever sang to me.

It was a lie of course, many had sung in Winterfell but never specifically to Jon. Sansa did, once, when she'd been barely older than Rickon. She had come to his chambers when he was sick abed and sang a song to him.

"When I have taken ill, a song always makes everything better." Her little child's voice was already so proper, even then.

It was a strange thing to remember now but it was one of the few sweet memories he had of his more distant sister. Jon had even given her a hug to thank her for it and she giggled a little.

That was how Lady Stark had found them. She hadn't said anything to Jon or Sansa about it. She simply bid Sansa to leave the room in a calm voice, saying that she shouldn't bother Jon while he needed rest… but his sister had never acted so warmly to him again and he didn't have to guess what his father's wife had said to her.

They treasure her dearly?

"She lives?" He was confused now. From what father had said in the capital, he could only think his mother had died.

"When I left Starfall she still did."

"Did she… did she ever speak of me? Of being my mother?" Jon hated how young he sounded just as much as he hated that it wasn't father telling him this.

"I never really spoke to her…" Edric looked uncomfortable and he cursed his stupidity.

How often did Robb ever sit about and ask the serving women of their children?

Whatever more he had to ask was put off by the arrival of a figure coming forth from the shadows. Both Edric and he rose to welcome Beric to the fireside, the lord waving them to sit as he gazed deep into the flames.

"We captured one of the sellswords who fled. Kyle and I put him to the question." Beric wiped his hands upon his tunic, still damp from the washing he'd given them. They'd heard nothing yet Jon imagined there were ways of getting answers from a man without allowing him to make much noise. "He knew a good deal."

"More ambushes?" Jon asked.

"Not so far south as this. We did for the main force of sellswords in this area and the Lannisters are too busy consolidating their hold over the capital with their new allies." Beric made a sound like a sigh then and gazed at Jon over the flames. "And your brother is returning from the west. He may already be at Riverrun as we speak."

He's back.

Riverrun, that's close.

I can reach him.

"Steady yourself Jon, I do not yet give you my leave to seek him." The lord held up his hands as Jon made to protest. "You will, when we deliver these animals to those in need. This gold must be brought to a safe place as well. Once those tasks are done, I will give you your freedom. It will give us time to discuss your best route to Riverrun, and friends who might help you."

"Swear it please. Swear that when I've done as you ask, you will release me to seek my family." Jon held his hands before him beseeching the lord. He'd gotten ahead of himself in hoping he could ride off that night in search of Robb, forgetting everything he'd agreed to when joining Beric's band. Yet the lord offered him this chance, and seemed honorable enough for Jon to place faith in his word.

"I swear it, though your father may curse me for it." Beric lowered his head in some sort of somber thought. "I fear the journey you set out upon. Of the dangers you would face. Of the pain."

He turned from the lord then and walked off to find some food.

"It can be no worse than what pain I've already felt."

JON

A pain came upon him, one so deep it pulled everything in him apart.

He saw glimpses of what was and what had been, flashing in the darkness. Almost all of it was pain and screaming.

Ghost and he had been alone again, as it had been after the Blackwater, only better. They'd journeyed with the Brotherhood to their hideout at the Hollow Hill and Beric had been true to his word, he'd been released. He kept his horse, Robar's sword, and the bracelets, while gaining in knowledge of the outlaws' paths and friends Jon could seek shelter from in his journey north.

"Ask of our friends sparingly, and leave the trails I've told you of even less so." Beric's words drifted back to him through a haze. "It will take longer, but you're more likely to arrive alive. Be well Jon Snow."

"Safe travels Jon." A lad's voice had spoken as well, not Bran's as he hoped, but a purple-eyed youth he'd befriended.

The pain came to him again and he felt something cool upon his brow and someone somewhere was saying soft things.

They travelled to the strict path Beric had set forth for them, showing his face to few and Ghost's to even fewer. The direwolf rarely left cover save when they had to. This ride had felt different from the desperate one he'd made from the capital. With each day he knew he came closer to Robb. Ghost had sensed the same of Grey Wind, they even dreamt of it, and from the few smallfolk he risked speaking to Jon heard the same.

The king had returned to Riverrun. The Young Wolf was back.

With weeks of riding, Jon became more hopeful with every sunrise he saw. Then one say they'd both felt it. How, he couldn't say, but it was there. One morning Ghost and Jon awoke knowing that Robb was not as close as he had been. That he was moving away from them.

Something was touching his side and it burned so much that he cried out and thrashed against the pressure there. Hands reached out to hold him down and the burning touch continued, just as his cries did.

The cries were what threw him from the trail, what made him defy Beric's advice and leave the safety of cover that the trees gave him. He was near a place he thought to be Acorn Hall, judging from the map the Brotherhood had gifted him. It was evening, and Jon knew better, but the screams were a woman's and his father had taught him to never ignore such.

The girls were servants from their garb, and the goats that fled at Ghost's approach were probably the reason they ventured so far from their home. The men about them were the reason they had been crying out.

Four men, burly and clad in dress familiar to him, from feasts at Winterfell and lessons with Maester Luwin.

A white sunburst over black.

Karstark men.

Robb's men.

Two were holding one girl down, both having their way with her at the same time. The other two made her friend watch, the girl sobbing and her lip bleeding. One had just pulled his breeches down in front of the bleeding girl when Jon rode up.

"Stop!" He remembered shouting as he rode from the brush. Ghost had hung back, wary as he ever was with new people.

"An outlaw come to us? Today is getting better!" The only fully-clothed man shoved the bleeding girl's face into the dirt before he rose. He was a large man, missing most of his teeth, and he had laughed as he drew a huge battle-axe that had been strapped to his back, up and over his shoulder, his half-naked companion now holding the bleeding girl down.

His friend doesn't bother even bother pulling his breeches up.

What is wrong with these men? These are Northmen?

They have become animals.

"No outlaw! A northman!" Jon noticed then that the other two hadn't stopped raping the other girl so he rode forward, reining his horse at them until they finally stood up. The girl was bruised and sobbing and she looked to be barely older than Arya would be now.

"I'm kin to the Starks and I demand you stop this, in the name of your king!"

"King for a few days more maybe…" One of the rapers had said before the large man cuffed him so hard he was knocked down into the mud.

"Kin to the Starks? Name yourself!"

"I'm Jon Snow, son to Lord Eddard Stark, seeking the King in the North, who would not approve of the way you treat his subjects." He should have known what was coming from the way the three men still standing looked about at one another.

He should have noticed how the large one did not put his axe away. Instead his eyes followed the man trying to move around behind Jon while bearing a dagger. It drew his attention away long enough for the true attack to come.

The scream of his horse when the axe cut into its neck was horrible, though not as horrible as the screams he heard in his dreams, in the castle over the river. Those had been gut-wrenching and full of grief, and full of howling that never ended.

He remembered falling on the ground and the men cursing around him. Ghost had come to his rescue, and the large man who killed his horse was suffering a terrible fate as the direwolf ripped his arm off. The other three were torn over which enemy to face first and hesitated. Jon had struck quickly before they had a chance to decide. He attacked the man who had been holding the bleeding girl, his breeches having been pulled up in time to meet Jon's attack.

His spear blocked some of Jon's sword cuts well, yet Jon was too close for the weapon's reach to be effective, and soon he opened a grisly wound in the man's thigh. The man fell to the ground, holding his leg, but Jon knew it was too late. Robar had taught him that such a wound was mortal, the bleeding unable to be stopped even with a maester's help. It was a slow way to die.

The one who had been circling earlier came from Jon's left side then. He had stumbled on the breeches around his ankles or else Jon would be dead now. The dagger had been meant for his heart, not his gut.

Still, the blow landed and the man jerked it sideways as he fell, drawing an agony that reigned over Jon's mind even now. He half-remembered Ghost tearing the man's throat out before he could stand up again and the bleeding girl had risen out of the mud and somehow found the strength to pick up the fallen axe, swinging it down at last the man's kneecap, toppling him, before bringing it down over and over again into the raper's face, screaming as she did so.

The memories caused him pain but what hurt more were of the sounds of dying men and drums, great pounding drums. And the howling of his brother as the men fired bolt after bolt at him. Of losing what he sought for all this time.

Of losing his brother.

"Can you hear me ser?" A soft voice was asking him.

It was a girl, a familiar girl, and she looked down upon him with worry in her eyes.

"What…"

"Are you awake? Please say you're awake." The girl reached down with a damp cloth and pressed it against his forehead.

He looked about and saw he was abed in a chamber barely bigger than his own back in Winterfell. Beside the bed was a table where soiled bandages lay scattered. He looked down and saw that his middle was bandaged heavily, his small movements creating a pain he groaned to endure.

"I told them you'd wake up. You had to. I didn't care what the maester said. I knew you were strong and true. I lit candles for you in the sept and…" The girl kept up her efforts but when he reached to grab her hand, she cried out.

His movements were so clumsy she evaded him completely. His grasp found his own face instead, wet from his tears.

The girl rose and began to run towards the door.

"My brother… please…" He rasped but the girl disappeared through the arch. "No please, tell me… please!"

Robb's fine, he told himself through the pain, it was but a dream.

He laid there trying to think of what kind of strange dungeon this could be instead of dwelling upon his dreams.

Soon enough the young girl returned beside two other women. One was old and grey, clearly a servant, while the other he thought to be a lady from the berth the other two gave her.

"Ser, I brought the lady for you…"

"I'm no ser… I serve the Starks… tell me of King Robb, please…" Jon rasped and reached out. The woman he thought to be a lady held the young girl back as the old woman began prodding at him.

"You're a Stark man? Why weren't you at that wedding then?" The crone hissed as she lifted his bandage, though more softly than Jon did when he felt the pull of his bandages.

"At the Blackwater… rode with Lord Beric… please, where am I?"

"You are in Acorn Hall, under the care of House Smallwood." The lady continued to gaze at him strangely, as if she were making some judgement. "I will show courtesy and say that I am the Lady Ravella Smallwood. Now do me the honor of telling us your name."

He hadn't the strength to lie and all he wanted was answers.

"Jon Snow, brother to King Robb. Tell me of him. Is my wolf…?"

"Driven off, it took four men and a dozen hounds and gods only know how many arrows to get the point across, but it's been gone from my lands for a week now." Lady Smallwood sounded relieved whereas he felt a hollow pit in his stomach. His face must have betrayed it for the lady sighed and allowed the girl, whom Jon recognized now as the girl who the Karstark men had been having their way with, to come forward with a cup of water.

"You're honest, that's good to know. The girls remembered you naming yourself when you defended them against those monsters. Had you lied, I would've been hard-pressed to think of you as one of those rare bastards, one not tainted by the sin of their origins."

"He saved us m'lady! They said when they w-was d-done, they was going to cut our throats!" The girl received a slap to her arm from the old woman for her words.

"That he did." Lady Smallwood continued. "That's the only reason why I allowed you to be brought to my hall Jon Snow. Sparing poor Nessa and Nancy from those savages earned you that. Driving your wolf away rather than having it killed was what I owed the king my family knelt to, may the Mother guide his way."

"Robb? Please… tell me he lives… please…"

The lady's face told him before her words did and Jon realized then that he'd known. The details of the massacre at the Twins were news to his ears but his heart had already known that Robb had been murdered. It was as painful as it had been for Jon when he learned that the boys had died, but none of the shock came with it, for he'd known. So the sobs racked him sure enough, sending waves of pain through his body and shaming him before the women.

"I failed him." He sobbed, to himself more than them. "I tried so hard… I should have been with him… I should have died with him… Just let me die…"

"You may still get that chance." Lady Smallwood waved the other two women away. "You've been here two weeks, and for each day of it we thought it was your last. Word came of the massacre two days passed, a survivor from the Twins brought it to us and I can't imagine it will be long before the Freys or Lannisters come calling as well. If I let that beast of yours remain outside my gate I might as well have lit a beacon to announce your presence here."

"Let them come for me, just give me my sword and I can take one of them with me before I go. I'll be with my family and-"

"Bloody up my husband's home? I think not. For what good you've done, I won't hand you over to your enemies but I cannot hope to shelter you so don't ask it. I plan on you being as far from here as possible as soon as you're able." Lady Smallwood offered Jon the cup of water again and he drank greedily, his thirst incredible. "You can take a boat. The river is a few days ride from here. If you can get to the Saltpans you can take a ship to the sea and be far away from here. What's left of House Stark is not in the Riverlands, nor much of a war left after this. I imagine I'll be forced to bend the knee very soon and you can't be here when I do."

"You'd have me flee?"

"I'd have you live, as I did with my own child when I sent her away from here. There must be something far from this wretched land of graves that you can seek? Those bracelets or that sword of yours either could pay for travel across the Narrow Sea, even north if you will it."

"Not my sword…" Jon tried to rise but it was a fool's errand and his body raged at him even worse than the lady did for the attempt. "Can I have it?"

The lady nodded and had the blade sent for.

In the meantime she told him of the goings on in the realm he'd been ignorant of. Jon learned of Sansa's marriage to Tyrion and prayed that the man wouldn't take Jon's betrayal at the Crossroads out on her. Lady Ravella had no word of Arya, but she had strong views on how young women were being abused throughout war, the stories she told chilling Jon when he thought of Arya suffering in such a way. Hearing Sansa still lived should have been a greater comfort, had he not already spent so much time travelling away from her.

"I have two men outside your door if you think of any villainy." The lady said as she left him with Robar's blade and the bracelets Melisandre had gifted him.

She also left him to his grief and as tired as he was Jon stayed awake for some time with it. Robb had been beside him as long as he could remember and when it had come time for Jon to be at his brother's side, he'd failed. Worse still, at Winterfell Robb had asked him to stay, as had Bran, and he'd chosen to leave them.

If you'd stayed you could've been there to keep Bran and Rickon safe.

Or marched south with Robb and his army.

As he looked upon Robar's sword, he remembered that his father had bid him to do all of these things but it comforted him little. For father was lost to him as well.

The only member of his family left to him was at King's Landing, and wherever Ghost was, he couldn't depend on the wolf to guide him there again. Still, he had to try. There were few people in the capital that might recognize him, especially without his direwolf cluing them in to his Stark allegiance. Perhaps there was a way to sneak in. There was no argument Jon could think against it, other than fear of death, but what did he have left to live for? He would do as the lady suggested, he would seek a port and from there Jon would seek the only family he had left.

He tried to rise and failed again.

When he could move. Then he'd seek his remaining family.

He'd save Sansa. Then he'd find Arya.

"I'll find them." The tears came again as he spoke. "Robb, I'm sorry, Bran… Rickon… father…I'll find them."

JON

"Say that again."

"Eh? Who are you to be giving…"

The sailors eyed the sword upon Jon's hip warily before looking about themselves. He knew he looked half a bandit, carrying as fine a sword as Robar's while wearing such tattered clothes yet he pushed on. He would hear their words again.

"Just repeat what you were saying. It's all I ask."

"King Joffrey's dead." The sailor shrugged. "Murdered by the Imp and his she-wolf."

"May the seven guide his way." Another piped up, eyeing the room.

Jon spoke to his gods then, save silently, and gave thanks that that monster was ended. He was filthy and weary but glad that he had sought the inn as soon as he'd arrived at the Saltpans. It was small and cramped but if there was any news to be heard, he'd thought it would be here.

And what news.

"The Imp's as good as dead too, on trial when we left the capital." The sailor continued and Jon felt a small pang at the idea of Tyrion facing such a fate.

You pulled your sword on him to meet a similar one.

He pushed that guilt away. With word such as this, he'd have to hurry along his plans for reaching the capital.

Sansa will need me more than ever it seems.

He had already turned to leave when one of the men spoke again.

"He wasn't as lucky as that wife o' his."

"Why?" Jon whipped back around. "What happened to her?"

"Gone. Run off. Whole realm is supposed to be looking for her." The innkeeper burst into the conversation, eyeing Jon just as warily as the sailors had. "Too bad she doesn't come in here, plenty of coin to be had for turning her in to the queen."

"More fun to be had before you do that! Show her what a full man feels like!"

"Don't be fools." The older of the sailors shook his head. "She's dead already, you can be sure of that. Think the Imp would truly leave her behind to tell the tale? He probably fucked her one last go with his little imp cock before he did her in, the wretch."

Jon liked to think that he would have cuffed the man for speaking of Sansa's honor in such a way if he hadn't been so devastated at what he heard.

Gone, she's gone.

I was coming to save her.

It had been close to a month before he'd been able to leave Acorn Hall and seek a boat upon the river. He'd held hope that someone from the Brotherhood would arrive, as Lady Smallwood said they often came with news or food in exchange for shelter, but none did. House Smallwood did well by him though. They'd kept his guts from spilling out and even furnished him a few animal pelts to look like a proper trader during his travels. The stable master had even given him one of the dead Karstark's horses for his trip to the river.

When he'd found a boat, it had been a small river galley, making a slow, meandering journey back towards the Bay of Crabs. They'd passed Riverrun and Jon had seen first-hand the siege lines being thrown up around the castle of House Tully. Defiantly, they still flew the direwolf banner but he knew better than to try sneaking into that castle. It was Lady Stark's family within those walls. He doubted they wanted his help, as meaningless as it would probably be.

The whole time he'd been thinking of how he would take a ship south from the Saltpans and do his best to find a way to Sansa. To find some way to free her and get her home, like he'd wanted to do at the Blackwater.

Now she's gone, missing just like Arya.

No matter what I set out to do, I always fail.

The men had continued their talk without him and he saw empty seats should he have need of them. Yet the strange glances he was attracting from other patrons bothered him some. A young boy stared openly at Robar's sword before catching his eye and running quickly from the inn.

He decided to take his leave as well.

Jon hadn't been expecting a large port when he set out for the Saltpans yet somehow the place still disappointed. Much of the buildings along the harbor had been burned down during the fighting here and there were paltry few ships there to seek passage on.

There was a large river galley next to the smaller one he had arrived on. He also spotted a big salt sea trader in the harbor and a smaller trade ship, yet built for the sea just as the large ship was.

Either one of the large ships he could try and barter passage upon but he no longer had a destination to sail to.

Jon had no reason to seek the capital now nor could he journey back to Winterfell. It had been burned and abandoned. Had he known all this before he'd left Acorn Hall, he might have tried to seek out the Brotherhood again, yet to return to the Riverlands now and wander aimlessly seemed pointless to him.

He had come south to make his own name and find honor but Jon had spent most of his time here at tasks that offered him nothing but frustration and distraction. Had his father allowed him to take the black, he could be serving at the Wall even now, his lack of action in the war at least being explained by doing his duty to the realm.

I can still take the black.

Father forbid it at the time, but he is gone and so is the man I swore to serve.

The Wall hadn't been what he thought though. More men who had failed at life served there than men who wanted their lives to have worth. They were the refuse of the realm, the ones who had no other place. Orphans, criminals, fallen knights and lords. Was that all Jon had left?

He realized then that he was being prideful and foolish, for he was no better than any of them. Jon was the refuse of the realm now too. He had failed at this life, just like those men, with no other place to go and the Wall offered him the chance to redeem himself and regain his honor. He was, after all, still a lowly bastard, only now he was the bastard of an extinct house as well.

He was the last drop of blood from a family that had existed for over 8000 years and he had a duty to uphold to that legacy. His actions might be the last thing history would ever say about the Starks, and while House Stark might die out with him, and though Jon had never been a Stark in truth, he could hope that people might say Eddard Stark had raised four sons, not three.

The Starks raised the Wall. Maybe they should end at the Wall.

He went to the larger sea trader first, the one with the purple sail, where a stout man wearing red shouted about at the men on the ship. He spoke a foreign tongue but Jon decided to try his luck anyways.

"Are you the captain of this ship?"

"I am but I be needing no more crew." The man switched over to the Common Tongue, giving Jon but a scant glance.

"I seek passage to the Wall, to the castle of Eastwatch." He gained the captain's attention then and the man raised a greyed eyebrow as he named Eastwatch.

"That far? It will cost, we hadn't planned to stop there."

"I have some pelts for trade and I can work at the oars if you…"

"I said I need no crew and need less of pelts. I take coin, or trade for what will get me coin. Do you have nothing in trade?" The captain pointed to Jon's hip and whistled. "That sword there would do."

"It's not mine to trade."

"Whose is it then? I don't see anybody else carrying it."

At the mention of Robar's sword Jon's shame came back tenfold. He'd been so caught up in seeking a new destination that he'd forgotten what he'd vowed to do for Robar. It seemed impossible that he'd carried it all the way from Storm's End to here… but it was meant to go even further.

It was meant to go home.

"Come now, I'm busy man. Trade or be away from me." The captain crossed his arms and Jon shook his head. He could no more trade away Robar's sword than he could sail to the Wall without returning it to Runestone.

"What of the Vale? Could you get me to Gulltown for the pelts?"

"What are you up to?" The captain cursed and gestured to the smaller trade ship berthed further down from them. "Are you deserting one ship for another? Ride back to the Vale if you miss your woman so bad. Away with you!"

Jon had no idea what the man was talking about but the captain had already turned his back to him. The roads to the Vale were rife with wildlings and after facing them in the Kingswood, Jon was not tempted to do so again without a horse or Ghost. So he set forward to the other ship, only to find some of its crew already heading towards him. The boy he'd seen at the inn was leading the way with four armed men following after.

"You there! We would have words with you." Hailed a tall man to the back.

"I only seek passage to the Vale. I mean to do nothing else here, save find that." He raised his hands and backed away from the group. The boy was whispering to a short man beside him, one bearing two swords and a tunic adorned with bronze runes.

It was familiar in a way.

"That's the ser's sword, isn't it?" The boy pointed excitedly at Robar's sword and Jon protectively put a hand upon its pommel. The other men all followed suit save for the short man who, like the boy, gazed at the sword. "That's it, I know it is. The lord had me polish it after it was smithed, and scores more times after that!"

"That you did lad, that you did, and I know it as well as you. That sword pummelled me as much as my own father did." The short man did not act threatening and none of the others were young men like Jon. "The boy here and I say that the blade you carry is not your own, how did you come by it?"

Should they wish a fight he could probably run and outpace them, but for the moment he saw no reason to lie.

"It belonged to the knight I squired for. He fell in battle and I seek to return it to his family. They live in the Vale so if you would allow me to be on my way…"

"Name the knight you squired for."

"Ser Robar Royce, called Robar the Red by many, second son to…"

"Lord Yohn Royce of Runestone, called Bronze Yohn by many and cousin by me." The man spoke clearly enough but it took Jon a moment to truly realize his words' meaning and by then the man was approaching him. "I am Ser Willem Royce, cousin to Bronze Yohn and his sons, and a knight in his service… and if you are who I think you to be, stay silent. We are not the only ones involved in our words here."

Ser Willem's eyes flickered to their side and Jon saw others, traders and townsfolk alike, doing their best to seem disinterested in the conversation yet not moving about as they should. When his attention fell on the knight again, the man's hand was out, a smile upon his face.

"Ser Willem… I seek Runestone and if you travel there I would…" Jon spoke quietly as he shook his hand but the knight leaned in to whisper in Jon's ear nonetheless.

"You will sail with us and together we'll see my cousin's blade home." Ser Willem pulled away and wrinkled his face some. "Which I think from the smell of you ought to make for an interesting journey."

JON

"I failed him my lord."

The words echoed through the hall, just as they had in his own head for well on a year now. Whether it was the castle walls or the long line of silent knights, Jon couldn't say which added more weight to his admission. The whole affair made Jon nervous but all he could do was own up to his failure before the handful of knights and other members of House Royce's household and await their judgement.

Lord Yohn was a powerful looking man. His hair may have greyed and his faced was aged and lined but the man still looked formidable. He was but an older version of the knight to his right, Ser Andar Royce, his eldest son and heir, whose face was as inscrutable as his father's.

The lord held Robar's sword in his hands, staring at it just as he had from the moment Jon had knelt to offer it to him. He'd told the story of Robar's death as he continued to kneel and it was in the telling that Jon accepted the blame that he had borne along with the sword, all the way from Storm's End.

"I was his squire and wielded a sword of my own yet I failed to stop Loras Tyrell from slaying him as much as I failed in avenging his murder." He continued, still kneeling on the hard stone floor now. "And had your men not found me at the Saltpans, I may have failed to return his sword to you now…"

"He lies!"

Hushed whispers among the gathered men answered Willem's announcement. Lord Yohn looked up from the sword for the first time and watched the knight come to Jon's side.

"As the one who found him, he does himself a disservice and insults the feat he performed in arriving at the Saltpans alive."

"I merely sailed up the Red Fork…"

"The smith should've hammered some sense into your head you stupid-"

"What does Willem speak of lad?" Yohn's grumble interrupted their bickering. "You did not travel all the way from Storm's End to the Saltpans by way of that river. So tell me the truth."

He did as the lord commanded, as Willem had had him do during their journey from the Saltpans to Gulltown.

He was the last son of a cadet branch quite low on the Royce family tree and Willem liked to joke that a strong wind would convince Yohn to break them off from the main branch of the family. Jon thought that unlikely though, since it was Willem the Lord of Runestone had entrusted to journey by sea to seek the High Road and report back on the foul state of things there. They were to leave the very day they had come upon Jon, and the knight had bragged that he was a greater prize than any report that he could hope to give his cousin, which Jon hadn't understood.

Willem was a pleasant man and good company on the journey to Runestone, filled with tales and jests. The knight could bring a smile even to someone as somber as himself. From Gulltown they'd ridden on to the castle of House Royce, which sat upon a hill that commanded an imposing view from all sides. They'd arrived not long after a great gathering of Vale lords, following recent events at the Eyrie. At Gulltown they'd heard Lysa Arryn had been murdered by some singer and that the heir to House Arryn was now under the protection of a Lord Petyr Baelish. Jon knew little of the man, save that he had been a part of the Lannister court and Willem disdained him.

"And you could say that I'm the middle ground in respects to Littlefinger, nothing compared to Bronze Yohn's hatred of the man."

The Royces had played host to many notable Vale lords and had written out an agreement, demanding young Robert Arryn be surrendered to them. The others had begun the journey to the Eyrie while Lord Royce had remained behind. Willem had sent word ahead and the Lord of Runestone delayed his departure to await their arrival.

Willem had assured him all would go well, and despite his jests, he had actually been a comfort to many of Jon's worries.

Yet as Jon tried to tell his tale, Willem seemed intent on aggravating him.

"He fought the Knight of Flowers and saved Robar's sword in the process. He bears the scars to prove it!" Willem had added to Jon's telling of his battle with Ser Loras, which was nothing compared to what the knight tacked on to his recounting of the Blackwater.

"One of many Stannis left behind after the folly there, but one of the few I know who didn't bend the knee to the Lannisters or their Tyrell dogs!" Willem called out and some of the knights had grunted in approval. "Tell them about the Lightning Lord! That tale is one I can't tell any better. Go on then!"

"I-I was found by Lord Beric Dondarrion… he was still fighting under the orders my father gave him when he sent him from the capital…"

"We hear of his deeds even as far as here." Ser Andar interrupted, moving forward from his father's side to tower over Jon. "It does not seem possible that a squire could make it to the Riverlands from the capital alone."

"You forgot that he made it all the way from the westernmost side of the Riverlands back to the Saltpans." Willem spoke for Jon again. "With a gut wound no less! Have him lift his shirt if you doubt any of the hardships he's endured."

Jon did not wish to do any such thing in the company of lords and knights but Lord Royce insisted, making Jon thankful that there were at least no ladies present. The grimace upon Ser Andar's face and the whispers among the gathered men when he turned to allow them to behold his wounds made Willem smile even wider.

"Is it as Willem says? Did you earn all these wounds as he tells it?" Lord Royce asked him after he pulled his shirt back over his head.

"He makes it sound grander than it was my lord… but he speaks the truth as I told it to him, and I would not lie. I would have come sooner and if you want an apology for it, I understand." Jon decided to not balk at telling the whole truth. "Yet my family needed me. I tried to fight for them however I could, yet I was little help to anyone... to my shame"

Silence followed his words, the assembled men of Runestone either looking at him or to their own lord. Bronze Yohn himself was stroking Robar's blade and regarded Jon with those hard grey eyes of his. He'd expected disappointment or even disgust from the storied lord yet the man had a thoughtful expression on his face.

"Jon Snow…" Lord Royce said gripping the sword tightly. "Ned Stark's bastard boy."

"Cousin." Willem tried to put in but the lord waved his words away before pointing at Jon.

"You're a bastard Jon Snow. I say it again because when your father came to me, offering you to squire for Robar, I was shocked. Perhaps even insulted. Robar may have been a second son but he was a Royce of Runestone and I loved him as much as I do all my children." Lord Royce paused to hold up Robar's sword again, stroking the bronze pommel almost gently. "I gifted him this sword when he was knighted. It's a fine blade, one of the finest my smith has ever forged. Even Andar was jealous of it. I would have never imagined it failing him when it mattered most."

"My lord, the blade did not fail him. I-"

"In my hall I speak until I've had my fill of it, so be silent. That be your influence Willem." Lord Royce grumbled and Jon's eyes fell to the floor. "This treasure I gave my boy, out of love, failed him, while the squire I bid him to take, out of obligation, served him more faithfully than I ever could have imagined. Your father was a friend of mine Jon Snow, a good friend, I say proudly, or else I never would have considered Robar taking you to squire. Now I think it was your father who did me the true favor."

Bronze Yohn walked past Jon then to pace along the lines of knights gathered there, inspecting them as if he was about to command them into a battle.

"How many here could call Ned Stark a friend? Or at least a good man in their eyes? A man you respected?" The lord's question earned loud calls of affirmation from over half the men gathered there, which made Jon's heart swell with pride. "And while we all sat here, safe in the Vale, Ned Stark was murdered. His sons were murdered! Mine own son was murdered!"

"The warrior will guide his way." Andar added as his father came to stand before Jon again.

"As he bloody well should! At least my Robar fought in this war while we all sat here getting fat. His squire has seen more battles in this war than I have, to my shame. To all of our shame!" Lord Royce roared the last part so loudly that Jon started, but the lord reached out and gripped his shoulder firmly. "And to his honor. His father's honor."

Jon felt his eyes heat up with tears at the lord's kind words but he swallowed and willed them away. He would not shame himself in front of this lord and his men.

"And to repair some of own honor… I ask you to kneel Jon."

He did so numbly, thinking he knew what the lord meant but not wanting to get his hopes up. Lord Yohn of House Royce unsheathed his son Robar's sword, the sword of Jon's mentor and ser, and held it before him with two hands, gazing down upon his son's squire with a warm expression.

"You keep the old gods lad?"

"I do my lord."

"Would you for forsake them for what I offer you now?"

The thought that he might have to one day forsake the old gods for The Seven had always been there, and once Jon might have done it. Rarely had the gods ever answered Jon's prayers and his life had been one of great hardships. What difference did it make, whether they were the old gods or the new, if Jon's prayers went unheard?

Yet when he thought of his faith, and the heart tree at Winterfell, he remembered his father before it. Of Robb and him playing at swords. Of Arya and him playing games between the trees. Of seeing little Rickon's first steps beside the pools and Bran first learning of his love for climbing on the weirwood's branches. The old gods had bound them together and he could not break that bond.

Even for knighthood.

"I cannot. They were the gods of my father." Jon knew he may doom his chances there but Bronze Yohn simply offered a wry laugh.

"I thought so. It'll be the godswood you stand your vigil in then. I will have to be creative in how I say the words to this but know that I think it an honor to do so." With that he laid the flat end of the blade upon Jon's shoulder. "In the name of your gods Jon Snow, I charge you to be brave…"

He felt his chest tightening and his breath came heavy and hard as he put the words to memory.

"I charge you to be just. I charge you to defend the young and innocent…"

This was what his father had meant for him. This was his father's wish finally being fulfilled.

"I charge you to protect all women…"

The blade was rising again and Lord Royce lifted the blade to touch his other shoulder. He continued to charge Jon with tasks his father had always taught him were what was expected of any good man.

I will go beyond them.

I will earn this.

For father, for Robar, for my brothers…

"I bid you to rise." The lord's words beckoned him to do so and the eyes of men who'd endured much the same were looking upon him, many smiling, none more so than Willem. "Ser Jon of Winterfell."

"No my lord, Ser Jon the Wolf." Willem put in and Bronze Yohn seemed annoyed before Jon noticed the smile on his face.

"Ser Jon the Wolf it is." The lord offered his hand and when Jon grasped it he pulled him in for a tight embrace. "Together we will do great things ser. I swear to you, your father's house will not fall. It is the least I owe him. And you."

That confused him but Bronze Yohn pulled away as Ser Andar came and offered his own hand. Then Willem who laughed and claimed the wolf idea came from his stench more than anything else. Others came forward as well and all called him ser.

And Jon wished his family could see him now.