
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/11869470.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Major_Character_Death, Rape/Non-Con,
      Underage
  Category:
      Multi, Other
  Fandom:
      Game_of_Thrones_(TV), A_Song_of_Ice_and_Fire_&_Related_Fandoms, A_Song_of
      Ice_and_Fire_-_George_R._R._Martin
  Relationship:
      Lyanna_Stark/Rhaegar_Targaryen
  Character:
      Original_Female_Character(s), Lyanna_Stark, Rhaegar_Targaryen, Benjen
      Stark, Robb_Stark, Mance_Rayder, Ygritte_(ASoIaF), Dalla_(ASoIaF), Jeor
      Mormont, Aemon_Targaryen, Daenerys_Targaryen, Samwell_Tarly, Wildings_-
      Character, The_Others_(ASoIaF), Brother(s)_of_the_Night's_Watch, Brienne
      of_Tarth, Asha_Greyjoy, Quentyn_Martell, Stannis_Baratheon
  Additional Tags:
      Drama_&_Romance, War, post-rebellion, Not_Beta_Read, Alternate_Universe_-
      Canon_Divergence, Canon-Typical_Violence, Culture_Shock
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-08-21 Updated: 2017-11-09 Chapters: 7/? Words: 33900
****** Shadows never go away ******
by Umerue
Summary
     "They're never far, you know. They won't come out by day, not when
     that old sun's shining, but don't think that means they went away.
     Shadows never go away. Might be you don't see them, but they're
     always clinging to your heels."
     - Tormund Giantsbane 
     Yoren fished Rhaegar Targaryen from Trident. Seeing the destruction
     his belief in prophecy had created, Rhaegar went to Wall, where he
     took the black and joined Night’s Watch in secret. Lyanna Stark, a
     woman stolen twice, ended up on the wrong side of the Wall. Fifteen
     years later she saw a white walker follow her man home, and made a
     decision to send her white-haired wilding daughter over the Wall to
     uncertain safety of south.
     Robb Stark still marries the wrong girl, and winter is coming. A
     story where the Stark words are not a statement, but a threat.
Notes
     Few words before we start. I tagged archive warnings for sensitive
     readers, but I feel that some violence, blood, gore, threats, noncon/
     dubcon are part of GoT world and they can't be avoided if the writer
     doesn't choose to go happily ever after-route. I'm using book ages,
     so characters are underage. Nasty stuff won't reach Ramsey/Joffrey-
     level, so if you are comfortable with most GoT fanfictions, it's
     going to be fine.
     English is not my mother tongue, and I write for fun. Every now and
     then I get feedback from native speakers about lack of articles. The
     story is not beta read, and there will be grammatical mistakes. I'm
     not going to spend time fixing them, so this is WYSIWYG-story. I
     prefer to spend my free time plotting the next chapter instead. But
     if there is a loose lead in a story/ you have questions / ideas /
     just want to scream in good or bad way, I'd like to hear. Talking
     about stories is the best thing about fanfiction.
     For this story, I began to wonder how things would have turned out if
     Daenerys had ended up with an army of wildings instead of dothraki,
     or what would have changed if Jon Snow had been female. And it kinda
     started from there. I don't know yet where it's going to end.
***** The cold god *****
Jorold’s new woman was a genteel sort. Mance could tell it the moment he saw
her. She was pretty, and young, clutching a babe at her breast and looking at
Jorold with barely withheld rage. Her cloak was soft fur, and her dress was
embroidered like noblewoman’s. If looks could kill, Jorold would have been dead
before he ever scaled the Wall with his prize. But that was the problem with
southern women. Rage wasn’t enough a weapon, not alone. The bruises on her face
proved it.
When Jorold sat around the fire, boasting with booty his raiding party had
collected from beyond Wall, Mance noticed the woman standing apart from others.
She was hungry and cold and standing on her own two feet purely out of rage.
When his fingers tired of playing, he put his flute away and went for a piss.
On his return, he stopped to speak with the woman.
”So. Which stone hall you hail from?”, he asked out of curiosity.
”What do you care?”, the woman snapped.
”If Jorold is not for your liking, there is nothing keeping you with him.”,
Mance suggested.
”And you think you are a better option?”, the woman replied with snarl. ”All I
want, bard, is a sword so I can kill the bastard who captured me and a horse so
I can ride back to my family. Can you give me that?”
Mance considered.
”There is a shortage of horses here, and I doubt you could scale the Wall
alone. Not with a baby. But you are among the free folk, now. Like I said, if
you don’t like Jorold, there is nothing stopping you from cutting his throat
open while he sleeps.”
The woman’s grey eyes were pretty, he noticed. Pretty and shining like a steel
sword.
”And get myself and my daughter killed?”, she asked.
”Only if you fail.”, Mance said. ”Nobody here will save you, but nobody will
kill you for saving yourself. There are no lords or laws here.”
The woman clutched her babe tighter, appraising Mance. Her mouth was set in
hard line.
”My name is Lyanna Stark of Winterfell.”, she finally said. ”Give me a weapon.
Please.”
Mance glanced at Jorold. So, the fool had done it and stolen a Stark woman like
Bael the Bard himself. Mance was not too thrilled about it. He knew that
stealing a Stark would bring crows upon them, and besides, Mance was not keen
to sing songs about other men’s exploits. He, like Bael the Bard, preferred to
be the hero of his own tales.
”Well met, Lyanna Stark.”, Mance smiled. Glancing again towards the people
sitting around fire, he took a dagger from his belt and slipped it in Lyanna
Stark’s hand when nobody looked. Then he turned around, and returned to fire.
 
--
It was a cold day, and snow slid under their skis’ smoothly as three girls
climbed up the mountain.
”It’s Thief in the Moonmaid tomorrow night.”, Ygritte said, looking at the sky.
”Do you think Varamyr will come for you?”
”I saw the shadowcat tracks around the camp in the morning.”, Dalla added.
Vis rolled her eyes.
”The only use I have for Varamyr and his shadowcat is skin his beast for a new
pelt for Little Crow. It would get mother off my back. She’s been going on
about Varamyr’s worthlessness for weeks ever since he opened his stupid mouth
at Mance’s meeting.”
Ygritte laughed.
”Varamyr should know better than trying to steal a woman who only wants his
warg skin for a gift for her baby brother.”
”It’s all Varamyr is good for. Sending a beast stalk me is cowardly. If he
wants me so bad, he should come and steal me like a man.”, Vis said annoyedly.
Dalla’s eyes sparkled with mischief.
”I think your mother threatening to cut his balls off scared him off.”
”Yes.”, Ygritte agreed. ”That is why he sent the shadowcat – it doesn’t have
any!”
Her friends started to laugh, and Vis hit them with her skipole.
”It’s no laughing matter, you cunts!”, she exclaimed. ”By the old Gods, I fear
will never get stolen by anyone nice because Mother scares them all away. It’s
easy for you to to joke about it – Thogrim stole you before the summer ended,
and Dalla could have left with that fire-kissed Thenn if she had wanted.”
But then they saw elks down in the next valley, and stopped talking. It was
time to hunt.
They returned to camp with an elk pulled in a sled. It was good timing; Mance
had returned from north with Tormund Giantsbane, and there were plenty of
people in the camp wanting for food. Even though Vis had not missed her mark,
it had been Ygritte’s arrow which felled the beast, and by the rights the pelt
and first taste belonged to her. Vis was annoyed; it seemed that nothing was
going her way today.
She took off her skis and entered her mother’s tent. Vis was greeted by her
baby brother, whose face lit up as soon as he saw her. He looked like a ball of
fur in garments mother had sewn for him from grey wolf pelt, toddling towards
Vis as fast as he could.
”Visenya!”, he yelled, hugging her knees.
”Have you missed me, Little Crow?”, Vis smiled, lifting him up and twirling him
in the air. Little Crow laughed. He had inherited mother’s looks, dark hair and
grey eyes, and he was sweet when he laughed with two teeth showing.
”His name is Jon, as you well know, Visenya.”, her mother interrupted from a
corner where she was packing up her belongings.
”Mother.”, Vis resisted. ”You know it’s bad luck to name a child so young.”
”You know better. I have taught you to know better.”, her mother said.
Vis sighed. She loved her mother, but she was not blind to see how firmly her
mother clung to her kneeler past. Mance had told her that mother had been
stolen from a stone castle behind the Wall. After mother killed the man who had
stolen her, she had decided to become Mance’s woman, and they had raised Vis
and two other children before Little Crow. Rickard and Ned had both died in
infancy, and people said it was because Lyanna had insisted on naming them even
though it was bad luck. Vis remembered them, even though she had been small
then, just starting to follow spearwives around the camp. The first stirrings
of winter coming had stolen life from her baby brothers, and made her mother
bitter.
After her brothers died, mother had started to speak about her home behind the
Wall when Mance didn’t hear. She told Vis stories about stone house called
Winterfell, and her brothers Brandon, Eddard and Benjen. She spoke about lords,
and houses, of kneeler rebellion, of stags, direwolves, dragon kings and many
other things which had sounded foreign in Vis’ young ears. She had insisted
that Vis learned to read and write, because she was a lady. When she had told
so to Dalla and Ygritte, they had laughed and mocked her for a kneeler. Vis had
turned flaming red, and never again spoken about kneeler things her mother
insisted on teaching her. Mance didn’t speak of them either, just turned a
blind eye in the evenings when mother pulled out a smooth piece of stone and a
coal for making letters. But Mance could read and write, too. The crows had
taught him. Some people said that Mance was a black crow who had flown down
from the Shadow Tower, but he beat them silent.
”Why are you packing?”, Vis asked from her mother.
”Mance said that they brought dark tidings from the north.”, mother replied.
”He wants us to leave south in the morning. And he wants twice the watchers
over the camp tonight.”
”Why?”, Vis frowned. ”What did he find from his fool’s journey with
Giantsbane?”
”I cannot say. But whatever it was, it frightened him. I’ve never seen Mance
like that.”, mother said slowly. ”Six men left with him and Tormund, and only
three came back.”
Mother straightened her posture, and wrapped a scarf around little salt
container Mance had brought her from a raid. Satisfied that it wouldn’t break
on transport, she put it in a bag already half-filled.
”He said that he is going to speak to people tonight and tell everything. I
want you to come with me and Jon. I don’t like how this sounds. It reminds me
of Old Nan and her stories.”, mother muttered.
Vis knew nothing about Old Nan or her stories, but she was certainly going to
be there to hear what had frightened a man who styled himself a bear-fucker
badly enough to run south and demand Mance to come with him. If it had spooked
Mance too, it was bound be something far more interesting than Varamyr and his
stupid shadowcat.
The rumours had spread fast, and everyone had gathered to eat and hear the
news. Vis looked at length at Toregg, Tormund’s son. He was a fine-looking man
with wide shoulders and strong arms well suited for stealing a woman. Not a
pitiful grunt like Varamyr. But he seemed to have eyes only for Ygritte, and
Vis sulked. If only she had been born fire-kissed and lucky like Ygritte, but
no. Her hair was color of snow, and her eyes were grey like Mother’s and Little
Crow’s. No man looked twice at someone who barely stood out from shadows
surrounding their fire. White was the unluckiest colour.
When the elk had been eaten, Mance stood up, spreading his feet and standing
tall. He looked serious, and wore the expression which promised he was going to
butt heads with a giant to get what he wanted. It must be serious then, Vis
thought, and hoisted Little Crow on her shoulders so he could see, too. The
night was uncommonly cold, and she could feel Little Crow shaking under his
furs. Mother would need to put him to bed, soon.
”Two moons ago Tormund Giantsbane from Ruddy Hall came to me, speaking of death
coming down the Frostfang mountains. His people had hunted there, but became
prey instead for the cold gods. I thought he was talking shit. But he kept
talking shit, and I wanted to see with my own two eyes if it was true. So we
went back.”, Mance’s strong voice didn’t waver, but Vis could see a muscle on
his face starting to twitch. ”The stories of Others are not stories. The winter
is here, and it will be a long one. The Long Night is beginning, and white
walkers are coming. We found one of them in the mountains. It killed three of
us, and turned Dorlaf, Genrik and Aranir into walking blue-eyed corpses.”
” I chopped Genrik dead with my own hands, butit didn’t stop the damned corpse.
The hands still crawled towards us when we fled the mountains.”, Tormund
interjected without his usual jovial smile.
Everyone’s eyes were on Mance, and even the loudmouthed ones like Bag o’ Bones
were quiet.
”The white walkers are coming, and we need to go.”, Mance declared.
Vis felt her blood freezing in her veins. Mother had always told her that the
Others were just a story to frighten the children, but there were many among
free folk who spoke of ones in the night, the white shadows, the cold gods.
They killed without mercy, and made the dead rise for their army. They hated
every creature with hot blood in their veins, and they could smell the warmth
of the living. They were the reason why the dead were burned, not hidden in the
ground like the kneelers did. But the kneelers were safe behind the Wall in
their stone houses, watched by crows. For the first time in her life, Vis
wanted to climb over the Wall, and take Little Crow, mother and Mance with her.
”Are you certain?”, Lyanna was the first to speak.
Mance turned to look at her.
”I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life, woman.”, he said gruffly.
”It’s not a children’s tale. By the Old Gods, I wish it was, but I’ve seen them
with my own eyes. I swear on my life the white walkers are real.”
Mother looked at him for a moment, her grey eyes searching, and then turned to
face the people gathered around fire.
”If it’s true, we can’t leave anyone living behind the Wall.”, her mother said
loudly. ”Everyone must go south. All of free folk, every clan across the North-
Beyond-wall, not just us and the people of Ruddy Hall.”
The people began to speak, then. The soft murmurs became louder voices, and it
was Tormund’s fine-looking son, Toregg, who was loudest.
”Mance’s woman is right. I don’t want an army of turned corpses on my heels
when I scale the Wall and kill the crows for passage.”, Toregg yelled.
”A scared boy.”, Bag O’ Bones mocked.
”I’m not a scared boy. If you had seen the white gods, you would be shitting in
your leathers.”, Toregg’s temper flared.
An argument broke, when Bag O’ Bones tried to skever Toregg with his spear, and
his brothers joined the fray. Little Crow began to cry, and Vis decided it was
time to take him in the tent before he froze. Once the fighting started, there
would be no more talking done tonight.
She was still unsettled when Little Crow fell asleep. Vis was not easily
frightened. She was courageous, like all spearwives. She had fought and killed
a man who tried to steal her when Lyanna had still been heavy with Little Crow
and Mance had been away. She could hunt, and hold out on her own, but how did
the one adjust to childhood ghost story becoming true? Wall was in far south,
and the crows guarded it, killing all who wanted a taste of warm lands behind
it. There was no chance they would let free folk through.
She looked at Little Crow, who was sleeping on his knees with his bottom up in
the air, and felt a surge of desperation. He was just a babe. Would the crows
take even babes behind their precious Wall, or would they just sneer at them
and watch cold gods claim all of free folk? Vis did not know how many people
lived behind the Wall, but if one took Tormund’s people, those who followed
Mance and Thenns, the Hornfoots, the Nightrunners and those who lived by shore
and ice rivers… If all of free folk rose as dead, would the crows be able to
stop them from coming over the Wall? It was known that the crows did not have
enough men to man all stone houses on the Wall. The crows tried to switch to
make their numbers look bigger than they were, of course, but Vis knew two or
three spots which were safe to scale.
It was mother and Mance who interrupted her dark thoughts, coming in the tent.
”How did it go?”, Vis asked.
”Not all believed me.”, Mance said, a deep frown on his face. ”I don’t know if
they will before the white walkers come for them, but we’re going south as soon
as sun rises. I want to put as much distance as I can between us and the cold
bastard who hunted us all way down the mountains.”
”It won’t be enough.”, mother said, walking to her bags and taking out a book.
It was only one in their camp, and mother’s greatest treasure. Mance had stolen
it from a crow he had killed, and Vis had learned to read from it. ”The Seven-
pointed star” was a strange book about hells brimming with souls of saintly men
and giving advice about living. Vis found it amusing that kneelers needed a
book to tell them how to live. Lyanna tore out the first page, leaving Vis
wide-eyed at unexpected desecration. Lyanna smoothed the torn parchment,
pricked her thumb with a knife and wet a feather with her blood.
”You have to unite all of the free folk under one banner. Only then you can
make the Night’s Watch to let us pass. If we get to safety, but the Wall falls
when the army of wilding dead comes, it’s useless.”, mother said seriously.
”You know it, Mance. You have to put your dislike of southern ways aside, and
see the truth in my words. When I have ever led you astray?”
Mance looked at mother, shaking his head slowly.
”You know you are asking impossible, Lyanna.”
”If we are facing monsters from children’s story, impossible might be only way
to fight it. A death in Other’s hands and rising from dead as an mindless
thrall is no freedom, no matter what you say. A King-Beyond-Wall is far better
choice, if it keeps everyone alive.”, mother replied, starting to write. Her
handwriting was very neat, even though the loop in o’s made blood spread on the
parchment.
Mance looked conflicted, smoothing the Little Crow’s hair with his callused
hand.
”I think there should be few extra guards tonight.”, Vis said, getting up. She
knew she couldn’t sleep, not with the mood on their tent so dark, and she was
wise enough to know Mother would eventually turn Mance’s head. Vis was not a
fan of kneeler kings, but she was her mother’s daughter and not a complete
stranger to southern ways. Lyanna had never given Mance a bad advice about
leading people, and her arguments were sound. It was best if mother could
convince Mance before something happened. That usually included fucking. Dalla
said it made men soft, and Lyanna seemed to agree, even though mother would
have used some southern, fine word for it. Vis could as well give them privacy
for that. She took her bow and sword, heading outside.
She was not only one who had trouble sleeping. There were few others walking
the camp perimeter with weapons drawn, Dalla among them.
”Have you seen Ygritte?”, Vis asked as they started to walk west. The night was
turning even colder, and she wondered if it was going to get worse, still,
before winter ended. Vis had been born in long spring, followed by summer which
had lasted even longer, and this was her first winter. Speaking made her feel
like her teeth would fall with next breath.
”She’s fucking with Toregg in her tent.”, Dalla replied . ”One way to run from
impeding death, I guess.”
”Figures.”, Vis said sourly. ”Is she going to wield Toregg’s cock against the
cold gods?”
Dalla giggled, even though she sounded a bit nervous. Encouraged by her
friend’s laughter, Vis continued:
”If there are white walkers skulking in the night, I prefer my sword. It’s much
more reliable weapon than any man’s cock.”
Dalla grinned, but a shout coming from east stopped them both. It was Harma, a
spearwife with big cheeks and undying hatred towards dogs.
”Here! Cold god’s here! To me, to me!”, Harma’s shout froze Vis’ blood in her
veins. But she was not a coward, no kneeler lady, but a warrior. Notching an
arrow, she started running towards Harma’s voice, and Dalla followed.
The white walker was the most terrifying creature Vis had ever seen. It glided
over the snow like a wraith, leaving no tracks. It had a fine, thin sword which
gleamed in moonlight. The weapon was not made from any metal Vis knew. It
sparkled like ice, and when the cold god crossed swords with Halleck, frost
spread on Halleck’s Thenn-crafted bronze blade. Halleck’s grip faltered, and he
dropped his weapon with a shout of pain. It hurt Vis’ lungs to breathe; closer
she got the monster, worse the cold became.
Harma swung her axe, trying to cleave the cold god in two. But it twisted it’s
waist with impossible grace, a wicked smile curving bloodless lips. It’s skin
was as white as Vis’ hair, but it had blue eyes. It stepped on Halleck’s fallen
blade, and Vis’ eyes widened in shock when the metal cracked under it’s feet.
”Stop staring, you fools, and fight!”, Harma’s scream woke her up.
Vis took aim, and released her arrow. She was good with a bow, even though not
as good as Ygritte. Sword was her weapon of choice. Her mother had taught her
how the kneelers fought, and Mance had taught her the crow way. But Vis’ blade
was not crow steel, but a bronze blade traded from Thenns, and no match for a
white shadow.
Her first arrow deflected from cold god’s strange armour which seemed to change
colours and shift with every step. It mirrored images like a clear, still pond,
and Vis could see Old Thorjen charging the white walker. He swung with his axe,
while Harma harrassed the cold god from opposite direction, and Vis notched
another arrow. Her fingers shook, and she nicked her finger when she released
the bowstring. It was a good shot. Her arrow sank in the white flesh of cold
god’s neck, and it should have killed it. But she saw a white hand closing
around the shaft, and the cold god turned to look at her.
It moved almost lazily, parrying Old Thorjen’s strike, and then flicked it’s
wrist. The ice blade sank through Old Thorjen’s chainmail with ease, like it
was cutting butter. Old Thorjen fell on his knees, and blood burst from his
mouth. The white god ignored him, and then pulled Vis’ arrow out from it’s
neck. It opened it’s mouth, and a black tongue flicked out. The cold god licked
the arrowhead clean, and then it spoke.
”A taste of ice and fire.”, it said, it’s voice singing in her ears like
Mance’s flute, or icicles breaking on ground. It’s blue eyes looked straight
into her grey ones, and Dalla on her side let out a frightened sound, breaking
into run towards the camp.
Vis’ mouth turned dry, and she mechanically pulled another arrow from her
quiver, shooting the creature again. It was gliding towards her with a hungry
expression on it’s white face. Harma renewed her attack, and Vis let her bow
drop, drawing her sword instead.
From the first clash of swords, she knew she was going to die. The cold god was
much better in play of steel than Vis, better than anyone she had ever seen.
She parried with desperation, and the cold god watched her like a cat playing
with a mouse. That was it was. A predator playing with it’s prey.
Then a bright burn entered her view from the east, and the smell of smoke
filled air when a burning arrow flew past her shoulder, hitting the cold god.
It let out a high, thin screech of anger which hurt Vis’ ears, and took a step
back.
”Dodge!”, Ygritte’s voice shouted behind her, and Vis leaped on left, crashing
on the snow violently. But a rain of burning arrows was falling on the cold
god, and it hissed angrily, dodging the touch of fire. Vis covered her head
with her arms, not wanting to die for a stray arrow falling on her.
”Shoot!”, Mance yelled, and the free folk moved forwards, chasing the cold god
with torches and burning arrows. They were pushing it back, and Vis scrambled
up, only to see Old Thorjen getting up too. The dead man’s eyes burned with
blue fire, and he was going for Mance’s back.
”No!”, Vis screamed, drawing Harma’s attention. The woman stepped forwards, and
swung her axe with a fine strike which cut deep Old Thorjen’s neck, almost
cutting his head off. But the man still kept going. Mance turned to look, and
Harma hit again, this time separating the wight’s head from it’s body. But the
headless body was still twitching.
”Go check on your mother!”, Mance shouted, and for once, Vis didn’t argue.
Mother was standing in front of their tent with Little Crow next to a big fire.
”Mother, it’s true.”, Vis panted, panic still flooding in her mind. ”I saw a
cold god. It killed Old Thorjen, and made his corpse rise up.”
Mother pulled her in a hug, and squeezed her so hard that it hurt. Little Crow
started to cry.
”Can we stop them?”, she asked.
”No.”, Vis replied, shaking her head and swallowing tears. ”A bronze sword
doesn’t hurt it. It just breaks them with ice. I don’t know if it’s vulnerable
to steel blades, but only a few have them. When fire runs out, we’re done.”
Mother let out a long, shuddering breath. She pulled away, and Vis saw tears
glittering in her grey eyes. But there was a determined, hard look on mother’s
face.
”Visenya. I need you to take Jon, and flee. Steal a horse and ride all way to
Wall. Go to Winterfell, and tell them about the Others. Make them understand
that they have to let us through the Wall. I don’t know if my father still
lives, or if Brandon is the lord of Winterfell now, but there is always a Stark
in Winterfell.”
”But I don’t know where Winterfell is! I’ve never been to kneeler lands! What
if they don’t believe me?”, Vis was aghast.
”My children will not die on the wrong side of Wall.”, mother swore, handing
her a sling she used to carry Little Crow. ”I wrote a letter for my brother. Go
to Winterfell gates, and tell that you have a message for lord Stark. They will
believe you. They will recognize my handwriting.”
Vis let out a shaky breath. Little Crow was watching her with worried eyes,
clearly sensing her upset, and she forced herself keep calm. She didn’t want to
try to outrun white gods with screaming baby drawing their attention. She ran
towards the horses instead, and started unknotting the rope holding Harma’s
grey on place. It was the fastest horse there was. When she climbed on the
grey’s back,, Mother gave Little Crow to him.
”If I only knew how the rebellion ended, and if your father survived, or if
it’s Robert on the throne.”, mother bit her lip, looking down. But she steeled
herself again, and handed Vis a heavy bag.
”But why can’t you come with us?”, Vis pleaded, flinging mother’s bag over her
shoulder. It was bulky, and heavy. ”Surely your brothers would believe you
better than me.”
”No.”, mother said. ”If I came with you, they would never send soldiers to
fight the Others. But my brothers will come for me, and then they will have let
us all through the Wall.”
She looked at Vis, and grey met grey.
”Take good care of Jon, Visenya. I pray the Old Gods for your safety.”
 
***** Crows' nest *****
Chapter Summary
     Vis arrives to Castle Black, and unknowingly brings the game of
     thrones with her.
The crows caught them on the first day.
Mance had told Vis that the Night’s Watch manned only three of their nineteen
castles. and she had chosen to climb the Wall near Queensgate. Jarl, one of her
fellow hunters, had boasted scaling the Wall there and Vis did not want to take
her chances with unknown spot. Queensgate was bit too close to Castle Black for
comfort, but the free folk said that Wall was treacherous and defended itself.
Many a raider had simply fallen off when Wall had decided to divest itself from
a layer of ice. Scaling seven hundred feet of slippery ice with Little Crow
tied to her back was something Vis never wanted to do again. Little Crow clung
to her shoulders, and wept hysterically while she dug her ice picks in the ice,
willing them not to fall . He wept when Vis finally crawled on the top of Wall,
out of breath and courage, and he wept when she staggered down a ruined wooden
staircase leading down to ground far below.
They had ran out of food during their ride towards the Wall, and Vis had not
dared to stop to hunt or rest in case the cold gods were pursuing them. She had
tried, but sleep evaded her, making her attempts to rest useless. She had laid
awake at night, watching her breath steam in the freezing air, and wondering if
it was a sign of cold gods or just a winter killing them. Lighting up a fire
had been out of question, because an enemy blade would kill them as surely as a
cold god. Without protection of a clan, she would be easy prey with Little
Crow. A lone spearwife could not fight off a group of hostile strangers.
”You need to walk, Little Crow.”, Vis commanded, putting the babe down. ”I
can’t carry you any longer.”
Her arms and feet still trembled from the strain of climbing, and she was so
tired. Vis had no idea where Winterfell was, except it was somewhere in the
south along the road. She hoped it would not be far, because Little Crow was
abysmally slow walker.
They had not walked much further than a mile when Little Crow’s steps grew even
slower.
”Hungry.”, Little Crow sniffed, his mouth wobbling.
Of course. Vis looked around, and spied a mallow bush near a ruined wall.
”You can eat these.”, she said, plucking a plant from the ground and giving it
to Little Crow. Vis sat down, grateful for a break, and leaned against the
wall. Her eyelids grew heavy, and she did not notice when she slid into
exhausted sleep.
--
Samwell’s face was wet with snot and tears. He felt a sharp poke of Ser
Alliser’s boot on his side, but he could not stand up. He just couldn’t.
”Get up, Ser Piggy.”, Ser Alliser commanded. ”Or have you finally decided to
lay down and die?”
Sam heard the other recruits laughing. For a hundreth time, he wondered if it
might have been better not to come here to join the Night’s Watch. The hunting
accident his father had predicted would have been faster death than this.
He received another poke, sharper this time. Ser Alliser’s boot hit on his
bruised side, and a sob escaped Sam’s mouth.
”It’s no use.”, the armsmaster announced. ”You might as well go to supper. Ser
Piggy can skip a meal, since he’s too fat to get up on his own.”
Sam heard them go, and he swallowed tears, feeling hunger burning in his
stomach. Tentatively, he tried to get up, but putting weight on his sore wrist
made him cringe. His sword was still laying on the ground where Toad had thrown
it, half-buried in the muddy snow.
”Let me help.”, a man’s calm voice spoke behind him, and pale hands slipped
under Sam’s arms in the mud, pulling him up on his feet.
”Thank you.”, Sam stammered, looking at his helper. He had seen the man once or
twice in Castle Black when he fetched meals for Maester Aemon. Long Legs, he
was mockingly called. He had served as Maester Aemon’s steward for years,
helping blind man with his ravens and keeping Castle Black’s library in order.
”No need.”, Long Legs replied. His indigo eyes didn’t hold pity, and Sam was
grateful for that. Instead, the man was looking towards the small road. There
were two black brothers on horses, and an awful racket.
”Let me go, you fucking crows! Let me go, or I will stick my sword in your
well-fucked arses! It will slide right in, since you have sworn off women.”, a
furious female voice screamed. A small, dark-haired wilding toddler sitting in
front of Ser Mallador Locke was howling, and the cacophony was drawing brothers
to the yard. Rast had a tall wilding girl following his horse. Her hands were
tied together, and the short length of rope was looped around Rast’s saddle
horn.
”Shut up, woman!”, Rast lost his patience, and Sam cringed when he saw Rast
slapping the woman with the flat of his sword.
”Oh, that’s the best you can do? You crows are as soft as your cocks! I swear,
any spearwife worth her salt would have broken my nose.”, the girl continued, a
bright line of blood falling down her face. Her left eye was swollen shut, and
her white hair was stained with red.
”Shut your mouth, wilding whore, or it’s your babe whose nose gets broken.”,
Rast threatened.
”Hold your tongue, boy.”, the Long Leg’s voice suddenly rising above the noise
chilled was cold as ice.”The brothers of Night’s Watch do not torture and kill
infants. Not even wildings.”
Something in the way how Long Legs stared Rast made Sam feel uneasy. The man
stood like a coiled serpent, ready to strike. His stance reminded Sam of his
lord father yelling at him. It seemed like Rast had struck a nerve.
”Well said.”, the Lord Commander Mormont stepped in the yard. ”Now the
excitment is over. Go tend your tasks, and stop staring. Ser Mallador, a
report.”
Sam picked up his forgotten sword, and went to see if there was still some
supper left.
 
”Dear Brandon, I address my letter to you because I don’t know if father still
lives. I have heard little news from the other side of the Wall after I was
stolen by wildings on my way to Winterfell. I know the war has ended, but I
don’t know who sits on the throne, these days, and I don’t dare to ask. The
bearer of this letter is my daughter, accompanied by my son Jon. I beg you to
trust the story they tell you. Wildings here have seen the Others with their
own eyes, and they are hunting for us. Unless you convince the Night’s Watch to
open their gates for the wildings and let them flee to safety, there will be an
army of undead marching against the Wall. The true threat is coming from the
far north. The enemy is real, and it is here. Come take me home before it’s too
late.”, Jeor Mormont read out loud.
Looking at his quiet companion, he finished the last line: ”Your loving sister,
Lyanna Stark.”
Maester Aemon wet his wrinkled lips with a tongue, and then asked:
”A son, and a daughter?”
”The boy is a babe less than two years old. The girl calls him Little Crow. He
has the Stark look on him.”, Mormont said gruffly.
”And the girl?”, Aemon asked softly.
”She has white hair and grey Stark eyes. Says her name is Visenya.”, Mormont
said, putting the letter down.
”Ah.”, Aemon’s reply was final in it’s simplicity. But it was not what Mormont
needed from his old friend.
”Is she Rhaegar’s, Aemon?”, he asked straight.
”I don’t know.”, Aemon said. ”When he was still prince of realm, we exchanged
letters via ravens. I know he was strongly interested in old prophecies. He
believed that his son Aegon was the Prince Who Was Promised. But a dragon must
have three heads, and Elia could not get pregnant after Aegon. Rhaegar wanted
to have a third child, but whether or not he had that child with Lyanna Stark,
I don’t know.”
Turning his blind eyes towards Mormont’s voice, Aemon added:
”The only person who can tell you the truth is Rhaegar himself. You could have
asked him.”
”It might be that I don’t want to hear his answer. When Yoren brought him to
us, looking like drowned rat with broken jaw and dead eyes, I thought long and
hard if the welcome of Night’s Watch could stretch that far. A man leaves his
past behind when he takes the oath, but the war left wounds which are still
healing. Even though we take no part of wars or politics, we still depend from
lords of the realm to supply us with food, coin and men. King Robert is coming
to Winterfell, and if he knew the truth of your steward, there would be only
corpses watching the Wall.”, Mormont said darkly.
”I have never denied the risk, my friend. But Rhaegar took the oath. He is not
a man to break his word. He did not do it, when Jaime Lannister murdered Aerys.
He didn’t do it, when his siblings were forced to flee on other side of ocean,
or when I told him what happened to Elia and the children when King’s Landing
was sacked. He has not betrayed his oath or true name in any manner in last
fifteen years.”, Aemon stated seriously.
”Yes. But the white-haired girl supposed to be Lyanna Stark’s daughter has not
made any oaths. I can’t shelter her here and claim the Night’s Watch does not
play game of thrones. If I let her go and she gets caught, it might even start
another war.”, Mormont was grim. “It would have been better for everyone if she
had never been found by us, but she was, and I have to make a decision whether
to let her continue her journey to Winterfell or end it here.”
Aemon’s expression was sad.
”There is no disagreement between us, Joar. I kept my oath when my house fell,
and I keep it now, no matter who sired the girl. We both know there is only one
choice to be made for the sake of Night’s Watch. I mourn the children’s fates,
and I mourn for you having to make the decision. A dead woman’s unknown
daughter will not be missed, while a disagreement between Starks and the King
would cost many more lives. I suggest you send a patrol behind the Wall. If
this girl, her mother and our deserters all speak of white walkers, it is best
to look into matter. Just in case.”
”Yes. I will send Benjen and few others after the King’s visit. Benjen’s
presence is required in Winterfell, reminding King Robert about our need for
more men.”, Mormont nodded, standing up. ”Do you want me to call your steward
to help you back to your quarters?”
”No. Young Sam, perhaps. Rhaegar took his children’s deaths hard, and I don’t
think he would take this any better, if he knew about our suspicions about the
girl. I prefer not to lie, so it is easier if he can’t ask what we spoke
about.”, Aemon replied, standing up with difficulty.
”I will make it quiet.”, Mormont promised, all too aware of how small comfort
he was able to offer to his old friend. He took the dead woman’s letter, and
threw it in fire.
 
Next morning, Sam was summoned to Lord Commander’s tower.
”Ser Alliser says you are no fighter.”, Lord Commander Mormont studied Sam.
Sam blushed with embarrassment.
”I’m sorry. My father tried for years, but he couldn’t make me a soldier.
Fighting frightens me, and I’m no good at it.”
”I’m half of mind sending you back home.”, the Lord Commander sighed.
”Please! Please no!”, Sam went in panic. ”My lord father – he said I would die
in a hunting accident if I didn’t take the black! He wants Dickon to inherit,
and I was born first. Please, Lord Commander, I’ll do anything. Whatever you
have in mind, I will try my best, but please don’t send me home.”
The Lord Commander’s faded blue eyes were not unkind, as he watched Sam.
”There is no use to send you to certain death, not when the Night’s Watch is in
the need of men watching the Wall, but I can’t see any benefit in making you to
continue training with Ser Alliser. I will think of task to suit you better.”
Sam was relieved when he was informed that he would start working in the
kitchen. Any other man might have found it a mockery, but Sam was too relieved
to be excused from fighting lessons to care. Even though it wasn’t a library,
kitchen was warm, and he was tasked to bringing meals to people who couldn’t
eat in the hall. It would allow him to visit Maester Aemon twice each day, and
maybe he could ask to read some books while he was there. It was said that
Castle Black’s library had writings even older than those in the Citadel.
His first task was to bring food to prisoners. The wilding girl was in the ice
cell, glaring at him when he arrived. The toddler was sitting on her lap and
coughing.
”Are you crows truly so craven that you need to keep children too young to be
named behind bars? It’s fucking cold in here, and you stole my furs. If Little
Crow gets sick, his death is on you.”, she threatened.
Sam blinked, looking at them.
”It’s… it’s not fair, I agree.”, he said. ”I will ask someone if it’s really
necessary to keep you both in there.”
”Good. I also want my letter back. When I get out of here, Lord Stark will
never believe me without mother’s letter.”, the girl sniffed. Her face looked
even worse than yesterday. Her eye had turned purple, and nobody had given her
water to wash the blood off. It had dried on her skin like a frightening mask.
”Lord Stark? Do you mean Stark of Winterfell?”
”I don’t know any other stone houses. My mother tried to teach me their family
trees, but I never saw the use. I sort of gave up when we got to Freys. That
Walder is sure fond of women.”, the girl grinned.
”Yes.”, Sam replied, feeling his curiosity sparked. ”So you were bringing a
letter from your mother to Lord Stark?”
”Yes. White walker attacked us, and she wanted to send us to safety. I guess
this was not what she had in mind.”, the girl rolled her eyes, looking at her
cell. ”I tried to speak to your crow brothers about the cold gods, but they
didn’t believe me.”
”The Others?”, Sam shuddered.
”Saw one with my own eyes. And that is why you crows need to give back my
letter and let me go.”
After Sam left the curious wilding girl, he decided make good of his promise.
It was not reasonable to keep a small child locked in ice cell, even if the
girl might have been there for a reason. Sam was not certain whom to approach
about the issue. Technically, they both were wildings who had no reason to be
on this side of the Wall, but he was worried the girl was right about the cell
being too cold for the baby. Rast wasn’t the person to ask from, even though he
had brought the prisoners, and Sam wasn’t familiar with Ser Mallador Locke. He
didn’t want to bother Maester Aemon to come into dungeons for nothing, if the
baby wasn’t sick after all, and Sam doubted they would let him take the baby
out without maester saying so. But Long Legs had defended the babe yesterday,
and he had been helping Aemon for years – maybe he would be willing to come.
His course decided, Sam fetched food for Maester Aemon and headed to Maester’s
quarters. He found both Long Legs and Maester Aemon there.
”Hello, Maester. It’s Sam, Samwell Tarly. I brought you hot soup and some
bread.”, Sam said, setting the plate on the table.
”Thank you, Sam.”, the old man said kindly, feeling for his chair before
sitting down. He turned his blind eyes towards his steward and continued:
”Now, tell me what the message says.”
Long Legs unrolled the piece of parchment and began to read.
”A deserted brother of the Watch, a man called Will has been found near
Winterfell. He had a wild story of his companions being killed by White
Walkers, claiming he fled in terror. Lord Eddard judged him a deserted and he
was executed. King Robert is coming to visit Winterfell and has sent a word of
arriving at new moon. Lord Eddard extends an invitation to join for welcoming
festivities. Signed by Master Luwin.”
”Ah.”, Aemon sighed. ”The young Will did not strike me as a craven, but I may
have judged him wrong. Have we had any word of the rest of his patrol? Gared,
Ser Waymar Royce?”
”None.”
”Lord Commander Mormont must be informed. You might as well seek out Benjen
while you are at it, since the Lord Commander will send him to Winterfell to
plead with the King. We need more men at the Wall.”
”White walkers?”, Sam interjected. ”The wilding girl said that she had seen
White walkers, too. Her mother had sent her over the Wall to speak with Lord
Stark.”
Both men turned to look at him.
”It’s likely that she was just trying to mislead you, Sam.”, Aemon said.
”People try to claim the most unexpected things when they are afraid of their
lives.”
”It is more likely she might have been planning to raid Winterfell, styling
herself after Bael the Bard, than to speak with it’s lord.”, Long Legs
suggested.
”It could be.”, Sam admitted, feeling embarrassed.
When Maester had finished and Sam gathered the empty dishes to take away, Long
Legs joined him to break his own fast in the hall.
”The wilding girl..”, he began, uncertain how to put his suggestion.
Long Legs’ smile was amused at first glance, but serious beneath.
”It is not wise to spend time in such thoughts after taking the oath,
Samwell.”, he said.
”It’s not like that!”, Sam blushed. ”I mean she said that the babe is unwell.
Could you take a look at him? If he’s sick, we should take him to Maester
Aemon, but I don’t want to bother Master to come down to dungeons if I’m wrong,
or if she’s playing me a fool.”
”Did she say anything else about the child? Fever, anything?”, Long Legs asked
shrewdly.
”No, I just heard him coughing. It would be good if you could take a look at
him.”, Sam said again.
”All right. I will come to you after Maester goes to bed, and then you can show
me to cell. There is a book by Septa Lysette of Tarth, which is a good
compilation of common ailments and how to treat them. You should read it, if
you are interested. ”
Sam beamed.
--
 
”Hello! Is anyone there?”, Vis yelled, clanging a waste bucket against the cold
iron bars. ”Hello, crows! Are you all deaf as well as dumb?”
She clanged the bucket again, making sure to drag the metal insets against the
bars. The noise sounded like giants toasting goblets of bloodwine. Surely one
of the crows would hear? Hopefully the fat one, who had brought them food. He
had seemed like a decent sort, for a crow. At least he hadn’t called her a liar
straight at her face.
”Hello, crows! One of your prisoners is sick! I swear that if you don’t get
here and help Little Crow, I’ll put a curse on you!”
She slammed the waste bucket against the bars again, kicking them and shouting
at the top of her voice. At least moving kept her from freezing. She was
wearing only a thin woollen undershirt, because Little Crow was burning with
fever and Vis had wrapped him into every piece of clothing they had.
”Visenya.”, Little Crow whined, and his grey eyes burned bright with fever. Vis
doubled her efforts, screaming at the top of her lungs. Finally, she heard
heavy steps and saw a lantern light coming down the stairs. But it was not the
fat one, like she had hoped, but the idiot whom had tied her to his horse. The
idiot looked all too happy, in a grim way, and he held a sword in his hand. It
was never a good thing when one’s jailor held bared steel. Vis looked around
for something, anything, when the crow put lantern down and started to turn key
in lock, but the crows had taken away her weapons. She gripped a bucket tightly
in her hand, and moved in front of Little Crow when the door opened.
The idiot crow had a spark of lust in his eye, and he was staring at her tits.
Not that Vis had much to stare at, but their stupid oath made crows mad about
women. Mance said that anyone without cock started to look fuckable after few
years in the black.
”Hello, wilding whore. I was told to end the noise you were making. You can
either take a sword through your ribs or put your mouth on my cock.”
”I will dig your eyes out first.”, Vis said acidly. ”I want a woods witch for
my brother, or a maester. He’s sick.”
The idiot crow glanced at Little Crow, and shrugged.
”Saves me from trouble of killing him, too.”
Vis threw the contents of waste bucket on crow’s face, and lunged for his
sword.
 
When Sam opened the heavy door to leading down to ice cells beneath the Wall,
he was greeted by child’s terrified howls.
”No! No!”, the wilding boy shouted in panic. His voice was thin, and too high.
”Get off me, you fucking crow!”
Sam froze on where he stood, unable to think anything except Oh, no. But Long
Legs pushed past him, vanishing down the stairs.
A blood-curling scream, this time from male throat, released Sam from the
craven spell.
”You fucking bitch! My ear!”
It was Rast. Sam cringed, and finally his legs obeyed him. He ran down the
stairs, and then along the dark corridor where a cell door gaped open at the
end of the row. He saw Long Legs striding past the lantern on the ground, and
then a black-haired, crying toddler ran out from cell.
 
The crow’s breath smelt like onions, and he was dripping piss. Blood was
running down the side of his face, and he was damned heavy. He tried to force
his knee between her legs, but Vis held tight.
”Spread your legs, you fucking whore.”, he cursed, pressing his sword heavier
against Vis’ throat.
Vis spat the remains of crow’s ear on his face.
”I swear by the old gods, I will kill you.”, she swore, grimacing as the steel
cut deeper on her throat. Little Crow was crying, and she knew she was looking
her death in eye, but she wouldn’t bend the knee.
”Visenya.”, the Little Crow sobbed.
”Get up and run out, Jon.”, Vis commanded, trying to dodge the crow’s wet
mouth. If they were going to die, she might as well name him. ”GO!”
”I’ll get him after I’m done with you.”, the crow promised when weeping Little
Crow scuttled past them. ”How long lead he gets, depends on how good fuck you
are.”
He slammed his elbow in Vis’ stomach, stealing her air, and the impact pushed
his knee between her legs. Vis closed her eyes, Little Crow’s weeping still
ringing in her ears, and then a sudden flood of warm iron spurted on her neck.
The weight of crow’s sword on her throat went slack, and Vis opened her eyes.
There was a river of blood flooding from idiot crow’s neck, and another, taller
crow stood next to them, holding a bloody sword. His eyes were dark, almost
black purple in the dim light, and he stared Vis with strangest expression.
”Who are you?”, he asked.
Vis rolled the dead crow off her, and stood up shaking feet. If this one was
going to try to rape her, too, she wasn’t going to lay down on the floor and
wait. The new crow was taller than her. Surprising. Vis was a head taller than
most men behind the Wall. Not counting giants and Tormund, of course.
”Visenya.”, she replied, attempting to be civilized since he had not tried to
kill her yet. ”My mother sent me to bring a letter to her brothers in
Winterfell.”
The crow was still staring at her.
”Visenya who?”, he asked.
”Stark, I guess. ”, Vis said uncertainly. She hadn’t paid much attention on
kneeler noble houses naming conventions. ”My mother is Lyanna Stark.”
”Samwell.”, the man said to breathless fat crow, the same strange expression
still stuck on his face. ”Go wake up the Benjen Stark. I need him.”
 
***** His anger burns cold *****
Chapter Summary
     Rhaegar and Benjen break a silence of fifteen years, and establish a
     truce. Lord Commander Mormont does not appreciate.
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
The comfort of warm cloth carefully dabbing the blood off from her hurting face
was making Vis feel weepy. Or maybe it was warmth of fire on her skin after two
days of freezing in a cell carved of ice. Or the soft, stuffed chair she was
sitting in, hugging her knees and shaking in her borrowed clothes.
”You don’t need to coddle me.”, Vis snapped, trying to regain her dignity
before she turned into soft kneeler woman.
The crow didn’t answer. He focused his odd-colored eyes on her face, carefully
holding her chin in his hand while he cleaned the cut on her throat.
”We need to dye your hair.”, he said. ”You look too much like my mother.”
”Oh, by giant’s stones. Is everyone related on this side of the Wall?”, Vis
huffed.
”No. Just you and I left. The Starks, of course, from your mother’s side. My
other children were murdered, and that’s why the hair needs to change. It’s too
recognizable.”
Vis sucked in her cheeks when he started to spread a stinging greenish paste
over the deeper cuts and scratches. All right. She had not expected to run into
a crow announcing himself her father, but it was not a bad thing, necessarily.
A father would be less likely to attempt to rape her, unless one’s father was
Craster, of course. The crow didn’t seem like Craster’s type. He had two ears,
and he was handsome enough to get women in bed if he wanted, so he wouldn’t
need Vis for that. It was all good, then.
”I was under impression that I was Wide-Smile Jorold’s get, since Mance said I
was a suckling infant when he first saw me.”
“No. You are mine.”, the crow replied with calm certainty. “Lyanna was heavy
with child when I last saw her. I had to leave to fight the rebels. I would
have left her well-guarded in Tower of Joy, but she insisted she wanted to give
birth in Winterfell. She was afraid she’d die.”
“All mother ever said about it was that I was born in a smokehouse while Wide-
Smile was busy filling his bags with hams and cured fish.”
”The prince who was promised, born amidst salt and smoke.”, the crow muttered
under his breath. He looked like a man who had bitten a rotten apple. ”I should
have taken to heart Maester Harron’s writings about prophecies making fools of
men who attempt to chase them.”
”I wouldn’t know about that. I’ve read only the Seven-Pointed Star, and it was
useless.”, Vis announced her opinion.
”Why is that?”
”If people need to read a book to tell them how to live, they are too stupid to
live at first place.”
The crow regarded her with ironic look.
”Out of the mouth of babes oft times comes gems. If only we had met sooner,
Visenya.”
”I’m not a babe.”, Vis said.
--
Benjen Stark did not know why the thrice-accursed Targaryen had suddenly
decided to break their silent agreement of last fifteen years, and he was not
happy. A part of him hoped for a chance to finally let his fists do the
talking. The Tarly boy had been shaking, unable to say anything else except
there was a problem, and Long Legs had told him to get Benjen.
Ever since Targaryen had joined the Night’s Watch, Benjen had made a special
effort to avoid seeing him or speaking to him, and he had repaid the courtesy.
Even though there were no kings or beggars on the Wall, only brothers, the man
who had stolen his sister and whose father had burned Brandon and father alive
was not someone Benjen wanted to call his brother.
Targaryen mostly kept to library, fooling others into thinking he was a bookish
steward called by a stupid nickname, but his dyed copper locks would never have
convinced Benjen. That was probably why Lord Commander Mormont had told Benjen
the truth as soon as Targaryen had taken the oath among other recruits Yoren
had brought from the battlefield. Yoren should never have fished Targaryen from
the banks of Trident, but he had, and there was naught Benjen could do about it
except keep his mouth shut, because he had sworn by the Old Gods. He didn’t
want Robert killing whole Night’s Watch for one man’s choice. And Targaryen had
the right to make that choice, no matter how little Benjen liked him
personally. Night’s Watch took all kinds of murderers and rapists. Even
dragons, it seemed.
Tarly led him to one of the storage rooms near library, where Targaryen had
made his lair. When Tarly knocked on the door, and ushered Benjen inside, it
became apparent that the dragon had company.
“Thank you, Samwell. You can go to sleep now.”, Rhaegar dismissed the boy.
“But the dungeons--“, Tarly looked almost sick.
“I will clear the issue with Lord Commander Mormont. It is best if you don’t
speak about it before the Lord Commander gives you permission.”, Rhaegar
commanded.
Tarly nodded, still a bit greenish, and left.
Targaryen had a toddler sitting on his lap. Benjen couldn’t see much else than
dark hair, because the moment he had entered the room, the child got
frightened. The toddler hid his face against Rhaegar’s black woolen cloak,
clinging to fabric with both hands. The man apportioned drops from a small
brown glass bottle on a spoon. A badly beaten tall girl wearing borrowed black
clothes was hovering over them. She had a towel wrapped around her head like a
Dornish turban.
”How can I tell you are not poisoning Littl-- Jon?”, she demanded.
”If I wanted him to fare ill, I would have done nothing.”, Rhaegar replied.
”The medicine isn’t harmful. It’s a mixture of basil, ginger and apple cider
vinegar, with a drop of honey for sweetness. You can taste, if you want to be
certain.”
”Really? Do you think I’m dumb? If it was poison, I would die, and then I
couldn’t force him to throw it up.”, the girl replied, crossing her arms over
her chest. ”Not going to fall for that.”
A small, amused smile glinted on Rhaegar’s face, but he said nothing, counting
few more drops.
”Hold this.”, he handed the bottle to girl, and then turned to babe, carefully
turning the child’s head just enough to sneak the spoon in his mouth.
”What’s the meaning of this?”, Benjen asked. ”Why in seven hells you released
Mormont’s prisoners? What Tarly meant with dungeons?”
Rhaegar put the spoon on table with clink. He pried the toddler’s hands gently
off his cloak, and turned him to face Benjen. Wary grey eyes watched Benjen
under a tuft of black hair. The child looked like Ned. He had the same long
face.
“Jon, this is your uncle Benjen. Benjen, this is Jon Snow. He is Lyanna’s son.”
“Lyanna?”, Benjen’s throat constricted. “Lyanna is dead. Killed by Lannister
soldiers on her way to Winterfell.”
“It seems that she wasn’t, but stolen by a wilding raiding party instead, and
taken to another side of the Wall.”, Rhaegar said. “Ten days ago wildings in
far north were attacked by an Other. Lyanna sent Jon and his sister over the
Wall, bearing a letter for the Starks of Winterfell pleading help. Two days
ago, a patrol found them near Queensgate. The letter was taken from her, and
they were imprisoned in the ice cells until tonight. Sam, who was worried about
Jon’s health, pleaded me to have look at the boy. When we arrived to dungeons,
Rast was trying to kill them. I believe he acted under command.”
“So, your Lord Commander tells his crows to rape people?”, the girl asked.
Rhaegar’s jaw tensed visibly.
“On that, he acted on his own volition.”
“Are you certain?”, Benjen frowned, still trying to get in terms with this.
“Who are you, then?”
“Vis.”, the girl said. She had the same grey eyes as the boy. The same eyes
Benjen saw from a mirror every time he clipped his beard. He could feel himself
starting to succumb into lie Targaryen was weaving, and it would not do.
“Vis who? Vis Snow?”, he demanded. “If Lyanna lives, and these two are her
children, why would Mormont order them killed? Why wouldn’t he tell me? Send a
word to Winterfell? Ned would come here as fast as a horses can make it.”
Rhaegar leaned to left, and reached, giving a sharp yank on Dornish towel
turban on girl’s head.
Long, wet locks of silver-white fell down on her back, and Benjen cursed.
“Oh, by Builder’s arse!”
”Visenya Targaryen, not Snow.”, Rhaegar interjected with sharpness. ”High
Septon Maynard wed me to Lyanna at Tower of Joy. She was born a princess, not a
bastard. Faith might have forbidden two wives from common men, but it's a
Valyrian custom, and one Targaryens have practiced before.”
Benjen turned red on the face, fisting his hands.
”I don’t know whether I should love you for not leaving my sister with a
bastard, or curse you for painting a target on my niece’s back. Being a
Targaryen bastard is one thing, but Robert will never overlook a Targaryen heir
born in wedlock with a better claim than his, no matter how fondly he thinks of
Lyanna. Ned says Baratheon still rants how much he hates you. And she’s female,
which makes surviving twice as hard.”
Rhaegar met his despair calmly.
”Being a woman never kept my ancestors from attempting any goal. I doubt it
will stop Visenya, either. If her remaining kin on this side of the Wall is
willing to help.”
Benjen knew Targaryen had him by the balls.
--
“Do you understand the gravity of your actions? You are not the Lord Commander
of the Night’s Watch. It is not under your jurisdiction to give orders to your
brothers-in-arms.”, Lord Commander Mormont said, leaning forwards. “It is not
your place to decide who will live and who will die. You made an oath. I expect
you to hold it, or face the consequences of desertion.”
The man standing in front of him was not frightened. But he wasn’t acting
cocky, either. He simply stood there, and listened. His calmness was not to
Mormont’s liking, because any sign of inability to follow an authority would
have solved this problem in permanent manner.
“I made an oath, yes. But Lord Commander Mormont, which action I have taken
which violates my oath?”, Rhaegar asked. “I have not taken a wife, held land or
fathered children in last fifteen years. I don’t wear a crown, and I do not
attempt to find personal glory. If you start to interpret the vows to include
children born before the moment of swearing, I am not the only oathbreaker in
the room.”
“Stop playing, Targaryen.”, Mormont growled. “You know as well as I do what I
mean. You are walking a fine line here.”
Rhaegar’s voice stayed calm, and controlled, but there was a definite edge of
iron when he spoke:
“As far I’m aware, your orders have been followed to a letter. Last night,
Benjen Stark left to Winterfell to take part in celebration honoring King
Robert, just like you had ordered. A brother breaking the King’s law has been
dealt with. The children Rast and Ser Mallador Locke found from Queensgate have
been sent to live with their kin.”
Maester Aemon, who sat silently on the side of the room, turned his blind eyes
towards Mormont’s voice. He was trying to signal something, but Mormont was too
angry to care.
“You stole the prisoners and murdered a sworn brother. Then you decided to
ignore the very real political threat to Night’s Watch and whole realm by
involving Starks in internal issue of the Watch.”
“I saved a girl from being raped. This side of Wall is still governed by the
king’s laws, and a rape is a major crime punishable by law, not an internal
issue of the Night’s Watch. The punishment is either castration or the Wall.
With him holding a sword on her throat, I simply did not have time to get a
knife out and castrate him. If you had given Rast orders to rape and murder an
innocent maiden of a great House, I would have to question your integrity as
lord commander, and bring my worry to Warden of North.”
Rhaegar smiled, but the smile was as cold as the Wall.
“I shall return to library and tend to my duties. Lord Commander. Maester.”
He turned on his heels, and left.
 
Chapter End Notes
     I don't think Vis would agree to being called "innocent maiden of a
     great House". Unfortunately, that's how Rhaegar sees her despite her
     wilding manners and bravado. I predict sparks.
***** Kings are thieves *****
Chapter Summary
     Vis arrives to Winterfell.
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Vis had never imagined Winterfell was so far south. The ride from Wall would
take three weeks, and her butt and thighs were damn sore already. Even though
Vis knew how to ride, she had never had a horse of her own before now. Crow
Father had given her his own horse, an aged black stallion which had tried to
bite her before Vis had put him in order. She had slapped it on muzzle with all
her strength, staring it down like she had done to Varamyr’s shadowcat, and it
seemed to work. In Vis’ opinion, Crow Father’s horse had more in common with
shadowcat than Harma’s gentle grey mare. It had tried to trample a bear they
had met on the road, and kick Benjen when he had tried to take it’s saddle off.
Her nuncle had raised his hands up then, stating that the stallion was Vis’
headache to deal with. There was definite advantage in training one’s horse to
hate all other people, she mused. It made them much harder to steal. But the
problem with mad horse was hers, now and Vis began to solve it the only way she
knew. It would have to learn to love her instead of Crow Father.
The creature proved a hard egg to crack, or maybe it was Vis’ lack of skill.
She spent better part of two weeks trying to sleep against stallion’s side, but
the horse wouldn’t allow it. Whenever she sat down and leaned against it’s
side, it tried to roll over her or bit her hair. Since it was only her hair and
not her face, Vis took it as a good sign.
“If you keep trying that, it will bite your ear off.”, Benjen told her. “It’s a
courser bred for war, not a kitten you can curl up with.”
“It doesn’t matter. It’s mine now, and it will learn to like me.”, Vis was
stubborn.
“Be it on your own head, then. Just know that Ned will not let a girl of five-
and-ten to keep a beast she can’t control.”, Benjen warned, and laid down with
Jon.
 
It was four day’s journey to Winterfell, and Vis was getting worried about
meeting nuncle Ned. She had grown fond of Crow Father’s gift. The black
stallion might not have a kneeler’s nature of wanting to please and bow low,
but it wasn’t a fault in Vis’ opinion. Besides, the mad old horse was hers. A
man could own only what he could defend, and Vis was not willing to give her
new horse away just because some southern lord she had never seen thought she
couldn’t handle it.

They stopped for a night near a tiny godswood, where a smirking weirwood tree
stood alone. It’s face was uncanny, carved with a laugh which looked almost
cruel. Jon took one look at it and refused to sleep under the tree’s gaze.
“I want mamma.”, he wept. “It’s scary tree.”
Benjen frowned.
“It’s just a weirwood, Jon.”, he said gently.
“It talks! Red eyes look at me and it talks!”, the toddler howled. “Take Jon
away, Benjen, please!”
Jon was not usually prone to tantrums, but something in the weirwood tree
freaked him out. Despite Benjen and Vis’ best attempts, there was no consoling
him before Benjen finally took him deeper in the wood where thick juniper
bushes shielded them from the weirwood.
“I can stay here with horses.”, Vis offered. “If we try to get them through the
bushes, we’ll be picking sprigs off their coats until Winterfell.”
“In Winterfell, probably.”, Benjen replied. “All right. But be on your guard,
and shout if you need me.”
Vis rolled her eyes when Benjen turned his back and returned to Jon. Her nuncle
was a clucking old hen. She was no kneeler maiden who was scared to sleep
outside her stone house. She had killed a man, and she had fought a cold god.
Vis could handle herself just fine. There was nothing frightening on this side
of the Wall.
The mad horse was giving her side-eye from it’s resting place beneath the
weirwood. It was not good. Nuncle Ned was described even worse worrier than
nuncle Benjen, and the mad horse still hadn’t fallen to Vis’ charms. She wasn’t
sure what to try, anymore. There were only three nights left.
A gust of cold wind blew in the red leaves of weirwood tree, making her shiver.
Suddenly an idea occurred to Vis, and she smiled. One of the reasons why
Varamyr Sixskins had been so insistent to bed her was the man’s belief that Vis
was a sleeping warg. He had declared so the first time he had laid his small
eyes on Vis in Mance’s tent. Before mother made Mance send him away, Varamyr
had tried to to lure Vis with his secrets. He had made her chew weirwood leaves
to wake up her mind. That night, when she had fallen asleep, she had dreamed of
flying across the snowy plains before mother had shaken her awake and fed her
black coal until she threw up. If Varamyr had come to steal her like a man
instead of sending his cat to stalk her, Vis might have gone with him, just to
learn how to fly.
But mother was not there now, nor nuncle Benjen. Vis looked at the red leaves
of weirwood tree, and then at her mad horse. She grinned.
Maybe she should not have taken the leaves before feeding them to horse.
Getting the stallion to eat weirwood leaves had taken all her cunning, and two
old carrots from her backpack. And she might have overestimated the dose. Vis
felt vaguely sick, when she fell down on the grass. Her vision was swimming,
and she could have sworn there were whispers in the wind moving among the red
leaves of weirwood tree. Fighting an urge to throw up, she threw her arms over
her mad horse’s warm body, wrapping it in clumsy embrace.
“You will be mine, and I will be yours.”, she mumbled. “I will follow you where
you want to go, and you will follow me where the gods take us.”
The horse did not answer. It was asleep, and there was red drool dripping from
it’s mouth. Wondering if she had accidentally poisoned the animal, Vis debated
calling nuncle Benjen, but she was too tired. The horse was strong. It would
pull through, just like her. She closed her eyes, snuggling against the
stallion’s side, and let sleep claim her.
She was young, and there was a weight on her back she did not like. The small
human was heavy, and his legs hang on her sides when she ran around the fenced
yard. The rope in her mouth chafed, and she wanted to bite the human’s head off
for putting coarse thing in her mouth. But the human had a stinging rope which
smelled like pigs. It cracked in the air, and when it licked her skin, it
stung.
She bit her teeth together, worrying the rope between her teeth, and ran the
stupid circle again. It would break, eventually, and then she would jump over
the fence and run back to her dam. She knew they kept her dam in another stall
on opposite side of the yard. A milk-filled teat suited her mouth much better
than scratchy rope.
Suddenly the weight on her back changed, and she felt something pushing against
her sides. Startling, she stopped, and heard a loud noise from other side of
the fence.
“Your grace! We didn’t expect--”
A white-haired man waved his hand.
“It’s all right. My daughter wanted to see the foal.”
He lifted up a small human to look over the fence.
“It’s so pretty.”, the small human stared at her with awe.
“Indeed. Do you want to name it?”, the white-haired man asked.
“Balerion. Like my kitty!”, the small human exclaimed.
The white-haired man laughed.
“Balerion it is, then. A well-suited name for a war horse.”
--
 
It was the eve of King Robert’s arrival, and something was going on. His lord
father had enclosed himself in the crypts with Benjen two hours ago, and
emerged only with summons for Robb to find his lady mother in haste. His lady
mother was busy overseeing the airing of linens for queen’s chambers, and was
not pleased to see Robb.
“Robb! What are you doing here? Whatever Arya has done now, I have no time to
solve it.”
“It’s not Arya. Father sent me to fetch you. He’s in the crypts with Benjen,
and they want to speak with you.”
Catelyn pursed her lips, and Robb added:
“Please, mother. Father said it’s important and you have to drop whatever you
are doing.”
“All right.”, Catelyn said, frustration evident in her voice. “Take me to them.
I don’t have time to wander around the crypts looking for two men who do not
understand there is a keep full of preparations to attend.”
After baby Rickon’s death five months past, mother had been tense. Maester
Luwin said that it was never easy to lose a child, whether it was one’s
firstborn or fifth, like Rickon had been. But his lungs had been weak from the
beginning, and despite Maester’s wisdom and Catelyn’s desperate attempts to
keep the Stranger from her child’s bedside, Rickon had quietly died in bright
summer morning. Mother had not stepped into crypts after that. It hurt too
much. Robb understood her. She was not of North, and seeing likeness of a baby
among the dead kings made him sad, too. The crypts seemed too cold and dark
place for Rickon, but father insisted it was his place.
Nodding, Robb helped the apron off his mother’s shoulders and led her past the
First Keep, towards the entrance to crypts.
Benjen was waiting for them near the entrance, holding a torch.
“Sister. I heard of little Rickon. I’m sorry.”, he said, taking Catelyn’s hand.
“Thank you. I do not understand what demands me to step into this place.”, she
said sharply.
“Ned will explain everything. Follow me.”, Benjen nodded towards the dark.
Robb was turning towards the stairs, when Benjen’s voice stopped him.
“You too, Robb. Ned decided you have a right to know.”
His curiosity growing even stronger, Robb took the torch from Benjen and
followed his uncle and mother deep in the tombs of the dead Starks.
The torch was burning near the tomb of Brandon the Burner, and there was a girl
sitting at the feet of the dead king. She was dressed in furs and leathers, and
her bright copper hair was flowing free. Robb’s father stood next to her, and
there was a small child in his arms. For a moment, Robb thought it was Rickon,
but when he got closer, he saw that the child’s hair was dark, not Tully red.
“Ned! What is this?”, Catelyn asked. “Why you are keeping children in cold and
dark place like this!”
She stepped forwards, and claimed the child from father’s arms. The girl
sitting on tomb stood up, and tensed, putting her hand on a knife on her belt.
It looked silly, a girl acting like a house guard, but father raised his hand.
“It’s all right, Visenya.”
“I told you to call me Vis.”, the girl snapped, still looking warily at Robb’s
mother, who was busy blowing warmth on the toddler’s little fingers.
“And who are you?”, Catelyn cooed to little one.
“His name is Jon Snow.”, Uncle Benjen replied. “He is Lyanna’s son the Night’s
Watch found behind the Wall.”
Robb’s eyes widened, and his mother looked stricken.
“Lyanna? Your sister Lyanna, Ned?”, she asked.
If Robb had heard the tale from anyone else than his father, the man known for
his honor and unwillingness to lie, he would not have believed the story of
aunt Lyanna stolen by wildlings. But the girl answered all questions put to
her, and she knew little details only family would know. Stories from Lyanna’s
childhood which would hold no meaning for impostor. But what meant the most
were the grey Stark eyes on her face. The little boy could have been Robb’s
brother. He had the same long face as father.
“What will we do, Ned?”, Catelyn asked. “The King is arriving tomorrow, and he
has always been fond of Lyanna.”
“Whatever happened to Lyanna, she is still my sister, and she has asked for
help. I will offer a home for her children at Winterfell, and I hope you will
find it in your heart to love and care for them as they were your own until
Lyanna can be brought home.”, father looked at mother, who nodded. She still
held a little Jon in her arms.
“It’s not their fault they were born Snow. They are your sister’s children.
Family.”, mother said simply, and father’s serious face turned into grateful
smile.
“But it is true there is much to do before King arrives, and I need to find
room for two more. If there is nothing else, I’ll take my leave now.”, Catelyn
continued.
“We’ll stay for a few words, yet. Robb needs to know about Lysa’s letter.”,
father said.
Mother nodded, and ushered Robb’s new cousins with her to outside. The copper-
haired girl looked questioningly at Benjen, who nodded.
“It’s all right, Vis.”, he said, and the girl followed Robb’s mother and little
Jon.
When the light of Catelyn’s torch had disappeared in the dark, father sighed.
“I have a reason to believe Robert is coming to north to ask me accompany him
to south as King’s Hand. Your lady mother’s sister Lysa believes Jon Arryn was
murdered, and I’m honor-bound to agree if Robert makes his request. If it
happens, I will leave you in charge of Winterfell, Robb.”
Robb’s eyes widened, and he barely got out his thanks.
“I will not fail your trust, father.”
Father’s grey eyes were worried.
“I would not leave stumbling in the dark. I could not tell your mother, but you
are a Stark. A lone wolf may perish, but the pack survives. I need you to be
the pack for Visenya. She is not a baseborn child like her brother. Benjen told
me that her father was the man who stole Lyanna from Robert and started a war.
Rhaegar Targaryen.”
“What?”, Robb suffered a second shock in a minute.
“It is true.”, Benjen said quietly. “She had a white hair when I saw her first,
and I heard Targaryen claim her with his own lips. He married Lyanna at Tower
of Joy. Visenya is a trueborn heir to the throne.”
“Would have been, if Targaryens still held the Iron Throne.”, his father
corrected.
“But...I thought Rhaegar died in the Battle of Trident.”, Robb was confused.
“Unfortunately, no.”, Benjen said. “The man is alive and well. Where, you don’t
need to know. What you don’t know, you can’t tell.”
“And you can’t tell anyone the truth about Visenya. If Robert knew, he would
have her killed. He has hunted the Targaryen children all these years, and
Visenya’s claim is stronger than theirs. Remember what Lannisters did to Elia
and the children at Sacking of King’s Landing.”, father’s expression was grave.
Robb grimaced. He had heard the tales of baby Aegon’s head smashed against the
wall, and Rhaenys being pulled under her bed, screaming and crying. The rape
and murder of princess Elia wasn’t a story children were supposed to hear, but
it didn’t make it less true.
“But why do you tell me? If you can’t trust even mother with this, why me?”, he
asked.
“Starks don’t do well in the south. When Lyanna ventured there, she was stolen,
and I thought her dead. Brandon died there with father. If something happens to
me, you become the lord of Winterfell, and you should know whom you protect
under your roof. For the world, she will be my sister’s bastard daughter, but
you should know the truth.”
Robb nodded, speechless. Father rested his hand on Robb’s shoulder.
“It’s heavy burden, being a lord, but you will carry it well.”, father
promised, and Robb hoped he would become the man his father wanted him to be.

--
Vis was genuinely disappointed when she saw the kneeler king. She had expected
someone strong, and fierce, furs decorated with the bones of his slain enemies,
but the king didn’t have any. He was fat man with a circle of metal on his
head, and his oldest son looked like a blond ferret. Vis could not understand
how a man like this king could ever have beaten Crow Father in a duel and
stolen his land. Maybe Crow Father had been drunk during their fight or
something. She counted herself lucky that Crow Father had stolen her mother
before Lyanna could have married this king; otherwise she might have turned out
fat and lazy, too.
“Kneel!”, nuncle Benjen hissed at her, and pulled her skirt. Grudgingly, Vis
let him pull her down. Maybe the fat king was a warg, or he had consulted
wood’s witch. He must have had some secret trick which made everyone fear him
even though he didn’t look like much. If he didn’t, the kneleers were even more
foolish than Vis had thought.
Only mothers and old women wore skirts. Vis’ didn’t like hers. Lady Catelyn had
shaken her head many times when they tried to dress Vis yesterday evening, and
Sansa had giggled. All dresses they had were too short from the hem – Vis
thought they were still too long to walk in – and she couldn’t make her arms
fit inside the sleeves, or stretch her shoulders properly. Even though Vis was
skinny from the lack of food, she was well-muscled like all spearwives.
Apparently, it wasn’t good in a woman. In the end, the servants had found a
scratchy grey woolen dress which had belonged to her mother’s grandmother, and
a black long skirt to wear under it and make up for too short hem. Much to her
unhappiness, Vis had ended with twoskirts instead of one. Arya seemed to be
only one who understood the problem.
She could feel that Balerion was getting hungry. Vis had found out where the
kitchen was, and she would steal a few carrots for him after the kneeling
ended. Nuncle Benjen had advised her that she might want to skip the feast and
give herself time to adjust to living in the south. Since the king had proven
to be a disappointment, and his heir looked like a ferret, Vis would do as
nuncle had suggested and take Balerion out for a ride. The weirwood had given
her his name, and a strange feeling of knowing what Balerion felt, but it was
nothing like Varamyr’s control over his animals. Vis wasn’t certain what she
should do about it, but maybe warging was like taming any other animal. She
would spend time with him, and be nice, and things would come around.
Suddenly nuncle Benjen poked her again, and she looked up annoyedly. What more
did they want? She was already kneeling, by giant’s balls! But it was nuncle
Ned and the fat king standing in front of her. The fat king stepped forwads,
looking touched, and pulled her in a bear hug. Vis thought he would crush her
ribs.
“Oh, your poor child! You could not have brought happier news than the word of
my sweet Lyanna’s survival! I will send soldiers at once to save your lady
mother!”, the king bellowed, still crushing poor Vis. Behind his back, the
queen was looking straight at Vis, and she saw death in her green eyes. If the
queen had a bow, Vis though dazedly, she’d be a dead woman.
“Thank you, Robert. I’m sure my mother will appreciate help.”, she said, trying
to breathe.
“King Robert.”, the ferret prince interrupted spitefully.
“Oh, nonsense. You may call me Robert.”, the king said jovially. “You have your
mother’s eyes. I will see that you are rewarded for making this day happiest in
my life. A good knight will be found for you to marry.”
“I don’t think I’d make a good wife for a southern knight.”, Vis spurted out in
panic. “I like swords better.”
The king’s laughter was hearty and booming.
“You truly are my Lyanna’s daughter.”
The king patted her on shoulder, and followed nuncle Ned inside. As soon as the
King had turned his back, nuncle Benjen caught Vis by elbow and almost dragged
her away from the crowd and out of sight.
Nuncle Benjen had given her a verbal lashing which made Vis still cranky on the
next day. It was not her fault that the fat king had decided to hug her! She
had not even looked at him! And if she had used his name, well, she had been
taken by surprise! Now Benjen was worried that king might think Vis would be
willing to fuck him. Apparently, king telling she looked like mother was a bad
thing. Oh, by giant’s balls. When Vis had tried to assure nuncle Benjen that
she would kill the king if he tried to fuck her, it had gotten only worse.
Apparently, nuncle Benjen thought she shouldn’t do that either. The whole thing
was making her cranky. Whatever she did, it was wrong. The stupid kneelers and
their stupid kneeler ways.
She was still fuming when she got to yard where Robb and another young man were
wasting arrows by shooting a painted picture of a deer.
“Did you come to admire my shooting?”, the dark young man inquired.
“That?”, Vis raised an eyebrow. “Maybe if you get better.”
The young man grinned. He was a bit cocky. Vis liked cocky.
“You wound me, my lady.”
“I’m not a lady.”, Vis disagreed, playing with a long copper lock peeking
underneath her hood of fur. She had always wanted to be kissed by fire, and
Crow Father had insisted on changing the color of her hair before she left the
Castle Black. Maybe she would get lucky now that she had hair like Ygritte’s?
“Stop teasing my cousin, Theon.”, Robb interrupted. “Shouldn’t you be inside
with other women?”
Vis considered it.
“No.”, she decided. “I prefer this place. I will fetch my bow, and we can
shoot.”
“A shooting competition, then? It could be a nice warm-up for today’s hunt.”,
the dark young man, Theon, chuckled. “If I win, I’ll claim a kiss.”
“Theon.”, Robb hissed.
“If I win, I want a bag of apples.”, Vis announced. Last night, Balerion had
dreamed about red, juicy apples. They would make him happy, and shooting at a
wooden plank would surely not break any kneeler rules.
Theon was a good archer, maybe as good as Dalla. But Vis was second only to
Ygritte, and she was confident she would win. When one hunted for living, she
learned not to waste her arrows. She had made her own from bone and owl
feathers; she knew how each of them were balanced.
Theon went first, counting one hundred steps from the painted target. He aimed,
and released the arrow with flair. It thumped against the board, hitting the
deer’s heart marked with X.
“Robb? We need a loser.”, Theon pushed his friend playfully.
“You wish.”, Robb huffed, and took his bow. While he aimed, Theon remarked to
Vis:
“Have you heard the news? Sansa is marrying prince Joffrey.”
Vis had not heard, but she wasn’t interested. She didn’t know either of them,
not really, and Joffrey stealing Sansa could not have been worth seeing since
Robb was uninjured. One would expect a brother to fight for sister’s sake. Her
kin not defending her would be shameful, but kneelers might have rules against
hitting their kings and princes. In Vis’ opinion, it was as stupid rule. How
could kneelers know their king was worth anything? People fought Mance all the
time, and when he beat them, everyone saw he was a man worth following.
Rob released his arrow, and it hit the deer’s belly. It was not a good shot.
His prey would have ran off, and died a slow death in some hidden bush while
the hunter returned home with empty hands. But a sound of clapping hands came
from above; Vis looked up to odd balcony circling the wooden building, and saw
the king standing there with nuncle Ned.
“Good, boy! And Lyanna’s girl. I hope you haven’t wasted all your arrows,
because the hunt is leaving and I expect you do to your best.”, the king
announced cheerfully. “Let’s go find our horses, Ned.”
As soon as they disappeared, Theon made a hasty nod to Robb.
“See you!”, he waved cheerfully, and hurried towards the stables. Vis was
dumbstruck. They were having a competition, and he left before she had chance
to shoot?
“Oh, seven hells. Can you ride?”, Robb was looking at her worriedly. “We can’t
afford to insult the king. Since he invited you, you have to come, even if
there won’t be any other women except lady Mormont. My mother has a kind old
mare you might borrow, but I don’t think she will handle the noise, and we
can’t say Winterfell doesn’t have a horse for you. The Lannisters would mock
us.”
“I haven’t ridden much, but I have a horse.”, Vis said. “Just wait for a
minute. I’ll run to change my clothes, get my horse and meet you here. We can
catch the others.”
 
The hunting party had already left, when Robb finally saw a horse coming from
the direction of First Keep. At first, he thought he had been mistaken, but
when they got closer, he recognized his cousin sitting on the back of old
courser. Vis wore her wilding furs and leathers, with a bow on her back. She
smiled at Robb.
“Hello. Should we go?”, she asked brightly. The stallion gave Robb an evil eye.
“This is your horse?”, Robb asked.
“Yes! Balerion is loyal, when you get to know him. I already explained him that
he needs to tell me what to do, since I’m not very good rider yet. Then
everything will go well.”, she said fondly, patting the horse’s ink-black mane.
“I hope so, too. Try to keep up. I don’t want to be late.”, Robb mounted his
own brown stallion, and tried to forget the tales about Prince Rhaegar riding a
black courser to the battle of Trident. Considering the age of Vis’ horse, it
just might be the same beast. He prayed the Old Gods that the King would not
recognize the treason happening under his nose.
They managed to catch the hunting party before the hunt began, just barely.
Father, who rode with king Robert, gave Robb a small nod when he saw him
arriving with Vis, but didn’t acknowledge them otherwise. He didn’t want to
draw the King’s attention to Vis, and Robb, who was still worried about the
horse, wholeheartedly agreed.
“The honor goes to first person to kill the white doe.”, the king’s huntsmaster
announced. The dogs were released, and the hunt was on.
Robb knew the Wolfswood well. He had heard the men talking about white doe, and
he thought had an inkling where she would flee from the main group. It would
take them little further from the others, but it was better this way.
“Do you hunt?”, he asked.
Vis giggled.
“Of course I do. Otherwise we would have starved.”
When she saw Robb’s embarrasment, she added:
“But it wasn’t a bad question. Not everyone hunts in the north. Some women
don’t, like mother. She likes to stay at camp, and usually she had a baby to
care for. I’m a spearwife. I fight alongside other warriors when there’s need,
and on quiet days I hunt with my friends. Ygritte and Dalla. Three is better
than one, in case there is trouble.”
“It sounds very different.”
“It’s not really. Men are men, no matter which side of the Wall. We have our
heroes, and our cowards. Some of us yarn for adventure, and great things, while
others are content with home and hearth. The only thing separating us is the
Wall. And Mance will get through it. He has to, because the cold gods are
coming.”, Vis sounded worried. Her horse looked around cautiously, like it
expected a white walker to step behind the tree.
It wasn’t a white walker which rode from the bushes, but Prince Joffrey with
his retinue.
“Oh. The Winterfell Heir cavorting with the wilding bastard in bushes.”, the
prince noted. “Some of us hunt for worthier prey, but it’s good to see there’s
no competition.”
Robb gritted his teeth together. He did not like Prince Joffrey, and even
though he understood the advantages of the match, he was sorry for Sansa if her
future husband was like this.
“You are speaking of my cousin, Your Grace. I beg you to remember your
courtesies.”, he said stiffly.
Vis didn’t say anything. She sat on her old horse and ignored the prince,
keeping her eyes on the large clearing between the trees.
“My courtesies are saved for trueborn children worth of royal attention. Or
would you wish it otherwise?”, Joffrey raised his eyebrow, looking at Robb.
Robb was trying to think of cutting answer, when one of the prince’s companions
shouted.
“It’s the doe!”
From the corner of his eye, Robb saw a black flash when Balerion started to
gallop.
The clearing was long yet narrow, with even ground which made Vis wonder if it
had been a field once. The bushes on each side were thick enough that the doe
would not likely try to run there, giving her a chance to catch it. Her blood
was still burning from Prince Joffrey’s last comment. She didn’t mind the
bastard comments, since there were no southern marriages beyond the Wall, but
she hated the way he didn’t even bother to speak to her. She was fed up with
people treating her like she was a silly girl who needed fat kings, nuncles and
ferret-like princes telling her what was best for her. Vis could think for
herself. She didn’t need men for that. She was tired of hearing how she did
everything wrong, tired of being pushed into skirts she didn’t fit into. She
would show them.
“Balerion. I need to stand up.”, she said, patting stallion’s neck. Vis
concentrated hard, visualizing herself standing in the stirrups and shooting
the doe. She wasn’t certain if this was the way warging worked, but she could
feel the change in Balerion’s gallop. He was still running as fast as a wind,
but it was smoother, now.
She let go of reins, and took her bow, willing herself to dare. Vis notched her
best arrow, and stood up in the stirrups, tensing her legs and stomach muscles
as hard as she could. Behind her, she heard Robb yelling her name, but Vis
didn’t take her eyes off from the doe getting closer from the clearing’s end.
“Now, Balerion. A little closer.”, she said, pulling the string taut and taking
aim. He surged forwards, and Vis released the bowstring. It sang, and she saw
her bone arrow with grey owl feather flying through air. It hit the doe in
neck, sinking deep, and Vis saw it fall. She sat down, almost shaking with
excitement and pride, and Balerion slowed down.
“Robb!”, she shouted, smiling. “Did you see? I told you I was good with the
bow.”
Prince Joffrey and his companions rode past her, making it towards the doe who
had already fallen. Vis didn’t mind, they were welcome to cart the animal back
to Winterfell if they liked. She could be graceful. She had won, after all. To
make it even better, she saw the King and nuncle Ned coming from the other edge
of clearing.
“Did you see?”, she asked again from Robb. “I’ve never tried shooting while
riding before. But Balerion knew what to do, and it was great!”
She almost hugged herself with glee. It didn’t matter what the kneelers thought
of her, or if the queen thought Vis was an enemy. Even enemies respected each
other for skill, and after today, they all would have to admit Vis was good at
something. No, more than good. It had been excellent shot. Mance would have
been so proud. Skills and strength were the two things the free folk valued
above everything else.
She was still thrilled with her victory when nuncle Ned and the King came to
them, followed by queens’ brothers.
“Who felled the doe?”, the King asked.
Vis opened her mouth, but prince Joffrey got first.
“I did, father.”, he said loudly.
Vis turned around, and saw a golden arrow stabbed in the soft flesh of dead
doe’s stomach. Her bone arrow was still buried in doe’s neck. Vis stared at
Joffrey, feeling her cheeks burning, and she couldn’t believe it. The boy
prince was a thief. He had stolen her worth.
“Good! I didn’t think you had it in you, boy!”, King Robert clapped his hands.
Vis looked at the King, and nuncle Ned. They had to blind to miss her arrow.
The blood around the bone shaft was darker, and there was more of it, compared
to Joffrey’s badly done lie.
She opened her mouth, trying to think how to make them admit the truth, but the
queen’s dwarf brother, whose horse was next to Balerion, met her gaze and shook
his head quietly.
“Robert will never admit it, my lady.”, the dwarf murmured. “The victory of
prince Joffrey simply makes a story he would like better.”
“Ours is the fury!”, Prince Joffrey yelled the Baratheon words. “Hear me roar!”
Vis turned Balerion away, and left.
 
There was a celebration for the winner of the hunt. The white doe was skinned,
and King Robert painted a line of blood on Joffrey’s forehead to mark him as
the one who had killed the prey. Graciously, prince Joffrey donated the white
pelt to Sansa, who blushed prettily and thanked the prince with shy kiss on his
cheek. It was well received, since the two were engaged to be married, and
everyone was in good spirits. The house of Lannister had been soothed by
Joffrey’s victory, King Robert was proud of his son, and the Starks appreciated
the courtesy the prince showed towards his bride. Everyone was content, except
Robb.
He understood the reason, but he still remembered the frozen look on Vis’ face,
and the red spots burning on her pale cheeks when Joffrey had claimed the kill.
She was not at the celebration, and when he had a chance, Robb slipped away and
went to look for her.
Vis was not in her room, or at the stables, but he finally found her deep in
the godswood, sitting in front of the weirwood tree. It was already late, and
moon had risen high on the sky. Balerion was laying on the grass nearby, and
when Robb arrived, the coarser stood up and moved next to Vis.
“I’m sorry.”, Robb said, sitting down next to her.
“The gods made the earth for all men to share. When the kings came with their
crowns and steel swords, they stole it. They claimed it was theirs and theirs
alone.”, Vis said. She kept her eyes strictly on the weirwood tree, but Robb
saw water glistening on her lashes in the moonlight.
“Men can’t own land any more than they can own sea or sky. But still the kings
built a giant Wall to keep people out. They are nothing but thieves, these
kings of yours, yet you still bend a knee. Why?”
Robb looked down.
“I don’t know.”, he said.
“You kneelers are foolish people. You sew little animals on your clothes, and
pretend they are brave and noble creatures. They are beasts, you know. Wolves,
or lions, or stags are not noble, or cunning, or fierce. They are just animals.
Food, or death. And the stupid words you have claimed. A man can’t own words.
It’s even worse than pretending to own land.”, Vis said, wiping her eyes
angrily on her sleeve.
“I never thought it that way.”, Robb admitted.
“Of course you didn’t. You are little lordling. If you ever saw a direwolf, you
would piss in your pretty pants.”, Vis sniffed.
Robb blushed fiercely. Of course she had noticed. There was no way someone so
clever as Vis would fail to notice the ugly grey velvet pants his mother had
forced him to wear during the royal visit. Trying to save face, he replied:
“You know.. It might be a good thing. Then my lady mother would stop insisting
I wear them.”
Vis started to laugh, and Robb’s heart skipped a beat. She was beautiful when
she laughed. The frown vanished from her face, and made her look lively. Still
sharp, and bit of wild. Different than all other girls in the Winterfell. Robb
was certain that Alys Karstark, whom he would marry, would not be as beautiful
as Vis in the moonlight.
“I never though you would have it in you, Young Wolf. You are not bad for a
kneeler.”, she said, and Robb fell in love with her smile.
 
 
 
Chapter End Notes
     Vis took Joffrey's thievery so hard because wildings believe a man
     can only own what he can defend. I imagine the wildings would place a
     special value for the idea of ownership, as according to Ygritte and
     other wildings. Items are hard to get at first place when your only
     source for better-quality items is killing crows (whose clothes and
     weapons might not be that good at first place, depending whether they
     were originally criminals or nobles) or raiding in the south. Those
     items are passed around and stolen, just like people who can't defend
     themselves. In society like that, it would make sense to value things
     which can't be stolen. Like skills. Even enemies respect each other's
     skills, and Vis is feeling somewhat raw already for realizing her
     hard-won skills are not worth anything in southern eyes. Facing a
     situation where people literally refuse to see what she did is a
     major shock for her, and a turning point for her character.
***** Princess Bride *****
Chapter Summary
     Robb accidentally steals a wife.
Chapter Notes
     Old Nan's story and book texts are copied from the wiki. Obligatory
     fluffy music for the chapter is "Love Exists" by Amy Lee. https://
     youtu.be/86Slf6X_ohI
The only sound in the small chamber was the clicking of Old Nan’s needles. Her
hands moved steadily, knitting grey yarn into a sock. Jon snuggled closer to
Vis, and Hodor’s eyes were wide as plates. They all sat silently on Hodor’s
bed, listening Old Nan’s tale.
“Thousands and thousands of years ago, a winter fell that was cold and hard and
endless beyond all memory of man.There came a night that lasted a generation,
and kings shivered and died in their castles even as the swineherds in their
hovels. Women smothered their children rather than see them starve, and cried,
and felt their tears freeze on their cheeks.”, the Old Nan said.
Vis thought of little Ned, and baby Rickard, and felt sad. She had never
thought it possible one place could hold so much food as Winterfell’s pantry.
The babies looked different on this side of the Wall. They were plumper, and
cried less.
“In that darkness, the Others came for the first time … They were cold things,
dead things, that hated iron and fire and the touch of the sun, and every
creature with hot blood in its veins. They swept over holdfasts and cities and
kingdoms, felled heroes and armies by the score, riding pale dead horses, and
leading hosts of the slain. All the swords of men could not stay their advance,
and even maidens and suckling babes, found no pity in them. They hunted the
maids through the frozen forests, and fed their dead servants on the flesh of
human children.”
Jon’s mouth started to tremble, but Vis squeezed his hand, hard.
“We are safe on this side of the wall, Little Crow. Listen. It’s important.”,
she whispered. Old Nan was still continuing her story, and Vis missed a part
while soothing Jon. It was something about First Men and the Children.
“So as cold and death filled the earth, the last hero set out into the dead
lands with a sword, a horse, a dog, and a dozen companions. For years he
searched until he despaired of ever finding the children of the forest in their
secret cities. One by one his friends died, and his horse, and finally even his
dog, and his sword froze so hard the blade snapped when he tried to use it. And
the Others smelled the hot blood in him and came silent on his trail, stalking
him with packs of pale white spiders big as hounds--”
Nan’s story was interrupted on crucial moment when the door was pushed open,
and one of the stable boys entered.
“Vis, Lord Robb told me to bring you at once. They have brought back real
direwolves!”, the boy was beside himself.
The pup was smaller than the grey one Robb had claimed for himself, and
different from it’s siblings. It had a white fur, and red eyes. Unlike the rest
of the pups, it was eerily silent.
“There are four other pups, but I thought the white one would suit you.”, Robb
said, smiling as they knelt in the storage room, watching the pups play on the
floor.
“Are you certain? This one is a messenger from the Old Gods.”, Vis said, her
eyes wide with wonder. “Just look at it. It has the colors of weirwood tree.
Where did you find them?”
“There was a direwolf, killed by a stag. It had five puppies. Father would have
killed them for mercy, but I thought it would be a bad omen to kill the sigil
of our House. Five puppies, and five Stark children. Jon has all but filled the
emptiness Rickon left behind in mother’s heart.”
“It’s true, and I’m happy for it. Jon needs a mother, and he loves Catelyn.”,
Vis agreed.
“We were already leaving when I found this one apart from others, quiet as a
ghost. It’s yours, if you will have it.”, Robb said, lifting the white pup in
Vis’ hands.
She shook her head, and smiled, looking at Robb.
“What kind of warg would I be to decline such a gift? All other skinchangers
will die of envy when they see my wolf.”
“You are a skinchanger?”, Robb asked. He knew that among smallfolk, any
children suspected of being a warg would be left out to die, but it was not
something he wanted to say to Vis.
“Not really. I’m trying to learn, but it’s hard on my own.”, Vis admitted.
“There are several wargs in my camp. Orell has an eagle. I once met Grisella,
who had a goat. I think she died when Big Stygge ate her goat, and people say
she was still inside. She was very fearsome woman.”
“A goat warg?”, Robb was amused. “And you call her fearsome?”
Leaning closer to Robb, she lowered her voice, and whispered his ear:
“With wargs, you can’t really tell if the man is wearing the beast or the beast
is wearing the man.”
Her lips almost touched his ear, and then suddenly:
“Meh-eh-eh!”
The direwolf pups jumped, startled, and Vis started to laugh.
Robb shook his head, and his eyes sparkled with laughter.
“You and your stories, Vis.”
“They are all true.”, she grinned. “Most of them, at least.”
Rubbing the insulted-looking grey pup under his chin, Vis added:
“When I go back home, I will tell everyone about the day when noble lord Stark
and his army of direwolves covered in fear of the mighty goat warg.”
“The wolves did, aye, but I stood strong.”, Robb corrected. “It’s the ladies
who swoon.”
“Swoon? Oh, I know what you mean.”, Vis said. She put her pup down, and pressed
a hand on her forehead.
“Oh, lord Robb, I got a white goat hair on my pretty, pretty golden silk gown.
It smells like an animal, and my dainty nose might fall off! Save me from the
fearsome goat warg, I beg you!”, she exclaimed and promptly collapsed in his
arms.
Robb caught her, and he would have kissed Vis if Arya had not arrived to see
her new pup.
--
Nuncle Ned looked like he hadn’t slept a blink of an eye. The lines on his
forehead were etched deep, and he looked exhausted sitting in godswood near the
heart tree. It was no wonder with Bran. He had fallen from the First Keep seven
nights ago, and his direwolf pup had been howling under his window ever since.
The Queen didn’t like it, so Vis kept her Ghost and Jon’s Shaggydog locked in
their stone chamber during the day.
“How is Bran?”, Vis asked.
Nuncle Ned’s tired features softened a bit, even though he still looked
worried.
“Maester Luwin told us this morning that he believes Bran will survive. He is
still asleep. But it is not why I called you here. Septa Mordane says that you
refuse to attend the girls’ lessons.”
Vis sighed. Of course they would tell him.
“It’s no use, Ned.”, Vis said, looking her nuncle in the eye. “Your septa tries
to teach me to how to sew pretty birds on a fabric so someone could sneeze on
them. Would you put one of your knights to embroider snot rags all day long?
I’m not a southern lady. I never will be. I don’t need you to raise me like
Sansa or Arya. I’m already grown up.”
“You are hardly fifteen, if that.”, nuncle Ned disagreed.
“I don’t know my nameday, but I’ve been a woman flowered for three years. When
Jon was still in mother’s womb, I killed a man who tried to steal me. He
thought I would be easy to carry off, but I dug my fingers in his eye, and slit
his throat with his own knife. I’m a spearwife, and I’ve fought in battles
against other tribes since I was around Bran’s age. Your septa can’t make me
into a pretty lady who would marry some southern knight.”
Nuncle Ned sighed. He leaned against his hand, looking at her.
“What did Lyanna say about that?”, he asked unexpectedly.
“Mother was proud of me.”, Vis said. “When I was little girl, still had my milk
teeth, mother gave her fur cloak to Greta in exchange for teaching me how to
fight. When Mance asked why, mother said that no daughter of hers would ever
grow up helpless as she had been.”
Trying to find the right words, Vis continued a bit uncertainly:
“It’s… It’s like...”
Ned waited, still watching at her quietly.
“It’s like Sansa and Arya or even my mother – they can’t choose. They depend on
you for basically everything. Girls here are like pets.”, Vis’ upper lip
twisted into a scowl. “They have to be good and pretty, because they have
nothing on their own. If Sansa decides one day she doesn’t want to be Joffrey’s
woman, she doesn’t even know how to kill him. Because she wasn’t allowed to
learn. One doesn’t teach pets how to be dangerous. Pets need to be tame.”
Ned shook his head.
“You grew up in hard circumstances, and Lyanna did not have a choice on how to
raise you. She would have given you the same privileges Sansa and Arya have
lived with if she could have. You would have had safety, and comfort. Fighting
for one’s life is not a privilege, like you think. It is a burden. Taking
another man’s life is not something which should be done lightly, and I’m sorry
I wasn’t able to protect you from that choice like I would have wanted to.”
“I don’t want safety or comfort! I want you to believe me about Others!”, Vis
was growing upset. “I won’t sit here and sew while my people are dying on the
other side of the Wall. I didn’t come here to become a lady. I came here to
bring a message, and if you don’t want to believe it, I might as well go back
and help Mance.”
“To do what?”, nuncle Ned asked with interest.
Vis realized her blunder, and shut her mouth. Her nuncle would not react well
to idea of Mance gathering an army of free folk with sole purpose of coming
south.
“I won’t tell you.”, Vis said. “I don’t know you well enough to trust you.”
“I understand. I don’t know you well enough, either.”, nuncle pushed his hair
off his face, looking tired. “King Robert has offered me the position of King’s
Hand, and I have decided to accept. I have delayed our departure for Bran’s
sake, but the King will wait no longer. Arya and Sansa will accompany me to
King’s Landing. Robb will stay here, and Catelyn will not be separated from
Bran.”
Vis nodded. She was pleased to hear that Robb was staying. She had nothing in
common with Sansa, and even though Arya was more to her liking, the age
difference of six years was too much for them to become real friends in such a
short time.
“Tomorrow Benjen will lead a ranging party of thirty men to Wall and beyond.
King Robert decided to send twenty knights to look for Lyanna, and I offered
ten Stark soldiers to accompany them.”
“I will go with them. I know where to look.”, Vis said.
“No.”, Ned said calmly. “Lyanna sent you here to be safe, and I will see that
you stay safe. For the sake of your mother, Robert wanted to set up a marriage
for you with his bastard son, Edric Storm. Robert has recognized the boy, and
he lives with Robert’s brother Renly Baratheon at Storm’s End.”
“If you think I--”, Vis was shocked. “I will not--”
“However, you can never marry or have children. If you were a boy, I would send
you to Wall to take black. Girls raised in the faith of Seven might become
Silent Sisters, or septas. I would not demand you to give up our faith, but
there isn’t anything similar for Old Gods .”
“Why do you say that?”, Vis asked sharply. Nuncle Ned was starting to sound
like her mother, and Vis didn’t like it. They both were intent on sabotaging
her chances of anyone nice stealing her.
“I can’t be Robert’s Hand and allow you bear children to threaten the throne.”,
nuncle replied.
“I couldn’t care less about your fat friend or his throne.”, Vis snapped. “Why
you and Uncle Benjen both think I would want to fuck a fat man who fancied my
mother? I told nuncle Benjen that I’m not stupid, and I won’t accompany the
king to any dark corners or private places.”
“You don’t even begin to understand the problem.”, nuncle Ned shook his head
slowly. “The realm burned for your birth, once, and it could spark up again
just as easily if you are careless.”
Vis glared at him, and nuncle sighed.
“You will stay Winterfell, and catch up with education you have missed. In
this, I agree with you; Septa Mordane’s lessons won’t serve you well. Your
future is different, and septa is accompanying Arya and Sansa to south in any
case. I’ve given instructions to Maester Luwin. I hope his teachings will open
your eyes to danger you don’t wholly understand yet. When my sister is found,
we will speak about your future, and whether it will be the Silent Sisters.”
“I hate you.”, Vis hissed. Nuncle couldn’t decide something this big just like
that! Vis would not agree to become some old, shriveled Seven-worshipper who
never had sex or babies. Vis already knew she liked babies, and she expected to
like sex very much, too. It was merely a matter of finding someone good enough
to steal her.
“Be it as it may, but one day you will understand this was for your safety.”,
nuncle’s voice was unyielding. “I failed Lyanna, but I will not fail you. I’ve
told the guards that you are not allowed through the gates alone. If you run,
they will bring you back. You will keep dyeing your hair, and tell nobody of
your father. For the world, you are my sister’s bastard who lives under my roof
out of charity, fathered by unknown wilding. It is the only way. Swear it.”

Under the red gaze of the heart tree, Vis swore that she would not tell her
father’s name to anyone. She didn’t want to, but the look on nuncle’s face
frightened her. He looked like a man who was being torn into two, and Vis was
not certain who would win if nuncle’s feelings of kinship towards her were
pitted against his love for King Robert. She did not dare to risk it.
 
–
That fear had a hard time leaving her. It followed her like a dark shadow all
day, when she sat in the Winterfell library and Maester Luwin piled a book
after a book on the table in front of her. Vis had never thought there were be
so many books in the world, but Maester Luwin claimed that the hundred that
Winterfell’s library held were only a fraction, and there were many more in
some place called the Citadel.
Vis was a slow reader, and reading didn’t come easily to her. It was not the
words which were hard, but the concepts they were meant to describe. Vis had no
idea what was the difference between a keep or a castle, or what was the
significance of Master of Coin’s position. Why did a kneeler king need money,
if he could just take everything he needed? Money was pretty to look at, but it
didn’t have much value in the end. One couldn’t eat money, or wrap it around
when the night was cold. In Vis’ experience, a dead rabbit was more useful than
a coin, and much easier to barter. All these, and a dozen different things
Maester Luwin had to explain made the progress slow, and Vis cranky. She
thought she might die of old age before finishing the books of nuncle Ned’s
curriculum. Even the burning of Winterfell library had not relieved her from
the task, because her books had been in Maester Luwin’s room when the assassin
had set the library ablaze.
But all books said the same thing. Targaryens started wars. Targaryens were
rash, and made mistakes, and people died for them. Targaryens carried madness
in their blood, and they were cursed by the gods, because they married brother
to sister. The Princess and The Queen, or, The Blacks and The Greens - Being A
History of the Causes, Origins, Battles, and Betrayals of that Most Tragic
Bloodletting Known as the Dance of the Dragonby Archmaester Gyldayn, claimed
that the princess Rhaenyra had married her uncle, and given birth to stillborn
daughter she named Visenya. The babe had been misshapen, with claws and scales
and stunted little wings. It took Vis over two weeks to finish, and she was
still reading it when nuncle Ned left to south with King Robert.
The True Story of Robert’s Rebellionby Grand Maester Pycelle did nothing to
uplift Vis’ dark mood. She had taken reading in godswood after the library
burned. Theon snickered every time he walked by and saw Maester Luwin trying to
explain hard words to her. Vis didn’t like it. She had learned that Theon liked
to feel important, and it was clearly some kind of victory to him that Vis had
not been asked to participate in lady Catelyn’s secret meeting after Summer
killed the assassin. Vis didn’t care. In her opinion, it didn’t matter who had
hired the man to kill Bran. If white walkers came, everyone would die. Bran’s
accident and the plot to kill him distracted everyone from listening what Vis
had to say. Nobody had time for her, and they didn’t believe her, either. Her
people were dying behind the Wall, and white walkers were more important to her
than Bran’s fate. Kin or not, they had known less than a month, and exchanged
only few words.
This new book was much slimmer volume, but the writing wasn’t any better.
Pycelle slandered Crow Father for stealing her mother – mother had been stolen
thrice, yet both she and nuncle Ned still tried to ruin Vis’ chances of getting
a decent man in her bed! – and continued preaching the kneeler idea of passing
down blame in a family just like their stupid kingship.
“Even what happened to Princess Elia and her children. Babies or no, theirs was
the same cursed blood that flowed within the Mad King's veins. They were
dragonspawn and couldn't be allowed to survive. What would they grow to be?
Loyal subjects? Was it a crime to put an end to a family of lunatics born of
incest?No. It was war.” , Vis read slowly, her lips moving with words.
Vis thought of Jon, little Ned and baby Rickard. Her mouth tasted foul. Elia’s
children whose murder was painted as necessity, had been Vis’ siblings, too.
Feeling angry, she slammed the book shut. If a king Robert had been afraid that
a babe and three-year-old would beat him, how could people think he was worth
following? Any king worth his title would have let Aegon and Rhaenys live, grow
up, and prove everyone that he was so strong king that even the children of his
enemies respected him. They could have challenged him to fight for the
kingship, of course, but winning a fight was how one knew her king was the best
king possible. A man could only have what he could keep, and kingship was no
different. But south; south was different. In south, only names mattered, and
stupid words the nobles had stolen for themselves, and little animals they sew
on their clothes to mark who was part of their family and who wasn’t good
enough. The kneelers played make-believe behind their Wall, hiding from the
real world like little children. As long as their play continued, nobody would
ever believe Vis about White Walkers.
”I should go home.”, she told Ghost when she got up and started walking towards
the godswood gate. ”At home, I could help Mance to gather an army. I wouldn’t
feel stupid all the time. I could do somethingto help.”
The white direwolf pup watched her quietly.
”I know.”, Vis replied grumpily. ”Ser Rodrik Cassel is watching.”
After nuncle Ned left, the armsmaster had developed a habit of checking on Vis
several times a day. He never said anything, but didn’t try to hide, either.
Unlike Theon or Robb, the old man seemed to understand what a spearwife meant.
Maybe he had repelled free folk raids on his day. From the way he looked at
her, it was obvious that the knight thought Vis was dangerous. Since he was the
only person in Winterfell who seemed to think so, it was flattering, but it
also meant that leaving Winterfell would be not as easy as Vis would have
liked. Like any sensible person, she preferred her opponenets dumb.
Entering the yard, she noticed Robb standing with lady Catelyn and ser Rodrik.
Both lady Catelyn and armsmaster were dressed for travel, and Will from the
stables was holding two horses. Well, well, well. Vis raised her eyebrows, and
smiled. Careful not to be noticed, she slipped in the shadows near the kitchen
wall. Maybe this day wasn’t wasted at all.
 
--
Robb’s first day as the lone Stark of the Winterfell was almost over. He had
seen off his father, sisters and the royal party three weeks ago. His uncle
Benjen had left back to Wall with combined party of king’s men and Stark
soldiers.
His mother had spent two weeks sitting by Bran’s bedside. She hadn’t even said
farewells to Arya and Sansa, and Robb felt lost. Father had taken many
important servants with him to south, and Robb had expected Catelyn would make
the decisions concerning the household replacements. But it seemed unlikely
unless Bran woke up. Robb wasn’t sure if he ever would.
Things had gotten only worse, when they had caught an assassin from Bran’s
bedchamber, trying to kill the unconscious boy. Without their lady mother’s
courage and Summer tearing the man’s throat open, Bran would have died. There
seemed to be a conspiracy afloat. Robb was no good with plotting, but he hoped
his mother would return with answers. She had set to King’s Landing today by
ship, protected by Ser Rodrik Cassel.
He rubbed his temples, sighing. There was a light knock on the on his door, and
Robb stood up, trying to look like a lord when he went to open the door. On the
other side, little Jon Snow stood in his nightshirt, sniffling. The boy had
taken to lady Catelyn, and followed Robb’s mother around the keep like a
duckling before Bran’s accident. To be honest, Robb wasn’t certain whose task
it was to care for the boy now.
“Jon. You should be sleeping.”, he said, crouching down on the boy’s level.
“I can’t find Vis.”, Jon said, his mouth trembling. “I don’t want to sleep
alone.”
Robb had seen little of Vis after father left to south. Robb knew she was angry
about father’s edict of not being allowed outside the keep walls, and he had
not sought her company because Vis might ask him to rescind the order. He had
seen her sitting in the lower benches with Jon on breakfast, but seeing his
mother safely off had taken rest of his day. It would nice to talk with her,
and Jon gave him a perfect excuse even if the hour was later than was proper
for a visit in maiden’s chambers.
“I’ll find Vis for you.”, Robb promised, much cheered up, and hoisted Jon up to
sit on his shoulders.
But an hour later, Robb had to admit that Vis was nowhere to be found in
Winterfell. She was not in the godswood, or in the library. Balerion was still
in his stall, and it had tried to bite Robb when he asked if anyone had seen
Vis today. All horses were still in the stables, but room Vis shared with Jon
was empty.
Robb pulled open the wardrobe door to see if she had taken her weapons. The
grey dress and black skirt were inside, and a book from the library. Feeling
increasingly upset, Robb opened the book. True story of Robert’s Rebellion, the
front page said, and Robb grimaced. He had known that Maester Luwin was
instructing Vis, but he had expected numbers and whatever girls were taught,
not this. A piece of wool yarn stuck out between pages, set like a bookmark.
“The hounds are useless for few days. Someone put crowsfeet in their water.
They can’t smell a thing.”, kennelmaster Farlen said, entering the room with
Theon.
“Nobody has seen the wilding girl after midday. I bet she poisoned the hounds
before leaving. A fine way to repay our hospitality.”, Theon said sharply.
Jon sat on the bed, hugging Shaggydog. The boy looked like he was going to
start crying any minute.
“If I were you, I would check the money chest.”, Theon continued.
Grey Wind, who laid in the corner of the room, growled. Robb opened the marked
page. It had only three rows.
As for the Mad King's surviving heirs... those that were able to scurry away in
the face ofRobert’sfury now live somewhere across the Narrow Sea.They had best
stay there. If they ever set foot inWesterosagain, they will face the king's
justice.
”The outer wall is eighty feet high, and the inner wall is over a hundred. With
moat between them, she has to be here somewhere.”, Theon stated
”Vis can climb anything. She climbed the big wall with me, and it was much
higher.”, Jon disagreed. ”Maybe she’s been stolen.”
Robb nodded grimly.
”Gather the men for search party.”, he said, closing the book. ”After what
happened to Bran, I’m not taking any chances with safety of my family. We will
find Vis, and bring her back home.”
 
Robb knew that the chances of finding Vis from the wolfswood were slim. But the
night was clear, and bright, and she had no horse. On foot, she couldn’t have
gotten far, and Robb was much more familiar with the woods surrounding
Winterfell than she. If she had left on her own volition. He wasn’t sure. She
might have been stolen like Jon had said. It could be the same unknown person
who had dropped Bran from the First Keep and later hired a man to kill him, or
it could be someone who had figured out who Vis was. Any man loyal to King
Robert would become rich by killing her; any power-hungry man wanting a claim
for the Iron Throne would rape and marry her by force. Both options made Robb
feel ill with fear and worry.
He sent three men t o ride towards the White Harbor, in case the book had been
a clue and Vis was looking for a passage to east. Somehow, Robb doubted it. She
had never said him a word about her Targaryen blood, and he didn’t think Vis
would search out an aunt and uncle she had never seen. No, all she had spoken
about was her life behind the Wall, and White Walkers. Robb didn’t know whether
to believe her claims of fighting one, but he knew Vis believed in Others. Why
would she go back to certain death? It made no sense.
She must have been taken, then. It was the only logical explanation. Robb
remembered the tales of Lyanna’s kidnapping, and it felt like his heart would
burst with rage and fear.
”Grey Wind. Find her.”, Robb commanded.
Robb followed the Grey Wind deeper in the wolfswood. Theon had ridden this way;
his friend was always eager to show his courage and skills. Robb knew Theon
didn’t like Vis because she had not been impressed by his archery. Theon could
be touchy when he felt he wasn’t valued, and in truth, Vis was better marksman.
She had proved it with the doe. Nonetheless Theon was like a brother to him,
and he knew how much Robb--
Suddenly, Grey Wind started to bark. Robb pressed his heels against his horse’s
sides, urging it forwards The path led him in the same clearing where Vis had
shot the doe. Grey Wind was standing by a tree, and Theon was there, tied to
trunk. He was half-naked, without his fine kraken cloak. There was an arrow
sticking from his leg, another shot through his right hand. His face was red
behind scarf tied over his mouth. There was no sign of his horse.
“Theon!”, Robb called, dismounting. Running to Theon, he ripped the scarf off
his friend’s mouth, and cut him free.
“The bitch! I swear I will see her dead!”, Theon shouted. “She fucking shot me!
Twice!”
“Who?”, Robb demanded.
“The wilding bitch. Vis. She was hiding in a tree, and demanded my horse. I
laughed at her face, and then she shot me. The bitch! She caught the reins when
I was howling with pain, and threatened to cut my throat open if I didn’t give
her my horse. I couldn’t fight her, not with an arrow through my palm. She took
my cloak, and tied me to a tree, then rode off with my horse. That fucking
whore!”
She could not have gotten far, and there was only one path suited for a horse
in the clearing. Theon’s wounds were still fresh, and he had been separated
from main group only for few moments. Making his decision, Robb handed his horn
to Theon.
“Call help. I will catch her.”
Theon’s horse was expensive, bought with coin his father had sent from Pyke. It
would not tire soon. Grey Wind ran ahead, and Robb followed the direwolf, his
anger bubbling like a kettle forgotten over a fire. Vis had ran off, without a
word to anyone, and shot Theon. What in the seven hells she was thinking? He
had been worried to death that someone had kidnapped her, wondering if she was
still alive or whether she’d been raped. But no. Vis had left on her own,
sneaked out from Winterfell. She must have known they would search for her, and
coldly planned her ambush to steal a horse. Cursed woman! Sansa would never
have done anything like this, neither Alys Karstark! They were real ladies,
with sweet nature and smiles, but Vis was.. She was… A bloody Targaryen
princess, she was, wild and ferocious like a dragon. Cursing, Robb rode on.
He knew he was getting closer when he saw a flicker of white among the trees.
Ghost. He had ridden most of the night, following Grey Wind who ran forwards
without a doubt. The moon was already low, partially hidden by the tallest
trees, and there was only a little light left. Robb realized that his men had
no idea where he was now, and felt like a fool. But it was only Vis, and he was
too angry to turn back now.
Grey Wind was growling softly at Ghost, who stood on the path. It didn’t sound
angry, more like pleased. Maybe the direwolf thought this a game. Robb
certainly didn’t. He was too furious for that.
“Go away.”, Vis stepped out behind a juniper tree. She wore Theon’s fine cloak,
and her hair was different color. It looked white in the moonlight. She was
holding a bow and aiming at Robb.
“Go away?”, Robb exploded. “I’m taking you back to Winterfell with me, whether
you want or not! Father had forbidden you to leave, and you shot Theon!”
“I’m a free woman. I don’t kneel to your father, lord Stark.”, Vis spat. “I
will not join Silent Sisters like your father wants. I will not spend my days
in a castle where I’m expected to read books telling me how all Targaryens are
mad, and how it was a good thing that my siblings were killed.”
She pulled the bowstring taut, and her grey eyes were cold.
“I don’t want to kill you, but I swear I will if you don’t go back now, Stark.”
“You can’t leave. Where would you go?”, Robb demanded.
“Home! In true north, where I don’t feel like a freak! You might not care about
the Others killing the free folk, but I do!”, Vis yelled back. “I’m fucking
tired of your stupid south, and your stupid ideas about things, and your
fucking rules! I’m not your slave, lord Stark! Just because we might share some
blood, your father has no right to decide what I do with my life. Go home and
tell your lord father that I’m planning to fuck Varamyr Sixskins until my knees
give out, and have a different man in my tent every night. Ned can join Silent
Sisters and dye his hair copper, but I won’t pretend anymore.”
“We are only trying to protect you!”, Robb was truly angry now. “You are
reckless fool! You shot Theon!”
“And you have never shot a man in a battle?”, Vis asked. “I came only to bring
mother’s message. Now it’s done, and I’m going back to my family.”
“We are your family. You belong in Winterfell.”, Robb snapped.
“No.”, Vis shook her head. “I don’t, and I will never go back with you.”
“You are coming back to Winterfell with me, and that’s final. I will drag you
there against your will if I have to.”, Robb roared. He took his foot from the
stirrup, and dismounted the horse.
Vis bit her lip. Her expression was strange.
“I killed the last man who tried to steal me.”, she said, sounding suddenly
nervous. “This is your last warning. I won’t go easy on you.”
“I don’t care about your warnings.”, Robb snarled, pulling out his sword, and
Vis shot him.
He yelped when an arrow scratched his cheek, barely missing his face. But even
though it hurt and bled, it was not a serious wound. He swung his sword at her,
and Vis raised her bow to parry. The wood cracked, and the bow broke.
“Others take you.”, she cursed.
Dropping the broken bow, she drew a sword instead, and moved to attack. Robb
met her first strike, and their weapons clashed together.
They fought, and the direwolves sat quietly on the ground, watching. Robb had
tried to go easy on her, but then Vis had kicked him in the groin, and Robb had
given up all pretense of sparring.
Vis was tall, and she was strong for a girl, but she had not been taught to
fight a knight like Robb. She wore no armor, and her sword was shorter. It was
made of bronze, and Robb smiled. He moved closer, and stopped parrying,
trusting his armor to block Vis’ next attack. He stood on his ground, held his
sword in both hands, and swung in wide arc to strike against her blade.
When his steel met the bronze sword, Robb heard a loud crack. Vis’ blade broke,
and her eyes widened.
“You accursed son of wolf.”, she cursed.
Robb pointed his sword at her throat.
“You are a bloody dragon, yourself.”, he said. “Put your hands in front of you.
I’m taking you back to Winterfell.”
 
Sun was rising, and first light of the morning shone through the canvas of red
leaves in the old godswood. Robb held reins in one hand, and his left arm was
wrapped securely around Visenya in front of him. The worn leather of her coat
felt warm under his hand, and her body swayed slowly with the horse’s
movements. For a woman who had tried to kill him two hours ago, and whose hands
were still tied together with rope, she was oddly comfortable. Vis’ eyes were
lightly closed, and she rested her head against his shoulder. There was a smile
on her lips, even though a cut on her lower lip had caused it to swell. Rob
felt a stab of bad conscience. His lord father would never had treated a lady
like this. No, not a lady. Vis had been born a princess, yet Rob had beaten her
just like he might have fought Theon in a training ring. He cringed.
“I’m sorry.”, he said, feeling terrible.
Vis opened her grey eyes, and smiled.
“Why?”, she asked.
“For hurting you.”
“It was a good fight. When Dalla and Ygritte ask what kind of man stole me, I
can tell them you are strong. Quick. Fierce. Worth respect, and my love.”, Vis’
smile deepened, making her eyes shine. “I never thought you would steal me. But
I’m so glad you did. I’m so glad it was you.”
Robb’s eyes widened. He didn’t understand what she meant, but Vis straightened
her back, and turned fully towards him. Intuitively, Robb tightened his hold on
her, so she wouldn’t fall. Taking it as encouragement, Vis leaned forwards, and
pressed her lips on his. Certain that he was dreaming, that this couldn’t be
happening, the word love ringing in his ears like the sweetest song he had ever
heard, Robb kissed her back. Her mouth was warm, and her lips were soft against
his. He dropped the reins from his hand, pushing his fingers in her white hair,
and kissed her again.
“I don’t understand.”, he said breathlessly between kisses, his heart beating
faster.
“I’m yours, and you are mine. That’s all there is.”, Vis lifted up her hands,
and bit hard on the knotted rope around her wrists.
Pulling the rope looser, she maneuvered her left hand out from the binding.
Robb was almost certain she would pull the sword from his belt and kill him
with it, but her hand sneaked on different place instead. His face burned when
he felt her hand touch the groin of his trousers, and he caught her wrist in
his hand.
“We shouldn’t.”, he forced the words out. He was a better man than this. He
loved her; he couldn’t dishonor her like this.
Vis frowned, looking genuinely puzzled. Her cheeks were rosy, and her eyes were
still strangely soft. Sweet.
“But I’m your wife now. You stole me.”, she said. “You stole me, I fought you,
and you won. It means we’re married. If I didn’t want you, I would have killed
you.”
“Married?”, Rob asked, almost choking on the word.
He saw the light vanishing from her eyes, and her mouth started to tremble. The
movement was small, almost too faint to notice, but for a moment Visenya looked
much like little Jon Snow weeping on his doorstep on the night previous.
“I thought you knew.”, she said in small voice. “I thought you wanted me, and
you came after me alone because you wanted to bed me.”
“I do.”, Robb said quickly. “I do, Vis, I really do.”
But her smile was gone, and he needed to her to believe him.
“I love you. I’ve loved you since you told me all kings are thieves, and you
laughed at me. I didn’t know I should steal you, and I certainly did not plan
to beat you, but--”
“Stop talking.”, Vis advised. She dropped her coat from her shoulders, and it
slid down the horse’s neck . The horse stopped abruptly, annoyed by movement.
Robb watched her pull her tunic off, too, and then throw it on the ground.
The forest around them was quiet, and the morning sun cast light on her bare
skin. Vis looked at him, and took his hand in hers. She pressed his hand on her
breast, and her pale skin blushed.
“I am yours, and you are mine.”, she whispered, but it sounded more like a
question.
Robb knew he shouldn’t, but his heart ruled over his head. He dismounted from
the saddle, and lifted Vis down. There was a soft grass growing near the
smirking heart tree. Robb spread Theon’s kraken cloak on the ground, and laid
her down on it.
“Mine.”, he whispered when he kissed her bare skin. It was a promise. He would
make this right as soon as they reached Winterfell. His mind felt so light. His
thoughts flew far to future, to summers and winters to come, to life he would
have with his dragon princess and sons she would bear for him, and his dreams
were all painted bright.

Robb Stark was a young fool in love.
***** Lady Stark *****
Chapter Summary
     Vis tries to adjust to her new position as lady of the Winterfell,
     and finds an understanding with Bran.
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
“Visenya!”, the little boy came running. “Come find my frog. It ran off.”
“I’ve told you not to fish frogs from the moat. What if you fall in and
drown?”, the lady of Winterfell scolded.
The boy gave her a cheeky grin.
“You would save Jon.”
Vis’ frown melted, and she scooped the boy in her arms.
“Of course I would, Little Crow. Let’s go find you a new frog from hot pools. I
know they aren’t as big, but it’s a much better place to fish from than the
moat.”
Jon always fell sooner or later when he tried to catch frogs. So Vis took their
clothes off, and decided to have a soak herself, too. She didn’t want to be wet
all day because she had to jump in the pool to keep Jon from drowning. And the
hot water felt very nice. She was slightly sore down there, but it was getting
better.
“Why didn’t you come to sleep last night?”, Jon inquired as he paddled around
the pool. He hadn’t quite mastered swimming yet; there was more enthusiasm than
skill.
“I was making babies with Robb.”, Vis replied, her eyes half-closed.
“Why?”
“It’s great fun.”
Jon sulked.
“Can’t he make babies with someone else?”, he asked angrily. “I don’t want to
sleep with Old Nan and Hodor.”
“No, he can’t. He stole me, remember? If Robb tried to make babies with another
woman, I’d cut his balls off. He’s smarter than that.”, Vis said fondly.
“Robb should have stolen somebody else. Like Old Nan. She snores.”
Vis chuckled.
“Old Nan is too old to have babies, Jon. You know it.”
“I will steal you back when I grow up.”, he said, still sulking.
“You can’t.”, Vis said patiently. “It’s wrong to steal another man’s wife, and
you are my brother. Old gods don’t like it when brothers and sisters make
babies. It offends the gods, and the women are cursed with sickly and weak
children. I don’t want a cursed babe. When you will grow up, you will find
someone you like very much, and steal her like Robb stole me.”
“He did it wrong. I remember. He woke me up in the middle of the night, and I
had to say words with you in front of the heart tree. Theon was there, too, and
Hodor and Old Nan.”
“That’s how kneelers marry.”, Vis explained. “He wanted to do it their way,
too. It was some kind of honor thing. Since he stole me properly first, I
didn’t mind.”
“I don’t want to sleep alone.”, Jon tried one last time.
“Then you have to grow up fierce and strong, so you can steal yourself a woman
to sleep with.”, Vis told him. “Start practicing with catching frogs. There is
one on the big black rock on the edge of the pool.”
 
Winterfell was much nicer place now. Theon still gave her an evil eye whenever
Robb wasn’t looking. He was evidently holding a grudge for getting shot, unlike
Robb. Robb had given her a new sword as a wedding present, and named it Crimson
Scar after the ridiculously small cut on his cheek. The kneeler habit of naming
their items was silly, but Vis liked the gift very much.
Yesterday she had finally managed to sweet-talk Robb into giving her a
swordfight lesson in godswood. It was why she was sore. The lesson had started
out well, and Vis had gotten some useful pointers, but then he won and their
sparring had turned into fucking. Which was great fun, and something they were
supposed to do, too, but Vis would have liked to finish the lesson. Even though
Vis wasn’t sorry for getting stolen, she wasn’t happy that he had beaten her so
easily. Free folk had great fighters, but Robb’s claims that an organized force
of knights would win against raiders every time were starting to sound
uncomfortably true in Vis’ ears. She didn’t like admitting it, but Robb was
better with a sword than she. Even Theon was better. It rankled her pride, but
it was true. And she was starting to understand why.
When Mance fought against other tribes, things went well when they put a
champion to duel against a champion, but during bigger battles it was damned
hard to make people do what he wanted. There was always some young hero who
wanted to fight a giant, or the people who were supposed to stand on their
ground behind shields got frightened and decided to retreat early. It wasn’t
the same when Robb drilled Winterfell guards. They did what they were told. It
might be that they would turn craven in a battle, but Robb’s soldiers didn’t
strike Vis as a cowards.
There was no more talk about Silent Sisters, and nuncle Ned’s orders about
books and gates had been canceled. Vis could take Balerion out for a ride
whenever she felt like it. Maester Luwin said that it would have been unseemly
to lock the lady of Winterfell inside her own castle. He had stopped lecturing
about Targaryens, and taught Vis how to calculate how much food they would need
for next winter. She liked it much better, since preparing for winter was
actually useful skill. Like Arya, Vis was good with numbers.
Bran had woken up two days after she had married Robb in the godswood. The boy
was not in good spirits, and Vis understood it well. She tried her best to
cheer him up, but there was little she could do to convince Bran that life was
worth living. Most things Vis enjoyed greatly required working legs. Bran would
never fight, ride a horse or fuck anyone. But Robb was happy because Bran had
woken up, and Vis was happy for him.
“A message for you, my lady.”, Maester Luwin stopped her in the yard, pulling a
small, folded parchment from one of his many pockets. “It arrived from Castle
Black today. I thought it as a reply for lord Robb’s announcement of your
marriage, but I fear the contents are not easily understood.”
Vis took the parchment from Maester Luwin, and unfolded it.
The book new lady of Winterfell hates the most, seven times the seven, the
headline said, and then there were just rows and rows of tiny numbers written
on the parchment.
“Interesting.”, Vis said, and put the message in her pocket. “Thank you,
maester Luwin.”
Nobody else from Castle Black but Crow Father might write to her. Rhaegar had
taken an issue with the crow trying to rape her, and Vis thought it possible
that sudden news of Robb marrying her might worry her father. She wasn’t
exactly the type, not like Sansa, and nuncle Benjen might have said something
about Ned’s idea of Silent Sisters.
Well, no use to speculate before she knew what the letter said. Surely at least
one copy of Seven-Pointed Star had survived the library fire. Lady Catelyn
might have one in her room, or Septon Chayle.
After several failed attempts and four ruined parchments littering the small
desk in Robb’s chamber, Vis had figured out that numbers meant pages, and
writing down the seventh word on seventh row resulted in sensible sentences.
She snorted, and turned the page thirty-four which explained the virtue of
patience. Rhaegar had a peculiar sense of humor, making her spend hours reading
that stupid book.
The daylight was almost gone when Vis finally could start reading the decoded
letter. Even though it wasn’t signed, the content made obvious that the writer
was indeed her Crow Father. His handwriting looked very pretty.
We received a word from Winterfell about your marriage, and I worry. Before he
left, Benjen told me about Ned Stark’s new rules for you, and I doubted you
would accept them. A dragon doesn’t take well to being imprisoned. I hope this
was your solution to break out, not another prison.
I expect your husband knows. A heir of a major house does not marry a bastard
cousin he had known for less than two months just because he had taken her
maidenhood, and I worry about implications. The North is vast, but the
population is low. Even if he called the banners, he couldn’t amass more than
18 000 men. Combined forces of Baratheon and Lannisters would destroy your host
as soon as you moved south from Neck. Don’t do it. I’m not certain if you can
stop people from using your name to their own goals, but if you have any say,
don’t do it.
If this marriage was born from genuine fondness, not ambition, I congratulate
you. I have nothing to offer you, and I would see you live in comfort.
Winterfell is a good place to live quietly, and you can make a home there. As
your father, I suggest you give in a little. Your husband loves you for what
you are, now, and he didn’t marry you to run his keep and keep order among his
servants, but when years pass and the attraction wanes, your wilding ways might
start to chafe when Winterfell doesn’t run as smoothly as he remembers from his
mother’s time. Keep your sword, and be a warrior. One can’t expect a dragon to
be tame, and the North has Mormont women as precedence. But even if you fight
by Robb’s side, make sure that servants do their tasks, and the steward doesn’t
steal. Having children early on will help, too. Give them Stark names, not
ours.
I know my reasoning might appear odd. My brother and sister are still living as
refugees in east, trying to find a way to take back the Iron Throne. But it is
not a path I would advise them to take, and I don’t recommend it to you,
either. It’s not that I fear you would fail. I fear you might set your mind on
a task, and do anything to achieve your goal. I did so, and it cost our family
everything.
When I was thirteen, I read a prophecy. I became obsessed with it. Prince That
Was Promised. The Three Heads of the Dragon. The Song of Ice and Fire. It
enthralled and frightened me at the same time. I still don’t know if it was
just my variation of Targaryen madness, or something more, but the words
haunted me. I couldn’t forget them. I thought I had found my purpose. From that
day, I did everything to become what I thought the world needed. I loved books,
but I believed that the Long Night was coming, and I knew I would have to
become a warrior instead. So I did so.
By the time I was seventeen, my mother had miscarried three times and given me
four siblings, but none of them lived even a year. Viserys was small, but
robust. Much to our surprise and my father’s joy, he survived. But he was a
boy, and I understood that I could not be the Prince That Was Promised. Aegon
had sisters, not a brother. It was a hard truth to swallow. But the prophecy
had sank it’s claws deep in my soul, and I still believed it was my duty to
save everyone. I would do it in different way. I would be the father of the
hero instead.
It’s the problem with our family. King Jaeharys II was first to put it in
words.Madness and greatness are two sides of the same coin. Every time a new
Targaryen is born, the gods toss the coin in the air and the world holds its
breath to see how it will land.I’ve come to believe that madness and greatness
are not necessarily so separate, but mixed. People do things which look mad at
the moment of action, and their success is what paints them as great instead of
madmen. How can a man tell if he’s mad? Even the worst of us, like my father,
believed themselves logical. Madness is present in each of us, just like the
seeds of greatness, and it often hides behind actions which seem necessary.
I married Elia, and Rhaenys was born later in the same year. Elia was bedridden
for over six months. She was newly pregnant with Aegon during the tournament of
Harrenhall, and already having a difficult time. Our relationship was complex,
and her illness strained it further.
It was then I met your mother. It wasn’t love at the first sight, like the
bards say. She had dressed herself as a mystery knight, and she participated in
a tournament in secret to fight for a friend’s honor. My father sent me to find
out the identity of the Knight of Laughing Tree, thinking he might be a threat
to realm. I found a fourteen-year-old girl instead. It started out from
respect. But Elia was sick, and we exchanged harsh words. I played for the
people, like I sometimes did, and your mother was moved to tears. I started to
wonder, then. Lyanna was ice to my fire. Lyanna fit the prophecy, and if Elia
didn’t survive – it might be that I would need her. So I crowned her the Queen
of Love and Beauty.
Aegon’s birth was hard. Elia almost died. I was told that another pregnancy
would kill her, but I needed a third child to fulfill the prophecy. I had a
Rhaenys, and an Aegon, but I needed a Visenya. When the year turned, I left
Elia and the children to Dragonstone, and took the road. I searched for Lyanna,
and took her. I told her that I needed her. I would have done anything to win
her, to have her help me to fulfill the prophecy and save the world from
destruction. It was my duty to do so. I played the perfect prince for her, and
she fell in love with our shared purpose.
“And your songs and sad purple eyes and beautiful face helped, too.”, Vis
remarked sadly. The story of Harrenhall had been one of the first Maester Luwin
had made her read. Ghost, who sat at her feet, looked mournful, and Vis paused
to scratch the direwolf’s ear before continuing.
She was fourteen, and I was fervent in my belief. And we made you. I ordered
High Septon Maynard to marry us, taking your mother as my second wife according
to Valyrian custom, so you would be born equal to your siblings. Then I rode to
war. The rest of the story you know. The prophecy I had followed for all my
life, betrayed me. The realm burned, and the great war I had been preparing for
years was suddenly at my doorstep, but it was not what I had expected. I failed
at Trident. My children with Elia were murdered, and Gregory Clegane broke the
hope of humankind against the nursery wall. You were lost with Lyanna. I failed
my family and my purpose. The war sparked by my madness killed more people than
my father’s burnings ever did.
It was only when my children died, I finally understood I had been as mad as my
father. Just in a different, quieter way, enabling me to think myself a sane
man. His madness had been fire, and mine had been few rows of writing in an old
scroll. I couldn’t go back to King’s Landing and play the game of thrones after
that. Night’s Watch was my only chance to make amends. A new, safer purpose.
The oath protects me and everyone else around me from what I could have become,
otherwise. No crown. No glory. No children.
I won’t break my oath and push you towards the Iron Throne. I don’t dare to
even think about it, because I know myself. The same man who made the realms
burn for the prophecy still lives in this body, held back by the black cloak of
a sworn brother, and I will not let him free. But I’m grateful you found me. A
Targaryen alone in the world is a terrible thing. I have Aemon, but you had
nobody. Our blood separates us from others, in good and bad, and if gods have
been unkind, you might have inherited old gifts lost to most men. If and when
that happens, I would be there for you, as much as my oaths permit.
Tell me if you are all right.
 
Ghost, who had rested curled at her feet, lifted it’s head up and looked
towards the door. Vis quickly gathered her papers, and hurried to fireplace.
“My lady?”, Beth Cassel pushed open the door. She was a girl around Arya’s age,
who had spent much time with Sansa and Jeyne Poole before they left south.
“What is it, Beth?”, Vis knelt in front of the fireplace and quickly fed the
first pages of Crow Father’s decoded letter into fire. She couldn’t let anyone
see it. As treasonous letters went, this would get her killed.
“My father begs you to come to Great Hall at once. Tyrion Lannister has arrived
from the Wall, and lord Robb put a bared sword on his knees when the Imp was
escorted in the Hall.”, the girl said breathlessly.
“Oh, by giant’s balls!”, Vis cursed, and thrust all her papers in the heart of
flame with her right hand. She twisted her body on left to see; had she left
her sword on the bed or on the chair?
“My lady!”, Beth cried out. “Watch out?”
“What?”, Vis asked, frowning.
“You hand! You put it right in the fire!”, Beth squealed.
“I didn’t.”, Vis said, glancing at her hand while tying the sword belt around
her waist. “It’s perfectly fine.”
“But my lady--”, Beth tried.
“No time, Beth.”, Vis told the girl. She checked to make sure that the blade
was properly in leather sheath, and strode past Beth, Ghost following on her
heels.
The direwolves’ anger hit her like a strong burst of icy wind when Vis opened
the Grand Hall door. The wolves had surrounded Tyrion, and Robb had stood up,
his lordly mask breaking with alarm. Jon was scared, hiding behind Palla’s
skirt, but the look on Bran’s face was something Vis didn’t like. The crippled
boy’s mouth was slightly open, and his eyes were half-closed.
“ Stop !”, she snapped harshly, and pushed .
For a second, Vis’ head felt like it was going to burst. There was Ghost, and
Balerion, and suddenly too many howling mouths. Shaggydog’s anger and Jon’s
fear mixed with Bran’s excitement and hunger, and Robb was just alarmed yet
there was a warmth of love and pride reflected in Grey Wind’s eyes when the
wolf drew away from Tyrion Lannister and moved between the dwarf and Vis.
Shaggydog looked as ashamed as Jon, dropping on it’s stomach on the floor,
while Summer quickly turned it’s attention towards the bread basket Palla held,
pretending it had never been interested in anything else . The cacophony of
noises rang in her ears, making her blind and deaf to world, and it was only
when Tyrion Lannister’s worried eyes looked upwards when Vis came back.
“Lady Stark? Are you all right?”, he asked.
“It’s nothing.”, Vis said. “I’m sorry for the wolves’ behaviour. They are not
fully trained yet.”
The dwarf’s mouth twisted in a bitter smile, and he replied:
“Yes, it does seem so. Thank you for saving me from being mauled, lady Stark. I
shall find myself a place to sleep from the Winter Town, instead.”
Vis simply nodded, stepping aside to let Tyrion go. When the door closed after
the dwarf, the tense feeling in the hall started to dissolve. Robb began to
speak with two crows, while Maester Luwin studied a roll of parchment Bran had
held previously. Servants started to move around the Hall, carrying dishes for
a dinner.
Still reeling from her attempt to put her warging kin in order, Vis moved to
take her place next to Robb. When she walked past Hodor, she turned to glare at
Bran, who was suddenly busy studying his nails. Unlike Jon and Robb, that boy
knew perfectly well what he had been doing.
Vis waited until Bran finished eating and left with Hodor and Summer. Then she
made her excuses, and left the visiting crows talk with Robb, heading to Bran’s
bedchamber.
“You can go, Hodor. I will put Bran to bed.”, Vis said. It still felt very odd.
All these people doing what she said just because she had agreed to a silly
play in front of a heart tree. Kneelers were strange lot, thinking that Jon, a
boy of three, could have given her to anyone. But Robb had insisted on marrying
her his way, saying that he would not let people call her a whore. Vis didn’t
care much what they called her, but if Robb wanted them curtsying and calling
her lady Stark, she would let them. Robb had pursued her though the night like
a true hunter to steal her, while all others cared nothing about the ways of
her people. Vis would have loved him for that alone, even if Robb had been
small and ugly like Varamyr. But he wasn’t. He was her fire-kissed man with his
auburn hair and bright blue eyes. For Robb’s sake, Vis would tackle the problem
of baby warg in his household. The said baby warg was staring at her sullenly.
“What are you doing here?”, little lording demanded. “Go away.”
“Make me.”, Vis told him, pulling a chair next to Bran’s bed. “I know you were
hiding inside Summer’s skin. I know you were planning to bite lord Tyrion.”
“He’s a Lannister.”, Bran exploded. “Theon said that mother believes Lannisters
hired the assassin to kill me. When I slept, and library burned. That was why
she left to south.”
It was new information for Vis. She had never been in Lady Catelyn’s
confidence, not like Theon and Robb.
“It doesn’t matter.”, she decided. “You almost broke one of the rules.”
“What rule?”
“Among my people, skinchangers have rules. We don’t eat human meat. We don’t
mate as wolf with wolf, or seize another man’s body, ever. It’s the worst
abomination.”, Vis shuddered.
A light lit up in Bran’s eyes.
“No.”, she said, almost a growl. “You will not seek to replace your legs with
another’s. If I ever catch you warging into another person, I will kill you.”
“Robb would slay you.”, Bran said, less cocky now.
“Robb is too honorable to allow you to live as an abomination.”, Vis replied.
“He would kill you himself, and weep for your death. I don’t know you, but I
love him, so I would save him the pain. You will have to learn the rules. You
will have to learn control. You can fly with the birds, or hunt with Summer,
but remember you are a man. Spend too much time in a wolf, and you will become
a wolf in a body of a man.”
The boy wasn’t stupid, once one got past his little lordling mask.
“How do you know these things?”, Bran asked.
“We have skinchangers among free folk. One of them, Varamyr Sixskins, wanted to
steal me because he smelled the sleeping warg in my blood. He taught me some
things, trying to gain my favor, before my mother drove him away. When I came
to south, I began to teach myself.”
“So you don’t know much more than I do.”, Bran pointed out.
“Maybe not, but more than anyone else in Winterfell. Two people holding hands
in a dark cave usually survive longer than two people trying to navigate pitch-
black realm of Gendel and Gorne’s children separately. Who else would even
understand what you are trying to do?”, Vis asked.
Bran pursed his lips, considering.
“Did you hear Yoren saying that nuncle Benjen and the King’s men haven’t
returned?”, he asked.
“Yes.”, Vis replied. It sat like a heavy stone inside her chest. She was not
surprised, knowing what waited behind the Wall, but thinking of her mother and
their clan still waiting for help clawed her.
“Do you know why?”
“I expect the Cold Gods got them.”, Vis replied. “As far as I know, the Others
might have killed everyone by now, and still nobody believes me. Not the crows.
Not your lord father. Not even Robb.”
Bran regarded her quietly.
“I’m sorry.”, he offered. “Maester Luwin doesn’t believe me about the three-
eyed crow, either. I dreamed I was falling, and the crow said that answer is
flying, not crying. I saw my mother on a ship, and father pleading with the
king. Sansa was crying, and Arya had a secret. I saw you, with Robb. You were
naked under a smirking heart tree. And then I looked to north, behind the
Wall.”
His face looked pale, and his voice was almost a whisper. Bran took Vis’ hand,
and whispered:
“I think I saw them coming, Vis. The White Walkers.”
“There are many things in true north your people have forgotten.”, Vis said
sadly, reaching to stroke the boy’s auburn hair. “Giants, the children,
mammoths. I once heard a tale of the last greenseer living in the Haunted
Forest. It’s said that one babe in a thousand is born a warg, and only one warg
in a thousand could be a greenseer. It might be that you are one. We shall
see.”
 
 
 
 
Chapter End Notes
     I'm still trying to decide if I send Vis to war with Robb, or should
     she stay at Winterfell. The main plot will stay the same, but it will
     change minor characters and the tone a bit. Winterfell would mean
     lore & hints about Others, war would bring more politics and action.
     I've plotted both options, but since there are elements I like in
     both, making up my mind is difficult.
***** A blue rose with thorns *****
Chapter Summary
     Lyanna returns to south, and Rhaegar learns his rose has grown thorns
     during their long separation.
Rhaegar stood at the top of the Wall, and warmed his fingers over a pan of hot
coals. The northern cold was something he had never gotten used to. Even though
he had lived through three winters, none of them had been in the north, and he
did not look forward to next one. He had sworn his oath to Night’s Watch in
spring, and the summer had been longest in living history. It had been nine
years, and still they had not seen a white raven from the Citadel. If this was
a summer at Wall, Rhagar mused grumpily, he wasn’t eager to face the winter.
The Wall was covered in snow, and an icy wind blew across the narrow walkway.
Cold always made his chest ache, a lasting present from Robert Baratheon’s
warhammer.
Blowing to his fingers, he pulled out the latest message from Winterfell. It
had arrived two nights ago, and even though Rhaegar had hastily decoded it, he
hadn’t had time to enjoy it properly. It was always a treat to read Visenya’s
letters. They were littered with spelling mistakes and particular turns of
phrase, but he could imagine his spitfire of daughter speaking when he read the
words. Her letters were lively, and Rhaegar looked forward to them. It was a
true blessing from the Seven to bring back one of his lost children. Even if he
had failed in everything else, it comforted him to think that Visenya lived in
Winterfell, and was well treated by her husband. It was all Rhaegar could ask
for.
You are going to be a grandfather, Crow Father. Maester Luwin confirmed I’m
going to have a baby. I already knew it, of course, but I let him poke me
because kneelers foolishly think celibate men know more about women having
babies than women themselves. Maester makes worried faces and mutters how it
would have been less dangerous a few years later, but Robb is happy. He wants
to name the baby Eddard to plead his father forgive him for marrying me . I
don’t like nuncle Ned, and it’s bad luck to name children before they are two
years old, so I’m going to call him Little Wolf.
I’m feeling fine. I have told everyone that there is no need fuss because women
have babies all the time and I’m having it easy. Robb is not Craster; he is not
going to offer his son to Cold Gods. I don’t have to hunt for my food or ski
across the plains because stone houses don’t need to be moved every few months,
but Robb is still acting like I’m going to break like ice over a fire pit and
it’s getting annoying . I think it’s because he’s nervous about Nuncle Ned, so
I’m trying to be patient. There is something fishy going on in the south with
the fat king. Bran says he heard Theon and Robb whispering about Nuncle Ned and
Lannisters, so I asked Robb. He didn’t want to tell me first, but I made him,
and then he confessed that his mother wrote to him, telling him to prepare for
war. I don’t know why, but I don’t like it. South is the wrong way, and I’ve
told him a dozen times that there are monsters behind the Wall, but lady
Catelyn has imprisoned the Imp and I don’t know what she thinks she’s doing--
“Ahoy!”, a man shouted in the dark. “Ahoy! In King Robert’s name, let us
through!”
Rhaegar dropped the letter from his numb fingers, and saw it catch fire before
he leaned against the icy edge of the Wall and shouted:
“Who goes there?”
“Ser Beric Dondarrion, Thoros of Myr and lady Lyanna Stark. Please, open the
gates before they come for us!”, the voice answered hurriedly.
He didn’t quite know how to call it, whether it was dread or unease, but it
wasn’t relief he felt when Rhaegar quickly blew the horn once, signaling his
brothers before he strode to elevator and started to pull the winch to bring
him down.Lyanna. He had known she was out there, Visenya had told him, but
seeing her after all these years was something he had hoped to avoid. He didn’t
know what to say to her, how to make it right, and for first time in his life,
Rhaegar Targaryen was at loss for words.
Sleepy Samwell, Pyk, Donal Noye and Alliser Thorne met him at the tunnel
entrance.
“The search party King Robert sent has returned.”, Rhaegar said. “They said
there were three, but one can’t be sure. It might be a trap. ”
“We’ll see.”, Ser Alliser said grimly. He had always treated Rhaegar with
politeness which made him wonder if the man knew, but it didn’t matter anyway.
Targaryens were gone, and the babe growing inside his daughter would be born a
wolf, not a dragon. If gods were kind, the baby would inherit Starks’ dark hair
and eyes, and nobody would ever know.
The black brothers walked through the tunnel, and Rhaegar peered through the
wicket before signaling Ser Alliser to open the gate, but he couldn’t see
anything in the dark. When the gate opened, his breath caught in his throat.
The cold felt much worse down here, like some unknown force tried to steal the
life from his lungs.
“We need to go.”, a woman said. She was covered in furs, and her face was gaunt
and drawn with years and worry, but she was Lyanna. Rhaegar would have known
her anywhere, and she held a dead brother by boots, pulling his corpse after
her. The two men with her had corpses too, and they looked bewildered.
“Where is Benjen?”, Donal Noye asked.
“We lost him.”, Ser Berric replied. “We lost almost everyone.”
Then Lyanna saw Rhaegar standing behind Noye. Her grey eyes met Rhaegar’s
indigo ones, and he saw something fragile bursting out and dying in next breath
when she recognized him.
“Where are my children?”, she demanded, looking at Rhaegar. There was anger in
her voice, and immeasurable, raw hurt he didn’t know how to heal.
He wet his lips, and said with difficulty:
“Your son and daughter scaled the Wall six months ago, and they were sent to
Winterfell. Visenya is lady Stark now, married to oldest son of Ned Stark, and
expecting their first child.”
Her eyes flashed, and she looked angry. She was not the sweet fourteen-year-old
girl he had wooed to fall in love with him, believe in his cause, and give him
a child. This Lyanna was harder, hardened by years behind the Wall, and
experiences Rhaegar knew little of.
“Did they believe her?”, she asked, still acting like there were nobody else
but them.
Rhaegar shook his head, and Lyanna pursed her lips.
“Benjen said as much before we lost him.”, she said in clipped tones. “I want
to speak with Lord Commander Mormont. Put the dead we brought in somewhere, and
make sure they are locked in tight. You owe me that, and much more.”
She let go of Othor’s corpse, and strode past Rhaegar into ice tunnel. When
Rhaegar picked up the corpse to carry his former brother to storage room, he
noticed the man’s glazed eyes were blue, not grey. Visenya’s words of warning
came into his mind, and Rhaegar changed the direction he was walking to.
“Where are you taking him?”, Samwell asked, his voice betraying his upset.
“Ice cells.”, Rhaegar said. It would make a little difference whether the dead
were kept in a cell or a storage room, but if the wildings spoke true, it might
be better to listen Lyanna and keep Othor’s corpse behind iron bars. He
wondered what it had taken from her, dragging the dead with her who knew how
long. A girl he remembered would never had imagined doing it, but the woman he
saw walking was different, hardened with a purpose Rhaegar did not recognize.
Rhaegar watched Pyp leading the knight, the red priest and Lyanna to Lord
Commander’s tower, and knew he would not sleep a single blink of an eye that
night.
 
“Long Legs.”, a hand shaking his shoulder roused Rhaegar from his fitful sleep.
He had dreamed of his daughter who wore a narrow circlet of bronze and iron on
her head, standing at the yard of Castle Black. She held a baby in her arms,
and her eyes were red with tears.
“Long Legs! There are monsters in the dungeon!”, Samwell’s eyes were wide and
filled with terror. “Lord Commander Mormont told me to fetch you!”
The men’s voices were raised, and almost all of them held their weapons when
Rhaegar pushed through the crowd in the yard, and walked down the stairs to ice
cells. From the bits and pieces of conversation, he heard them speak in upset
tones about snarling, hissing monsters, wildings and the Others, but he
couldn’t stay to clean what had actually happened.
Passing Grenn and Edd Tollett at the dungeon entrance, he started walking down
the stairs to same cells where Visenya had been kept. He saw Lyanna standing
near the bars, and felt a stab of regret. But before he could make amends, dead
hands pushed between the iron bars, clawing at him. Rhaegar didn’t stop to
think; he pulled out his sword, jumping back, and slashed. The dead man’s hands
separated from the corpse which stared at him with bright blue eyes filled with
hate, but the hands were still moving. He felt fingers climbing up his leg, and
let out a curse filled with terror:
“By the Seven whores--”, Rhaegar jumped high, ripping the dead hands off him
and stomping them flat with his boots until they were just bloody mess on the
floor.
Lyanna laughed. Her laughter was surprisingly bright, and amused when she
leaned against the bars, watching him jump and dance. The corpse which was
still trying to push through iron bars to get to Rhaegar wasn’t paying any
attention to her.
“What are you?”, he asked suspiciously, putting his hand on his sword.
“I’m not sure.”, Lyanna replied thoughtfully. “It was the same with Benjen. The
dead did not attack him before he tried to save Rogar. But they truly seem to
hate you. Maybe it’s your blood.”
Rhaegar raised an eyebrow.
“The dead side with Robert, too?”, he asked ironically before he remembered he
was a sworn brother, now. But the two other corpses were snarling and hissing
at him, too.
“Might be. I think it’s the Song of Ice and Fire, instead. The dead don’t care
about me, they hate you, but Dalla told that the Other who attacked them spoke
to Visenya.”, Lyanna replied, watching his reaction.
“Lyanna, no.”, Rhaegar said in low voice. “It was a mistake. I was wrong.”
“No!”, she snapped. “Don’t dare say it. I’ve have given up too much for your
prophecy to listen you offer your regrets. My father and brother were murdered
because I left with you. I spent fifteen years hiding among wildings, burying
two sons, and tried to console myself by thinking it was necessary, and all my
sacrifices would be made right one day. I mourned your death, not knowing you
were just sitting on the bloody Wall and thinking yourself a crow. Do you have
any idea how it felt like to see you just standing there?”
“I’m sorry.”, Rhaegar whispered, but Lyanna didn’t stop to listen. Probably, he
thought sorrowfully, because her pride would not allow her to break. Her grey
eyes shone with unshed tears, and she continued fiercely:
“How you dare to stand here, and say it was all just a mistake? We had to leave
Benjen behind, and he might be dead. No, Rhaegar, you don’t have the right to
change your mind now. The time for that was before you ever spoke a single word
to me.”
“Don’t.”, he almost begged. “Please. Visenya is all I have left. Don’t. They
will kill her. I suspect she married the boy to escape the Silent Sisters, but
she’s making best of it. He’s not--”
“If I wanted her to find a man and have children, we could have stayed behind
the Wall. I will not change my course just because you got craven. The dark is
coming. Look around you. The dead are walking, and you want the Prince Who Has
Been Promised to sit in Winterfell, and have babies.”, Lyanna shook her head in
disgust.
“Aegon was the Prince Who Was Promised, and he died.”, Rhaegar reminded her
harshly.
Lyanna opened her mouth to answer, but Rhaegar heard steps from the stairs, and
quickly put a finger on his lips.
“There you are.”, Lord Commander Mormont said grimly. “We had a raven from
south. King Robert is dead, and Ned Stark has been imprisoned as a traitor for
plotting with Robert’s brothers to deny the throne to prince Joffrey. Also, the
Umbers say Robb Stark is gathering an army.”
Turning to Lyanna, he continued:
“I want you to take one of these damned corpses and bring it to Winterfell
before your nephew’s host starts marching the wrong way. Tell him to bring
those men to guard the Wall.”
The news made Rhaegar’s mouth taste like blood. Lord Commander looked at him,
and asked:
“And you. Should I be worried about your oaths?”
“No.”, he said, resolute in his decision. Not even for Visenya.
“Remember this, when you go south.”, Mormont said to Lyanna. “He is a man of
Night’s Watch, and whatever it was between you, it’s over. “
“If you think I spent fifteen years in true north wailing after him, you are
sorely mistaken.”, Lyanna said coldly and began the climb upstairs.
 
--
Robb’s arms were warm when he held Vis tightly in his embrace, and she could
feel the babe tossing and turning between them.
“You need to be the lady of Winterfell while I’m gone.”, Robb said. “Bran will
help you.”
Vis nodded, her throat too tight with to utter words. There was army, but it
was marching the wrong way. She had tried to convince Robb, and Bran had tried
too, but there was no changing his mind. He was marching south to free his
father, and leaving her behind because he had no choice. Robb could not turn
back after he had called the banners, or he would spend the rest of his days
being laughed at. Vis knew it was her fault. Stark bannermen, especially those
from Last Hearth, had made offhand comments about a green boy led by his cock,
bedding and wedding a wilding whore, and it had taken Grey Wind biting off
fingers from Greatjon Umber to shut their mouths. Even now Vis could feel the
lords’ cool eyes on her. She wondered if she should have spoken at the feast,
and told them her true name, but nuncle Ned had made her swear an oath to him
in front of the heart tree.
“I’m sorry.”, she whispered.
“Don’t be.”, Robb murmured in her ear. "Breaking your oath would have made
things worse. People would have believed Lannisters’ lies about my father being
a traitor. I will win the war, release my father and sisters and come back to
you.”
Vis wanted to say that her father had warned her that Robb could not win
against the Iron Throne, not with 18 000 men, but they were standing in the
yard and his lords were waiting for Robb to finish his goodbyes, and she
couldn’t make it even worse to him. She knew he was afraid of going south, and
leading his bannermen. He had whispered to her that Roose Bolton made his skin
crawl; they had barely slept last night.
Robb pulled away from her to look at her. Vis loved his fire-kissed hair, and
his bright blue eyes, and she would have followed him to Lands of Always Winter
to fight at his side, but at six months she was too big and slow to go to war.
That was the downside of fire-kissed men with beautiful blue eyes, she thought,
trying to subside her panic. Vis would have given much to leave with him; the
thought of staying alone in Winterfell frightened her.
“Be strong. Take good care of yourself and my son. When the baby is born, send
me a word so I will know how you named him.”, Robb said, well aware that
everybody was looking.
“No.”, Vis shook her head, smiling even though she felt like crying, but she
would not send Robb to war with a memory of weeping wife, or let his bannermen
call her craven, too. “You will name him when you come home. I will call him
Little Wolf until you do.”
“I will do my best to come home soon, then.”, Robb promised. He kissed her, and
his mouth tasted salty. But his face was a lord’s mask when he withdrew and
mounted his horse. He pressed his boots against his horse’s flanks, and started
to ride south, leaving Vis on the yard to listen the fading clatter of hooves
when his lords followed.
“He will come back.”, Bran said, sounding every bit the frightened nine-year-
old he was. He was sitting on his horse to spare him the shame of being carried
by Hodor when the army marched.
“I pray he will.”, Vis said, and began to unfasten the braces tying Bran to his
saddle before the wet shine in her eyes betrayed her. There were no weirwoods
in south; the Old Gods held no sway there, and could not protect Robb.
 
-

She didn’t know who let Jon sneak in Robb’s bed, but he still slept sideways
and kicked. Vis suspected it had been Bran, or Maester Luwin. But her little
brother was not yet three years old, making him the only person who could sleep
with Vis without people making fuss about it. So far, his constant twitching
and turning was working against the bloody nightmares which had started soon
after Robb rode off.
It was the same dream every night. An old castle of stone, full of men wearing
knitted caps and a few women in fine dresses. Robb was there, and Lady Catelyn.
There was music and dancing, but not all dancers were men. There were lions
among them, but nobody seemed to notice. Robb smiled, and laughed, and danced
with the maidens. A shy, dark-haired girl smiled widely, sitting on his right,
where Vis’ place should have been. The girl wore a direwolf cloak, and flowers
in her hair. Then the women came, and started pulling off Robb’s clothes. They
stripped Robb naked, and carried him off to a different chamber, making lewd
jokes about his royal scepter. They left him in a room with a white bed. The
sheets were decorated with flower petals, and two candles burned on the
candlestick shaped like two towers joined together. There was noise from the
door, and a group of knights came carrying the dark-haired girl who was naked.
Robb turned to look, a smile on his lips.
“Congratulations, my liege.”, the cold-eyed man in pink cloak said, and drew
his sword. He plunged it through Robb’s heart, and the dark-haired girl
screamed. It was when Vis always woke up, and realized the scream was coming
from her own lips.
“Some dreams are just dreams, and some are not.”, Osha said when she came to
collect Jon. After Robb left, Vis had ordered Mikken to take off the chains,
but leave the shackles around Osha’s ankles and wrists. She didn’t like seeing
a free woman imprisoned, but Maester Luwin had warned that she had to be
careful and not show too much favor to Osha because of Umber’s wilding
comments. Vis didn’t think that ordering Osha to look after Jon was a favor.
Jon had inherited wolf’s blood from Lyanna, and he was as stubborn as Mance at
his worst.
“I know.”, Vis yawned. “I can feel the difference. It throbs deep in my bones,
like Mother Mole said.”
“Alas. But there are as many different truths as there are woods witches. You
would need to ask the Children, if you wanted to be sure. I’ve heard that some
still live in haunted wood.”, Osha said, helping Jon to pull a wool sweater
over his head. Old Nan had knitted it.
“As if I would climb over that bloody Wall ever again.”, Vis muttered, sinking
deeper between the covers. She didn’t want to get up and play a lady. It was
warm, and she was tired from not having slept well. Making a babe was much
harder work than she had thought in the beginning, and she still had two months
to go.
“Much better to be on this side.”, Osha agreed. ”Mance is a fool thinking he
can fight the white walkers. But he’s a crow. I come from a long line of free
folk, and I know better.”
“The problem is how to get people on this side before they all turn into
walking corpses.”, Vis said grudgingly.
“Are you not the fancy kneeler lady here after your man rode south? Just order
the crows to let everyone through.”, Osha shrugged.
“It doesn’t work that way.”, Vis was irritated. Without Ygritte or Dalla
picking on her, she had forgotten how it felt to be called a kneeler lady.
“Why?”
“I’m the lady of Winterfell, not a queen.”
“Your Robb is no king, yet men followed him nonetheless. Mance doesn’t wear a
crown, or carry a scepter. You are just making excuses, because you’ve got a
nice, warm bed to hide in.”, Osha’s voice was mocking.
Vis glared at her.
“Go fuck a mammoth.”, she told Osha, threw covers aside and stormed out.
The crypts were silent, and empty as always. The stone floor was chilly against
Vis’ bare toes, and the cold was making the little hairs on her arms to stand
up. Vis knew it was beyond stupid to storm out in her nightgown, an action
better suited for two-year-old like Jon, than the lady of Winterfell who was
seven months pregnant. But the other part of her, the part which yearned for
colder, fresher air without so many smells, and the familiar, safe sound of
Mance snoring and her mother’s quiet breaths in their tent, was fifteen-year-
old girl too far from home. She didn’t want to be the lady of Winterfell, and
she didn’t want to have a baby without Robb; she didn’t want to go to lord’s
solar to look at the costs of feasting Stark bannermen or Winterfell servants’
next years wages and feel the rising panic because she didn’t know a fuck about
running a noble household.
A pitiful wail broke out from Vis’ throat, and she clenched her fists, darting
forwards along the long, dark corridor. She had promised herself she would not
cry. She would not! She was a grown woman, a spearwife, not a baby. But nobody
heard; nobody cared except Jon who was a toddler and Robb who had marched south
and left her here alone with people who all hated her. Robb had never been to
war, not like Vis who had marched with Mance since she was Bran’s age, and he
didn’t have enough men, and he would die.
Vis wiped her traitorously wet eyes with a sleeve, and accidentally bumped her
too big stomach against a statue. It hurt. Fucking statues. She glanced to see
who it was. It was her mother’s stone likeness looking sadly at her and Vis
burst into tears.
Vis sobbed in the dark, sitting against Lyanna’s tomb. The dead kings were
sitting quietly with their stone wolfs at their feet, holding swords on their
knees to deny hospitality. She wasn’t welcome even here. Her head throbbed, and
she wondered if she should just stay here and never get up. Others were coming,
and she had failed to convince anyone. The army had marched the wrong way, and
her people were turning into monsters. Everyone hated her because Robb had
stolen her, and she was tired and ugly and too fat to fight. And now she was
craven, too.
Last time Vis had cried, she had been twelve. It had been the day she had
killed the man who had tried to steal her. She did brag about digging her
thumbs into his eyes, and slitting his throat with his own knife, but she had
never told anyone how she had howled against Lyanna’s breast afterwards.
He had been much bigger than Vis, and it had not been exciting at all like Vis
had thought. She had been fishing when he appeared. She had been newly
flowered, having had her moon’s blood two or three times, and she had listened
too much about Ygritte’s hopeful dreams about tall, handsome strangers stealing
them. But it had not been lovely at all. It had been terrifying. When Vis
killed him and ran back home covered in blood, she hadn’t been proud at all
having proved herself a spearwife. She had just wanted her mother. Lyanna had
dropped the hare she had been skinning, her face a mask of panic, and gathered
Vis against her breast like she was a baby instead of a woman grown. Mother had
chased Ygritte and Dalla off, taken Vis inside their tent, and held Vis on her
lap for what had felt like hours. Thinking about it, Vis could still remember
the scent of blood, and her mother’s shoulders shaking while Vis wept, clinging
to Lyanna in fear.
She did not hear the door opening, but the Ghost’s familiar presence,
accompanied by Shaggydog, warned Vis about people approaching. She bit her lip,
trying to force herself to calm down, and slid behind Lyanna’s statue to hide.
Things would get just worse if someone saw her like this.
A torchlight came closer.
“Visenya?”, a familiar voice called. “Visenya?”
Vis bolted up instantly, almost hitting her head on the edge of tomb.
“Vis, come out, it’s mama!”, Jon shouted. “It’s mama!”
It was Lyanna, holding a torch in one hand and Jon’s little hand in other, the
wolves trailing after them. She was standing on the other side of her tomb,
looking at her stone likeness with a frown, when Vis slipped out from her
hiding place and ran to her mother.
“Visenya.”, Lyanna put the torch away hastily, and hugged her. “What happened?
You’re crying.”
“I can’t have this baby because I can’t balance Robb’s stupid book.”, Vis
hiccuped, her tears breaking free again because mother was here. “It has four
colums of numbers and they are all same numbers. I can’t ask anyone because
they’d think I’m stupid. The Stark bannermen call me a wilding cunt or a whore
behind my back. I hate it here, and I want to go back home.”
“We will.”, Lyanna said gently. “When the time is right, we will. But you need
to tell me what happened, Visenya.”
“Will your knights kill Robb because he stole Vis from me?”, Jon asked
hopefully. “He put the baby inside Vis’ tummy. I know!”
“Perhaps.”, Lyanna replied in deadpan voice, and Vis could tell mother wasn’t
joking. Not entirely.
“I will never forgive you if you kill my man.”, Vis said quickly. “Robb is the
only southener I like. He is brave and smart and doesn’t think I’m stupid, and
he chased after me and stole me properly when I tried to go home. You will like
him too, much better than Varamyr.”
Giving a dark look towards Vis’ lost waistline, Lyanna sniffed.
“I will make up my mind when I meet the boy. But in the meanwhile, your
servants need to learn to respect you properly.”
“It wasn’t a servant. It was Osha.”, Vis corrected, blowing her nose.
“Essentially the same thing.”, Lyanna replied coolly. “Come now, you two. Let’s
go inside.”
 
--
Some wars were fought with swords, some with letters, but this one would
require both. Lyanna Stark finished a letter and handed it to her daughter.
“Sign this.”, she said.
Shifting on her seat, Vis took the letter and began to read, her lips moving
silently. Lyanna waited, letting her eyes rest on familiar surroundings. The
lord’s solar had changed little, even though there had been two lords after
lord Rickard. First Ned – it should have been Brandon, the wolf-blooded boy so
much like her Vis – and then the boy who wedded her daughter and ruined
Lyanna’s plans. But she had learned to make do, and she would continue to do
so.
“Who is this Brienne of Tarth?”, Visenya asked. “Why should I ask her to travel
here and join my household? I don’t want a lady’s companion. Sansa had Jeyne
Poole, and they just stitched and gossiped.”
“One of the knights Robert sent to fetch me, ser Gerald Trant, was a chatty
fellow who liked to mock others. He claimed that before he was made a knight,
he squired for an old man called Ser Humfrey Wagstaff, the castellan of
Grandview for House Grandison. Ser Humfrey was bethored to Brienne of Tarth for
a short time before their engagement ended three years ago.”
“And why you are interested in Brienne of Tarth?”, Vis crossed her arms over
the swollen bump.
Lyanna smiled.
“Her father tried to betroth her thrice, and Ser Humfrey was the last attempt.
According to tale, ser Humfrey demanded that she should act womanly after they
were wed. Brienne replied that she would obey only a man who could best her in
combat. Ser Humfrey turned purple with anger, and decided to put on his arms
and armor to teach her a woman’s proper place. They fought with blunted
weapons, and Brienne broke his collarbone and two ribs. She was only sixteen. I
think you two might suit each other, and she would be far more willing to work
on your sword skills than Ser Rodrick.”
A slow smile spread on Vis’ lips.
“Yes. I think it’s a good idea.”, she said happily.
“There is more to it, Visenya. You need to replace the story of a wilding whore
with something else, something larger. I didn’t raise you to become a lady. It
took me years to learn how to run Winterfell. I was younger, and born in this
house. People looked kindly upon my attempts, and I could afford mistakes. You
can’t.”
The hollow look on Visenya’s face told Lyanna that her daughter was all too
aware of this. She had always been a perceptive girl, much like Rhaegar, but
without her father’s melancholy. Damned Rhaegar. Pushing the thoughts of him
aside before she would lose her temper, Lyanna continued:
“But there is another story you can make. A dragon will cast a large shadow,
and Targaryens are not like the other people. They have always lived by their
own rules. You can be a warrior, and if you are great enough nobody will care
if you know how to balance household books or not. There are houses, like
Tarth, who have followed Targaryens in past, and would come to you if you
called.”
“Nuncle Ned made me swear an oath.”, Visenya resisted.
“Do you think less of Mance because he broke his oath to crows?”, Lyanna asked.
Vis shook her head quietly.
“Our bannermen hate wildings. Especially the Umbers, and Greatjon has always
been a loud one. If they think Robb is a foolish boy led by his cock, they will
never respect you or him. Marrying a wilding girl makes no sense. Marrying a
secret Targaryen princess, who is the heir for the Iron Throne, is entirely
different. Any lord, even those who fought on Robert’s side, will respect your
blood.”
“We thought of it, but Robb did not want to provoke Lannisters while they hold
Nuncle Ned and the girls hostage.”, Visenya wasn’t convinced. A stubborn girl,
she was.
“You don’t think that marching an army to south will provoke them?”, Lyanna
asked, raising her eyebrows. “If Rob plans to pressure them into releasing Ned,
he needs more men than the northern host. He needs the Riverlands. He might
gain some houses through his mother, but several of the Tully bannermen fought
against their liege lord in Robert’s Rebellion. They will not come to him, but
they will flock to his banner for your sake. I know that your father’s name
means little to you, but for us, it’s like Bael the Bard, or Joramun. Would you
not follow Joramun to fight the Night’s King?”
“Of course I would.”, Vis chuckled. “It’s a silly question.”
“It’s same to them.”, Lyanna said. “You could be their Joramun, but you need to
become a person people would follow. The men have gone to south, but the women
are here still, and the war might take years. They will look for a leader while
Robb is gone. Their clothes might be finer, and they live in castles instead of
tents, but the rules of free folk still apply. A position can be established
through force and persuasion. I know you have what it takes, just like Mance
does. He is, despite his faults, a great man, and we raised you well.”
Vis looked at her coolly.
“You are after something. Why do you want me to proclaim myself Targaryen and
gather followers? It’s a treason.”
“Mance is gathering an army, but they can’t break through the Wall. If they do,
there won’t be anything to hide behind when the Others come. If my brother
would not listen, and your husband would not listen, we can’t wait them to
change their minds. You need to act without their blessing.”, Lyanna answered.
Looking at Vis, she continued:
“Lord Commander Mormont has only six hundred men, and the Castle Black has no
defenses on this side. If he won’t open the gates for free folk, a woman with
enough strength and soldiers can force him to open the gates.”
“I see.”, Vis said, pursing her lips. She was quiet for a moment, thinking.
“All right.”, she said. “I will do it. This, at least, I know how to do. I’ve
fought crows before. Robb can yell at me when he comes home, but I will not
leave our people to cold gods.”
She took a quill, and added few words on the bottom of the parchment before
signing her name. Handing the letter back to Lyanna, Vis stood up, rubbing her
back.
“Brienne of Tarth is not enough, but she is a beginning. Where did you put the
dead one you brought in a box?”
“Hodor had to move it in the cellar of the First Keep. The direwolves kept
howling at the box, and nobody could sleep.”, Lyanna said.
“I will speak with Maester Luwin and start figuring out how to kill those
things. Fire works, but I want to know if there is something else, too. I will
speak to kneeler nobles when they come to harvest feast, and show the dead one
to them. It should make them see reason. Also, one of Mormont girls rode with
Robb. I think her name was Dacey. Does she have any sisters? I’m too big to
fight, but I could train a little spearwife.”
“I will write to Bear Island, and make arrangements.”, Lyanna said, hiding her
pleased smile.
 
 
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