A few hundred yards down the Green Fork from the Twins, Ser Andar Royce organized their river-caravan. He tasked a trusted knight in service to his father, Ser Damon Shett, with seeing to the women and girls of House Frey, who would be sent to septries at the first opportunity. They bemoaned the sentence handed down to them, but it was far more merciful than what could have happened had Ser Jon and Lord Royce been more like Walder Frey and Roose Bolton.

Ser Kyle Condon gathered and catalogued the plunder on boats captured from the docks of the Crossing.

Steel and silver and anything else of value or of use, we take with us. No sense in leaving it to burn or sink beneath the river. . . not with winter coming.

The Greatjon insisted upon taking charge of the male prisoners they brought with them. Boys and old men, Ser Jon regarded, as he watched Umber corral them. In addition to the Frey squires, the Greatjon ordered about old serving-men sworn to Lord Walder. All are to be shipped off to the Night's Watch, once we get them on sea-faring vessels in Gulltown or Runestone.

And yet, the prisoners were not Ser Jon's concern. His responsibility was Viserion. Staring at the dragon, he thought of the night before, his party's last night within the Twins.

A knock on his door had awoken him, though he insisted that he hadn't been sleeping. It was Lymond Goodbrook, who asked permission to enter. The riverlord used his torch to light some candles on the mantle in Jon's chambers. When Ser Jon asked what brought Goodbrook to him in the dead of night, the young lord said, "This did." With both hands, he held up a plain, oaken box. It was a simple thing; a foot and a half wide and barely a foot tall. Lymond handed it to Jon, but requested that he not open it yet.

Goodbrook then said, "Lady Roslin told me where to find the contents. I wasn't. . . I am still not certain that you will wish to have them. Although. . . I couldn't leave them where they were, nor could I discard them into the river. . ."

Ser Jon opened the box to find a collection of animal bones. They were months old and brown, having never been boiled properly. "My lord, what is all this?" he'd asked. Jon picked up the skull and turned it over for a better look. "A horse?"

Lymond didn't respond.

No, Jon had thought. The teeth are all wrong, were this skull from the head of a horse.

"That is. . ." said Goodbrook, ". . . was all that Walder Frey kept. He tossed your. . . well, he cast the direwolf's body into the river as well as your. . ."

As well as my brother's head.

Jon found himself unable to speak. Frey kept only Grey Wind's head and Robb's body. When they could provide him no more amusement, that wretch did not even tend to what remained. He left the bones to fester and rot in some dark corner of a Twins' cellar.

His thoughts returning to his present, Jon told himself, And here before me is my revenge.

Burn it, dragon.

The others might have wished to capture the castle and install a lord of their choosing. But if they did, no one voiced such thoughts to Jon.

The timber in the castle caught quickly beneath Viserion's fire. Jon watched the dragon circle back around, her wings cutting through the smoke, to spread yellow-gold flame to every nook of the late Walder Frey's home. Jon did not need to see through the she-dragon's eyes; he could watch well enough with his own. Ser Jon let her melt the stone of the curtain walls and collapse the keeps without intervention. The only time he entered her mind was when she glided above the train of barges. I do not like the slump of your neck, dragon. These people are not for burning or eating.

Jon could hear some of the children crying as they watched their home burn and melt and crumble.

Even justice as true as this can be hard, he thought.

People around him moved about securing supplies and pilferage, loading prisoners, and readying the ships. Jon, though, did not lift a finger in any of those tasks. He stood amidst an army, but felt utterly alone. His emotions simmered, and he tried to savor his revenge. Justice, Jon reminded himself.

When finally the Water Tower fell and the bridge collapsed into the river, the deed was finished.

Time to leave, Viserion. Jon whistled to her, even though she was already returning. He did so for the sake of Yohn and his men. Despite his troubled thoughts, he knew that it would not do for anyone to question how he truly called for her.

Just before their barges set out, Yohn encouraged Ser Jon to confine Viserion in the hold of a boat. However, Jon had to refuse on her behalf. Since their attack on the Twins, he could feel that the milk-white dragon was simultaneously more independent and more obedient. Our connection is stronger, he knew, but that is not all that has changed. Viserion now understood the power and strength she possessed. She learned of those traits amid burning and screaming Freys. The uncertainty, even fear, that she'd felt of men was gone. Thus, even though Jon could better influence her actions with his thoughts, Viserion's new confidence steered her too. Jon could feel the change, both in her thoughts and his own.

Physical touch helped their connection. The point of tactile sense served as a common thought in their minds. It made entering the dragon's thoughts easier. Nevertheless, touch was no longer a necessity, even when Jon was trying to slip entirely into Viserion's mind.

Jon's commands to Ghost were easy and instinctive. He could sense alarm when the direwolf thought it, just as the wolf understood what Jon needed of him.

Viserion and Jon were still working toward that degree of understanding when not sharing a single body. It is as if my more passive bond with Ghost is harder to maintain and a more advanced skill, than a full embodiment. The nuances of what exists between Ghost and I is something, Viserion, that you and I are only beginning to grasp.

The dragon swooped down and skidded to a landing on the barge's deck. The single, hooked claws on each of her winged limbs scraped across the boards until she stayed her momentum.

Jon looked at her and thought, Your back legs are not so different from mine. Your wings are much the same as my arms, right down to the four lines of finger-like bones that you use to stretch or retract the leathery flaps of your wings. And, those two claws take the place of my thumbs. With Ghost, I feel as if I'm running on the tips of my toes. In some respects, dragon, you and I are more alike than me and Ghost have ever been.

Viserion loosed an amused shriek and blew a flash of fire straight up in the air.

And in other respects, we're quite different.

Aloud, Jon told her, "I'll not confine you below, dragon. But during daylight hours, you must remain onboard. It would be my preference for you to curl up near the stern, surrounded by stacked crates. No flying before evenfall or after dawn. No matter what Greatjon says, it would not do for every keep we pass to know of your existence. I want to give our enemies no time to prepare some defense to ensnare you. Instead, let them work themselves into a terror when they hear the conflicting rumors of the Twins. . . and when they see you descend upon them."

She hissed.

"You hate this hiding, I know. You think man presents little threat, I know. But, I learned of dragons in my lessons with Maester Luwin. The dragons of the past were not invincible and neither are you. The right army can field many an archer. What do you believe would happen if a thousand crossbows all loosed one, huge volley of bolts at you?"

The dragon did not yield to Jon's words, as it was not in her nature to do so. Viserion simply did not argue further, and she shuffled to the stern of the deck.

Jon relaxed and walked toward the planks leading below.

"Ser!" called one of the Gulltown Arryns. "You're. . . you're just leaving the dr. . . dragon alone?"

"You've naught to fear from her," Jon said. "Remember the battle? How many of Yohn's men did she attack? How many of our ships did she set fire to?"

"Do you wish me to answer, ser? It was none."

"That's my point, friend. If Viserion can keep from harming you during an assault, she can certainly hold back from doing so while taking a nap."

Jon smirked as he saw the fear waning in the merchant's eyes. He told the man, "I mean to get some rest as well. Disturb me unduly, and I make no promises as to the harm that will befall you from mine own hands."

In the darkness of the cargo hold, Jon closed his eyes. A moment later, he heard a voice nearby.

That Gulltown Arryn will get an earful if he has no good reason to wake. . . me. . .

Jon opened his eyes, but couldn't form the words to ask the boatman anything. He saw that the cabin was now filled with candle-light, but the timber walls looked somehow darker.

This is not the barge. . . and that is not the Gulltown deckhand.

Sansa.

Jon tried to speak to her, but couldn't shape the words in his mouth.

His red sister sat on her bed with her legs hanging over the side. He knew that if he wanted to, he could bite her shoe and steal away with it before she could stop him. But, he also knew that she would be displeased if he did. Thus, he resisted that impulse and contented himself with gnawing on the bone she'd gotten for him from the kitchens.

They're talking, a voice reminded him. Listen.

"He doesn't hate you," said the red sister. "I'm sure, Jeyne."

The other girl shied from the words, but said back, "He does! I know it, my. . . I know it, Sansa. He does hate me."

He didn't trust this one. Somewhere deep, he knew that her pack had played a role in the hunt that killed a member of his. This one seems harmless, though. Harmless and afraid. He could tell easily enough when one of their kind was afraid. She carries herself like prey.

"If King Robb hadn't married me. . . and, it was my fault. If I didn't. . . then, he would have married a Frey and . . . and my mother. . . I'm so, so sorry, my lady. I swear, I am."

"You never meant for any of that to happen," said the one he was supposed to watch over. She sounded worried, and he raised his head so that he might better see her posture. "And Jon, well, he isn't inclined to flatter. Hmm. . . he might not be capable of it. He's like our father in that way. People who did not know Father well, they thought him cold and quite stern. But not his family or other people close to him.

"So when he returns, Jon will still seem serious with you, until. . . until he doesn't. Give him a chance to know you. And when you win him over, his regard will feel more precious because you earned something that my brother doesn't bestow very easy."

The other girl looked up, ready to argue, but didn't. She nodded and said nothing more.

With the current at their backs, the ships made better time on this leg of the journey. Much of the Green Fork was overflowing because of the autumn rains, especially at choke points. Jon stood against the port-side railing of the barge. He looked up at the stars overhead. I recall another night on a ship's deck, a night full of stars and moonlight.

He scanned the margins of the star-covered sky. Viserion, confine your hunt to beast. Refrain from plucking man or woman at slumber or on the road. Remember, only animals.

In the three nights since his river-train left the banks on which the Twins once stood, Jon thought his dragon was growing more conscious of his desire that she not eat any innocents. His instructions began to feel more like reminders than commands. In steps, she's coming to grasp my feelings on her actions.

Jon decided to retire for the night. He descended to the cargo hold and his hammock. He closed his eyes. I'll let this body rest. The knight's thoughts receded from his mind, and Jon began his nightly hunt through the moonlit sky.

The evenfall sun cast a glow against the castle of brown rock in the distance. Setting camp beside the Trident, their small company made for a meager siege line. Ser Jon joined Lords Royce, Umber, and Goodbrook in Royce's tent for a war council. Bronze Yohn insisted upon outriders scouting for any approaching host, but Lymond Goodbrook thought it unnecessary.

"Lord Royce," Lymond said. "Let them call for aid. Who in the Riverlands can help them? Harrenhal sounds all but deserted, the knights of the Saltpans didn't have even the strength to protect their own port. . . The closest Lannister loyalist is Jonos Bracken, and he'd have to cross Blackwood lands to get here."

Lord Yohn still resolved to send patrols of his men mounted on Frey horses.

Goodbrook shrugged. "It's no meat off my plate," he said. "See that your captains come to me before routing their patrols. I know these lands better than any Valeman."

Taking the mug of wine the Greatjon offered, Jon asked, "Why now is this a Lannister castle? What of Lord Darry?"

"The Mountain," Lord Umber grumbled. "At the start of the war, he took the castle. Soon after, he moved on to murder smallfolk. Riverlanders took Castle Darry back. When the Mountain That Rides returned for a second siege, he put the castle to the sword. Bloody Lannister beast."

Despite his feelings about what Gregor Clegane did, the Greatjon wished to lay waste to this castle as well. His discussions with Bronze Yohn, Lord Lymond, and Ser Jon centered on avenging Smalljon.

When Lord Royce again stressed the importance of hostages, Umber said, "Death for death. One Lannister for my son, one for King Robb, Kevan's wife for Lady Stark, and some Lannister girl for the Mormont heir. You count them Lannisters, Yohn, and I'll tell you whose death their lifesblood will pay for!"

Lord Yohn countered that it was the Freys who took those lives, and that justice had been done.

The Greatjon thundered a laugh at that. "You forget Bolton's crimes, Lord o' Bronze! And as they did their killing, The Rains of Castamere played. Tywin's song of uprooting a defiant lord's House. The Frey murders have the marks of his bloody hands all over them."

"And he is dead," stated Yohn.

Jon the Whitewolf reiterated the reason they ferried to Darry in the first place, "My lord, they still hold Lord Edmure Tully. Kevan Lannister was unlikely to trade the Lord Paramount of the Riverlands for any Frey. But his own kin? His son, perhaps?"

"Well said, ser," Lord Royce said.

Greatjon Umber threw his arms in the air, but Jon knew they had his agreement, irrespective of any show of frustration.

Bronze Yohn said, "Lord Umber, we must needs discuss our assault."

"Bugger that, Royce. Let Ned's boy tell his dragon to fly circles around the Darry walls. After they've soiled their breeches, we offer terms. Our terms," he stressed.

Standing just beyond crossbow distance on the following afternoon, Jon watched Viserion make a show of her presence. He could feel the heat from her breath start in his chest and grow hotter in the back of his throat.

"Squire," he directed, "a skin of wine and a skin of cool water, if you will." Jon knew that it was not his lungs or his throat that burned, but still he sought to quench them.

Viserion's flames shone brightly, high above the castle. Yet, it was her shriek which could truly put fear in their enemies' hearts. Even men on Jon's side of the siege shook at the sound.

Lord Lymond Goodbrook, the man of three-and-twenty years whose father had been a close companion of the former Lord of Darry, was sent as their envoy. The message he carried bore their terms.

A threat, Jon mused, far more than words of peace.

Rather than face a fiery death, whoever awaited them inside the castle chose to open the black-iron portcullis.