A/N: Should Stannis the Mannis LIVE or DIE?

A Lion Among Wolves

He was stood face-to-face with it – the Night King in all his grotesque glory, the Great Other.

Behind him he could hear the growl of the arctic winds, the whipping of snow and ice slithering across his armour and withering his skin as his shallow breaths dispersed into the air, coming out in sharp, quickened pants.

The enemy merely stared back at him impassively. It made no move to attack him or even defend itself against the raised arc of his own sword. Tendrils of sweat rolled down his face, dripping into Jon's eyes and held its gaze firmly – as he held those steely, deadened blue eyes – staring right through him, peering into his soul. The mere thought chilled him to his very core, even more so when the winds whipped around him, forcing him back as he faced them.

But then suddenly, it moved. The Night King was advancing towards him in several brisk steps. Jon had no choice but to ready himself. He fully expected it to draw its sword from its sheathed placement on its back, to commence the battle and depose of him – but it did neither of those things. The sensation soon returned – the one that left him drowning, the feeling smothering within in the centre of his chest, making him groan in agony, collapsing to a single knee, panting, clutching his side as he wheezed.

Despite his resolve, Jon struggled to look up though out of the corner of his eye, he saw the nearing of his enemy, the gentle prowling. Coughing violently, Jon stumbled to his feet as his whole body shuddered, feeling as though he was turned to ice. He wouldn't have – he thought of all those depending on him, and suddenly he found himself rushing forward, rearing Longclaw over his shoulder in swift slash.

Upon his movements, the Night King merely stepped aside and the sword cut through the air, and Jon only just managed to stop himself from falling to the ground. Though before he could recover and then counter from his failed attempt, he felt a sudden cold grip upon his arm.

"You'll be fighting their battles forever."

In a sudden flurry of movements, his mind scrambled to find his feet as he fell to his knees once more. Helpless. In his terror, he cried out. Gasping, he clambered to his feet. "Fight me! Come and fight me!" he flared in agony, swinging his sword in every way.

The image around him shattered, rousing another scream from Jon as the Night King continued to stare at him. But when the darkness faded from his vision once more, he found himself standing huddled in the corner of a hall he was unfamiliar with. All around him there was the dangerous clamour of music with vast rows of men toasting, chuckling.

Glancing around, Jon couldn't see anything that was familiar to him – he'd never seen anything like what was fluttering through his mind in that moment.

It wasn't something from his memory.

Cautiously rising to his feet, Jon's eyes fell upon two large banners billowing from the nearest wall – one bore the twin-towers of House Frey of the Crossing and the other bore the enthralling familiar direwolf of House Stark. Wheeling around he suddenly saw them sitting there – garbed in all black, a figure who Jon had missed with all his heart – his brother, Robb.

He stared as Eliana moved through the crowds, setting a firm hand upon their brother's shoulder before settling beside her mother, seemingly unsettled as she sat next to Roose Bolton.

Jon choked back a sob when he recalled the last time he had seen Robb properly, the day he'd left with Benjen to take the Black... and he could recall when Sam had told him the news of Robb's death at The Twins during what the entire country was calling the Red Wedding.

"Not here..." Jon muttering, pleading as his eyes darted around to try and find the Night King lurking, but he surprised to see that the figure what nowhere in sight – so all he could do was looking out helplessly as the scene did its duty before me.

Jon shuddered when the clamour came to a sudden halt, his brother turning to the high table where old Walder Frey sat, cowed and bent.

"Your Grace," he called out to his King, bowing his head slightly. "I feel I have been... remiss in my duties. I've given you meat, wine and music but I have not shown you the hospitality you deserve. My King has married and I owe my new Queen a wedding gift."

Jon stared as Eliana rose to her feet abruptly, glancing around the hall suspiciously until Lady Catelyn slapped Roose Bolton across the face in one fluid movement.

Before he was able to register what was occurring, chaos was ensuing all around him, with the Freys and Boltons beginning the vicious slaughter against his family – of Robb and his Lady Wife, of his Northern Guests. Jon could do nothing but stare as Robb was concussed with several crossbow bolts which forced him to the floor, his new wife bleeding to death from the stab wounds that had been dealt to her swollen stomach.

He let out a sob when he saw Eliana's knees buckle beneath her, her body collapsing to the floor as several bolts hissed, burying themselves in her body. She started to cough violently, blood rising up her throat to spill onto the floor.

From somewhere else, Jon was aware of Lady Catelyn's cries but all he could do was stare as his sister forced herself to stand – her chest was a bloody mess as several arrows stood protruding viciously, lying in crooked angles while she stumbled upon her unsteady feet.

Walder Frey's eyes glistened as he stared down at his sister, "The beauty arises..." he announced with a smirk, drawing the hall's attention to her as he brought his goblet to his lips, drinking deeply before regarding her with an amused expression, soon waving his hand dismissively.

Jon's eyes followed Black Walder's movements closely – the slow walk with the unsheathing on his knife until he found himself lingering behind his sister and her fate.

With a crude thrust, Black Walder shoved his blade into the corner of Eliana throat, the impact causing a turbid jet of blood to spurt from her mouth at the sudden ferocity. In a feeble attempt, he watched as his sister's hand came up to swat at the blade wedged into her throat, choking on garbled splutters of blood until Black Walder rung her neck, it's sharp bite cutting through the soft flesh as if it were butter.

Jon could feel the tears brimming in his eyes as Catelyn let out a cry when Eliana's body hit the floor with a lifeless thud, her eyes wide and dead when her head lolled to the side.

He jolted when he saw Catelyn rushing forwards from beneath a table she had been under, grabbing Frey's wife – a strong hand wrapped around her collar, dragging her down the steps to force her to stand. "Lord Walder!" she exclaimed as the old man looked over at her, the archers focusing their weapons in her direction.

As the chaos died down around him, he turned to stare as Catelyn held a knife to his wife, "... He is my son! My first son! Let him go and I swear that we will forget this! We will take no vengeance. I swear it by the Old Gods and New- "

"You already swore an oath right here in this castle... you swore by all the gods that your son would marry my daughter!" Frey bellowed, a deep scowl spilling across his face as he held Catelyn's gaze.

Jon found himself staring as Robb sat on his knees, holding his wife with a vacant look of despair on his face before he looked to where their sister was lying lifeless on the floor, the blood weeping across the floor. He couldn't barely bring himself to look. It was almost too much for Jon.

"Please, let it end..." he murmured to no one, his own knees buckling beneath him as he reached for Eliana, wanting to hold her.

"Take me for a hostage, but let Robb go!" Catelyn called out, turning to face her son, his brother, who still sat on the floor, cradling his wife in his arms. "Robb, get up... get up and walk out, please! Please!"

"And why would I let him do that?" came Walder's reply as he shifted in his high chair, a cruel smirk creeping across his face.

Jon sucked in a sharp breath as he watched the woman he'd always been so terrified of grip the girl's hair tightly, the blade straining against her porcelain skin. "On my honour as a Tully, on my honour as a Stark, let him go or I will cut your wife's throat!" she called out her, swinging the knife back under her throat, ready to swipe.

The cruel man didn't seem remotely bothered by her threat, and merely shrugged. "I'll find another," he announced.

"I'll find another." Was Frey's response, and as Jon watched Roose Bolton shove his dagger into his brother's heart, he wept, pounding his hands on the floor.

Jon felt tears trickling from his eyes as he watched Robb drag himself up, each and every moment seemingly too painful to do as until he staggered to his full height, wincing. "Mother..." Robb rasped, calling his mother to him in that moment and Jon had never seen him look so completely lost, so helpless before.

And then as he continued to watch, it all happened so quickly. "The Lannister send their regards..." and soon he was watching as Roose Bolton shoved his knife into his brother's chest and twisted, right through his heart, Catelyn's wailing ringing through his ears at the sight.

And then he found the scene changing again, shifting once more to ice, and the black frost he was greeted with froze everyone and everything that stood in the hall as Jon stared, seeing the Night King step out from behind where Walder Frey sat.

In his panic, Jon grasped for Longclaw and found himself rushing forward with a sudden burst of strength rousing within him through the bleak darkness.

Through the darkness, he tried his best to move forward, his legs aching and his muscles burning with each forced movement. Soon enough, his strength failed him and his legs gave way, and he was crashing to the ground in a choking shout.

Trapped in endless visions of agony.

Shuddering, he blindly grasped for Longclaw again, as he fumbled around on the ground before turning the sword on himself with a hollow cry. With a hesitation, he forced the sword through his stomach as it ripped apart his insides.

He could feel the sweet sting of Longclaw as it bit his insides, slithering through his stomach as he fell back to his knees, the world coming back into sharp focus.

Twirling around suddenly, he found himself facing the Night King once more and he found himself in a combat stance – who still clutched at his arm until it pushed away from him in the array of dying Northern troops all around them, their deaths stinging his heart as the storm of snow and ice grew in its intensity.

"Come on..." Jon panted as he raised his sword towards the Night King. "Just get on with it." Then he glanced around him, shuddering when his eyes counted at least half a dozen White Walkers having surrounded him, all with their weapons drawn and ready to attack.

Yet, none of them moved to deal blows even as they moved to circle around him.

Starting to his feet, he brought up Longclaw and instantly their blades locked with a resounding clatter, the strength causing a blast of air to knock him back. He clenched his teeth as he continued to slash and stab through the air surrounding the Night King.

To his dismay, the Night King successfully parried his attacks and edged closer towards him – Jon barely able to dodge his advances.

Jon knew that the being's movements were much more swift than his own – it moved with a speed he'd never seen before, with an aura of grace that left him unnerved. And while it got faster, Jon's got more sluggish and he could feel himself losing grip of himself while the Night King battered him away like a petulant child.

Jon soon found himself rushing forward once more, unleashing a flourish of jabs towards the Night King – blows which were easily deflected by the Night King, who merely sidestepped and dealt several blows to Jon's legs.

Jon felt his body cry out in pain, his bones seizing to work as he collapsed, his muscles aching while his breathing grew shallow as the winds around him continued to whip, the temperate plummeting to freezing around him.

Growling in an attempt to mask his pain, Jon went to attack again when he was greeted by a sudden sheet of ice, snow blinding him in a flurry. Blinking, his managed to stagger to his feet as he turned, trying to locate what had been there previously to see nothing.

"Jon!"

He glanced around him to see nothing but a blinding blizzard of snow, a wall shielding him from her. He was trapped, figures moving in the darkness behind the wall. He tried calling out, "Lia!" But nothing came back, no reply. Where was Eliana? He couldn't find her. Gods, he could barely move. Where had all this snow come from? It hadn't been here before...

"Lia!"

She had just been there. She needed him, he would find her but he was all alone - where was he? He'd never seen the place before, and he surely didn't recognise it from anywhere either... But he was there for a specific reason he didn't know the answer. Why?

His sister was lost and in need of him. He had to save her, he could do it.

He needed to-

He jolted again as someone sagged in his arms, and as he looks down to see her face, her soft features tired and worn, he allows himself to cry. His calloused fingertips brushed over her cheek to wipe away her own tears.

"Jon Snow..." he could barely hear Ygritte's voice as she spoke, his name on her tongue sounding so broken, so foreign while his brown eyes searched her panicked blue orbs.

"... Don't talk," he mumbled his reply, pulling her flush against him so that their breaths mingled in the cold air, fear settling comfortably in the pit of his stomach.

His eyes roamed over her face as she struggled to catch her breath, "Do you remember... that cave?" Ygritte asked suddenly, feeling her warm blood pooling over his fingers, sticking to her furs as she shivers.

Jon could only bring himself to nod, too frightened to trust his own voice to speak for him. His eyes widened when he saw her head droop slightly; his hand raced from her cheek to support it, his fingers tangled themselves securely in her hair, her fiery locks – kissed by fire, she had said to him once.

"We should've stayed in that cave..." Ygritte rasped and he almost smiled at the comment, clutching her closer and clinging to whatever life remained as she sat dying in his arms.

He could feel his lips quivering at the mere sight of her, and he could barely bring himself to speak. "We'll go back there," he tells her, leaning his face so near to hers that their noses brush and -

Jon shot up with a jolt, his breathing heavy and ragged as he let out a gasp of breath, feeling his face pressed against the smothering confines of his pillow.

He couldn't bring himself to sleep at all that night, and found himself climbing from his bed unrested and pale-faced, his hair a long, tangled curly mas of black curls clinging to his forehead.

Jon found himself feeling lonely for the first time in a long while – he longed for him, that much was true and with Eliana now being there with Stannis, it made it all worse. He missed Arya and her excitement, and her quarrels with Sansa – how he missed Sansa and Bran with little Rickon... both lost, once roaming the North and the other Beyond the Wall somewhere.

But he missed Robb most of all, and he wanted nothing more than to see him, just one more time – to have seen the man he became, the King he became. He couldn't help but wonder if he would have smiled when they met... embraced and stayed up all night talking until the sun rose to greet them.

Jon's face was wet with tears, and he found himself sobbing, feeling so weak and pathetic. But he didn't care, he couldn't bring himself to care about anything in that moment. He squeezed his eyes shut hard, and willed the Gods to turn back time so he could be back with his family, with his father and Robb. When they were all alive and happy.

The corridors were deserted in the old Flint Barracks, as he expected them to be, but he did find himself surprised that no brothers were training in the yard despite it being so early. Castle Black was scarce, almost deadened as he made his way past the King's Tower where he assumed most of Stannis' host were sleeping less soundly in their beds due to the weather.

He was completely sure when he gravitated towards the tunnel, or why he desired to go beyond the Wall at such a ridiculous time but he felt like he was being pulled there by some external force. Even though the brothers that had been on guard duty had advised against it, Jon had persisted that he was to go to the weirwood grove in the Haunted Forest.

They had relented.

He felt sick, and he was fairly certain if he tried, he'd vomit. He looked to his shaking hands beneath his cloak and saw the skin to be deathly pale and the veins shining beneath, a deep, dark blue.

Around him the leaves whispered around him while he could make out the distant hisses of the Milkwater in the western part of the forest – the face carved into the heart tree was a grotesque thing, with his glowering eyes and displeased sneering mouth.

The weirwood was a lonesome place, serene and almost dead... though there was definitely an atmosphere of awe that lingered whenever he was near, something that always enticed him, enchanting him to lurk in its company.

Jon found her sat against the heart tree's trunk, her back pressed firmly against it with her knees drawn up to her chest. Morning was finally starting to rise, the sun slowly creeping past the arching canopy of trees to glisten against the surface of the Wall.

For a long moment, he merely watched her. He almost smiled at the sight of her wild hair, slipping free of its careful braids to tangle itself with weirwood leaves. There was snow dusted around her feet, the flakes drifting through the air, her eyes closed.

Hearing him approach, she looked up with a smile hidden in the corners of her mouth. "You're not asleep," Eliana observed sagely.

"I'm not," Jon replied weakly, finding that his voice didn't even sound right as he stood shivering – he should be used to the cold, and yet, even as he stood wearing his cloak, the trembling ruled him. "I didn't expect to find you here..."

Eliana managed another smile, "Apparently it's a Stark thing," she replied, watching as he moved towards her instantly, his feet carrying him soundlessly.

Jon wanted to wish what she had said was true, but he knew he could never be a Stark... not matter how much he wanted it to be so. It would never be so. "What do you pray for, Lia?"

"I don't... I don't pray anymore," she admitted with a solemn glance, bowing her head in her shame as she blinked away the tears that had quickly formed, her head bouncing back up to find Jon silently watching. Praying never did Father any good... His sister's blue eyes bored into his own, "Why are you here?"

"I couldn't sleep..."

Eliana almost looked amused as she tilted her head at him, "We all have nightmares, Jon," she mused with a slight smile, ushering him to sit himself down beside her. She couldn't even sleep through the night anymore. "We're all mortal in the end, and sometimes we're plagued by the things we've seen, the things we fear..." she let out a soft sigh, "Until a time comes when we can forget them."

Jon stared at the leaf strewn ground for a moment, the wind whistling behind him, then looked back to his sister. "Do you still have them?" he asked, finding himself nervous. He could still the horrors flashing in his mind, the images of Robb and Eliana, and how Catelyn had cried before dying too... and Ygritte, his love, and how she had been taken from him.

Eliana smiled at him, "All the time," in truth, she was terrified to close her eyes when the Ghosts of Winterfell haunted her, and the whispers of the past along with the nudges of the future barging their way into her mind.

"You died, in my dream, I mean..." Jon trailed off, struggling to find the appropriate words to describe the reason for why he was finding himself so traumatised. Shuddering, he glanced up to find her eyeing him carefully, and such an expression roused a question from him. "Why are you looking at me like that?" had he missed something important?

"It's like you said."

Jon frowned, registering her words carefully before he leant back against part of the trunk, craning his neck to look at her properly. "What are you saying... it sounds like, uh..." Jon cleared his throat, finding himself suddenly so unsure again as to what Eliana was telling him.

She still found the entire topic of the massacre difficult to even bring herself to speak of... then she supposed it was the normal reaction to having witnessed such a harrowing event.

But Jon, her lovely Jon... the brother she wished wasn't the son of Ice and Fire... the brother she wished with all her heart was her father's son... for all his hardships, she would endeavour to tell him, endeavour for him to know of the horrors.

"You know," Eliana began in soft conviction, a crude smile forming on her lips. It was all too ironic when she considered what had happened in hindsight, thinking back to how blind they had all been and how it had been staring them in the face for so long. "The more I sit and think about it... the more I realise that we should have seen it coming," her eyes slowly trailed away from the warmth of Jon's intent gaze.

Jon bristled, huddling further under his cloak. "You could never have known," he didn't like the fact that the new Eliana he had been reunited with was a remorseful one, a guilty one who seemed to believe that every horror that had befallen their family was her fault. He was absolutely certain it wasn't.

Robb marrying Talisa had sealed his fate, it was always coming. He'd broken one too many oaths, and his lords grew tired of the naïve leader they'd chosen to follow – the king who had let his heart command him rather than his head. And he had paid the ultimate price.

He stared as his sister smiled again, "... It seems almost pitiful now, to have thought we could have got away from them," Eliana explained as a deep sigh passed her lips. She remembered the fear of leaving Sansa in the clutches of the Lannisters, and Arya roaming the wilderness along with Bran and Rickon... she couldn't bring herself to abandon them.

"What happened?"

Perhaps no one would ever stop asking her about what had happened, and how she still walked while her brother, her good brother, while Robb had been murdered by their banners. She asked herself the same question, each and every day... why had it been her who had lived, and why had she escaped while Robb had died. Why had she lived when her father had died... "You already know the answer to your question," Eliana finally answered.

The conviction in her voice was obvious, and John saw no point in arguing it and instead found himself staring as she shrugged off her cloak and moved to untie her breastplate hastily, and with skill (he might add) to then move her tunic aside, pulling it back to expose her shoulders for him to see, leaving the marks from the Red Wedding on display.

Blinking, Jon gaped at the several grotesque marks on her collarbone before his eyes flickered to Eliana's face. "How are you still here?" Jon whispered lowly, watching as his sister readjusted herself to conceal the mess on her body. If that had happened to her... how did she still walk? Or was she there with him? How could she be there? "How- "

"Some cruel trick," Eliana interjected, clenching her jaw before allowing her hunched shoulders to sag, feeling the tension slither free. She still didn't really understand it, and doubted she ever would – more importantly, it made her feel guilty, for living again when her father and Robb never got that chance, never got to right their mistakes. "A red priest... Thoros of Myr. He follows the same religion as Stannis's red woman..." she trailed off in thought – Melisandre unnerved her, and since having been her presence, she found that her gaze did seem to linger upon her for longer than what she considered to be polite.

It was as if the woman knew what had happened to her. As if she could read her, and it made her feel naked...she hated to feel so bare in front of a woman she barely knew. It made her feel as though she had some sort of power over her. She hated feeling so vulnerable.

Jon ran a hand over his face, shuddering as he mulled over her words in his mind. So, Eliana had died and had somehow been resurrected for what purpose? He couldn't wrap his head around the idea that she was still walking and breathing – his sister had just told him she had DIED and yet she was very much the same since he left for the Wall.

Their father had died, and Robb had died... Bran was roaming the north beyond the Wall and Rickon was lost along with Arya. Sansa was still in the clutches of the Lannister, and Littlefinger. But Lia had died... his sweet sister had forfeited the ultimate price to save her mother... Lia had died, and somehow she was still alive.

He couldn't say he'd ever met someone who had died and had then been brought back to the land of the living... and for it to be someone so close to him, he didn't really know how to take it.

Jon couldn't think of an appropriate question to ask about something he'd never heard about before, and before he could stop himself, he was blurting the first thing that came to mind. "What was it like?" As soon as the words left his mouth, he chastised himself for sounding so awestruck in the face of the abnormal.

Eliana managed a laugh at the question, having not expected Jon to seem so interested about her experience with death of all things. "Cold..." she frowned in thought, slightly losing herself in her own recollection of how it had felt, and how lost she'd found herself at the hands of the Freys. "I didn't go anywhere, it felt like I was stuck more than anything like, I was drifting..." she wasn't entirely sure how to explain it to him, even more so when she didn't truly understand it herself. She didn't know if she ever would. It had felt like an eternity, her consciousness trapped in between worlds, lingering... lost. "Just lingering in a dark void... like I was trapped and I would never feel the sun on my face again."

"You've changed..." Jon remarked, eyeing his sister for a moment. He had noticed that something was definitely different about her – at first, he had dismissed it and had thought nothing it but the more he lingered in her presence, he could see the difference. Eliana wasn't the girl he'd grown up with in Winterfell or the woman who had helped nurture him into the man he'd become. "You're different."

Running her hands through the snow, Eliana huffed. "What do you mean?" she'd heard that several times and to herself, she didn't feel any different at all... yes, she felt less than she was than before but she could live with that. Could anyone else?

Jon frowned, contemplating whether or not to tell her... don't upset her. "It might be just me, and because I haven't seen you in such a long time," he paused, sucking in a sharp breath as he saw his sister settled further into the trunk of the weirwood, awaiting him to say what he couldn't bring himself to. "Y- you don't smile or laugh the way you used to... you're not... you don't..."

"There's less to smile about these days..."

Jon made a soft noise in the back of his throat, it almost sounded like a whine, "Lia- "

"I'm sorry, Jon," Eliana murmured a reply, but she wasn't, not really. What had happened to her wasn't her fault, and she knew she couldn't spend whatever life she had left trying to please others when there was a war to fight.

Sighing, Jon instantly regretted the words and for having not put it in a more polite way. "Don't apologise for that... it wasn't your fault that it happened," his tone was suddenly sharp, a fierceness in his voice that would have shocked her before Jon had become a brother of the Night's Watch. "It wasn't your fault."

Eliana swallowed hard, closing her eyes to help her think coherently. "The person I used to be... she's gone. You understand that Jon... don't you?" she implored softly, staring at him earnestly as they held one another's gaze. "I think some part of me got left behind when I... I don't feel the same, I feel like some part of me has changed."

"You're still you," Jon challenged, shaking his head in disagreement, refusing to believe anything else. "You're alive, and you're in front of me right now..."

"No, I'm not Jon..." Eliana sighed, folding her arms over her chest so that they rested on her knees. She didn't feel like the daughter of Ned Stark anymore... that version of her was dead. "I suppose it's a small price to pay for having been so blinded, for having let down our family and- "

"Don't," Jon interrupted with a furrowed brow. "You've let no one down, you haven't let me down... I mean, you're here and you came when I asked you to."

Eliana blinked at Jon, finding herself surprised. "You forgive me?" she could feel her eyes watering, blurring her vision as she watched him, unable to look away from the brother she wished was a true one. She wished people would stop forgiving her – she had lost her way, and they were pitying her for it. It had been her own fault.

Jon broke out into a smile at how perplexed she seemed. "There is nothing you couldn't do that I wouldn't forgive you for..." he laughed, and suddenly found himself grasping her hand. How could he not? She had always protected him, always loved... "I mean, I forgave you the moment I saw you with Stannis."

Eliana couldn't help but think of how different it would be if their father had refused to be Robert's Hand, and if they had all stayed to live their lives how they wanted... how different it would be – with Robb and Father alive, their family whole and happy like it deserved to be.

It was worth fantasising over – to be back in Winterfell with her brothers, helping Arya annoy Sansa... to see her mother and father content to have escaped all the horrors that had plagued their family, for Jon to have been her brother...

"We should have never left Winterfell."

"It seems like a lifetime ago," Eliana mused softly.

A pregnant paused settled between them as they both sat comfortably in the grove, their thoughts mingling together as their breaths came out in faint pants.

With a deep sigh, Jon shifted from he was sat and turned to look at Eliana. "She died in my arms..." he started, watching as her brows knitting together in momentary confusion, obviously not sure who he was talking about at first. "And I couldn't do anything. I'd never felt so helpless to save someone I loved. I loved her, Lia... and it's not fair."

His heart still felt so raw when he allowed himself to think of Ygritte, to relive the times they'd shared with one another and how free he had felt in her presence, and how she had made him feel things he'd never thought he'd ever get to experience. She had made him want a different life, a life with her...

"It never is," Eliana commented, seeing the pain cross his face – the inner conflict of having loved the enemy. Jon had no control over who he fell in love with, and to see him look at a loss and seem guilty for having loved a woman, it broke her. Jon deserved happiness. "In life, only the monsters win."

"Olly killed her," he knew he shouldn't blame the boy for having done what was expected of him, but he had just found her again and it was cruel, so cruel, for her to have died in his arms at the hands of a boy.

Eliana winced at the tone, the bitter resentment that she didn't know Jon could produce – she found it endearing to know that the feelings that Jon had for Ygritte ran so deeply within him. But that boy, Olly, had been doing what he was told. "He was doing his duty, Jon," she felt awful for saying it, for sounding so blunt and heartless, but he had learned from his fellow brothers.

"You think I don't know that?!" Jon's eyes slipped to the ground when his voice rose, his fists shaking despite knowing that she was right. He couldn't pin the blame on Olly. "He's only a boy and it's not right to hold that against him, but I loved her!" Why does it hurt so much?

Eliana could see he was hurting, could see the pain he was in and how conflicted he felt for loving someone he was supposed to protect the Seven Kingdoms from. Why had the world been so unfair to Jon? What did she deserve that he didn't? "What you and Ygritte had was real, it was real to you and that's why it hurts so much," she didn't need him to her he was hurting, the tears glazing over his brown orbs told her that. "Is that what you saw? Her death?" she knew she didn't need to ask – if she died in his arms, that's the only thing that would ever haunt his dreams.

"She died in my arms again," Jon murmured loud enough for Eliana to hear. Even now, he could still feel Ygritte's body shaking against him, her soft pants and worried eyes watching him as she died.

"That will never leave you, Jon." Ygritte's death would forever haunt him – she would never leave him, just like their father and Robb would never leave her, they were too important to forget. Ygritte was Jon's first love, someone who would always hold a place in his heart. "The worst memories never leave us."

"Do you..." Jon immediately stopped himself despite the question on his tongue – it wasn't one he wanted to ask, it just so happened to be one of the many that seemed to spring to mind so stupidly. As he looked to his sister, he saw her frown and nod for him to continue but he didn't want to upset her. He'd be alone for so long, and he had so many questions he still wanted to ask and he doubted he'd ever find the time to... "Do you see Father and Robb die? Do you see their deaths... in your head?"

To his relief, Eliana didn't seem bothered by his questioning in the slightest (if she was, she hid it well). "All the time." A part of her had died with her father's in King's Landing, she should have died with Robb and after everything, Cersei had done to her...

"I should've been there..." Jon murmured, drawing her attention to him as his eyes remained fixed upon the weeping snow, his teeth sinking into his lower lip in apparent fury.

She sighed deeply knowing that she had considered every single possible thing that may have changed the outcome, she had sat there thinking she could've saved their Father, could've helped Robb somehow. Walder Frey shouldn't have been trusted to begin with and when Robb broke his oath it had only been time before he would seek vengeance for the slander, and their Father had been stupid for confronting Cersei in the first place.

"Your being there wouldn't have changed what happened," as much as it pained, they had made stupid mistakes that they then paid with their lives, with their heads. It was the way of the world – they were no happy endings for the good because the world was thriving off of the evil.

Jon shook his head – he should've carried on riding South when he left that night, when Sam and Green and Pyp had told him to come back, he should've carried on riding to Robb. That's where he belonged, and he let others tell him different. "But maybe I could've done something..." he would never forgive himself, he would always believe in his mind he could've saved Robb, could've stopped Walder Frey.

Eliana watched him quietly, studying him for a moment. Jon was exactly like them – too bloody honourable for his own good, and if he wasn't careful, he'd end up making the same mistakes. "What good would throwing your only life away have helped them?" she tilted her head at him, drawing his attention back to her. If she couldn't have saved, Jon would've failed too. "Father shouldn't have confronted Cersei and Robb shouldn't have married Talisa, there was no saving them after that."

Jon stared at her incredulously, hardly believing she was saying those things to him. "No..." he had to believe that things would've been different if he had gone with Robb, he had to.

"They're dead, Jon, and we can't change that," she had sat there for hours thinking of ways it could have been different, thinking of all the ways they could've survived but what good would that do them – they were already dead. They were the last of their family now, and they had to protect each other. She didn't care if Jon wasn't her father's bastard. She didn't care if he wasn't her brother – he was as good as. "We need to be smarter than them, we can't make the same stupid mistakes they did," Eliana winced at her choice of words when Jon visibly flinched at her cold tone. It would be the only way to make him understand. "I love them, Jon... but we can't lose our heads too."

He wanted to be angry with her for being so frank, for being so blunt with him but he wasn't sure he would've have preferred it if she'd been too soft on him either. He would always think he could've stopped their Father from dying, that he could've stopped Robb from dying.

Jon let another sigh pass his lips, his shoulders shuddering in the slight gust of the wind. "Does it get better?" he'd lost so much since leaving Winterfell that it hardly seemed fair – if he wasn't alone, he was grieving a dead family member or lamenting over his lost love with Ygritte.

"It can't get any worse," Eliana told him, hoping that it would comfort him and she refused to believe that Jon was destined for heartbreak. "When you've seen the things we've seen, Jon... it takes a lot to make it better. While there are people out there to hurt us, it won't ever get better," she couldn't see them ever being left alone with the Boltons still out there as well as all those who helped Tywin Lannister.

They had to think about whatever was beyond the Wall, too. With numerous accounts of White Walkers and the dead rising, she doubted that the rest of the Seven Kingdoms would believe the Night's Watch despite how hard Lord Commander Mormont had tried to warn them. There was a reason the Wildlings were trying to get south, and she doubted it was so they could usurp the Iron Throne.

Jon's brow furrowed in thought, "What'd you mean?" he knew whoever she was referring to were more likely to hurt her than him, but still, he didn't like to think about it. He just couldn't help but turn his attention to all the Wildlings trying to make it south and how his brothers would never listen to him, never believe the true threat out there in the Lands of Always Winter.

Eliana offered him a soft shrug of her shoulders, "It doesn't matter, Jon," she held her hands out to him as a small smile crossed her lips when he caught them easily in one of his, sighing as he hauled her to her feet with a smile.

"You shouldn't have married the Kingslayer," Jon said quietly, reaching to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear before looping her arm through his. He could still see the dark, lustful glint in the Kingslayer's emerald eyes and he couldn't believe Eliana had given herself to Jaime Lannister of all people, the man who had crippled their little brother. "The Kingslayer's arrogant."

Eliana's mouth twisted into a small smile. "Jaime will always be arrogant."

"You can't like him."

"If you're expecting me to spit out something about it being a union of two great Houses, and to hail it as a wonderful match... that's the last thing I will ever say," she hummed softly, turning her hand so it could grab his, lacing their fingers together. "It could be far worse..."

Jon scoffed, leading her through the trees swiftly (so that they could return to the gate without running into any unwanted guests along the way), rolling his eyes when she considered a Lannister to be a good option for her. "The way he looks at you- "

Eliana laughed at the disgusted tone to Jon's voice, "Is the way any husband looks at his wife," she concluded. She didn't expect Jon to like the idea of her being married to Jaime of all people, and she never expected to have come to love him the way she did or to love him at all

Shaking his head, Jon tugged on her arm as the gate appeared, the way dusted with corpses of Wildlings and giants, crows feasting upon the decaying flesh and reminding him of the chaos that had ensued not so long ago. "He's a Lannister, Lia," it was as simple as that – he wouldn't like him because of who he was, and what he stood for.

"Far from the worst."

He had to stop himself from shouting out to the Seven Heavens as the words left her mouth, had to stop himself from saying or doing something he would later regret and instead, only just managed to carry on leading her towards the gates, feeling his anger simmering beneath the surface.

"I can't believe you're defending him after everything he's done, after everything his family's done to us," Jon bit out in his growing frustration, finding himself in the same position as when he'd realised she'd brought the Kingslayer with her. He hadn't felt betrayed, but it had hurt him to think that she loved a man who had hurt Bran.

"He's changed," Eliana countered, glancing up at the Wall in all its glory as they stood in the chill and waited for the gate to lift. "You may not want to believe it, but he has."

Jon glowered at the iron gate as it rose above their heads, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck rising at Eliana's defence of the Kingslayer. Annoyed, he snatched the sconce from its placement on the side of the tunnel hastily, "He pushed our little brother out a tower, Lia!" Jon wheeled around suddenly, feeling himself overcome with anger as he listened to her defend him, "He crippled Bran!"

Eliana shrunk back slightly, having not expected Jon to react in the way that he had. Jaime had crippled Bran, and she felt awful for loving that man responsible for that but it felt exciting to be with him – he wasn't the same man who had done that to their brother. "You're right..." she bit out lowly, ducking her head as she moved to walk beside him, keeping her distance. "And I feel awful for loving him but at the same time, I don't."

Jon let out a cold laugh, refusing to look at her as they gradually reached the other end of the tunnel, "How can you say that?"

She could feel hot tears watering her eyes while her stomach gave a sickening lurch at his words – she knew that she should be repulsed by Jaime, she knew that. She knew of the hatred in Jon's heart, and while she knew he was would never hate her, she felt that same hatred in her own heart but for herself.

She had hated Jaime, hated him for the way that he could bring a smile to her face, she hated the fact that he called her his 'little wolf', she hated the way he would trace the scars that marred her with his only remaining fingers, compassion ablaze in his eyes. But more importantly, she hated the feelings he had provoked inside of her for him, and how his smile could make her stomach flip and when he slipped his arms around at her night she would feel safe, and she had learned to trust him – she was the only person he felt comfortable around to not wear his golden hand, how could she not trust him?

Eliana knew it was wrong, that it shouldn't be so hard to not hate a man who played a part in the destruction of her family, of all those she loves and yet Jaime was somehow managing to burrow his way further and further into the fortifications she had warded herself with. She wasn't entirely sure that he knew he was doing it – behind his sarcastic remarks, smirks and the small smiles, he was slowly making himself permanent.

Striding ahead of her brother when she caught the trickles of the light beaming in from the other end of the tunnel, Eliana tried to not scoff at how petty the conversation seemed. "You fell in love with a Wildling, and I fell in love with a Lannister..." she mused, knowing that there was never any choice in the matter. "Is it so wrong that I feel something when I'm with him?"

Jon's movements faltered for a moment, the sconce drooping in the air as he stared at his sister, watching as she stormed by in her irritated state. Ygritte had made him feel something, had reminded him that it was all right to love and to want to be loved since having left Winterfell... he wouldn't deny that. But he had given her up for what was right, and he wished his sister had done the same rather than condemn herself to a life with a Lannister of all people. But he was conflicted – Eliana seemed happy enough with Jaime, and he couldn't deny that the Kingslayer looked at her in a way that he could believe was fondness... "The forbidden excitement?" he asked quietly, falling back into his usual soft footfalls until he was at her side.

"If that's what you want to call it..." she gave a shrug at his question – she couldn't bring herself to hate Jaime because Jon seemed to, or because her mother still hated him. She couldn't, and she knew that was wrong – it was going against everything her father had taught her, and yet she couldn't do it... "But we don't get to choose who we love, and we crave what we can't have." Life's too short to worry about what other people think, she could hear Jaime's voice in her head as she spoke, reminding her that she had the freedom to choose what she wanted.

Jon sighed as he passed the sconce to the brother on guard, nudging Eliana out of the passage and into the daylight as it engulfed them both. "It's never as simple as loving one another," he remarked as he led her through the East Courtyard, the distance sounds of steel clashing echoing ahead of them.

"Why her?" Eliana asked suddenly as they came to another passage that would lead them into the West Courtyard, "Why Ygritte and not some other Wildling woman? What drew you to her?" if Jon was so quick to judge her about her choices in the heart, then she deserved to know why he had let himself fall for a Wildling of all people.

If he could judge her, why couldn't she judge him?

Jon was silent for a few moments, his furrowed brow fixed to the dirt beneath his feet. No one, not even Sam, had asked him such a personal question – why had he loved Ygritte? It wasn't like one of Sansa's books she used to like reading growing up, like Florian and Jonquil. He supposed he'd fallen in love with the freedom she represented, and how she was her own self and had no fear of repercussions. It might have been infatuation... he wasn't too sure, but he definitely felt something for Ygritte – and she had felt something for him too.

Realising he'd yet to answer her questions, Jon cleared his throat when he saw Eliana staring at him expectantly. "She was fierce, so fierce..." he paused, swallowing hard as he recalled their time in that cave together, and how it had felt. "You know, passionate and quick-tempered but she was free, and she truly believed she could make a difference," and for that reason alone, he should have known she was going to die in the end.

Eliana smiled, Jon had never been one with words and that couldn't have sounded less poetic if he tried. "Even if she died trying..." she mused quietly, and Jon roused a small smile in agreement.

And she did, he wanted to add but couldn't bring himself to say it out loud. "She made me feel things I never thought I'd get the chance because of the Night's Watch," he admitted, feeling the heat rising onto his face at the confession. Uncle Benjen had always boasted about it being a lonely life at the Wall, maybe that was why he clung to the freedom that came with Ygritte. "I knew it was wrong, but I didn't care because I'd never met a woman like her before... she was everything women south of the Wall aren't."

He should have never joined the Night's Watch – it was what Lady Catelyn had wanted, him tucked away from sight, and it hadn't done him any favours. He'd not been at Robb's side when he went to war, should have been there when he died... should have been by his sister's side but instead, he clung to his forbidden love with Ygritte. She had roused life in him he had forgotten, the life the Wall had drained out of him.

Suddenly Jon was smiling, a wide smile curling at his lips. "She almost killed me, shot me full of arrows when I betrayed her..." it was nothing he hadn't deserved – he'd stolen her hearts just as she had claimed his.

Eliana blinked, trying not to react to the knowledge that the woman Jon had loved had tried to turn him into a pincushion. Maybe his forbidden love wasn't so different from hers after all... "But she didn't kill you."

"No, she didn't," Jon agreed softly, pursing his lips in thought, his eyes falling upon the first few recruits filing into the training yard. "She stopped the Free Folk from killing me twice, and I saved her from a warg when we climbed the Wall together." His relationship with Ygritte wasn't something he was likely to forget anytime soon, something he could see himself clinging onto for years to come if it helped him to survive – remembering how they had ensured one another's safety, how they had loved each other-

"You climbed the Wall?" Eliana incredulous tone interrupted his thoughts as he glanced over at her, meeting her wide eyes immediately, her expression unreadable in that moment.

Jon tried not to laugh at her evident disapproval of having done something so reckless in order for the Wildlings to think he was genuine. "I had to convince them I was on their side..." the plan had worked, and he had survived that far – he didn't see anything wrong with it, though he knew Alliser Thorne would give argument if Jon could care enough to hear.

"Fancy that..." Eliana hummed with a smile, her elbow brushing his before she nudged his side much like a child would pester their sibling, a harmless taunt. "My brother a turncloak." It was rather odd to hear Jon talk of how he played both sides, something she never imagined him doing due to the infamous honourable streak of the Starks. It was surprising, to say the least, and somewhat endearing to see Jon so passionate about something.

Feeling the hairs on the back of his neck rise suddenly, Jon looked to the side to see the Kingslayer lurking outside the West North Tower, eyeing the pair of them with interest. He still didn't trust the man; he didn't like the fact that he was always lurking in the shadows and watching him. He reminded him of Joffrey, the monster who had killed his father.

He couldn't even begin to comprehend how Eliana had let herself be married to someone like him, to someone who had caused their family so much grief – it was beyond him, and yet she loved him. How could she love him? A Lannister? Clearing his throat, Jon finally looked away from where Jaime was standing, "What about the Kingslayer?"

Eliana's brows rose in surprise at his question, watching as he leant against some barrels of pitch, eyeing her carefully. She couldn't help but feel she already knew the way their conversation was going. Whatever she said about Jaime, she knew Jon would surely object and she didn't blame him.

She bit her lip, struggling to approach the topic of her husband in a way that wouldn't rouse immediate anger from Jon, something she knew would be hard. "Jaime is... you see him as arrogant, and he is but all I see is a redemptive man," Jon scoffed at her words and she frowned at him, "He's nothing like Cersei, and even if he was that version of him is gone."

Eliana also knew that defending him would only infuriate Jon as well, something she should have thought about before allowing her mouth to run away so carelessly. "Look," she started again, swallowing hard as an attempt to compose herself. "Losing his hand has changed him in ways I never knew a person could be changed, and yet he's not a bad person, Jon."

Jon folded his arms over his chest and drew his upper lip between his teeth, suppressing a moan in annoyance. "People like him never change," he grumbled in frustration, trying not to look to where the man in question was still stood watching them, "All he lost was a hand, Lia."

He cursed himself for ever admiring the Kingslayer – for having thought of him like the King he had expected Robert Baratheon to be. He always did find it hard to look away from the Lion of Lannister, and he found it even more difficult to look his sister in the eye seeing as she was now the Lady of Casterly Rock.

Eliana tried not to flinch – his maiming had been monstrously cruel, even if Jaime had done so many wicked things... but to hack his hand off and leave him broken, killing him would have been a mercy in her eyes. "He was that hand... I've seen him at his very lowest, and I've seen him want to die, to give up... when he lost that part of him, he lost the will to live."

Jon arched a brow at her, "Then why is he still alive?"

She felt her fingers flex in frustration, her fingers curling into fists as she tucked them behind her back. "I told him some hard truths, and he actually listened," Jon tilted his head at her and she winced, looking at the ground. "I called him a coward for giving up when others have had worse things happen to them."

"And you love him," Jon bristled at the idea of the Kingslayer having some claim over his sister, "Because he's suddenly so humble, is that it?"

Her affection for Jaime confused her – he wasn't a terrible man but he had done terrible things in his past... so have I, she thought grimly as she looked to Jon, holding his gaze steadily. Her most terrible acts were letting their father die and leaving Robb to his fate, having left Sansa in the clutches of Joffrey... she wondered if loving him would be her biggest regret.

"Honour and loyalty aren't his greatest feats, he's rather cynical about those..." Eliana could see that her defence of Jaime was doing little to change Jon's opinion of him and she doubted even if she spoke the truth, Jon wouldn't listen to her. She saw herself as his last chance of honour, if anything, and a part of her believed that's what Jaime thought... at least. "He saw first-hand what the Mad King did to our Grandfather and our Uncle, and how other members of the Kingsguard stood by and did nothing while he burned people alive."

"He profaned his blade with the blood of the king he had sworn to defend, Lia!" Jon hissed lowly, trying to get her to see the sense in her evident lapse of mental judgement. He couldn't believe she was willingly defending him against her own brother, against her own blood. "He swore a vow to protect his king's life with his own... and then he opened that king's throat with a sword."

Up until Harrenhal, Eliana had felt the same about Jaime... and that was through only her own fault – and the influence of her father. But she had learned in those bathing rooms with Jaime that Ned Stark had been wrong, that Ned Stark had been unjust towards a man who had saved millions of lives. "A king who would have seen us all burn. Someone had to do it, Jon..." it was the truth – Aerys was planning to blow up the entirety of King's Landing because the voices in his head told him to, and even though Jaime saved so many lives, no one cared. "Our father, as much as every part of me is screaming, judged him wrong."

"He's got his claws in you..." Jon shook his head, his eyes trailing to where Jaime stood now conversing with Lady Catelyn, his nephew squirming in her arms.

Following his gaze, Eliana stilled when she saw what had caught Jon's attention and wheeled around to face him again, "Just listen to me," she sighed, finding the conversation to increasingly tedious. "He refused to kill our father when duelling – he could've killed him then and there in Flea Bottom but he didn't. Yes, he pushed Bran out of a tower in the hope that the fall would kill him... but he saved me from being raped, and after Robb died he came back," she would never forget the fact that he had come back, after everything, he'd turned around and come back.

Jon couldn't believe what he was hearing – his sister was actually defending the man who had been caught with his sister and then pushed their brother from a tower. Clenching his fists, Jon pushed off of the barrels with another scoff. "He did that to Bran because he felt he had no choice," he would not be shaking the Kingslayer's remaining hand and calling him brother anytime soon.

At his words, Eliana bows her head, feeling her shoulders slump. He had hoped to kill Bran, her husband had wanted to kill her brother for what he saw... maybe she was just as bad as he was, protecting him when he had done wicked things. "I know," she nodded, biting her lip and wishing it wasn't the truth. "And I won't defend him for that. But he saved me, and he's trying to help- "

Suddenly Jon was moving toward her, his hand raised to her face as he pointed to the scarred mess on one side. "Is he the reason you got this?" His grimaced; her skins uses to be smooth, unmarred and porcelain like and now, as he stared at it... it unnerved him to see what the war had down to his sister.

She was too beautiful for the Kingslayer, too kind for his rough hands and crude humour and rages; Lady Catelyn had been right, the Kingslayer did seem to love, but Jon doubted that he actually knew her, and he also knew that he would try to tame her, try to change her to suit him. He didn't want to give Jaime Lannister his sister.

"Jon..." Eliana started, closing her eyes in defeat as her hand fell upon her own cheek, her fingertips tracing the scar that was there. "It was my own fault. You have to understand- " Jon shook his head, hardly believing what he was hearing. "Jon, listen to me. He's changed, believe me, and if you would just see that- "

"No," Jon turned around, his eyes hard and full of rage, his fists clenching while his shoulders grew rigid. "If you expect me to respect him after he's got his claws in you after he crippled Bran..." he sucked in a deep breath before letting out a hollow laugh, "Father would turn in his crypt."

Eliana stared after Jon as he stalked away towards his rooms, shrugging off his cloak in his vexation as she stood there. "Jon!" she called, running a hand over her face. She could feel tears burning in her eyes as she watched him disappear from sight. Of course, Jon was never going to accept the fact that she was married to Jaime, that she loved Jaime, that she-

"Not the reunion you hoped for?"

Glancing over her shoulder, Eliana tried to hide the tears through a smile when she saw the Onion Knight approaching her. The reunion wasn't the issue... the issue was Jaime. It was frustrating – all everyone seemed to be gossiping about was the fact she'd married the man who had murdered the Mad King. There were more pressing matters. "No one battered an eyelid when Jon Arryn married my aunt, and yet when I, the daughter of Ned Stark, marries the infamous Kingslayer..."

Davos scratched his beard, humming slightly. "You can never please everyone, milady."

"The only person I only ever wanted to please was my father."

Davos smiled at her reply, "And did you?" he found himself hoping that she had.

Stannis had always spoken fondly of Eddard Stark, and unfortunately, he'd never met the Northman himself but he had always heard honourable things regarding the Warden of the North up until his untimely death. But the man had supported Stannis's claim for the Iron Throne, so Davos doubted he would've been an enemy of his.

Eliana bit the inside of her cheek, "I wish I knew." Jon's words had gotten to her, had uprooted her resolve and cemented regard of Jaime – Jon had always been the voice of reason, of sense and even if he continued to speak ill of Jaime, she wasn't so sure how long she could keep herself from caving.

Jon hadn't lied to her, that's what made it worse. Jaime had done all those terrible things, and he had crippled Bran and she would never forgive him for that but she loved – she really did – but Jon was her family

Seeing her inner-conflict, the uncertainty in the way her brows knitted together, Davos stepped forward and sighed. "The lad will come around," he tried to offer her comfort as he set his shortened left hand on her shoulder. He didn't much like Jaime Lannister but he couldn't necessarily hate him either. But he did like Jon Snow.

"What if he's right, Ser Davos?" Eliana all but whispered, her eyes fixed upon him, staring him down as she sucked in a sharp breath. There was a part of her that wanted to believe that Jon was right and that she'd let herself be the fool once more. That part of her was fighting with the half that loved Jaime... "What if a lion can never change his coat?"

Davos stared at the woman in front of him for a long moment, trying to think of an answer to her question. Lannisters, in his eyes, would never change. But she was so desperate to believe that the Kingslayer could, and while it was endearing, Davos wasn't sure it would ever come true. Tywin Lannister never changed, so it would be logical for him to assume that neither would his son, the son who lived for war.

"What do you want?" Davos asked her instead, hoping to steer her away from that topic.

Eliana frowned slightly, "What do you mean?" she knew what he was asking her, wanting to make sure she hadn't forgotten – her mother did it as often as she was able, but she hoped the mask she wore wouldn't give too much away.

Davos laughed, smiling as a crooked smile. "You know exactly what I mean: what do you want?"

She looked down at her hands suddenly, finding that she'd come to trust Davos far more quickly than Stannis. Maybe it was because he came from Flea Bottom, and he had faced true hardships and she felt that she could relate to him... she wasn't entirely too sure. But she didn't want to reveal her deepest desires to him.

Eliana closed her eyes. But keeping everything a secret wouldn't do her any favours, she had to do it her own way, use Stannis when needed to get her what she wanted... she needed to play the game. Something she didn't want to do. She needed to be the Stark she had forgotten to be.

She took a deep breath before looking to Davos again, "Home," Eliana answered, the word hanging between them as her breath dispersed into the air. "I want to go home."

Davos looked at her, the wrinkles around his eyes softening at the mention of Winterfell. The woman before him was still a girl, a girl vying for her right as the heir to the Winterfell – she wanted to ensure what remained of her family was alive and safe.

She wasn't someone who lusted after a war, who enjoyed killing others and neither was she a threat to Stannis's claim to the Iron Throne. Perhaps he would mention it to Stannis in the hope of swaying them to leave sooner.

There was little of the North that would ever impress Jaime Lannister.

There is multitudes of snow and great gusts of wind... and everything feels wrong, and he almost always finds himself on guard. The brothers of the Night's Watch watched his movements warily much like Stannis's men – they know his life story, and what he's done. He's a lion of Lannister to them, and will always be – kin to those who killed theirs.

He doesn't care what others think of him, he's not there for him... he didn't come North for them. He's only there for Eliana, his wife and the lady of Winterfell. More like the lady of Casterly Rock, he mused to himself though he would never say that to her.

He didn't truly understand why she loved him or why she married him without putting up a fight – he wouldn't have married into the family responsible for such pain against hers so easily. He pushed her brother through a window, ambushed her father, and waged war on her entire family.

Even now, he found she still surprised him as he stood watching her bicker with Jon Snow, observed as she defended him against her own flesh and blood. It was wrong to see her fighting his battles for him, to stand aside as she tried to prove he had changed. Of course, the boy didn't trust him – it was probably the wise thing to do seeing as he didn't entirely trust himself either.

Behind him, he caught the soft footfalls of a woman he knew all too well, and without turning to glance at her he couldn't suppress the smile creeping onto his lips. Catelyn had taken to becoming his shadow as of late, had become accustomed to following him about... something she wasn't so subtle in doing. But he knew that she wanted him to know she was there, always watching him to serve as the reminder for his guilt.

Catelyn paused when she saw him standing a few steps from her, casually dressed in shadows of crimson and black, his sword swinging from his hip. A shock of sandy hair falling across his brow in the slight breeze.

Despite having grown somewhat used to him, she still found herself slightly intimidated by him, truthfully; he was the Kingslayer, and he had fought against her son, and he was part of the family who had dealt awful horrors to hers. Though she had some sort of faith in him as she saw him standing watch over her daughter, watching her as though he was afraid she would disappear.

"Ser Jaime," Catelyn called softly after a moment.

Jaime smiled at the use of 'ser' before glancing at the woman as she came to stand beside him, her grandson clutched in her arms, "Cat."

At the nickname, she shuddered and fixed him with a cool stare – he knew damn well she hated being called that, he knew damn well it was what Ned used to call her, what her family would call her. "You know very well I'm not fond of that name, Ser," she commented quietly, not wanting to show weakness in front of such a man.

Jaime hummed, "Perhaps that's why I like calling you by it, Lady Stark," he offered her a small, sad crooked smile as his good hand rose to touch her elbow.

"Catelyn," she interrupted abruptly, "You might as well call me Catelyn."

"That's rather forward for the Lady of Winterfell, wouldn't you say?"

One thing she had come accustomed to was his teasing or his sarcastic remarks, something Jaime couldn't control himself. Her breath caught in her throat as she moved nearer, "I am the Lady of Winterfell," she reminded, her voice breaking ever so slightly but he didn't seem bothered by that, it didn't even look as though he'd noticed it.

He wasn't looking at her, instead, his gaze was fixed to the courtyard below them. Sighing, Catelyn's own eyes narrowed when she saw Jon Snow throwing his hands up into the air (in what she guessed was outrage) while her daughter spoke in hushed tones, as though she was trying to reason with him.

It didn't seem hard to guess what – or who – they were arguing over.

"They're arguing over me," came a sigh of defeat from Jaime.

"Of course they are," she found herself agreeing almost instantly, causing his head to snap in her direction, seemingly shocked that she believed it to be true. Catelyn almost laughed. "She'll protect you because she loves you but Jon doesn't trust you, and I don't entirely for that matter."

He wasn't sure why he was shocked by her confession – he knew Catelyn didn't like him, and that she had only warmed to the idea of him for Eliana's sake. But to know that she still didn't trust him left him uneasy, as though he was constantly on trial. "Can't say I blame you..." he muttered darkly as he watched Snow storm off in a flurry of anger.

Jaime hated to think that he was coming in between Eliana and her family, that he was stopping her from finding the contentment she needed because none of the Starks would ever accept him for what his family had done, for what he had done. He understood that, and he respected it – but he did love her, and he would fight for that right no matter who stood in his way.

"Do you regret any of it?" she questioned, her words breaking the silence that had settled between them, her fingers absently stroking her grandson's head of auburn curls.

Jaime bowed his head, refusing to look at her. "What is there left to regret?" he countered grimly.

"Everything," Catelyn implored lightly, "Everything you've done."

"Every last thing I've ever done was done for love," Jaime bit out suddenly, making Catelyn take a step away from him before he slumped against the beam in front of them, leaning on it with a sigh before he looked up at her. "I should think you'd be able to sympathise with me..."

Catelyn scowled at him, "If I believed you- "

"And why shouldn't you believe me?"

A laugh ripped through her lips before she could stop it (almost reminding herself of Robert Baratheon and the way he would always bark a laugh for a particular reason at all), and she blinked at the man as he stood before. "Why should I?" Catelyn ventured, cooing to the infant in her arms.

Jaime's brow furrowed deeply, his lips forming a grim line. "I have no reason to lie to you."

"So tell me," she persisted, and Jaime grimaced at the woman's insistent torture, always seeming to demand things from him and never allowing him a minute's silence.

"I would have done many things differently," Jaime replied, not quite looking at her. He regretted some many things in his life, and he wished he had lived his years differently in hindsight. "I have many regrets... I would have still done some of them," he finally looked at her and sighed, "Do you understand, Lady Stark?"

His question was a dare, that much she knew. "Tell me, then," she prompted, eyeing him as the golden hair man hooked his finger in her grandson's palm, "Name one thing you would do differently." Catelyn knew he wouldn't mention Bran; he couldn't even bring himself to say her son's name let alone discuss what he'd done.

It was hard to sleep at night without thinking about men burning alive by wildfire, or the rebellion tearing its way through Westeros... or the Princess Elia's heartbreak at having been abandoned by her husband and imprisoned by her good-father. Nothing can spare him from seeing the little bodies of Princess Rhaenys and Prince Aegon, bundled together in Lannister cloaks. Their screams still haunted him at night, jolted him awake with remorse and regret of having not saved them... the ghosts that haunted him, that blamed him.

"I should have killed Aerys more quickly because then I could have saved them," Jaime sighed, his eyes roaming over Alaric's face solemnly. "If I had been quicker I could have saved the children, the little children from their slaughter..." he bowed his head, grinding his teeth together as the memory of that day flashed through his mind, making him shudder. He would never forget their tiny bodies beneath the cloaks. "But I would still kill him without a doubt... they call me the Kingslayer as an insult, Catelyn. But in truth, killing Aerys Targaryen was the proudest moment of my life."

"Is there anything you're not proud of?" Catelyn pressed, wanting to see how far she could push him before he became guarded again before he concealed himself from her once more.

"In war?" Jaime considered her question for a moment, "Can't say there is."

"I wasn't talking about that."

"As you know, Catelyn, I'm not proud of a lot of things... most of which seem to involve your family," he commented with a heavy sigh, looking back to his wife as she was approached by the smuggler who followed Stannis. "I betrayed my king- "

Catelyn stroked the back of Alaric's head and offered Jaime a sympathetic smile, "He wasn't a good king though, was he?"

"Aerys was every bit the monster Joffrey was, worse I'd wager because there was no one left who could control that damned mad man," Jaime paused "He planned to wipe out King's Landing with wildfire rather than surrender the capital to Robert... I had sworn to protect him... but then he asked me to kill my own father..."

She was watching him intently, her Tully eyes wide with fright. "Why didn't you tell anyone this?"

"I broke my oath," Jaime barked out a laugh, throwing his head back in frustration as he was reminded of his time at Harrenhal when he had told Eliana the very same thing. "People will believe what they want to be true... anything I could say would be lies to them, excuses... especially to people like your husband. He despised me for it."

Catelyn stiffened at his words. She had heard the story plenty of times, but never directly from the Kingslayer himself.

"They say that your duty as a member of the Kingsguard is to protect the king and the king only. They make you swear and swear so many oaths, and after a while it all becomes confusing when the oaths contradict one another," Jaime scoffed, curling the fingers of his good hand into a clenched fist at the distant memories, "Yes, I was supposed to protect the king, but as a knight I was also supposed to protect the people..." he bit his lower lip as he watched Eliana below them, "I tried to protect Elia from him as best as I could but when Rhaegar ran off with Lyanna Stark, it became increasingly difficult."

Catelyn studied him silently, wondering if there was honour in him yet seeing as he spoke passionately about the past and how he had tried to do the right thing, how he attempted to help those in need rather than fulfil his own desires.

Jaime could see Aerys pinning his wife to the bed before the door shut, concealing the horror within but not her screams in his mind's eyes, how she had begged him to stop and he had done nothing to help Rhaella, nothing to save her from Aerys. "What about his poor wife when she was raped over and over again by the king you were sworn to protect? What about Rhaella? I'll tell you what his gracious Kingsguard did – we stood by and listened to her screams, to her cries as he forced himself on her. That's something you never forget," Jaime all but spat, baring his teeth as he stared at nothing, a cruel twist forming on his mouth.

Catelyn might have been wary of him in that moment, and she might have left him to his brooding if she didn't find herself so intrigued by what had happened during the final days of the rebellion, something she knew so little of. She wanted to know more.

"In his last days, he had caches of wildfire placed all over the city and he was going to burn everyone, every last person in King's Landing... his own wife, good-daughter and grandchildren. He was maddened, Catelyn," Jaime slowly looked to her and saw the shocked expression he'd seen on so many faces, including her daughter's, an expression he never got tired of seeing. He smiled at that thought, a crude smirk. "So I killed him."

Jaime had fallen silent, his attention of her grandson and she found she didn't blame him, and she isn't entirely sure what to do with the new found knowledge. She had built an image of him based on lies and stories she'd heard, she'd admit that and that had been wrong. She didn't know what to do with this new Jaime, the new Jaime her daughter had introduced her to.

"Why didn't you say anything? Why didn't you explain yourself?"

Jaime laughed suddenly, though it lacked all mirth and the little boy in her arms looked up at him with wide eyes. "It was your husband who arrived first and he didn't want to listen to me – I wonder what he would've done if they King was still alive," he trailed his finger over Alaric's cheek before looking up to Catelyn, "He always believed in honour and duty before everything, and he had already made up his mind about me. Why should I care what people thought about me?"

Catelyn blinked. She wanted to feel sorry for him but the Kingslayer wasn't like every other man, and she wasn't entirely sure what kind of man he was... what kind of man pushes innocent children from towers? Her hold around Alaric tightened without her meaning to, and the child squirmed.

"You prattle on about the gods, Lady Stark..." Jaime clenched his jaw, glancing at his wife and recalling how she often prayed to her father's trees. Praying never helped anyone – he could strip his wife bare and see that, all the scars that marred her body told him that the gods didn't exist. "But they can't exist if the world is so often bloodied by pain and injustice. There's always the trees your husband prayed to but they didn't stop Joffrey, did they?" he shook his head and before he could stop himself his words were running away with him once again, but there was no justice in the world. "I've always wondered – did Ned ever tell you how his father died? How his brother died?" he couldn't help but wonder if she would feel any different after knowing what the Mad King had done to her beloved Brandon Stark.

Catelyn stilled at the mention of Brandon, her eyes trailing over Jaime very carefully. It was unnerving to hear him speak so freely of the horrors from his youth. "Brandon was strangled to death while Rickard watched before dying as well," she said quietly.

He could see she was already uncomfortable with the conversation, "Oh, Ned wished to spare his young bride from the truth," he remarked as she sent him a quick glare. "I always thought it was very noble of him to marry his dead brother's betrothed after that scandal... Brandon was very much like myself, you know, fire filled his veins."

"Brandon was nothing like you."

Perhaps that was why he died... "If you say so, I didn't really know the man all that well," Jaime shrugged before flashing a crooked smile – he'd spend a great deal of his youth at Riverrun when Hoster Tully regarded him as an appropriate match for her sister, the infamous Lysa. Catelyn always proved to be far more interesting. "He certainly didn't court me."

Despite finding she could tolerate him, Catelyn always detested Jaime for having retained his arrogant streak as he spoke ill of the dead – if they gods had had their way, she would've married Brandon as she'd wanted, and instead she was stood talking of his demise with a man who had helped send her poor Ned to slaughter.

"I was there when he and his rabble arrived, in all their rash glory, riding straight into the Red Keep and demanded Rhaegar to come out and die," Jaime grimaced at that memory, how Brandon's voice had echoed off the walls of the Red Keep, seething with fire. "But of course, Rhaegar wasn't there... so Aerys had Brandon was arrested for plotting the murder of the crown prince."

Catelyn nodded, having heard the tale from Ned on numerous occasions and Robert during one of the many times he was drunk, though neither were actually there like Jaime. "Aerys accused them of treason and summoned their fathers to court to answer for their crimes," she assumed with a narrowed gaze, watching as he started to shake his head.

"Aerys murdered them all without a trial, not proper trials anyway," he doubted anyone would ever truly understand the horrors he was forced to witness as a member of the Kingsguard, forced to watch as the king disgraced his title. "Lord Rickard demanded a trial by combat and adorned his armour seemingly ready for a battle. Aerys granted him the request, and they took him to the throne room where he was suspended from the rafters while two of his pyromancers stoked a fire beneath him. Aerys was always obsessed with fire, and of course he'd chosen it as his champion..." he trailed off, gritting his teeth before he looked to Catelyn to see her eyes wide, judging him once more. "Lord Rickard could only prove his innocence if he didn't burn, an impossible task."

He knew he could tell from the way she looked at him and from the way she was hanging off his every word that she still loved Brandon Stark – no matter if she had come to love Ned, or that she had given him children... Jaime knew a part of her would always love Brandon. But Hoster had refused the betrothal when he'd heard the eldest Stark's ongoing relations with Barbrey Dustin, he'd dishonoured Cat and so she was passed to the younger brother. He smirked at that thought, Brandon did remind him of himself.

"When they brought Brandon in his hands were chained behind his back, and they had attached this leather cord device to his neck... Aerys always boasts about it," Jaime squeezed his eyes, laughing bitterly as he referred to the Mad King as if he were an old friend. "I remember watching in horror as they placed a longsword just out of his reach."

"The pyromancers roasted your good-father slowly, fanning the fire carefully... his cloak caught first, as I recall, and then everything else until he was a metal suit of armour," Jaime had always thought to join the Kingsguard was something to be proud of, to be admired for but during those days of rebellion, they were some of the most shameful days of his entire life. "I call still hear Aerys goading Brandon to save his father from cooking, and laughing as he struggled to get the sword, the cord around his neck tightening all the while until he strangled himself," he could see the tears in her eyes as he continued to speak, obviously finding his retelling harrowing in describing her betrothed's death to her.

"It didn't take long for Lord Rickard after that, you can imagine the smell..." if it as not their screams that haunted him while he slept, then it was the constant smell of burning flesh of Aerys's victims, the taste of sweat on his tongue as he stood aside and did his acclaimed duty. Jaime swallowed hard, "Their screams still haunt me at night."

Catelyn clenched her jaw, desperately not wanting her emotions to betray her to Jaime Lannister of all people. "If you expect me to believe you murdered Aerys as vengeance for- "

"I didn't... as for your Ned, he should have kissed the hand that killed Aerys, but he preferred to scorn the arse he found sitting on Robert's throne," Jaime found himself interjected with a sigh. He never did it for them, he didn't really know the reason for why he'd done it... it'd just made sense to him at the time, and because of who the Mad King was, who he had become. He doubted Ned Stark would've done it. "Rickard and Brandon Stark meant nothing to me, but they meant something to your daughter. And to have seen what losing a father and brother has done to her, how it's warped her..." he fixed his gaze on her, "Some day I think she'll see me for the monster I really am..."

He could see the rage in her eyes, "She should because the truth is you really are a monster," Catelyn ground out fiercely, glowering at him.

Jaime looked up at her again, allowing himself to study the woman he now called his good-mother before he bowed his head. "I'm sorry."

Catelyn could feel the tears welling in her eyes as her mind fled to Bran, and how she wondered if Jaime regretted what he had done to her son. Sniffing, she turned away so she couldn't see him.

Jaime reached out and took Alaric from her arms with a smile, hoisting the infant up as small hands grasped for his hair. He saw her hesitance in having taken the boy from her, "I won't risk the life of another Stark."

"My son is crippled because of you," she hissed in his ear and Jaime flinched at her tone. "My husband is dead because of your family. Most of my children are either missing or dead..." Catelyn could feel herself growing weaker the more she spoke until she could feel tears brimming in her eyes, and despite herself, she let Jaime set a comforting arm on her shoulder. "You killed... you killed my Ned."

Jaime didn't move to object. Catelyn needed someone to blame for her grief and he understood that, and he didn't see any point arguing with her. Despite her resistance, he drew Catelyn closer to him and his good hand settled upon the small of her back until her tears ceased.

She looked so fragile against his body and Jaime why no one shared her grief – his wife pretended she didn't feel and ignored it at every turn, choosing to wage war against the entire world to make herself feel better. Her eldest son was dead, and he assumed her emotional support had been Eddard. Ned was gone. With him and her other children, Catelyn did seem so very alone.

"I'm sorry about your husband, I truly am... Ned Stark – he was a good man," Jaime felt a sudden pang of guilt in his stomach as he recalled the hideous ambush in Flea Bottom. Eddard Stark had been a loyal man who had stumbled upon a truth that endangered his life.

He would like to think that if Catelyn had been in Cersei's position, Jaime would have believed she would have done the same to protect her children.

Jaime chuckled as the boy in his arms tugged on his hair again, "I know it's difficult for you, but you've a kind heart," he knew Catelyn had advised against him travelling North with them, and he had understood her reluctance, he even respected it.

Catelyn's lips twisted into a scowl, "One of my many disadvantages." She raised her head and stared at him hard, watching as he became besotted of the little boy. It was rather a bizarre sight.

"Perhaps not," Jaime made a noise at the little boy, pressing his lips to the tiny hand as it reached out to grab him.

His sudden tenderness with her grandchild shocked her, watching as he roused giggles from the child while Alaric squeezed and yanked before he pressed a kiss to his forehead.

"Am I supposed to forgive you now?"

Jaime refused to look at her, and instead continued to fuss over Alaric, "No, absolutely not," he called to her earnestly, turning to glance at her and frown when he saw her watering eyes, her cheeks flushed. "Gods, woman... you're a she-wolf, the Lady of Winterfell," he rolled his eyes at Catelyn before sending her a soft smile. "I'd expect you to hate me forever."

She realised then that there was no reason to truly fear Jaime Lannister – in fact, it seemed he was the one who was afraid for he was just a man, a man with weaknesses.

Jaime grimaced suddenly, passing the child back to Catelyn soundlessly and stepping away, "What am I guilty of?" he tempted, tilting his head at her curiously as the woman pressed a kiss to Alaric's brow. "What would you say my crime is, Lady Stark?"

"Being a Lannister," Catelyn ground out firmly as he smiled ruefully, "Tell me, ser," she called softly, her voice barely more than a whisper. "Do you want to die?"

He blinked, finding himself taken aback by his good-mother's frankness and for a moment, he found himself lost for words. Once upon a time, he would have laughed in Catelyn's face if she had said he was scared of death. But now... he did fear it, he feared for what he would be giving up – a wife and any children he might have with her. The babe that's swelling in her as we speak.

"I always thought I'd die with a sword in my hand," he admitted sadly, "Now I don't even have hand in which to wield it... my House is in ruin, and yet I will strive to live," he saw a sad smile cross her face at his words and it spurred him on. "I will live because I have a wife who loves me almost as much as I love her."

He always thought to find himself a woman in need of protection, and instead, it was a woman who seemed to keep him alive.

Catelyn was silent again until she finally spoke: "Did you have anything to do with what happened?"

She didn't need to explain any further for him to understand what she was referring to – it had been awful and unjustified what happened to her son. Eliana refused to speak to it with anyone, even him. Of course, she would think he had something to do with it, and he assumed that was the main reason for her not trusting him.

"No, Lady Stark, I had nothing to do with that happened to your son, and neither did I know what was planned," he knew that if he had tried to lie to her, he would have caved and spoken the truth either way. "I would have tried to kill your son... if I had met him on the field of battle," he amended as her eyes narrowed slightly – to kill someone at their dinner table was cowardly and unjust, two things he never considered himself to be.

Catelyn swallowed, "I know."

Some part of him felt disappointed that she expected that much from and yet a part of him was relieved that she still feared him, that some part of the honourless Kingslayer still remained. "I don't intend to bring our family any harm," between them, their precious families are joined by blood and yet, he knew that his wife had a particular thirst for killing his. With a sardonic smile, Jaime held up his golden hand, "The chances of me killing anyone aren't that great anymore."

Shireen had spent most of the morning browsing through the same pages of a book she'd read and re-read thousand of times, knowing that she would only spend the rest of the day in her rooms in the King's Tower, just as she had the days before.

They'd been at Castle Black for almost a fortnight and all it had been was chaos and work, everyone working and rushing about while Shireen had been kept locked up like a prisoner in the King's Tower and had been told to stay out of everyone's way because it was for the best. Initially, she had been excited to travel North to the Wall and to see the Wildlings, the brothers of the Night's Watch and of course, the Wall itself. But when her father had defeated the Wildling King, she had seen little of the castle, except the damn courtyard. The Wall towered above but soon disappeared into the low-hanging clouds, and she'd barely gotten the chance to see it properly.

To add to her boredom, she hadn't even seen any Wildlings either. The brothers of the Night's Watch were all sombre, as had been all her father's men. She'd admit to herself that she'd felt afraid, having been forced to leave the familiar surroundings of Dragonstone to a sudden dark, lonely place.

She missed Dragonstone terribly, especially her books and the free roam of the castle that she enjoyed on Dragonstone. Castle Black was becoming something like a torture, at least she had the run of Dragonstone where she could explore every room and every passage without being disturbed, marvelling over the throne room at the stone dragons that had been carved there. She missed her lessons with the Maester – not that she didn't find Maester Aemon fascinating – it just wasn't the same. But she had so many questions on her tongue about the history of Castle Black and the Night's Watch, about the Wildlings and the North... but her mother refused to indulge her in such topics, and her father was always doing his duty, along with Ser Davos. Everyone was always so busy apart from Shireen. She felt more alone than ever.

The snowing hadn't been that bad, although it was only occasional due to several intermittent showers until that morning. She'd awoken to find an undisturbed coat of white lying everywhere. It covered the ground wherever she looked, settled over pathways and still falling in glittering flakes and all the odd, grotesque fortifications of Castle Black seemed beautiful in that moment.

She wanted nothing more than to explore the castle in such a weather, but she found her heart sinking when she knew her mother would only reprimand her for doing so. She doubted her father would care but she couldn't go and ask him for he'd left before the sun had full risen.

Dejected, she'd resigned herself to another day in her rooms when she heard shouting from outside followed by a symphony of clashing steel. A quick glance into the yard from her window revealed the commencing of training down in the yard, watching as a small group of recruits had gathered below with swords and shields in their hands. She longed for a closer look. She wanted to watch the brothers of the Night's Watch, among the steps and snow, not from her window inside the King's Tower.

Before she even realised what she was doing, Shireen had thrown her warmest cloak over her shoulders, and had easily slipped past her distracted guards to run down the stone steps which would lead to the courtyard. She knew that she shouldn't, having wandered out without permission but her mother was busy praying with Lady Melisandre. She wanted to lose herself in the library, and if anyone asked where she was going, she would tell them she was going to visit Maester Aemon and borrow some books.

As soon as she'd snuck outside, Shireen felt as if all eyes were on her. She was aware that her high-born attire made her more prone to staring, and the scars on her face always drew attention to anyone. With a sigh, she drew her hood over to conceal her face as she moved to duck under an overhand on the tower wall, near where the stairs rose to an elevated walkway that led to the ruins of the former Lord Commander's Tower.

As her eyes locked on the recruits, she thought that she might like to fight in a great battle some day, astride a dragon from the East or a mammoth from the North. She'd heard from Ser Davos so many tales, especially of the North, of giants and their mammoths and...

"If your lady mother catches you out here, she'll have all our heads..." a soft voice interrupted her thoughts, causing Shireen to jump before looking to see Eliana, the Kingslayer's wife and daughter of Eddard Stark walking a few paces behind her.

Shireen grimaced and halted which made the woman smile, her eyes practically shining with amusement. "I've been locked in that room for nearly a week, and I've barely seen anything at all," she complained lightly – she didn't suit confinement and it only made the boredom much worse than it already was – she would do anything to roam freely around the castle. "There's so much to see here."

"Aye, there is," Eliana looked around, and spied Jon from across the yard as he led a company of two wildings; one hobbling with a great red beard and another with a bandaged eye. "But it's not safe for a princess..." then again, nowhere is safe for a princess anymore.

"You... sound just like Ser Davos," she'd taken too long to reply, and she knew that it was rude of her to feel wary of the woman. She chastised herself. Her father trusted the woman beside her, so she knew she had no reason to be afraid.

Eliana nodded in amusement, "I'll take that as a compliment, Princess," although she'd rather spoken with the girl, she'd come to rather like the princess and what she'd heard from Davos about her. The girl wasn't like her senseless mother or her stoic father, a rarity in itself. "I rather like your Ser Davos... for a smuggler, he seems to speak more sense than lords."

Shireen turned and peered over the beam, swallowing as she chanced a glance up at Eliana as she came to stand beside her, a soft frown on her face. She felt bad – the woman was awfully kind to her, always pleasant and yet she allowed her mother's words to get into her head. A northern beast, wild and untameable... uncontrollable and dangerous. "You... you don't have to call me princess. You can call me Shireen," she found she felt guilty for having feared the woman. Her mother didn't like many people at all, and she was wrong.

She could count on one hand how many northern people she'd met, and most were disappointing and lack interesting stories that Shireen never found in the South. She was convinced that Eliana had many fascinating stories to tell – she'd fought in a war, she had faced enemies and sought out vengeance for her family. And she had a direwolf.

Eliana's smile only widened, the girl was sweet and oddly, she found she reminded her of Sansa in a sense when she still longed for knights. "Very well, Shireen." She also found herself wondering if Shireen was the saddest child she'd ever met...

Shireen glanced away suddenly. She wondered what the Stark woman thought of her face and the ruin marks that graced her cheek. She didn't look at her as though she was affronted by what she saw or bothered by the marred markings from the Greyscale either. "I'm very fond of Ser Davos," Shireen fond herself replying.

Perhaps the reason for why the woman didn't shy away from her because of her scars or mutter 'ugly daughter' behind her back was because of the marks on her own face. Shireen wondered if Eliana took pride in her scars, and wore them like armour so no one could use them against her – she wanted to know how she got them and at what price...

"He does seem to have an uncommon charm about him, doesn't he?"

Shireen had always liked Ser Davos, since the first time she could ever recall meeting but there was plenty of time to talk about the Onion Knight. What had captured and retained her attention was the sword sitting at Eliana's hip, the blade sheathed but the pommel glittering in the morning light. Shireen couldn't help but smile at the sight, "Is it true you fight?"

Glancing at her, Eliana followed the little girl's gaze to the sword and bit back another smile, "My secrets have been unmasked... don't tell your mother." She wasn't fond of Selyse at all, she wasn't fond of her treatment of Shireen either for that matter. The woman was hard and stubborn, much like Stannis, and she often avoided her at all costs.

In an odd sort of way it reminded her of her own mother's regard towards Jon in his youth.

"And you wear armour," Shireen went on, ogling the silver breastplate in awe, trailing her small fingers over the direwolf sigil with a grin before tapping the blue scales. "Real, proper armour."

Smiling at Shireen's comments, Eliana glanced down at the armour herself. "It was a gift from my good-brother, Tyrion... and it's saved my life more than a few times," she paused, looking at the girl in thought, "Don't your books tell tales of female warriors like Rhaenys or Visenya?"

Shireen beamed instantly, a wide smile spreading across her face. "I do so love the tales of Aegon and his dragons," she sighed in wonder, rocking back and forth on her heels a sudden excitement rushed through. How she loved reading about Rhaenys and Visenya... "And of course, his sisters rode dragons too, and they fought just as much as he did. Can you imagine, women fighting alongside men, with their Valyrian steels swords, astride dragons?"

"A wonder to behold indeed."

More men had entered the yard around them, all drawing swords to begin the day's training as they danced among the falling snow, steel singing sweetly as Shireen moved towards Eliana, her fingers still dancing upon the pommel with intrigue. "I've heard the men, they say you have a Valyrian steel sword..." her fingers traced the direwolf's head, feeling the chill of jewels for eyes before chancing a look up at the woman, "What's it called?"

Eliana blinked at the question before she regarded the sword with a soft frown. She hadn't thought to name the sword with her mind having been so preoccupied – and because it had been gifted to her by Tywin Lannister – but perhaps allowing Shireen the chosen of a name would bring a genuine smile to the child's face. "I, uh..." she managed a laugh, "After all this time, I hadn't thought to grace the steel with a name."

Shireen watched in marvel as Eliana withdrew the blade from its sheath, crouching down to her height to lay it across her knee. Intrigued, she leaned in and smiled, her breaths coating the skin of the metal. "Are those sapphires in the pommel? Opals?" Shireen saw Eliana nod and she grinned, "How about Blizzard? No..." she shook her head in thought, frowning slightly. "Night's Fall? Twilight?" she kept rambling off names that seemed to only amuse the woman knelt before her.

The sword sat across her knee was a bastard sword – the mere thought made Shireen grin – and it was probably taller than Shireen stood herself. Her eyes ghosted over it, the blade having been tapered to thrust as well as slash.

She eyed the three fullers it had been incised with, to reduce to the weight... Shireen trailed her fingertips along the blade, tracing the ripples buried in the dark steel that sung its brand as Valyrian. The hilt had been decorated to resemble the scales of a fish – of a trout! And as Shireen ran her hands along it, she grasped the pommel and sucked in a sharp breath at its chill. The head of the direwolf was magnificent, and she loved the glitter the stones gave off.

"Oh, what about Tempest?"

Eliana paused for a moment – to be a tempest was to be the bringer of the storm, of madness and chaos... to bring fear into the hearts of others. "I rather like that," she commented with a smile, sheathing the blade again. "Bringer of the storm, creator of chaos... although even with such a weapon, I don't think I would be able to wield it against a dragon," she was pleased when her jest roused a laugh from Shireen.

"Of course you would," Shireen found herself arguing eagerly. She wished it had been proper decorum for her to learn how to fight, she had argued to her own father once about how the Lord of Tarth had allowed his daughter to wield a sword, something she felt was sorely unfair as she was from the Stormlands. However, it seemed petty to think of that in such a moment. Her blue eyes widened suddenly as another thought crossed her mind, "Why did you marry a Lannister?"

Eliana grimaced slightly, "It starting to feel like a burden." It seemed that no one was fond of her marriage to Jaime, and neither did they seem to want to accept it which only made it more difficult for her.

Shireen was unfamiliar with love – she knew that her mother and father held little love for one another, they couldn't stand being in the same room as one another for very long and they loved her differently. As did Davos. But the love she could see in Eliana's eyes at the mention of the Kingslayer was obvious. "You love the Kingslayer?" she probed, raising a brow as a smile betrayed Eliana's face.

She'd only seen the Kingslayer in passing and competing in tourneys but he'd never been directly cruel to her though she was fully aware of his crimes, and what he had done. She knew why her father detested him so... why the entirety of the Seven Kingdoms didn't seem to favour the golden son of Tywin Lannister.

"My father says he's a dishonourable man who doesn't deserve an honourable woman for his wife. He killed his king."

Eliana nodded curtly, "He did."

Her father rarely spoke about the rebellion or the Mad King to shield her, she imagined, and protect her from such things but she'd asked Maester Cressen and he'd unwillingly obliged her in books regarding the rebellion, well, the few accounts that there were as well as his own knowledge. "King Aerys wasn't a good king, though," she remarked with a small frown.

"No, he wasn't," Eliana agreed solemnly.

"So," Shireen started slowly. She couldn't understand why the Kingslayer was hated for saving the Seven Kingdoms from a mad king – it didn't make sense to her. He broke his oath, she understood that, but he also saved millions of lives because he acted. It didn't make any sense... she doubted her father would have done it if he'd been in his position. "Maybe he did the realm a justice when he killed him."

Eliana smiled at Shireen, knowing that the little girl would be able to rouse a smile from Jaime instantly if she spoke the very same words to him. It was odd for someone to come from Stannis to be so innocent and good, with no evils intentions about her. "I should like to think he did," she replied, seeing the girl bumbling with excitement as she looked out over the yard again.

Shireen nodded, "He seems nice."

"He wasn't always like that," Eliana found herself saying, recalling how belligerent Jaime had been while a prisoner in Robb's encampment and how arrogant he'd been in King's Landing. She found she'd never detested more than she did then, and she shuddered. Back then, he was far too similar to Cersei. "He's seen the error of his ways."

She was comforted by the small fact that somehow he'd changed, and whether it was solely down to losing his sword hand, she wasn't entirely sure but she appreciated it. It had grounded him and made him more aware of the world around him, it had made him more likable... and she actually listened to him, she had pitied him and she had loved him for it.

Shireen was staring at Eliana; she could the woman lost in her thoughts and she couldn't help but wonder if she could get away with pestering the Kingslayer for stories if she wasn't permitted to use the library. "Do you think he has any interesting stories to tell?" she grinned.

"I do," Eliana smiled at the question. Although he rarely told her any, she was certain Jaime had many stories to tell, he was probably too ashamed to recite them to someone who would most likely judge him. Shireen, she doubted, would do that. "You should ask him, I'm sure he'd happily tell you some."

Shireen could feel the anxiousness building in her stomach, her cheeks aching from how wide she was smiling and her fingers almost turning purple as she clasped her hands in front of her politely. "If you see him... will you tell him I'm looking for him?" she almost demanded, hoping that she'd eventually get to meet the infamous Kingslayer properly.

Eliana paused for a moment to look at the little princess beside her. Shireen's eyes were clear and shining in her evident eagerness and honesty.

"I will," Eliana told her softly, setting a soft hand on her shoulder. She hoped that if Shireen ever sought Jaime out that she'd be able to relieve some of the dark thoughts surrounding particular stories. She also hoped Jaime would open up to Shireen to help with his own closure. With a sigh, Eliana glanced across the yard quickly and immediately found Jon among the animated movements, "I suppose I should help my brother," she turned back to look at Shireen, "Enjoy your freedom... and your stories."

"Thank you, Lia," she smiled widely, "I know I will."

Eliana bowed her head slightly before jogging down the steps to disappear through the bodies of men in the yard. She was the She-wolf of the North, and she was as brave as any legend. Even if her adventures didn't quite top the great tales of old.

With little reason or absolution that she would get her way, Eliana found herself retreating from Shireen to approach Jon where he stood talking to the new recruits, his voice soft yet commanding until half of them noticed her presence, and also drew his attention to it.

"Lia," Jon looked surprised to see her there, and realised she'd seen it too. He soon frowned, "What do you want? We're a bit busy..." he trailed off, briefly looking at Edd before taking a step towards hers expectantly.

Eliana smiled at him, "Actually, I was hoping to help," she suggested before gesturing to the sword in his hand, "Might I have a chance to redeem myself for earlier?"

Jon heard some recruits behind him snigger at Eliana, and he gritted his teeth. "What do you suppose, my lady?" he knew there was no stopping her from offering a demonstration when it came to sparring and while he didn't want to indulge her in it, he found he had missed doing so.

"A demonstration for your recruits, perhaps?"

Jon's expression darkened when she retrieved two practice swords from the stand which caused the recruits in front of him to laugh – probably because she was a woman, and none of them had ever seen a woman fight before – he knew their laughter would soon die. Watching as she passed him one, he sighed and grasped the hilt with his remaining hand, testing its weight.

He could see the smile on her face as she ran hers through a quick pattern of lunges before turning to face him again, "Let's get started," Eliana said, "Unless you've forgotten how to hold a sword..."

Jon couldn't help but roll his eyes at her, "Of course, I know how to hold a sword," he snorted, gripping the hilts tighter, knowing that she could send a blow his way at any given time. "Unless you meant it as an insult... Stark." He did have the upper hand with two, but that didn't necessarily mean anything.

"Nothing of the sort, Snow," Eliana replied with a shrug, moving to wander around Jon with a smile as he moved to watch her. "You still have a woman's hair, though," she flicked his curls up with her hand.

Swatting her hand away, Jon grumbled under his breath when he failed due to the sparring sword's crude jerking. He was meant to be teaching the boys to how fend off Wildlings while his sister seemed to be intent on making a mockery of him. "There is nothing wrong with my hair."

"If you say so," her grip tightened on her own sword, still trying to goad him into making the first move rather than her... wanting to see if she could still annoy him using words.

"You never were very funny."

Eliana found herself smiling more widely at Jon as she held her sword out to him in invitation, watching as his eyes narrowed suspiciously. "I'm hilarious." She smiled wider as Jon continued to stare at her. She turned and swung her sword, "Are you going to move or what?" Eliana bowed mockingly to taunt him, hoping to rouse some response.

If Jon was clever, he wouldn't move.

"I'm not going to attack you, Lia," Jon looked at her incredulously, shaking his head softly.

Eliana, however, let her shoulder slump in disappointment at his reply. "For goodness sake, I'm trying to help you with your recruits," she let out in exasperation, closing her eyes to retain her composure. "A wildling wouldn't hesitate, so why should you? Attack me, now."

Jon hesitated, glancing between Edd and the recruits who still stood watching, their laughter having disappeared during their disagreement.

"Come on, Jon, be a man of the Night's Watch!" Eliana teased, smiling softly at her brother. "You wouldn't want to let your recruits down by allowing your pride to be destroyed by a woman, would you?"

With a sigh, Eliana probed his leathers with the tip of her sword, enough to make Jon swat hers away. "I can't believe you're unwilling to hit a woman grown when she's offering demonstration," she laughed, enjoying the sight of his jaw clenching.

Soon enough, Jon was charging at her.

The next thing he knew was his wrist stinging from a smack from her sword, making him curse and drop his sword. "Gods, you're oafish and... slow... Father taught you better than that," Eliana called over to him, offering him her hand which he swatted away. "Pick it up, let's go again."

Grasping his sword, Jon rose to his feet slowly. "You're steps are two small because you wish to hasten the victory, which means you're over-compensating on your knee," Eliana told him softly as Jon straightened himself out. "You're more likely to lose that way."

Taking her stance again, Eliana waited as Jon took a measured step towards her. She sprung forwards and immediately began deflecting, parrying, and moving around so that Jon would eventually become disorientated and muddled by her attacks.

Jon stumbled but managed to retain his balance.

He lunged forward with a large step and was deflected again. However with gravity on his side, Jon was able to deliver more attacks until he almost managed to unarm Eliana. To his annoyance, she recovered from the attack to assume her stance.

He attacked her on the left side, recalling how she was slightly weaker, knowing she would have to go against her natural positions to deflect his attacks. Jon found himself retreating slightly so he could re-adjust his stance and the grips on the swords in both his hands.

Eliana soon attacked him, and Jon successfully deflected it before he was able to twist the in a parry to loosen her grip of the sword, causing it to slip from her hand once he had dislodged it and hooked it away. The sword hit the floor with a sudden clatter.

Jon turned to face the recruits with a sigh, "Don't let yourself get caught up in fancy footwork, you're fighting to stay alive and- " he let out a shock when he received a blow to his side from behind. Turning around, he saw Eliana stood with her sword reclaimed, "Lia?"

"Do you want me to kiss it better for you?" she taunted with a smirk before her brow furrowed at him, he'd let his guard down so easily and that in itself worried her. "You turned your back on your enemy... and if I had been the true enemy, you would be dead."

Jon gritted his teeth. He stepped forward without another word and began with an empty fade before swinging both of his sword down towards her head as she brought hers up to block, a loud clang of steel resonating in the air.

"You'll need to be much faster than that if you want hack my head off," Eliana called to him, stepping away as Jon let out a steady breath before propelling forwards again. He moved quicker, only pulling away at the last moment but his swords met her hilt which allowed the tip of hers to press against his collarbone in a firm finality.

"Do you want to die, Jon?" and with that, she side-stepped, thumping him on the shoulder with the false edge of her sword, "You need to focus, if you want to win." In that moment, she reminded herself of her father and how he had strived to ensure they had gotten the proper training from himself and Ser Rodrik.

Jon clamped his jaw shut as he quickly defended himself from another blow, each one coming faster than the last. the few times he managed to get a strike past the flurry of his sister's blade, resulting in meeting a resounding clatter of their clashing swords. Jon was driven back, almost stumbling over his own feet, his arms burning with each and every block.

He winced as he felt the swords being nearly battered from his hands, and he stumbled to one knee with Eliana's sword at the base of his throat.

When she moved away again, Jon quickly gathered his sense and let loose a flurry of strike; down – up – shoulder spin – fade – deflect – down – lunge. His body flowed with each movement, gathering speed but his sister, to his annoyance, dodged and clocked easily enough. Sighing in frustration, he went to swipe at her feet again for the woman to jump to avoid it.

Turning sharply, he only just manage to block as Eliana came at him with a downward strike. Empty fade – pivot – shed – pass back – lunge – guard – thrust. Jon blocked the strikes would more effort, knowing that having two swords should have made it easier, but it was hard to control two when he wasn't used to it. Another round of quick paced strikes and blocked, and he was panting with aching muscles like he used to in the yard at Winterfell.

It was nostalgic if anything.

In his mind he could see Robb laughing as he made a fool of himself, Theon taunting him and then being scolded by Ser Rodrik or Lia. Bran was there, with his legs working properly, grinning as Arya watched enthusiastically with an excited Rickon. Even Sansa had ventured to watch, pretending she wasn't interested in such a thing...

His father would be there, too... a wide smile on his face. Lady Catelyn would smile even though he knew that would be the last thing she wanted to do, and perhaps she would pat him on the back for trying. The pair of them would watch as he let Lia best him, his father might even give him a few pointers for next time...

Allowing himself to smile at the memory, his attention left Eliana and with one swift movement, his legs were swept from under him and he landed flat on his back.

Eliana laughed, tucking her sword under arm as she offered her hand to Jon, who was still lying on the ground with his chest heaving. "Did you go anywhere nice?" she asked after hauling him to his feet, smiling softly.

Jon smiled in returned, trying to catch his breath before he spoke again. No one at the Watch had fought him like that since having left Winterfell, and it was good to have someone actually test him. Perhaps is Ser Alliser had been watching, the man would have been pleased to see the Bastard of Winterfell flat on his back. Thankfully, he didn't.

He looked back at Eliana to see her still staring him with a soft frown, obviously still waiting for an answer. "Winterfell," Jon admitted softly, the smile never leaving his face until hers fell instantly.

"Oh," a small noise left her mouth when all the emotion had drained from her face before she turned to pass her sword to Edd and started walking away from them.

Frowning, Jon abandoned his own swords to rush after her, nodding for her to continue with training. He'd never seen her look so empty before, and it unsettled him to know that the death of their father and the war had done that to his sister, his sister who used to smile with intention and who used to freely laugh. "Lia, wait!" he grabbed her wrist quickly, tugging her back so she was facing him. She refused to look at him, and his frown deepened.

Eliana swallowed hard, blinking before she finally glanced at Jon. "What is it?"

Jon stifled a laugh at her question – that was rich coming from the woman who had just stormed off when he mentioned their home. "What was that about?" he demanded, confused as to why it had roused such a reaction from her, why it had driven her away from him. He didn't mean for it to upset her; that was the last thing he wanted. Jon sighed, "It just reminded me of Winterfell, sparring like that... about everything before the war and before..." he trailed off, biting the inside of his cheek in hesitance. "Before they murdered Father, and it felt good for something to seem, to feel normal... it did, and- "

"I'm sorry for earlier," Eliana interjected quietly.

"No, I was..." Jon winced. It felt bad about arguing over Jaime Lannister with his sister – of all the things to argue over it had to be a Lannister – but he had to make her aware that he would never trust the man who pushed Bran from that tower, no matter if he had changed and was supposed a different man. "Perhaps, he is different. Just don't expect me to respect him."

Eliana nodded in understanding. She didn't expect that of Jon anyway – she knew she shouldn't even be defending Jaime, and that he should be doing it himself but it wasn't like he made to ever stop her from doing it either. "You were right. I do defend him, and I shouldn't but I can't help it," Jaime never stopped her – he probably enjoyed seeing her make the fool of herself in front of her kinsmen. That seemed like a Lannister temperament. "It just happens because he won't defend himself to others, he won't..."

Jon set a firm hand on her shoulder and squeezed, "He's your husband, Lia," he told her softly, a small smile creeping on his lips as he rested his forehead against hers. He would never trust him, but he would always trust Eliana. "I get it... you're duty is to him now." In marriage, everyone's responsibility changes because they no longer belong to one family anymore, and he hated knowing that she belonged Jaime. He hated knowing that he had some claim over her. He hated it.

"I will never be one of them, Jon," Eliana reminded accusingly, recognising the look he was giving and finding it hurtful that he would think she'd give up what remaining family she had left for Jaime Lannister. "My loyalty will always be to my birth family, and that means you. Not Jaime."

Jon hummed, still smiling at her. "When the snows fall, the white winds blow the lone wolf dies but the pack survives." The winters are hard, but the Starks will endure. We always have. He could still his father muttering those words to him in his mind, and it was a comfort despite everything that had happened.

His words roused a wider smile from his sister, "The wolves will come again," she kissed his cheek briefly before turning, continuing to walk away from him so he could return to training without having her distract him.

She didn't like the politics behind war, she didn't like war for that matter... but seeing as Winterfell was on line, as was the survival of her family, she feel she didn't really have a choice. However, she didn't want to retake Winterfell with Jon still at Castle Black, alone once more. She didn't want that at all. Winterfell was as much his home as it was hers.

But Eliana also knew that Jon would never willingly leave the Night's Watch either. He was as honourable as her father, and she feared that would also get him killed if he wasn't careful.

"... If Ser Alliser is chosen as the new Lord Commander..." she found herself looking up suddenly when she recognised the voice to see a familiar face worrying over the woman beside him, and the sight brought a smile to her face. "He's hates the wildlings... all the wildlings."

Eliana paused in her movements as the woman beside him sent him a furious look, "Don't let them send us away."

The man sighed, obviously hoping to reassure the woman sat beside him on a bench. "It's not a sure thing. Ser Denys Mallister has commanded the Shadow Tower for twenty years and people say he's a good man. He's running against Ser Alliser- "

"Sam, don't let them send us away."

"I told you. Wherever you go, I go, too."

Eliana found herself smiling more at Sam's response. Samwell Tarly was a good man in his own right. Despite being so easily frightened and timid, he was probably more courageous than half the men at Castle Black. She could recall herself when she had learned he was the son of Randyll Tarly – the complete opposite to his father which was nothing short of a blessing in disguise.

"You can't leave," the woman argued with him in outrage, her face contorting hurtfully, "They'll execute you."

"I hope not," a voice called from behind them as the pair of them turned to see Jon's sister wandering over slowly, a small smile on her lips, "You're more valuable than most of these men, Sam."

Sam could feel the heat rising in his cheeks as he bowed his head immediately, "I highly doubt that..." he couldn't fight all that well, and he could barely swing a sword – not like Jon. He was pretty much hopeless. He wasn't called 'Lady Piggy' for no reason. If his father had been there to witness his failings, he'd probably have laughed himself to death already.

Eliana sent him a strange look before sighing, she needed Sam to tell her everything about Bran – or what he knew about what he was doing so far North, and why he was going beyond the Wall. "Jon tells me you met Bran when he passed through the Wall with the Reeds."

Sam almost blanched at the mention of her crippled brother, "I did, my lady," he nodded in affirmation.

She smiled in understanding, silently wishing he wasn't so nervous when he had no reason to be. "We're all friends here, Sam..." Jon trusted Sam, so she would trust him as well. "What was he doing? Did he say where he was heading?"

"T- they were looking for something- looking for someone... I don't know," Sam sighed in frustration. He knew he should have asked more questions than he did, but his mind had been so preoccupied with getting Gilly to safety and telling Maester Aemon about the White Walkers, than he'd let Bran slip away easily, and without a fight. Jon had forgiven him, and said it hadn't been his fault but he didn't know what Eliana would make of it – would she tell her mother? Would Lady Stark continue to weep for her lost sons? "He just said he had to go North of the Wall, so I gave him some... some Obsi- Dragonglass to help just in case he did come across any- "

"White walkers," Eliana interrupted with a soft frown. So, they did exist... she'd never seen such a terrified expression on Sam's face before and he was highly ethical. She couldn't decide what was the lesser of two evils though – the White Walkers or the Boltons, or Cersei Lannister for that matter. She smiled at Sam suddenly, "Thank you for helping him."

Sam shifted uncomfortably as he stood under her gaze, finding himself growing more awkward with each passing second. Perhaps it was the scar that unnerved him or how her eyes seemed to pierce his soul. "I tried to stop him, Eliana. But he- " he paused, swallowing hard to try and explain himself more coherently. He didn't expect her to forgive him for letting her brother pass through the Wall so easily. "I had to tell the Night's Watch what we had seen, and I was scared that if- "

Eliana cut him off again, finding she didn't like how Sam was consistently blaming himself for Bran's choice when she doubted he could have ever stopped him. No one could've stopped him climbing before his accident... "There was no stopping Bran, so don't beat yourself up about it," she commented, hoping to lessen his apparent worry some. She didn't want him to blame himself. "I hardly believed you're a coward, Sam," she added, seeing him frown at her words.

Sam stared in perplexity, his eyes trailing to Gilly momentarily as she sat looking up at the woman. "My lady?"

"Growing up with a father like yours, you'd need to be brave," she complimented, trying not to grimace as she thought of Randyll Tarly and his sexism towards her because she carried a sword. She didn't care if he was one of the finest military commanders in Westeros – he was an arse. "You defied him by joining the Night's Watch."

Shaking his head profusely, Sam was quick to urge her that she was wrong, "If I hadn't left Horn Hill for Castle Black, he- "

With an eye roll, Eliana cut him off before he could the chance. "He hoped by forcing you to join, you would become his version of a man; fierce and robust... and boring," she explained, seeing Sam's panic disperse from his face at her words which made her expression soften from amusement to genuine sympathy. "Instead, you have equipped yourself with something better."

"What?" he asked, feeling suddenly confused and very lost.

Eliana grinned at him then, "Books. Knowledge is your weapon, Sam," she was aware than he had an encyclopaedic knowledge of Westerosi history which wouldn't be anything short of helpful at the Wall. "You are valuable to your brothers for your knowledge, and while it obviously annoys them, you'll probably save their lives by using it," Eliana hadn't missed the disdainful glances sent his way by several men, Ser Alliser among them, and it was pathetic to see what men the Watch possessed belittle those who favoured books over the sword. Sam was a steward after all, not a ranger. "I was always taught that words can be just as deadly as the sword."

Sam scoffed at her words before looking over at the woman beside him again, smiling softly at her. "Gilly's far braver than me."

Eliana smiled at him and nodded – she didn't doubt it. But she soon looked back at Sam again and found herself sighing, "Who's to say you're not brave?" she challenged, eyeing him closely as he shifted again, evidently uncomfortable. "You claim you killed a White Walker... how? Why did you kill it?"

Sam looked to Gilly again before he sucked in a sharp breath, gulping and swallowing hard. "It came after Gilly... and her baby," Sam admitted, bowing his head so he could look at the floor.

"He killed it with the dragonglass, I saw it with my own eyes," Gilly added, staring up at Sam. "I'll never forget the way it screamed."

So, perhaps it was his capacity to love Gilly that enabled him to kill the White Walker, and the belief that he could save them that kept him going. Eliana was certain that Sam wasn't the coward he let his brothers take him for. "You're capable of showing bravery when pushed. Many of us crumble," Eliana told him firmly, knowing that many probably only saw that he was fat, and to be fat was to be cowardly.

Eliana paused suddenly, replaying Gilly's words over in her head... with the dragonglass. Dragonglass can kill White Walkers?

Looking to Gilly, she took in her slim figure and thought she looked rather pretty for a wildling with her dark hair and being doe-eyed. She was definitely a slender little thing, almost childlike in appearance. Eliana found herself smiling at the thought, "I don't believe we've met..."

Sam nodded, and immediately turned towards Gilly who now sat holding a baby close to her chest, rocking the child gently in her arms. "This is Gilly, and her son- "

"Our son, little Sam," Gilly corrected with a soft smile which only made Sam flush red.

Leaning towards the child in her arms, Eliana smiled more widely. "Hello," she stroked his little hand, and smiling when he grasped for it.

Sam found himself smiling at the exchange, "This is Jon's sister, Lady Eliana Lannister- " he stopped himself, his words dying in his throat as his head snapped back in her direction, expecting her to be angry. Instead, he found a bemused expression on her face.

"Don't worry about it," Eliana couldn't get mad at Sam. Technically, it was her name but she'd never accept it. She wouldn't have ever got one over Tywin with regards to marriage. "It's just a name, I'm still a Stark, I will always be a Stark because the North remembers," she explained softly which made Sam smile, obviously relieved by her response until he seemed to grow solemn, recollecting what she'd meant by 'the North remembers.' The North would never forget. Eliana forced a smile as she looked over at Gilly again, "So, where do you come from Gilly?"

For a moment, Gilly looked unsure of how to respond to the question, as if she was unsure of the answer. "... North of here," her voice shook as she answered, something Eliana couldn't ignore.

"Which part?" Eliana questioned, wanting to feel like a normal person for a change. She was genuinely interested, although her questions seemed to be distressing the woman in front of her. Eliana had no idea why – she didn't mean any harm by it, "Whitetree? The Frostfangs? Hardhome? Somewhere else?" she found herself frowning when Sam and Gilly kept sharing glances between one another, "You keep looking at each other... am I missing something?" Had she done something wrong without realising? She suddenly felt very confused as she glanced between the pair, wondering what she'd done wrong.

"She was, uh..." Sam stumbled over his words, his voice barely audible as he spoke, as though it was forbidden for him to do so. Clearing his throat, Sam looked to Gilly one last time before sighing. "She was one of Craster's wives."

Eliana blinked at the name, finding her mind recognised it from somewhere and yet she couldn't place it. "Why is that name familiar? Craster..." she kept repeating the name under her breath as she thought about it, mulling it over in her head to try and find the answer. She was certain she'd heard it somewhere before.

Her eyes widened when she recalled that it had been Benjen who had mentioned a unsavoury wildling was not worth half the Watch's bother when he took nearly all their supplies and wine in exchange for little help. He hadn't been fond of the man at all from what she could remember. Was Craster the one with nine-teen wives? Daughter-wives? The one who sacrificed his sons? She didn't know.

"My Uncle Benjen mentioned him once when he visited Winterfell for my brother's nameday. He was an ally to the Night's Watch, right?" Eliana asked as Sam slowly nodded, eyeing her carefully as Gilly sat with her eyes glued to the floor. "Benjen wasn't very... pleasant about him. He said he was tenuous at best, but you seem lovely, Gilly."

Sam remained silent, secretly thankful that the woman didn't care for reputations of the wildlings – they did what they had to so they could survive. Gilly, however, seemed bewildered and shocked by the reaction when the brothers at Castle Black hated her for it. "But... I thought..."

Eliana smiled at Gilly and sighed, "I'm not here to judge... you do what you have to so you can survive," it didn't bother that she had been a daughter-wife to Craster – it wasn't far off the Targaryen's incestuous relations and no one belittled them for it... not until it resulted in madness. The men of the Night's Watch obviously had nothing better to do. "It's nice to meet you, Gilly from North of here."

Gilly smiled widely at her words, beaming up at Sam as he also smiled. Northmen were always more understanding than everyone else... that's what Jon had always told him. It was because it was safe in the North, or at least it had been. There was little to worry about or give concern for.

Folding her arms over her chest, Eliana grimaced when she saw Stannis's red priestess, Melisandre approaching Jon from afar. That was a woman she didn't trust. It didn't matter that she served the same religion as Beric and Thoros... there was something off about her, something she couldn't place. Something that left her uneasy.

She stared as the woman began to lead Jon away towards the lift, waiting as he went to retrieve his cloak from his rooms and in that time, she cast her gaze over at Eliana.

Frowning, Eliana found herself glowering at her in return. "I do wish she'd stop eyeing me up like some cut of meat, it's starting to get under my skin," she complained, eyeing the woman as Jon followed her towards the lift sullenly, head bowed. She didn't trust, and she especially didn't trust her with Jon. "Not even my husband looks at me that way," Eliana found herself commenting, a small laugh leaving her in disbelief.

Sam found himself smiling at her words, "Who?"

"The red priestess from Asshai who sees visions in flames. A shadowbinder..." Eliana trailed off, shuddering at the thought as she stared, her eyes following the lift as it ascended the magnitude of the Wall before disappearing among the low layer of clouds. "They're considered to be the most sinister of all sorcerers... the woman has her own agenda, something we don't even know." Perhaps she could sense something in her... could sense whatever Thoros had done to her, and that was why her gaze lingered for longer than necessary. She wasn't sure.

Sam scoffed at her words – sorcerers weren't real, there was no living proof they existed and he hadn't been able to read about them in any book. "But it's not true... there's no way for telling if magic truly does exist," he argued earnestly, knowing it was also something he wanted to be true.

Eliana didn't believe that to tell him she'd been resurrected from the dead would aid in her cause to prove otherwise, but it did surprise her that Sam felt that way. "You said you saw the White Walkers. That's magic enough, isn't it Sam?" she smiled, arching a brow in question as he was silent for a few moments, looking conflicted.

Eliana was positive that magic existed in the world. Dragons had been born to Daenerys Targaryen. White Walkers had returned. Red priests were resurrecting people from the dead. All served to prove magic still existed.

Deciding not to push it any further, Eliana set a firm hand on Sam's shoulder and smiled. "Your loyalty to my brother is something I believe has been a great comfort to him here..." she paused, seeing something shift in Sam's face at her words. Jon had always been so lonely at Winterfell but he seemed comfortable with Sam, or at least she'd like to think he was. "Thank you for being there for him, for being the friend he needed when he had none."

"Jon's my best friend," Sam told her softly, smiling sadly at his own words. "He's saved me, protected me from our brothers of the Night's Watch..." sucking in a sharp breath, Sam held her gaze firmly, steadily. "He saved us all from Mance Rayder."

"That's Jon."

She caught sight of his frog-face from across the yard, shuffling stoutly beside the sinewy body of Alliser Thorne with his black, humourless eyes scouting around them and suddenly she found herself moving towards them. "Excuse me..." Eliana murmured to Sam under her breath as her hand came to fall upon the hilt of the sword at her waist.

All of a man's crimes were wiped away when he took the black, she knew that, but she couldn't let that slide. No when there was blood between them, and she doubted that would ever go away. The man she was moving toward had helped to strike off her father's head.

"... These men need a firm hand, always have," Alliser was grumbling as he strode by, eyeing the training yard with disgust. "They're poachers and thieves... not soldiers," he suddenly cast his glance in the direction of Sam who shifted, uncomfortable.

Clearing her throat, Eliana forced a sickly smile when his black eyes trailed to her. "I don't see you offering your supposed expertise..." she could tell he didn't like Jon, would probably see him dead if given the chance which worried her above all else. The man wasn't to be trusted.

Alliser grimaced at her words, "Why would I waste my time with these..." he glanced around the training yard for a long moment to take in the sight surrounding them before sneering, "Men."

"It's your duty," she argued, her distaste for the man intensifying with each passing second.

From beside Alliser, Janos stepped forward with his hand on his sword. "Stand aside girl," her eyes drifted to him and she glowered, her position solidifying at the threat before she looked back at the black eyed man testily.

Looking down on her, Alliser stepped towards her as he eyed her sword before smirking, "It seems they're running short of men down south. Now they send women to guard the Wall," he sneered, his eyes now ghosting over her armour questioningly. High-borns always got on his nerves, thinking they could just assume they had some right to tell him what to do. It always rattled his cage. "Or are you posing as a woman with your cock hidden in your arse?"

Eliana wondered what the man would do if he actually acknowledged who her father was and where she came from, though she doubted he would even care from seeing the way he treated Jon and why would she make their stay at the Wall more difficult than it needed to be. Besides, he wasn't who she wanted to speak with or settle a debt with for that matter. "Woman? Is that meant to insult me?" she laughed, a smirk crawling cross her lips when she saw the displeased look upon Alliser Thorne's face, obviously having hoped to insult her enough for her to leave. "You're welcome to check, although I doubt my husband would be too pleased if I was fondled by a duo of traitors, me neither for that matter," she found herself pleased when she saw his eyes scouting around the yard suddenly, so at least she'd gotten under his skin. Men thought they ruled the world, the most certainly didn't.

"You should learn to hold your tongue," Janos chided her suddenly, venom dripping in his voice as he glared at her - he was seemingly uneasy by how uncomfortable she'd made Alliser in a matter of moments, and because the man had made little movement to defend himself. "Ser Alliser is an anointed knight, he fought bravely at King's Landing."

"On the wrong side," Eliana countered with a sigh before frowning at what had just been said. Looking to the man who had just spoken, she tilted her head as her brows knitted together, "I was under the impression that all those who take the black denounce all titles..." she mused with a crude little smile as Janos's lips twisted into a scowl before she continued, "And yet, they still bleat 'ser' at you, why is that? What makes you so different?" her eyes moved between the two men questioningly before Eliana smiled. "Besides, it's not you I wish to speak with..." her eyes fell upon the bald man, "Lord Janos."

With a curt nod, Alliser withdrew to leave the pair alone in the yard. Swallowing, Janos looking around for a few moments before looking at the woman stood in front of him, watching him closely as if she was trying to goad him to do something. "Do I know you girl?" The woman in front of him, he felt, was oddly familiar although he couldn't quite place where he'd seen her before, and to make his own anxiousness worse, he was sure she knew him.

With a shrug, Eliana smiled at him. "I must have a forgettable face, but yours..." she sighed, drawing her bottom lip between her teeth to suppress the anger she could feel flowing freely through her. "No one could forget yours, especially with those jowls."

At the insult, Janos's face twisted in a sudden anger. "How dare you- "

"Oh but I would dare against the man who betrayed my father," Eliana replied, seeing Janos's eyes widened at her words, the panic seeping through him. The more she spoke to him, the less control she felt she had over the interaction as well as herself. "As I recall he was very accommodating to you, but he obviously didn't realise you were already bought..." she paused to see him staring at her expectantly, the worry still evident on his chubby face until she hummed, wishing she'd worn her cloak to give him the hint. "You remember him, don't you? Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North," her eyes hardened when she saw the man's eyes widened further. "Solemn man, ruled by honour and honesty which weighed him down in the end... two things you sorely lack."

Janos glowered at the woman as he finally came o recognise her face, having recalled her from the many times in the Red Keep. He trusted trust her, she was in the same sorry state her father had been in at the end. "I am not without friends, I warn you, girl," he spat, spit flying from his mouth in his frustration. "Here, and in King's Landing too. I was the Lord of Harrenhal!"

Eliana nodded in understanding, a smirk crawling across her face as she held his gaze. "But when you join the Night's Watch you renounce all titles, no? So surely that ruin is no longer yours..." she folded her arms in thought, inclining her head as she observed the bumbling man in front her. "I've never seen a decaying rubble passed so freely from one wretch to another..." Why anyone would want that ruin was beyond her, and why they would give it him wasn't even worth thinking over.

"I will not have you threaten me..."

Eliana hummed, a soft laugh passing through her lips. Why were those who betrayed all weak, all round and plump and thinking of nothing but their own pocket but when faced with the repercussions, they quake in their boots? "I wasn't threatening you, I was merely stating a fact... one you don't seem to like."

Janos spluttered, "My friends- "

"Where are your friends, Lord Janos?" Eliana interjected, looping an arm over his shoulder to gesture to the vacant air around them, where no one stood as she forcefully showed him. She laughed darkly. "I'm afraid I don't see them."

Wincing, he struggled against the hold she had on his shoulders as they moved through the yard. He knew the woman was probably going to kill him for having betrayed her father, and that he shouldn't be surprised or scared – but he didn't want to die, he wasn't ready for death. She was just like her bastard brother, impulsive and rash... everything the North favoured.

"Your father was a fool for confronting the Queen," Janos spat as he staggered along, the woman nudging him past the recruits and he met their stares, finding his own fear building in the pit of his stomach. "You're just the same, and you'll meet the same sticky end," her grip tightened at his words while he tried to push himself away, gritting his teeth as he caught sight of where the armoury was stood awaiting them.

Eliana clenched her jaw. She knew she should have better control over herself, but she wouldn't kill him... Eliana was positive that someone else would get that luxury, she just wanted a small justice for her father and something for Janos to remember her by. "My sword is made of two fine a steel to besmirch with craven's blood..." she hoped her words would rile him, making him writhe in her grasp and he didn't disappoint.

Janos reared back suddenly, forcing himself from her grasp as she came to a stop, turning to face him silently. How could Ser Alliser have left him with such whelp? Brushing himself down, Janos cleared his throat, "I was Lord Commander of the City Watch in King's Landing- "

Eliana briefly met Gendry's hesitant gaze before cleared her throat, tilting her head at the bald man in front of her, wishing that Tyrion had ordered Bronn to kill him rather than send him to the Wall of all things. "Something you couldn't have been very good at if you're here. Did you get to gluttonous from the money you were making from the officers who were paying you part of their wages..." she still couldn't believe that Robert had let that continue just because he feared someone worse would come along. The man had been a fool. She gritted her teeth when she saw Janos shift in anger, the heat pouring off of him. "Or did you take one bribe too many?"

Janos started laughing then, a low chuckle that erupted from the pit of his stomach while Eliana glowered at him before she saw his eyes flicker across the yard to her dismay. She followed to see her mother accompanied by her son. Janos let a crude smile form on his lips, "Perhaps I should pay your widowed mother a visit tonight, her bed's probably been freezing since- "

He never finished his sentence.

Before she could even register her own movements, Eliana's hand had seized the back of his collar with such a ferocity to press his face to the fire pit in front of them while Janos's screams resonated around them, his hands clawing at the one on his neck.

The more he struggled against her hold, the more Eliana found herself pressing the side of his face to the fire, allowing the flesh to burn at the impact. The faint sizzling of skin met her ears as the coals crackled and hissed, the smell of burnt flesh creeping into the air from the scorching coals below.

Muffled screams continued to erupt into the air as Eliana lessened her grip on the man, watching as his knees gave out from beneath from the pain (most likely) before she knelt, her lips falling close to his ear. "If you touch my mother, I'll kill you. If you speak to her, I'll kill you. If you as much as look in her direction, I'll kill you."

She let him slump against the pit, his screams having died to groans of agony as she saw Gendry rush to his side along with a brother of the Night's Watch, the pair of them hauling the man to his feet.

"I'll... have your..." Janos spluttered, barely able to move the left side of his face, the marred skin making it difficult. "H- h... ead..."

Wiping her hand on her leg, Eliana looked up and finally got a good look at him: she could already see the hideous expanse of blackened muscle and scar tissue with pieces of gristle peeling away near his bloodshot eye, blood trickling down his face while his jaw trembled.

Eliana looked to Gendry suddenly, making the boy straighten immediately – obviously still scared of her which was good, she wanted people to fear her. People will never respect you if they don't fear you... "Lord Janos tripped and fell," she eyed him carefully, making sure that he understood her words to repeat them to Maester Aemon. "Maybe you should take him to the Maester, the last thing we'd want would be for those burns to get infected..."

His father had always spoken highly of Stannis Baratheon and how he had held Storm's End for Robert but he supposed that was just his father's way - he never mentioned how much the man scowled or that he never smiled - and he'd never questioned his view regarding King Robert's brother infamous miserable brother. Until now. The man Jon had pictured was nothing like the one who had broken up the wildling horde beyond the Wall.

Jon put it down to not knowing whether or not Stannis liked him - not that it should matter - and knowing whether to aid his campaign was the right thing to do. He did want to help him, if it meant Robb would be avenged. His brothers already loathed the man, even if he had saved all their lives. The point was, Stannis was a hard man to like because he was nothing like Robert had ever been. Renly hadn't been either... but then again, Renly was never cut out to be a king anyway. But he must have been doing something right if he had outlived the both of them. Stannis scared him, Jon decided as he followed the red woman. Stannis was unpredictable, stern and a king. Stannis was a king. The words rung through Jon's head like a bell. Robb had been a king, too. But was Robb was dead.

He didn't much like his red woman, Melisandre, either with her eastern accent and seductive tones, preaching the right way. He felt like she was preying on him whenever her lingered a second too long. She didn't much, and when she did, it unnerved him. But one thing was certin; Ser Davos didn't like her either and that in itself warmed Jon's heart. The smuggler, while king enough to him, didn't seem to favour the red priestess at all - it left Jon at a loss for how he and Stannis got on so well when they bore different views about the Lady Melisandre.

He'd heard several call her 'witch' and 'sorceress' but he had no idea what she was, or what her true purpose was.

He could see Stannis staring out over the Wall at the magnitude of trees that lined the icy landscape, mountains climbing higher and higher in the distance as their caverns glistened in the dim light of the sun. A hollow wintry breeze had gathered, sweeping along the length of the Wall, whipping up gusts to hurry him along.

Melisandre sent him a sultry look over her shoulder (which made him shudder) before allowing her dress to sweep around her, clumping together as she came to a sudden halt. "Your Grace," she called out to Stannis as they approach, "The Bastard of Winterfell."

Hiding his grimace, Jon soon found himself on his knees when Stannis turned to greet them, a scowl already firmly set where Jon had thought there might have been a smile, even a sneer would be a welcomed change.

He kept his eyes glued to the ground as snow drifted around him, pressing chilled caresses to his cheeks while he waited. On his knees, Stannis might as well have been a castle towering above him. When he rose to his feet again, Jon almost flinched at the heavy brow he was met with.

Jon watched him carefully as Stannis edged forwards, "You know who rules at Winterfell now?" he inclined his head slightly, his blue eyes boring into him. His question prompted Jon to wonder if Stannis wanted him to join him.

Jon swallowed hard at the question, trying his better to retain his composure. "Roose Bolton." He could never take vengeance for Robb; he belonged to the Night's Watch, exempt from all altercations among the Seven Kingdoms.

"Mmm," Stannis made a sneer at the name, obviously having never warmed to the Boltons. "The traitor who plunged a dagger in Robb Stark's heart," he paused and allowed his eyes to give him the once over again. "Don't you want to avenge him?"

That's what you've got Lia for... he gritted teeth. He did want it, more than anything, but Jon knew he could never seize the opportunity to take it. He had new responsibilities to fulfil to dismay. "I want a great many things, Your Grace. But I'm a sworn brother of the Night's Watch now." Jon could barely believe his own words – to willingly resign the fact that he would never get the chance to seek vengeance for Robb for as long as he couldn't to live, condemned to a desolate life on the Wall with little to no friends, to his loneliness and without his family.

Behind Stannis, Davos stirred as he clasped his hands tightly behind his back and almost rocked on his heels which filled Jon with the fear, that with just enough momentum, he'd send himself over the side of the Wall. "I've been talking to your sworn brothers; many of them love you..."

"They're good men," Jon interjected smoothly with a grimace. He was never one for compliments.

"Many don't," Davos countered, a deep frown pulling at his brow as he watched Jon. "You were seen taking the body of a wildling girl north of the Wall... why?" he probed with a curious tone, obviously expecting him to divulge the reasoning behind it.

Jon found himself glancing away, "It's where she belonged."

"Some of the Night's Watch feel you have too much affection for the wildlings," Davos explained, something that Jon wasn't entirely surprised about either. Of course his brothers didn't like the fact that he respected them, that he respected Mance.

"They were born on the wrong side of the Wall," Jon replied somewhat tersely, suppressing an eye roll at Davos. "That doesn't make them monsters."

Stannis glanced at Davos before sighing, "No matter. I shall take back the North from the thieves who stole it," he vowed, his tone sounded promising to Jon's ears which he deduced was to convince him. "Tywin Lannister is dead; he can't protect them now. I shall mount Roose Bolton's head on a spike. And if Ser Jaime Lannister should think to betray us, I'll do the same to him." Stannis was staring at Jon in a way that made him believe every word, and it left him unnerved that a man like Stannis would endeavour to do so. Stannis was dutiful and just, and there was many aspiring to conquer Westeros like that. "But if I'm to take Winterfell, I need more men."

With a sigh, Jon gave a firm shake of his head. "The men of the Night's Watch are sworn to play no part- " before he could even finish, Stannis was cutting him off soundly.

"I'm not talking about the damn Night's Watch," Stannis almost sneered, crude lines forming across his pale face. "I'm talking about the wildlings." Jon's eyes widened which roused a smirk from the king, brushing past him to begin striding away.

Looking to Davos and Melisandre out of sheer surprise, Jon moved to chase after Stannis hurriedly, "Your Grace, you want the wildlings to march in your army?" he demanded with a furrowed brow, staggering in front of him hideously which made the king halt.

"If they swear to follow me, I'll pardon them." Stannis's smirk remained firm on his lips as he replied, his eyes shining despite the stubborn line forming across his brow. "We'll take Winterfell. Once the North is won, I'll declare them citizens of the realm... I'll give them land to live on."

Jon blinked. Stannis was prepared to do that? Perhaps his brothers would hate Stannis more than they hated him.

"It's a fair offer," Davos added as he came to stop at Stannis's side, smiling slightly as if he hoped that would convince Jon. "More than fair.

"I'll offer them their lives and their freedom if Mance kneels before me and swears his loyalty."

Jon frowned, knowing for certain that Mance would never give Stannis what he wanted for as long as he lived. "I don't think that's likely."

"You admire him, don't you?" Stannis called to Jon as he strode past him again, his cloak billowing out behind him to sweep the snow from his path.

Like a stray dog, Jon strode after him. "I respect him."

"He likes you." Stannis watched him for a few moments, grinding his teeth together in distaste. "Convince him to bend the knee..."

Jon bowed his head, "Your Grace."

"...or he burns," Stannis concluded before moving to turn away from Jon with the intention of leaving him until another thought crossed his mind. He paused, looking back at Ned Stark's bastard with an arched brow, "Can I trust your sister?"

That made Jon pause unexpectedly, the question having also caught Davos off guard by the glower he was giving Stannis. Why would Stannis think Eliana couldn't be trusted? He trusted her with his life, but Eliana trusting others was unknown. Jon was aware that she was mostly using to Stannis to get what she wanted rather than to actually help the man ascend the Iron Throne.

Jon frowned, "Has she given you reason not to?"

"She doesn't say much, only when it seems to concern her needs and musts."

"She won't betray you if that's what you're worried about," Jon replied, looking between Stannis and Davos uncertainly. Stannis being weary of Eliana didn't sit well with him but to know that Davos didn't visibly agree with him helped. "She's got too much to lose."

Stannis bristled, grinding his teeth together again as he turned to face Jon fully, his brow heavy. "And yet she lingers in the Kingslayer's company," he remarked dryly, hoping to rouse some response from Jon just by mentioning Jaime Lannister.

Jon's hands clenched into fists as he drew his bottom lip between his teeth in frustration. All everyone seemed to care about was the Kingslayer and how he'd supposedly changed his ways. "He is her husband by law." Jon never thought he'd say a sentence such as that, especially regarding his sister and Jaime Lannister.

Davos cleared his throat, stepping forwards in sudden interest. The relationship between Stark and Lannister had always intrigued him, and for the daughter of Eddard Stark to have willingly married Jaime Lannister of all people, he was undoubtedly curious. "How do you feel about that?"

"Their marriage doesn't concern my feelings," Jon told them both, his tone stiff and formal as he briefly glanced away. Eliana marrying Jaime had bothered him more than he was willing to let on, for the Kingslayer to have sunk his claws into his sister seemed to only fill him with disappointment, resentment even. The look Stannis was giving him did little to settle his feelings either. "I don't particularly like him, I won't ever call him my brother. He pushed my little brother, Bran, out of a window in the hope that the fall would kill him."

Stannis looked to Davos and folded his arms, tilting his head in thought with his ever pressing heavy brow. He would never trust a Lannister, more so the Kingslayer of all people. "I do find her loyalty vexing." Stannis's frown deepened as he considered how even Catelyn had warmed to the Kingslayer. "But even Lady Stark seems to be tolerant towards him. It was his son who gave the order for her husband, your father, to be beheaded, after all."

Jon glared at nothing. He'd noticed Catelyn speaking with the Kingslayer, and how she seemed to hold a proper conversation with the man. How could Catelyn forgive him? He huffed at the thought which made the king before him raise a brow in question at the reaction. "He's a changed man, or so they say," Jon scoffed bitterly. He highly doubted that.

Stannis nodded slowly, "Have you ever known a lion to change his coat?"

"No, Your Grace." Jaime Lannister would always be the son of Tywin Lannister, and that meant he would never stray from what he knew, from knowing how to survive. The longer the Kingslayer stayed at the Wall, the more he would continue to haunt Jon. He bristled at the thought.

"How much time do I have?" Jon asked suddenly, bringing Stannis's attention back to the matter at hand. He doubted he would be able to convince Mance any different from what he already knew, from what he thought was right.

"Nightfall." Stannis's answer was curt, tone patient but no less stern than he'd always been. He smirked when he saw the evident surprise cross Jon's face at how soon he expected an answer, and he turned to march away from him again, prepared to leave him in his panic. "The sun drops fast this time of year... hurry, Jon Snow!"

Jon stared after Stannis as he swept Davos and Melisandre away with him, leaving Jon there clueless. He was shocked that Stannis had entrusted him to treat with Mance Rayder in order to bring the wildlings over to Stannis's army so they could march on Winterfell. They'd never agree to it, and his brothers would never let them through the Wall. The more you give a king, the more they want. Jon frowned deeply, his brain jumping, great leaps and bounds, to try and figure out an appropriate way to bring Mance round.

Jon hoped he was still the qualified diplomat he believed he was.

The practice dummy almost seemed to smirk at him as he brought his down in a monstrous sweep. Splinters of straw flew off in every direction possible, shooting through the air all around him. The dummy stood still, taunting and resolute in its position as Jaime stared at it. He was that incompetent that he was fighting a straw dummy to train his useless hand to fight.

He lifted the sword into the air again, and slashed back at the straw body with a sudden thrust, imaging the steel clashing with the breastplate. The echoes of blunted steel against straw was drowned by the shouts of the recruits also training in the yard, and he was grateful that their gazes wouldn't be solely upon his uselessness. Or his lack of limb. The thwacks and thumps of blunted blades against boiled leather and ironwood shields almost made him want to scream.

He should be training like that but instead, he was struggling against a wooden dummy.

Cripple. Invalid. Weak. Palsy. Lame.

He sucked in a deep breath before swinging the weapon at the dummy with all his strength to rouse a satisfying crack from its wooden body, causing it to wobble uncertainly. He thought he'd cut it in two, but no.

The damn blade was stuck. The rugged edge had sunk deep, going beneath the dummy's outer covering of sackcloth and far down into its straw body.

Jaime stared at it for a few moments, and then decided to leave it there.

He'd never been the swordsman he once was, the part of him was a distant memory, long gone and never to return. He wasn't much of a diplomat either, having never found an interest in politics, and so he was pretty much useless...

"My lord!"

Sighing in frustration (more at himself than having been disturbed), he turned and saw a boy roughly around the age of ten looking at him hesitantly, shifting. "What is it?" Jaime called out tersely, clenching his jaw before he wiped his brow. So much for the North being a desolate place, people never seemed to leave him alone since having left King's Landing.

The boy cleared his throat, "It's your Lady wife, Ser." His words made Jaime roll his eyes.

Obviously when he finally found out why she'd caused such a stir, he hadn't thought it would be for bodily harm of all things. A part of him had been wondering how long it would be before Eliana had done something to cause a disturbance and approaching two weeks, he had been unpleasantly surprised by how polite she had managed to stay.

He'd almost laughed when he had the boy explain to him exactly what had happened. Eliana had burned Janos Slynt's face. He wasn't particularly fond of the man, he hadn't liked him in King's Landing and he doubted he was any different at Castle Black. He was an arrogant lowborn who thought he had a chance of being raised to the Kingsguard.

Walking from the East Courtyard, Jaime found himself witness to a dreadful wailing coming from the Maester's rooms, cries he assumed belonged to Slynt as men stood in the masses (what little remained of the Night's Watch in its entirety) below, lingering out of curiosity for what had happened.

Upon hearing him stride through the passage, several eyes turned to face him and stared. Their gazes followed him as he soon found his wife in the company of Robert Baratheon's bastard, Gendry.

Glancing back at them, Jaime clenched his good hand into a fist before turning face the crowd again. "Haven't you all got training to do?" he demanded furiously, his eyes glittering as the crowd, uncertain, soon dispersed on the spot, scurrying away.

When turned back to see his wife, his brow furrowed. She hadn't acknowledged his presence, and instead, continued the sparring session with Gendry as she righted his stance. He rolled his eyes, walking over towards them and where their little audience had swarmed to watch.

Eliana landed a blow to his stomach and sent him sprawling into a pile of snow. She hummed in approval before moving to help him stand. The boy grimaced in disgust, moving to scrap off the snow from his boiled leather.

"Just be thankful you landed somewhere soft, next time it might not be so nice... and white," Eliana informed him curtly, studying the shape of his jaw and the blue of his eyes. So much like Robert. "Now, show me your stance again."

Gendry listened intently as she continued to talk him through his stance, making minor adjustment to where he should being placing his feet and strengthening his grip. "I'm definitely getting better, I would've never learnt all this if I stayed in King's Landing," he commented lightly.

Eliana allowed herself to smile. "You need to remember to guard your stomach. When you start, your guard is as it should be – you keep it defended, but then you forget, and that guard slips. You leave it open for attack," she told him firmly, "So don't go getting too pig-headed, all right?"

The smile fell from Gendry's face in an instant, "Speaking of pig-headed," he murmured lowly, nodding behind her.

Eliana frowned at his comment before she caught sight of a familiar figure looming behind her in the reflection of her blade. "Wonderful..." she inwardly groaned, already knowing what was to come. "We'll ignore him for the moment."

Eliana squared her shoulders, and regained the grip of the sword in her hand. They met each other's blows, their swords whirling through the air. As he sent more powerful strikes against her own sword, he found that she easily deflected them.

Without warning, Gendry struck downwards with a sweep meant for her legs. He sighed when she brought her sword down quickly enough to block the blow, and he attempted to force her back. "The red woman's been staring," Gendry hissed through gritted teeth.

"You too?" Eliana asked as she sidestepped, avoiding a blow meant for her shoulder which made him curse under his breath as he whirled to face her, blade up and ready. The red woman's eyes had been lingering as of late, and she was tempted to confront her about it but after the issue with Janos... she wasn't entirely sure what the outcome would be. "Look, she can't touch you. I promised you that you'd be safe, and you are," she assured him, moving to bring down the blade on his shoulders when he parried her quickly.

"I know, m'lady," Gendry replied, coming at her with several thrusts and lunges before amending: "My lady."

Gendry sighed, gripping his sword a little tighter. Eliana hit him twice in the chest and once in the side before he chosen to try something different in the hope of catching her off guard. He begun with a few weak swings of his sword, which she blocked with each. Moving to lift his sword, he stumbled forwards and for a moment he thought he would fall over, but Eliana had slipped her arm around his middle, holding him still.

"We'll go easy for a while..."

Gendry nodded and resumed his stance. Eliana came at him leisurely, and their weapons collided with a dull clang. Gendry didn't waste any time going on the offensive, avoiding blocking, parrying or dodging to initiate attacks instead.

He started towards her, taking every and any opportunity to lunge and thrust his sword at her, while she took any open opportunities to smack him with the flat side of her blade.

Gendry shouted in surprise when he received a vicious blow to his stomach, "You forgot your stomach again!" she shouted as he backed away from her.

Watching as the boy regaining his breath, Eliana tried not to roll her eyes when she caught sight of blonde hair from the corner of her eye, and when she did turn to look at him, Jaime smiled at her.

He pushed through the men who had gathered to watch, moving towards Gendry's side easily. "Do you mind?" he asked, nodding towards the sword in his hand, and Gendry quickly passed it into his hand, not bothering to argue.

Jaime gripped the sword firmly in his good hand and faced Eliana, smirking when she arched a brow at him questioningly. "Entertain me, Wench." He knew she detested that name, and hopefully it would goad her into meeting him with sword in hand.

Eliana didn't bother with a reply, and merely readied her own sword. His sword found hers first, pressing as she parried and stepped away, playing defence rather than initiating any attacks. Jaime found himself frowning her at her play, knowing that under any other circumstance she would take advantage of his impulsive nature and the fact that he was without his sword hand.

Eliana managed to remain expressionless as they circled around one another. She could feel the rush of adrenaline from her sparring with Gendry in her veins, and she reached out to strike her sword against his. Jaime frowned at her reckless attack. After that, it didn't take long for her to lose her poise and step forward, swinging her sword at him. He met her attack with a grunt, his own clattering in an uproar of steel before he grinned.

The pair exchanged blows that left them both panting, neither managing to gain the upper hand over the other. They stepped away for a moment to only begin circling one more before they stepped forward and swung at one another in unison, resulting in a blow that echoed throughout the yard.

Eliana frowned, sucking in a sharp breath as Jaime swung low at her feet which gave her no choice but to jump away to avoid the strike.

With a wince, she swung at his right side that he usually left unprotected, and he only just recovered. She forced her sword against his, resolute, and stepped forward again. She could feel his left arm shaking, but somehow he held.

Jaime quickly pushed his sword up, causing hers to also fly upwards and then he was lunging through the air at her, and she hit the ground hard with a groan.

She opened her eyes and was met with a howling blizzard forming, growling and hissing. The sensation of the snowing scorching her, the frost sticking to her skin, numbing all feeling in her body. Her tears had frozen on her face before she even realised she'd been crying, her cheeks were too numb to even feel the burn of the ice anymore. She wasn't sure why she was there or how long she'd been lying there in the snow, she couldn't tell the difference through the strength of the blizzard around her, she couldn't tell if she was looking to the sky or into an endless abyss.

Stumbling to her feet, she fumbled around trying to find her sword but her fingers were only met with the frozen sludge of snow. She couldn't draw breath, her lungs refusing to work. Looking to her chest, her eyes widened when she saw something protruding from it, lodged deep into the flesh.

It was the same shard of ice as before. It was uneven and jagged as she wrapped her fingers around it. The edges were cutting into her skin, slicing through the layers the lighter she clutched at it. But it felt like it was vibrating through her chest and she couldn't bring herself to pull it free. With a shudder, she stared as she pushed the shard further into her chest until her palm was resting flat against her chest.

Staggering, she managed to rise to feet as her bones creaked at the sudden movement. She was sluggish and worn as she began moving away when she caught a glimpse of the black armour, the same icy eyes boring into her.

With the same astonishing speed as before, she found herself surrounded. Eliana whirled around, her eyes flickering from one cold face to the next until her faze landed upon the one with the crown. Her hands coiled into fights to hide the tremor that rocketed through them.

The Night King's hand drifted to the crystal sword strapped on his back, slowly unsheathing the sword as the others closed in on her from all sides. His eyes remained fixed on her as he reached forward, his fingers moving ever closer as she stepped away.

Stumbling back, Eliana almost choked on air as she fell back, pushing herself away from him as he stalked forwards, sword gripped in hand.

His hand seized her wrist firmly, the skin freezing beneath his touch as the cold singed her flesh, dancing up her arm.

Sucking in a deep breath, she opened her eyes when she felt Jaime atop of her, attempting to hold her down and overpower her. Eliana was surprised to see the panic evident on his face as his eyes lingered on hers. She pushed upwards with all her strength, overwhelming him so she could gain the upper hand and force him to the ground beneath her.

Straddling him, Eliana moved to grab his flailing arms and when she does he pauses and for a single moment she thought she'd won. But then he starting fighting again, harder and somewhat empowered with a familiar glint in his eyes.

With a renewed strength, Jaime easily flipped their bodies so he could trap her under him, sitting above her stomach just in case he unintentionally hurt her there (he'd never forgiven himself if he did), trapping one arm under him and grasping the other with a bruising grip.

"Yield," he ordered in a careful voice, low and controlled as her eyes narrowed.

Eliana continued to struggle beneath him, "No," she managed, her honour too damn important to lose it to him in front of a horde of men.

"Bloody woman..." he muttered darkly, his face so close to hers as he tightened his hold on her body. He hadn't meant for it to go so far, but he needed to ground her to make sure she was all right. "Just yield, Lia," Jaime bit out as she winced at his grip.

Seeing her reaction made him stop, hesitating before he quickly released her. He swiftly rose to his feet and kicked his sword away before walking off. He'd hurt her. He'd seen the wince, and he knew he'd been holding her down too tightly... he squeezed his eyes shut, silently cursing himself.

Eliana climbed to her feet and turned, staring at him as he stormed off. "Jaime..." she shouted in concern, but he ignored her and carried on going.

"What just happened?" asked Gendry from her side. He hadn't even understood why Jaime would be angry – he had won the match. The man confused him – he acted as though he didn't care about anything at all, but right then, in that very moment Gendry realised he was scared. He was scared of hurting Eliana.

Eliana frowned as she watched him disappear from sight. She was aware that he'd sought her out hoping to talk about Janos Slynt, and hadn't anticipated her to be with Gendry... but she was sure why he seemed so angry. "I'm not entirely sure," she muttered.

"Do you think he's alright?" Gendry pressed suddenly, looking at Eliana in worry. He'd never understand highborns and how quickly their emotions changed all the time. "He looked so..." he could still the furious expression as it crossed the Kingslayer's face in one swift movement. "Angry."

"I suppose I should go and find out."

Eliana was aware that Jaime wasn't very fond of the North and why should he be? He was from the Westerlands and accustomed to the South. But doubted that was the only reason why he wasn't acting himself... she had thought taking him away from King's Landing might have done him some good – to separate him from Cersei would always be the best thing for him, especially seeing as she was a growing concern. She was poison.

But she was still his sister... and he hadn't been there for Tywin, so perhaps that was why he was taking it particularly hard. He had barely spoken about the matter... and she wondered if he believed that Tyrion had done or like Joffrey, thought him innocent. She couldn't tell him about Tywin; he'd never forgive her if she did. But had she forgiven him for Bran? She couldn't help but feel Jon had been right about many things – maybe he had gotten his claws into her, and while losing his hand had changed him... could a lion really change his coat?

"The world is ruled by boys..."

Smiling, Eliana paused in her walking as a hand fell upon her forearm unsteadily. She looked to the side and waited as Maester Aemon shuffled along behind her, "Unfortunately so." Would he belittle her for her treatment of Janos? She doubted it.

"Kings are boys, lords are boys... knights are boys, even old men like me were once boys, and we must step aside," Aemon spoke softly, "If we want to know what the future will hold..."

"They're not always right." Her father hadn't been right, Robb hadn't been right...

Aemon said nothing for a few moments. "What would you do?"

"I would let the Wildlings pass through the Wall, give them the lands in the Gift to farm..." she paused, chancing at look at the Maester to see his expression vacant. "Allow them to become part of the Seven Kingdoms. Being born on the wrong side of the Wall doesn't necessarily make them monsters. In their own right, they do belong in the realms of men whom the Night's Watch have sworn to protect."

"And yet, you are not a man of the Night's Watch."

Eliana blinked in thought but continued to escort him to the library. He'd asked her, and then he'd dismissed – or had he? Did he mean that no one would listen to her because she was a woman? Was she right?

"They will take it badly, that is certain," Aemon continued as if she hadn't spoken. "But it must be done."

"As long as men like Alliser Thorne linger, they will never be let through." She really needed to learn to reign in her thoughts but the man, according to Jon, had been cruel. He'd left Winterfell hoping to flee the cruelty of her mother to only find another. "I'm sorry, I am in a dark mood today. Stannis demands Mance Rayder bend the knee and swear fealty or die... it's wrong." Eliana knew Stannis wasn't a bad person, it was just... some things she didn't agree with, some things were completely unorthodox. But she didn't dare say it. "My father trusted the man to be Robert's successor, and he burns his idols. He burns anyone who will not stand with him."

"He'll break before he bends." Maester Aemon saw more in his blindness than many men saw with perfect sight. "Many good men have been bad kings," Aemon let out with a faint smile, tilting his head in thought. "And some bad men have been good kings."

"The man will fight to the bitter end and then some." Maester Aemon said nothing. Eliana sighed, forcing a tight smile: "His claim is the true one... he's known for his prowess as a battle commander, and he's utterly without mercy. There's no creature on earth half as terrifying as a truly just man. Perhaps that was why my father wished to back his claim. With Stannis comes vengeance." She could only hope that they would take Winterfell in time, return Sansa to her mother...

Eliana shook her head. It was hard to believe such things when they all seemed at odds with one another. They were all striving for something different, never on the same page... either two steps ahead or three steps behind. "We all want different things... Stannis wants to rule the Seven Kingdoms; my brother wants peace with the Wildlings; my mother wants her children back; I want to take back Winterfell..." she sucked in a deep breath, running her free hand over her face. "My husband wants to run away and bury his head in the sea."

"I had a visitor last night," Aemon announced.

She was certain he was changing the subject – probably a rebuke, but she doubted it was just that. With Maester Aemon, she assumed it was more. Eliana looked at him curiously. Aemon still moved beside her, his arm looped through hers as one of her hands supported him.

"He came to me in the middle of the night and demanded that they wake me." Aemon's milky eyes seemed to be shining. "Most insistent, he was, but young men so often are... it was your Lord husband, Ser Jaime."

Eliana frowned at that. "Demanded?" She found herself asking, nothing short of surprised.

"Oh yes," Aemon smiled at her. "He came to tell me that I should provide the appropriate care for you give your condition. He failed to divulge as to what the condition is, though I suspect..."

"He shouldn't have done that."

"As you shouldn't be wandering beyond the Wall," Aemon countered in bemusement, though it sound more like a chiding she would have expected from Maester Luwin during some point of her youth. "But you still do it."

Eliana arched an eyebrow, "He came to you?"

"Of course he did," Aemon said. "He desires to see you taken care of."

"A aspirant of my behalf, then," Eliana grumbled faintly, "To apparently plead with you to make sure his wife gives birth to a healthy heir? This isn't the South where you can trade favours... ignore him."

"Do not jump to conclusions," Aemon chided with a shake of his head. "He did not beg for my help. It seems your husband is cleverer than his reputation proceeds him to be. He proposed an argument for your condition as though you were some part of a military campaign he was hoping to conquer, leaving me little choice but to succumb to acceptance. He reminded me of my duties as a Maseter of the Citadel and that I should take it upon myself to see you well tended."

"Nothing short of arrogant, then." Eliana frowned – Maester Aemon's loyalty wasn't to her or their child, it was to the Night's Watch.

"We are only human, and the gods have fashioned us for love. That is our great glory, and our great tragedy." Eliana was silent, not knowing how to reply the his words. The old Maester sighed. "Your husband is right, of course. It's my duty." Aemon continued.

And yet Jaime wouldn't voice his concerns to her... instead, he would prefer to pester a Maester sworn to the Night's Watch who swore no loyalty to them. He would distract him from his duties to make sure she was... to make sure his heir was safe. She didn't know how she felt about that.

"Starks preach the coming of winter. The Night's Watch needs every man it can get..." the old Maester carried on, his grip tightening in her hand as she led him to his rooms. "I see their shadows on the snow, hear the crack of leathern wings, feel their hot breath."

"Winter is coming," Eliana smiled, her words turning to mist as they left her mouth. "A long summer means an even longer winter... the Wildlings are rallying beyond the Wall, and with them they bring whispers of things that surely can't be true."

Aemon hummed at her side. "Stannis Baratheon talks of demons made of snow and ice and cold."

"The ancient enemy, the only enemy that matters." It was more the red woman than Stannis.

"The White Walkers of the wood, the cold shadows..." She was fairly certain Aemon was smiling as he spoke which made her more anxious if anything. "Riding their giant ice-spiders, hungry for blood..."

Eliana wasn't sure if he was trying to unnerve her, or if the Maester really believed they were out there, having returned from the slumber to kill every one of them. She didn't want to believe they were out there – the dreams always left her shaken the more vivid they grew. All ended with her dying. "The Others are as dead as the Children of the Forest, gone eight thousand years. The old Maester at Winterfell was convinced they never lived at all... no living man has ever seen one." The Others were only a story, her father once told her, a tale to make children shiver. But she was a woman grown, a woman still shivering.

Aemon paused in his movements, pulling Eliana to a stop as well. "And yet Samwell Tarly claims to have killed one," he explained softly, and she could hear the disappointment in his voice. She believed every word of what Sam had said, she just didn't want to believe she'd ever have to fight them herself. "His brothers of the Night's Watch hold the same view as you, and they bully him for it."

"We always fear what we can't explain."

"The white shadows," Aemon's milky eyes were impossible to read. "Shadows never disappear."

Eliana didn't say anything for a while, and instead busied herself with making sure he got to his rooms safely.

"The Night's Watch is a shadow of what it once was... it's nothing but a pack of thieves, killers, and baseborn boys now."

Aemon nodded solemnly, "Perhaps."

Eliana chose not to say anything, and soon Aemon was speaking again.

"You are much like your brother," he remarked softly, earning a smile from Eliana. "When he first came to Castle Black, it was rather an amusing affair. Alliser is, as you say, a bully. He picks on all the boys, always has. But when young Samwell came, your brother stopped him," Aemon mused, almost sounded as though he was chuckling. She even checked. "He had already been teaching the other boys. Some of the boys were already willing to do anything he asked of them while others needed more convincing, and some even needed threats. He dealt with each boy differently..." Mormont had often rambled about how the boy had gotten under Thorne's skin so easily, "Now not a single one will hurt Samwell, even if Thorne commands it so, even if some of them want to."

Eliana winced at his words. Her fears were true. Jon had been treated cruelly at the Wall, more so than he had been when at Winterfell. She recalled how she had warned him against his decision to join the Night's Watch – her father had convinced him it was still the honourable order it had been since its inception – which of course it wasn't – and Jon had wasted no time in joining.

She felt bad for thinking, but Jon was always pushed aside so easily. "He was always overshadowed by Robb. I always feared he would be forever an outsider, standing in the shadows to be eventually forgotten," she commented with a frown. He'd always tried to stand out, to prove himself to their father but Robb had always in prominence, shielding Jon from his true potential to be someone great. "Jon was always meant to lead, I just wish my father had named him Stark... let it be said that Eddard Stark had fathered four sons, not three."

Aemon gave a soft sigh, "Jon Snow held the Wall against all the fury of the North. He has proved himself loyal and resourceful, and were it not for him, Mance Rayder would have prevailed." While Jon had been hated at Castle Black, Eliana found herself relieved to know that some valued him greatly enough to follow under his command. "He was once Lord Mormont's steward and squire. He was chosen for that duty because the Lord Commander saw much promise in him. As do I... we've all seen it," Aemon acknowledged firmly, his grip tightening still.

"He always deserved more than what he got."

"Jon wished to protect a friend from a bully," Aemon told her, a soft expression sweeping across his face. "Your husband wishes to protect your child from his mother."

Eliana blinked. Jaime thought she was a danger to the baby? If anything could upset her, that surely would. She would never do anything to intentionally hurt... did he honestly think she would risk the life of the child growing inside her? She swallowed hard, feeling tears stinging her eyes.

"Lord Janos made a comment regarding Lady Stark..." Aemon remarked quietly as they descended the stairs, finally voicing his opinion about Janos Slynt. She feared he would avoid it. "And a slight against your father, but the past crimes of any man are forgotten once he joins the Night's Watch."

"We are not part of Southron quarrels here," Aemon reminded steadily and Eliana inwardly grimaced at the truth in his words.

Eliana found herself nodding in agreement, though she knew it was more to convince herself. "Something my uncle was fond of reminding my father," she sighed. She wanted nothing more than to spirit Jon away from the damn place, to have Stannis name him 'Stark' and be done with it. "Something I am reminded of still."

"That is why your husband came to me," Aemon spoke as he settled himself into a chair. "To protect an innocent from vengeance. To protect his child from his mother's own desires. But of course," he found himself frowning, "You knew that- "

"You assume too much, Maester," Eliana bit out with a hardened gaze. "I didn't know he felt that way."

Aemon reached out suddenly and tilted his head, setting a firm hand against her stomach. "The essence of creation, where the spirit is courageous and bold and the body..." his shaky hand drifted over the slight curve. "A miracle of wisdom."

Eliana smiled down at the man, grateful that it was his hand rather than that of Pycelle's. "Thank you for telling me..." she murmured lowly.

After a moment, Aemon folded his hands in his lap. "I am merely here to advise."

Although she held no animosity towards the old Maester, she was eager to get away from him when he finally stopped talking. She admired the man, and his counsel. He could have been king himself, but when they offered him the crown he told them should give it to his younger brother... not many men would do such a thing. He was probably the oldest living Maester... the oldest person alive in Westeros for that matter and-

And that's when she saw Shireen moving towards the staircase, light on her feet as she slipped away from a shelf as quietly as she could, the Princess pausing to check that she could make it back to her rooms without anyone seeing her. Her blue eyes stilled upon Eliana when she clocked her, widening before the woman sent her an amused smile.

Sighing, she settled comfortably into the chair next to Aemon, having decided that she would stay to keep the old Maester company while she hoped Shireen would make it to her rooms without being caught by her mother or father along the way.

The Wall wept tears of blue, of ice, its tears running down its sleek walls to freeze in the air before reaching the ground. Jon Snow could taste the chill as it withered within the air. Through the chill the world became shrouded in almost darkness, the fingers of flame from his torch lighting his way to draw long shadows against the walls of the cavern, almost slipping on the ice that had formed on the floor.

With a sigh, Jon watched as the guard outside the cell withdrew the ring of keys, chilled with a pale frost, and forced the key into the door's lock so that it sung upon opening. The room wasn't a horrid one, and for a wildling, it was surprisingly accommodating for a traitor to the Night's Watch, although Jon doubted Mance would think of it that way.

"Crow," Mance Rayder spoke hoarsely as Jon stepped inside. "Lord Snow..." He was sat looking rather contented as he stared out of the window of his cell, an amused look upon his face.

At the sound of Mance's voice, Jon found himself bowing his head at the very sound of it as it reached his ears. For the captive king Mance was, Jon felt he owed him some small respect for having once ruled over a land the size as large as one of the Seven Kingdoms and having brought all the clans together as one from the Frostfangs to Hardhome.

"I understand that you now take commands for that fool Stannis Baratheon, now..." Mance murmured, his face becoming grim at the comment. "When we first met, you had been my prisoner, and now for our last meeting..." Mance might have smiled as he turned to face Jon properly.

His face was lined with grey, aged and yet it remained wise and ever-seeing much like Stannis. However, the King Beyond-the-Wall looked defeated, weather beaten and somewhat old as his shoulders sagged.

"This doesn't have to be our last meeting."

"No, but it will be," Mance told him firmly, his tone assertive and assured. He wasn't the stupid fool Stannis Baratheon took him for. Mance expected to die, he knew he was certain to die the moment that damn king came riding from the east. "Come to parley with me, Lord Snow?" he asked, a mocking tone seeping through his words when he saw Jon grimace.

Jon frowned in thought, "You know what Stannis wants from you, then?"

Mance nodded and smiled thinly. "He wants me to bend the knee, and he wants the Free Folk to fight for him. I'll give him this much, he's bold." He turned away from Jon again, clasping his hands together before him, sighing.

Jon smiled to himself, "Shouldn't a king be bold?"

"Oh, aye." Mance gave a firm nod of his head before frowning, as though he was resigning himself to something. "I respect him... if he gets what he wants, I expect he'll be a better ruler than the fools sitting on the Iron Throne the last hundred years. But I'll never serve him."

"I am no king... not now, not anymore. Your new king saw to that when he rode my people down with his flaming banners and horses. He's come here to freeze," his eyes fell upon Jon, unnerving him as his lifeless orbs fluttering over him carefully. "He doesn't know the North, and he could never control it."

"Winter is coming," Jon murmured, his father's voice ringing in his ears as he spoke.

"Aye, it is." Mance nodded again. "The Starks are always right in the end, they always have been. Winter is coming, Lord Snow. We both know what comes with it when it does."

"Your king will be fighting a worthless war in the South, and even he won't be able to stop them. The wildlings won't be able to stop them. The Night's Watch won't be able to stop them." When Jon didn't answer, Mance continued as if he hadn't paused. "You knew that, of course. You remember your vows, Lord Snow. As do I. 'I am the shield that guards the realms of men.' The realms of men. Surely Beyond-the-Wall belongs within the realms of men if a hundred thousand wildlings live there. Don't wildlings consist of men, Lord Snow?"

Jon stared into the other man's eye, swallowing hard as he found regret filled him. "Were you my prisoner..." he stopped short, unable to say the words and instead amended his speech. "It's King Stannis who holds you captive, and I can do very little for you."

Mance frowned, holding his gaze for a long moment. "And why do you kneel for this man, Jon Snow? Is he any better than you or I? Is he some god? The gods don't exist, they never have... if they did, such evil that lurks in the far North wouldn't exist and my people wouldn't have to fight to stay alive."

Mance continued in a gruff voice, staring past Jon, his gaze unwavering. It unnerved Jon, making him feeling sorely uncomfortable but he made no made to move. "I know what Stannis Baratheon desires of me... fealty, loyalty to his cause. He shall not have it."

"You told me you weren't here to conquer," Jon bowed his head, "You told me your people have bled enough."

"That's right, and I don't want them bleeding for Stannis Baratheon either. He did send you down here, didn't he, Lord Snow?" His tone was ever mocking. Jon nodded and Mance sighed. "I should imagine he hoped I would be more pliable when greeted with a familiar face. I told you, I respect the man... it's no easy thing to lead, to fulfil such a duty. He leads because he believes it is his duty to do so, not because he wants to. He inspires people to believe. Do you think the Thenns or the ice-river clans or the Hornfoots or the giants united behind me if they didn't believe?"

"No," Jon shook his head softly, his curls bouncing softly as he did so. That was what had always scared him – people believed Mance could win. "You've spent your life convincing ninety clans to come together for the first time in history. Thenns and Hornfoots, the ice-river clans, and the giants. A life's working uniting them." Jon didn't want to see that all go to waste, and he damned himself for it but he knew as much as he would try, Mance would never change his mind. "You didn't do it for power. You didn't do it for glory... we both know you brought them together to save them because none of them will survive the winter, not if they're north of the Wall."

Mance was silent and Jon gave a deep sigh, choosing to probe the situation to see if Mance would sway. "Bend the knee and save your people."

"My task was never an easy one, Jon Snow," Mance commented with a furrowed brow. "I won their allegiance by my own wit... and combat to convince them. I gained their support by telling them the truth; winter was coming, and we could only survive it if we banded together. They barely wanted to follow me, so I highly doubt they'll ever follow Stannis Baratheon."

"The Free Folk do not bend. If I bend my knee before this king, they will never respect me again. The moment I bend the knee, all I've worked for is gone," Mance let out a laugh then, cold and humourless. "It means nothing."

"And they will die," Jon told him simply, knowing it would only anger him. "They will die. The White Walkers will kill them all. And how many tens of thousands are out there right now? How many women? How many children?" he questioning incredulously, earnestly in the hope to make him change his mind, his brow creasing in vexation at his reluctance to save them. "And you won't go out and rescue them because why? All for the sake of your pride."

Mance almost laughed, but instead it came out in a hiss. "Fuck my pride, Jon Snow. I never did this for myself. It was always for them. You want proof? I'm afraid, oh, I've always been afraid. No shame in that." He steeled his resolve, rising to his feet suddenly to come to stand before Jon. "I know I am to die. I've always known it... how?"

Jon blanched, "They'll burn you alive."

In that moment something struck Jon. It wasn't the truth in his words, it was the fear he saw leap in Mance's eyes at the realisation of his imminent death. To see a man he revered almost skittish, a man he believed could conquer anything terrified of what came next made his heart plummet in his chest.

"Ah," Mance paused, a conflicted look crossing his face. "Bad way to go, but I'll burn well." He sighed, the room becoming silent for a pregnant moment. "I'll be honest with you. I don't want to die, and burnt to death, I don't want people to remember me like that... scorched and screaming. But it's better than betraying everything I believe."

Jon scoffed, his frustration suddenly getting the better of him. "And what happens to your people?" He outright demanded, outraged by Mance's defiance. "You preserve your dignity and die standing and they'll sing songs about you. You'd rather burn than kneel. The great hero." Jon clenched his jaw, briefly looking away from the man in front of him to gather himself. "Until winter comes and the White Walkers come for us all and there's no one left to sing."

When Mance didn't reply, Jon let a deep sigh pass his lips. "Honour won't save you."

"Fuck honour," Mance ground out simply, almost baring his teeth. "Honour won't matter when they come for us... does it really matter what men think of you? In the end? I don't care about the bloody songs they will never sing if they die too. The only song will be that of silence," said Mance with a sudden fury Jon had never seen before, something that had been hidden until that moment. A dead man's last words. "Tell your king my answer, Jon Snow. I won't lead them to the slaughter for Stannis."

Looking Jon, Mance's expression softened when he saw the familiar look of surprise mixed with concern. He offered him a smile. "You're a good lad. Truly, you are. But it if you cant understand why I won't enlist my people in a foreigner's war, then there's no point explaining."

Resigning himself to Mance's inevitable decision, Jon turned to leave with a heavy sigh. Mance was a good man. Glancing over his shoulder, he sent him a pained look but made no movement to leave as the door swung open. "I think you're making a terrible mistake." Jon admitted solemnly.

Mance allowed himself a smile as he turned to look back at Jon, finding the boy's worry for his life endearing to say the least. They were supposed to be mortal enemies, after all. "The freedom to make my own mistakes was all I ever wanted."

As soon as Jon left the room, as soon as he left Mance alone he felt as though his entire world came crashing down around him. He was going to die, something he doubted he'd ever be ready for.

Death by fire, a horrible way to go. Anyone's lasting memory only remembered through burnt flesh, heavy and sickening to taste, hanging in the air sourly, hauntingly.

It wasn't right to burn a man for a contrast in ideals, for a difference in beliefs because they weren't beneficial. What shocked her more and left her astounded, caught unaware was the guilt for having been the one who unhorses Mance in the first place, led him to the path that would cause him to meet his eventual end – it felt like she'd condemned him to his fate. She knew she hated but that wasn't the point. It was an odd sensation to say the least, especially when the man, she felt, didn't deserve to die.

Stannis was mad if, for one second, he believed the wildlings would follow him, would name him their leader – a man who didn't know their country – when he didn't know the North. The North never bent to the whims of the South, it never had.

It didn't seem entirely possible for a fearsome man, a revered man among the Free Folk to look so small in his final moments as he was led out of the larder by two guards.

Eliana clasped her hands before her tightly, brow furrowed as she watched Mance cross the yard leisurely as though he was in no great rush to break words with Stannis Baratheon, the least patient man in all of Westeros. Obviously it was he intention to further infuriate him. Eliana almost smiled at that.

Beside her, Jaime shifted uncomfortably which made his scabbard rattle in the unsettling silence that had drifted to linger closely around them all. She didn't dare look at her husband, and instead allowed her gaze to fall upon Jon who, like her, seemed dissatisfied with burning Mance alive.

Uncertain and obviously perturbed about his fate, Mance cast a firm glance at his pyre and glowered at its enormity. It had been layered up to make it assume the formation of a stage, creating a platform that would allow him to burn brightly above everyone – an easy viewing for all present – stacked with magnitudes of dry wood to feed the blaze.

Eliana stilled when his gaze briefly met hers, and he gave a slight nod of his head. Was he thanking her for condemning him to his fate? Or was he impressed? She couldn't bring herself to care. She couldn't think of a more horrific fate than burning alive for the amusement of others and if Stannis thought he could make the Free Folk by having them fear him into following, into bending the knee he was sorely mistaken.

If tempered steel could ever speak, Eliana figured it would assume a voice similar to Stannis Baratheon's. His words were a swirling storm, a hurricane in the darkness, rough and harsh with an eternal tone of conviction. A low rumble over stormy seas to cause those sailing to plummet to its depths.

"Mance Rayder, you've been called the King-beyond-the-Wall," Stannis mocked through an evident tone of resentment, the man obviously caught in his own smugness over his victory at having defeated him. "Westeros only has one king. Bend the knee, and I'll promise you mercy."

Eliana could remember her father speaking of the Baratheon brother, his voice always cautioned with respect for him. Stannis was an honourable man, she didn't question it when her father had said as much. Stannis was nothing like his brothers. Stannis was something else, something different. But the honourable man her father had so often spoke of would never condemn a man to death by having him burnt alive.

There was a pregnant pause, and Mance didn't rush to answer or to kneel before Stannis. Davos shifted uncomfortably and cast his eyes anywhere but at the man stood before Stannis.

Eliana couldn't help but wonder if anyone, apart from Melisandre, actually supported Stannis's values and ideals for following the Lord of the Light. She certainly didn't think so. She wasn't entirely sure Stannis even wished to be burning the man alive by the scowl that had swept across his face.

Stannis's lips twitched, a smirk almost appearing across his face. "Kneel and live."

The weather-beaten man had already accepted his fate, he'd accepted it the moment he saw Jon Snow's face, the moment he saw his people being cut down by the Southron King's army. It would have been wishful thinking to think he could have gotten away unscathed.

He might have almost been forgiven for looking so afraid. Eliana respect him for that, for not denying his true feelings in the face of his enemy, for not letting his pride standing in the way of masking what he was feeling. She also respected him for not betraying all he believed in to please another, and that even though he wasn't born a wildling, he was prepared to fight and die as one. And for that Mance Rayder had her respect.

Mance held Stannis's piercing gaze for a long while, gauging the man who claimed to be the one true king of Westeros before he sighed, allowing his eyes to take in the grim, desolate monstrosity that was Castle Black with a faint grimace. "This was my home for many years," he let out steadily, something he could be commended for considering the situation. His lips thinned slightly and he swallowed hard, "I wish you good fortune in the wars to come."

Eliana bowed her head slightly, clenching her jaw as Mance condemned himself to his own fate, his hands curling into fists.

With a deepening scowl, Stannis gave a faint jerk of his head and soon Mance was been pulled towards the pyre, forced up the steps to be securely locked to the wooden stake that had been crude erected in the center.

She stood corrected. Selyse was an avid supported, the crude smile on her face as she watched the proceedings told her that much. And when she let her eyes slide away from the woman, Eliana blanched when they stilled upon Shireen.

How could a so-called king allow his daughter to watch such a thing? To keep her locked up in her rooms all day but let her bear witness to human sacrifices was beyond her when considering normality. No child should see such a thing. Perhaps she should have convinced Stannis to let her stay with her mother and son, who were both not present and for good reason.

She doubted the answer would have been a kind one.

Her body seized all movement when the emblazoned form of Melisandre strode forward, a twisted smile widening across her lips. The woman who had corrupted an honourable man. Surely someone could convince Stannis to relinquish all loyalty to R'Hllor as easily as he'd been convinced that he was the Prince That Was Promised.

She eventually came to stop before Mance and cast her eyes around the gathered audience, her hands clasped in front of her. Who would have ever known beauty to mask such evil...

"We all must choose. Man or woman, young or old, lord of peasant... our choices are the same," Melisandre announced to them, the crude smile ever-growing as she moved, her dress billowing out behind her like two tresses of an everlasting inferno. "We choose light or we choose darkness. We choose good or we choose evil. We choose the true god or the false."

With one swift movement, the red woman surged forwards to take the torch into her grasp before waving it around, causing several wildlings to stutter while Mance flinched. "Free Folk, there is only one true king and his name is Stannis. Here stands your king of lies," Melisandre turned to face Mance suddenly, moving to lower the torch towards the pyre with intent. "Behold the fate of those who choose the darkness."

It didn't take long for the pyre to ignite, the flames catching like wildfire to flood through the lower levels, scorching the wood to make it glow, ablaze with a sudden ferocity that hissed and crackled in the darkness.

The pyre wheezed as the flames crawled up, causing the wood to blackened and crumble beneath the searing heat as Mance writhed atop the burning inferno that threatening to engulf him. The flames eventually clawed at his legs, catching and wriggling to ascend his helpless form gradually as he winced, flinching and writhing atop the pyre.

It wasn't until his screams erupted in the air, his cries of agony that everyone bowed their heads, wincing at the sight of the man being burnt, the flames crawling and dancing across his flesh as he writhed. The flames nipped and spat as the blistering heat consumed his flesh, stinging and pulsating in its wrath to eat him whole.

The stench of sweat curled with scorched flesh danced through the air, striking noses and tongues to linger like a smog, heavy and unrelenting as Jon Snow strode away with a clenched jaw.

With a shrill hiss, something soared through air and to embed itself in Mance's chest, swaying from side-to-side at the impact in which the arrow had been shot. The bolt had wedged itself comfortably in his chest, causing the man's eyes widen to shock and steal him from his horrid fate.

A unison of heads whipped around accusingly to find Jon clutching a bow somberly, glowering at the spectacle before him as Mance slumped lifelessly, the flames engulfing him silently as the pyre ignited in its entirety.

Eliana grimaced hen her eyes fell upon Jon. Jon, ever the honourable, had shown mercy to someone who had been condemned a usurper and traitor. And now her brother had to face the wrath of Stannis Baratheon.

A/N: Hello, my lovelies! It's been a while since the last update, hasn't it?

I don't know if it's my area or something, but saving documented work is DRIVING ME NUTS. However, I've conquered that travesty and have managed to construct an adequate chapter I'm happy with. AND THE NEXT ONE SHOULD BE UP SOON TOO.

What do you guys make of the new season? Lady Olenna forever bringing the sass, I will miss that. I carry the flag for Jorah, I love him so much.

Lia will be going to Hardhome. And the questions about the baby... well. You'll have to wait an see.

So, the main question is - should Stannis mean an end like he does in the show, or shall I keep him around? I've got some stuff planned, but it would be great to know your thoughts about it.

REVIEWS:

Guest (JUL 31) - Hello! Thank you, that's wondeful to hear. It has been touch-and-go for a bit, and to my shame, I did neglect it but hopefully now that I've got some free time, I can squeeze in more updates more frequently. Hopefully you enjoy the update, Lyra! X

C23 - Hi! Thank you for the magnitude of reviews, and it's wonderful to know that you're enjoying the changes I've made to the story, taking them from both the books and the show. I hope you enjoy the rest of the story, and this new update!

Catstark - Hello! Haha, read at your own warnings. I forgot how long the chapters suddenly got around the sixty mark. Anyway, hopefully you'll enjoy this chapter - thank you for being so patient too!

What - If you read on, you'll find out! Anyway, it's not plain sailing either! Hope you like it!

Guest (Jul 25) - Hi there! I don't really like writing smutty scenes unless I feel it's necessary, there is another one coming up in more recent chapters. I always loved the bath scene, and it's intimate in both the show and the books. I didn't want it to be too hideous in the way, it was forced and possessive. But I'm glad it turned out the way that it did, it took a while of watching re-reading the chapter of the book to do it. Hopefully, their relationship is good, too! Thank you so much! The aim was create a character who could implicate other characters in a way that would change the plot, and while I'm struggling to figure some things out, I would say it's going well in that regard. Thank you for the review, I hope you enjoy the update!

trinity16 - Hello! Thank you, it's great to know you love the story! It's always wonderful to hear, and it books a writer's ego :D. Hopefully you'll enjoy the new update!

LadyAnnikki - Hello... Eliana can be considered as a bad ass, however, she will be losing that status - I don't want her to become too invincible to the point where it's not believeable. I'm so happy you like the story! I hope you enjoy this new chapter!

PensiveProsperity - Hi! That's a shame, but I understand your reasoning and I respect that. I must admit, the first twenty chapters or so, to present her as weak which juxtaposes her to the very first chapters. I'm sorry you feel that way, but I can see where you're coming from so I absolutely respect that. Oh well. Thanks for giving it a go anyway! :)

Guest (Jun 15) - Thank you!

Guest (Jun 8) - Aw, thanks!

Guest (Jun 6) - Hello! Thank you - their relationship is still a slow progress, I feel. It's getting there, aha. I always wanted Cat and Jon to reconcile for everything. I'm pleased with that bit. I miss and love, love, love Ned - so, of course! Enjoy the update!

Guest (May 31) - Hi! The chapters are definitely getting LONGER with each update to make up for not updating as often as I would like to. The Cat and Jon has proven to be a success. I really wanted to write that one. There is a plan for the baby, of course it won't be happy. Jaime will struggle with his happiness. Men are weak. Hope you like this one!

Guest (May 28) - Thank you! Hopefully you enjoy the new update!

femalefarrier - I'm glad you're loving the story. I really wanted Cat and Jon reconcile out of all the characters, so that what always going to happen. Hopefully, you'll enjoy this new one!

jean d'arc - Hello! I always thought that if they had met again, Cat would have been sincere to Jon - in some way, at least. I wanted to channel that mutual understand of the horrors they've both been forced to live through, and that even though they did hate one another, they need each other more than ever. I think the way Cat reacted when Ned brought Jon back with him was a natural one - any mother after giving her husband a son, and to see him come home with another, would have been bitter. I feel that some fanfictions go a bit far, but I just wanted to make them understand one another. That was what I aimed for anyway. I hope you enjoy the new update! X

CLTex - Hi again! I know - the visions... obviously, her dying in the war isn't going to be as simple as it seems, there's going to be things inteferring and making it tiresome AS ALWAYS. I always wanted Cat and Jon to meet again, to settle things and come to understand one another, so I thoroughly enjoyed writing that. Enjoy the new update! X

T185 - I'm glad you liked it; I hope you like the new one, too!

g1 - Hello! That's nice too hear - I was a bit worried about adding more than one OC in, but as long as they don't overwhelm everything, it's good. I'm glad you're liking the story, hopefully you'll enjoy this new pdate as well! Thanks.

...

I live for your patience guys because I'm so awful with updates at the moment, hopefully the lengths of them make up for it though! The support for this story is absolutely amazing, and I couldn't ask for more. You keep me writing!

Love as always,

Ezeiel