Author's Note: Hello, thanks for clicking! The idea just wouldn't go away and I had to get it down, you know? Anyway, just a little background – Skagos is an actual place in the ASOIAF universe that hasn't yet been discovered. My imagination went wild so I created a back-story for it. Basically, it was an island with a lot of rivalling clans led by "hedas" (a term I stole from the awesome CW show the 100) and three magnars (a canon term that means 'lord' in the Old Tongue) until Commander Leksa (a character named after and based on Lexa from the 100) united them. A lot of the story will have dialogue in the Old Tongue, if its not explained its because the narrator doesn't speak the language. Anyway, sorry for the long author's note! Hope ya like the chapter!

Chapter One
Heda kom Skagos

With a look of fierce concentration on his face and narrowed eyes, Rickon Stark raised his swords and swallowed a large lump in his throat as his opponent, another one of the Dagheda's wards, charged towards him with a loud battle cry, his axe raised high in the air.

Rickon stepped aside to the left and allowed his opponent to stumble past him. Just as his opponent was about to turn around and try again, Rickon kicked him in the leg, unbalancing him, and let the boy fall to the ground. That was when he pointed one of his swords to the boy's neck, effectively declaring his victory.

"You fight well," he heard the Dagheda say in the Old Tongue that the Skagosi spoke. Rickon understood a few words, though he found that he was understanding more and more each day he spent on the island. Rickon turned around to face Dagheda Leksa, who had a rare, small smile on her face. "You're beginning to fight like us, Rickon kom Fronoshaq. With instinct and strength instead of silly, useless honour and..."

He couldn't understand what she said after that. "What does that mean, Dagheda?"

The Dagheda smiled again. "You know how the southern knights fight, with twirls and silly movements." She went on to speak in the common tongue, her accent clear and like how the northerners spoke. "Embellishment, I believe the word is. We have no use for it in Skagos."

From the bench where Osha sat, sharpening a knife, Shaggy was stalking towards them, his green eyes almost menacing, though there was no threat near. Shaggy had made sure that the other wards hadn't come near him, since some of them thought that, because he was from the land, he wasn't worthy of the Dagheda's tutelage. Shaggy would bark at them and glare fiercely, and the Skagosi children would leave him be.

The youngest Stark rubbed his direwolf companion beneath his ear, causing Shaggy to let out a pleased growl. The Dagheda chuckled. "You may relax for a while, Rickon. You've proven yourself today."

"Dagheda," Rickon started when the commander had turned her back to him, about to walk away. The Dagheda turned around to him as he prepared the words of the foreign language in his head. "May I be guard to you someday?"

He didn't even know if daghedas had guards. Nonetheless, Dagheda Leksa gave a small laugh and said thoughtfully, "You might be much more than that, Rickon kom Fronoshaq."

Before he could ask her what she meant – what could possibly be more than a guard to the Dagheda? – she had turned around and left the training yard. Rickon scratched Shaggy under the ear one last time and went over to Osha, his direwolf following closely beside him.

He sat on the bench beside Osha and continued to rub Shaggy's fur. He hadn't been spending enough time with his direwolf lately, so consumed in becoming a warrior that he had forgotten about everything but improving his skills at combat.

As if she hadn't yet noticed his presence, Osha continued to glare down at the knife in her hand and sharpen it violently. Rickon was afraid to say anything, considering that she was obviously in a foul humour and she had a knife in her hand. Eventually, she paid notice to him and began to speak.

"I don't trust that woman," she whispered fiercely, urgently.

"Why?" Rickon asked, genuinely bewildered. The Dagheda had been nothing but kind to them both, even if she was cold at times. "She took us in. And she's been training me!"

"That's it, though, isn't it?" Osha said. She finally placed the knight and the whetstone beside her on the bench. "Why did she take us in? Why didn't she sell us to some southern lord for a few swords or grain?"

"Why did we come to Skagos if you didn't trust the Skagosi?" Rickon countered. He didn't see an issue with anything. For the first time since Father left Winterfell, he was feeling happy. If only Bran was with him, and Mother, and Robb and the girls...

"I trusted the Skagosi all right," Osha said bitterly. "As long as they didn't know who we were, we were safe. But then you had to blurt your name out at the first sign of danger like it made you untouchable-"

"But it did, didn't it?" Rickon replied, a little smug. "Once I told them who I was, they didn't touch us and the Dagheda has been nice to us since. I don't know why you're worrying."

"Because what does she gain by 'being nice to us'?" Osha asked. "You don't know the Free Folk like I do. We don't do things to 'be nice', we do things because it'll make life easier or because we'll get something out of it. You have no lands, no family in high places... I don't want to be sour, little lord, but the Dagheda wants something from you."

But what? Like Osha said, he had no lands, no family in high places. What would anyone want with him?

"Or, maybe she's different?" Rickon suggested hopefully. As much as he wanted to believe that Osha was wrong, that they were safe here, Rickon was beginning to see that Osha had a point.

"Hmm." Osha stared off into the distance with a blank expression on her face. She was worried – Rickon could tell – and, perhaps, a little fearful. That made Rickon worry. It took a lot to make Osha afraid. Slowly and with careful hands, the wildling picked up the knife and the whetstone again, sharpening the knife's edge with rigid, sudden movements. "Don't worry about it too much, little lord. Just keep an eye on them, you hear?"

He nodded, his mind elsewhere as he continued to rub Shaggy beneath his ear absent-mindedly.

The wind nearly blew him off the mountain as Jon trudged through mud to get to the Skagosi town of Dagdar, where Tormund believed the wildling Skagosi commander dwelled. The more he saw of Skagos, the less he wanted them as allies. Wildlings were different to those south of the Wall, that he knew, but the Skagosi were like a different race altogether, with their foreign tongues and their violent ways.

At least his beard hadn't turned to ice as it had north of the Wall. There was no snow in the few days he had been on the island – only wind and rain – which was an improvement from Beyond-the-Wall.

"There has to have been an easier route," Edd commented, breathless and panting. "Even a horse couldn't make it up this mountain."

"That's the point," Tormund Giantsbane said gruffly. He too was panting for breath. Jon couldn't deny that he was as well. "The Skagosi hate each other just as much as we do."

"Remind me then, why do we want them as allies?" Edd asked gruffly. Another ten steps and they'd be at the top. Jon wasn't sure if he'd make it.

"The skaggs are shits, I'll tell ya that much," Tormund admitted. "They'd do anything to get into a fight with anyone. But they're good warrior shits when they are at each other's throats. None o' ye ever seen a skagg fighting. They train their boys and girls as soon as they can walk!"

"Their girls?" Jon repeated. He was aware that wildlings let their women fight. Ygritte was allowed to fight at Castle Black. His stomach twisted and his heart ached. Ygritte... No. He pushed all thoughts of the spearwoman out of his head. He had no time for mourning.

"O' course. You won't find no ladies in silk here, crow," Tormund said. "Though that's good news for you, isn't it, boy? You prefer yourself a spearwoman."

Jon didn't answer. Eventually, he hoped he'd have time to grieve. It had been months since Ygritte died, and he still hadn't had the chance. He was Lord Commander now, and there was the issue of the White Walkers, so he probably never would.

As they reached the mountains peak, a bustling city with a tall tower at the centre was revealed to them. They had made it. Jon stared at the great city of Dagdar, his mouth agape, revelling in being one of the first mainlanders from south of the Wall to step foot in the famous city in more than a century.

"The commander lives there." Tormund pointed his finger towards the tall tower amidst the small houses and shops.

The white tower showed its age, with moss growing everywhere on the magnificent structure. It was made of stone, fine stone too. Everything in the city seemed to be made of stone. The Skagosi didn't call themselves the 'Stone Men' for nothing, after all.

They walked towards the commander's tower with quick feet. Jon was surprised at how fast his legs were carrying him, considering how weary he felt. Perhaps it was the fear that drove him to walk faster. The Skagosi were observing them with cold, wary eyes. Their faces had paint on them, usually black paint. Some had only lines, others had painted their whole face black. Though he was now a man grown, the Skagosi still frightened him.

A tall man with black, braided hair that fell down to his backside and a face that was coloured in black glowered down at Jon. He only realised then that they were at the tower's door, which was heavily guarded by two broad-shouldered men and a small, slim, yet just as frightening, woman wielding a longsword.

"Kom trom don?" the tallest man barked.

"Eh," Tormund stumbled for words, looking around at their small entourage of Night's Watch men and wildlings. None of whom spoke the Old Tongue. Tormund looked back at the Skagosi man and gave him a sheepish smile.

Jon presumed that the warrior was asking who they were. That was what he hoped was said, because names were the only words that were mutually intelligible. "I am Jon Snow, Commander of the Night's Watch," Jon said in a firm voice, though he could hear his firm voice shaking. "And this is Tormund Giantsbane of the Free Folk. We have come to see your commander."

The tall guard shared a look with his companions before turning back to Jon. It was the woman who replied to him. "Dagheda is expecting you," the female guard told them. Jon couldn't hide his surprise. "She saw your water horses and is angry. You should tell her first of your arrival."

She? Jon snapped his head over to Tormund, his brows furrowed in confusion. Nobody told him that the commander was a woman. Tormund slowly shook his head in response, and Jon pressed his lips together and said nothing more on the subject.

"We didn't have time," Jon informed the guard. "We have to speak with your commander soon. Its urgent."

"About the Cold Ones?" the woman questioned. "We care not of monsters from Beyond-the-Wall. The Cold Ones find us not here with our wall of water."

"They attacked Hardhome," Tormund almost growled, taking a step towards the guard. The woman grabbed the handle of his sword, but Tormund was unfazed. "They killed hundreds of my people. And they'll attack you too. Fuck your water wall."

"Tormund," Jon warned. They didn't want to upset the Skagosi, their potential allies.

The woman stared at Tormund, the corner of her mouth peaking upwards in a snarl. "We will bring you to Dagheda," she said. "But you will be wasting time, Jon kom Kagasi. Time that you have not."

With one last look at each of Jon's companions, the woman nodded at the two other guards and began to lead them into the tower. The tallest guard – and the scariest – stayed at the door, while the woman and the smaller man led them inside. Jon was thankful for that.

The two guards muttered amongst themselves. From what Jon gathered, the woman's name was Essa and the man's was Dagg, and they were not pleased with their visitors. Jon didn't trust them either, but nevertheless he followed them. He still had his sword if anything went wrong.

They stopped outside a door and glanced unsurely at the visitors again. Finally, Essa nodded her head towards the door.

"Is the commander in here?" Jon asked.

"No," was all Essa said.

That seemed to be all the guard was going to say – or all she could say in the common tongue – so Jon merely nodded his head and circled his fingers around the knob. He looked to Tormund for direction, and the wildling gave him a nod. Jon opened the door, only to find a ridiculously small room.

"Inside," Essa commanded.

Were they trying to imprison him? Once again, Jon looked to Tormund, and the wildling, though shaken himself, nodded again. Jon took a deep breath and, against his better judgement, opened the door and stepped inside, with his companions following suit, and then finally the guards. Jon let out a breath he hadn't realised he was holding. Why would the guards imprison themselves with him?

Silence ensued. Nobody said anything, and nothing was happening. Jon opened his mouth to question the guard, but just as words were about to come out of his mouth Dagg knocked on the wall with a rough fist, and then the room shook. Before Jon knew it, the room was rising.

"What's happening?" Edd asked in a high voice.

"We go to the Dagheda," Essa answered.

"Is this safe?" Jon questioned, pressing his hand against the wall for balance. They had something like this on the Wall, but theirs was much smaller and only three people, at the most, could fit in it.

"Safe? Yes. Men push and the chains let us rise," Essa told them. Jon didn't quite understand her, and neither did the others by the expressions on their faces. "It is this or thousands of steps."

"Good choice then," Edd commented with an approving nod, still visibly exhausted.

"How long more?" Jon asked the guard impatiently.

Essa narrowed her eyes at him, as did the other guard. "Soon," she replied coldly.

Jon balled his fists in frustration. But the guard was right, and they were at the top of the almost one hundred-story building only a few seconds later. The shaking stopped and the room moved violently one more time before Essa deemed it time to leave. She threw open the door and stepped out, while Dagg waited until all of them were out before following them.

Paintings and runes decorated the wallpaper of the top floor. What caught Jon's eye was a list of names, each of which was preceded by the title 'Dagheda' and most of which had a line drawn through the name save for the last one. Dagheda Leksa kom Dagdar, Heda kom Skagos. She was also the only one to be called the Heda kom Skagos, which made Jon a little curious.

"Come, Jon kom Kagasi," Essa commanded. Jon's head snapped over to look at her. She was standing in front of an enormous door with a glare etched on her face. Without saying anything else, Jon moved to stand beside her.

She stepped forward and knocked heavily on the great door before taking a step back, waiting patiently for the door to be opened for her.

It was. The sounds of chains rattling and the door squeaking echoed through the hall as the door was pulled open. This must be their last defence, this unyielding door. If Skagos was invaded their commander could stay in the throne room. It would take days to break down the door.

Once the two doors had parted, Jon made to enter the throne room along with Essa, but the warrior woman placed a hand on his abdomen and pushed him back. "No. You wait."

His brows furrowed in confusion as he stared after her. Essa fell onto one knee in front of the commander, her head bowed respectfully. She spoke to the commander in a much more formal voice that the one she used with him, or with Dagg, and spoke in the incomprehensible Old Tongue.

.Jon's eyes travelled towards the commander once she started speaking. She looked just as frightening as the rest of her people, with black paint surrounding her eyes and a knife in her hand. She sat upon a wooden throne lazily, with her free hand, the one not holding the knife, gripping the arm of the throne. There was a much older man beside her, whose white beard had flecks of pale gold in it. He was a man of average stature, and whose narrowed eyes gleamed with wisdom. Like Maester Aemon.

Essa turned around to him and gave him a nod. It took Tormund pushing him forwards for Jon to realise that she meant for him to enter. With slow, unsteady feet he walked towards the commander's throne, trying not to look at the Skagosi's faces as he forced an impassive expression on his face. Like the wildlings, Jon imagined the Skagosi hated weakness. He couldn't show that he was afraid if they were to take him seriously.

He fell onto his knee in front of the commander. Wildlings never knelt, but it seemed as though the Skagosi did. He bowed his head politely. "Commander," he addressed, and then raised his head.

The commander was much younger than he expected. She probably thought the same of him.

"What gives a crow a right to speak to the Dagheda?" a man, another guard, barked. He stood a step lower than the commander, and was glowering viciously down at Jon.

"Strovo, Jamaun," the commander said forcefully, without taking her eyes away from Jon. Her eyes were narrowed and contemptuous. "Though he is right. What makes you think that you have a right to come to our land? Stand, crow."

"Its Jon Snow-"

"I know," she stressed. She spoke the Common Tongue just as well as Ygritte had, and Ygritte's clan only spoke the Common Tongue. "You haven't answered my question."

Jon inhaled a deep breath and climbed back onto his feet. He would have to speak carefully. Offending the commander would do him no good. "I've come to ask for men. The White Walkers have risen again, and we can't fight them on our own."

Commander Leksa straightened her back and sat closer to the edge of her seat. "And why should my people fight in a war that does not concern us? Or do the Cold Ones swim?" She spoke with a biting edge to mock him. Jon schooled his expression to seem uncaring.

"No. But they made it to Hardhome anyway, didn't they?" Jon said, and the commander's eyes narrowed again. Jon made himself stand taller. "I saw them. There's a whole army of them. Men, women and children – all woken from the dead and turned into White Walkers. They killed most of the free folk at Hardhome, and they'll do the same on Skagos if you give them the chance."

Jon paused and put his foot on a step before daring to climb onto it. Jamaun grabbed the handle of his sword and almost unshielded it just as the commander stopped him, her voice a harsh tone, though Jon didn't think anyone could speak the Old Tongue softly.

The commander gave him a small nod. "The dead are coming, commander," Jon told her. "They won't stop because there's a sea between you and them. They won't stop for children or their mothers. The only way for your people to be safe is if you help us. We can fight them together. We might not win, but at least we stand a chance."

For a few, long moments, Jon thought that the commander was going to do something rash, like imprison him or order someone to kill him. He had spoken boldly, but how else was he to convince the Skagosi to fight with them?

"And you, Tormund Giantsbane," the commander spoke finally, addressing the wildling beside Jon. "You are notorious here in Skagos. Fearless, ruthless Tormund of the Free Folk... our children grow up with tales of your greatness. Yet you have knelt to a crow."

"I never knelt," Tormund growled.

"But you follow him," the commander countered.

Tormund took a while to form his reply. "I trust him," was his response. "He's the only one who can get rid of those fuckers Beyond-the-Wall."

"And Mance Raydar?" Leksa asked. Jon could see Tormund falter slightly at the mention of the former King-Beyond-the-Wall. "Only two years ago I was told by one of your own that Mance was to be your saviour. That he had united the clans and would lead you south of the Wall, but the last time I spoke with a man of the free folk, I was told that Mance was dead, killed by a crow, and now you're following one. You even brought the crow to Hardhome to gather more men of the free folk to fight for him. That didn't end so well, did it? I was told that most of the wildlings were slaughtered, and few remain."

"There were other survivors?" Jon deduced. "Are they here?"

"Yes. One. A boy. Barely a man grown," the commander told him.

"Where is he?" Jon asked.

Calmly, with an emotionless expression, Leksa looked down at him and said in a cold voice. "Dead. I took his head when he told me what happened. He abandoned his people."

"He was running for his life," Jon said, breathless. "You haven't seen them... you don't know what its like."

"Perhaps," the commander replied. "But that is our way. It is also our way to avoid conflicts on the mainland that do not concern us. You expect my people to take up arms and fight against monsters they haven't seen? This is not our war."

"This is as much your war as it is ours," Jon insisted, pushing thoughts of that young boy aside. "The sea won't stop them. Nothing will. They'll come for you too."

Commander Leksa clenched her jaw, falling silent as she seemed to contemplate what he had just said. Jon felt a shiver crawl down his spine. All it took was a few words from the commander and every warrior in the room would attack them.

In a booming voice that echoed through the throne room, the commander spoke to the man beside her, whose name, as far as he could tell, was Ellek, without so much as glancing away from Jon for a second. Ellek nodded to the commander once she was finished, a somewhat pleased look on his face.

Leksa stood from her throne as Ellek departed. Jon didn't have a clue what she had said, or what she had decided. His heart pounded wildly against his chest. She could have decided to kill him and he didn't know it.

"Come, crow," the commander ordered.

She didn't wait for him and had already began walking out of the throne room. It took six men to pull the rope that opened the large doors that the commander was storming through. Jon wasn't sure if he should follow her. What if she was leading him into some prison? Tormund shot Jon a look, indicating the doors and to follow the commander. With one last reluctant look in Tormund's directions and another stern look from Tormund, Jon conceded and jogged out of the throne room to catch up with Commander Leksa.

"What was your decision? Will you help us?" Jon asked as he reached the commander's side.

"You think that I can simply command my people to get on ships and fight against monsters they've never seen?" Leksa asked in an even tone. "This is not your Seven Kingdoms, crow. Here, we don't blindly follow the commands of someone who might only have their own interests in mind."

"So what will you do?" Jon pressed, somewhat hopeful. Judging by how the commander was speaking, she wanted to help him.

"My flamebearer will send horses out to each of the nine hedas and the three magnars," Leksa told him as they entered the small room that had brought Jon from the bottom floor to the top. "We will hold a meeting, and then we will decide whether or not Skagos will fight in your war."

"I thought you were the heda," Jon said while Leksa knocked on the wall, just as Essa had done before.

"There are many hedas," she replied. "Each clan has a heda. We were not all united once. Up until six years ago, the clans fought amongst each for petty reasons. Dagdar has not always been the capital, you know, and the Dagheda has not always been the Heda kom Skagos."

"And what united them?" Jon questioned. He wanted to know what to expect, if the commander could only offer men from her own clan, or if she could offer men from the entire island of Skagos.

"Me," was her reply. Jon turned his head to look at her. She was of an age with him, perhaps a few years older, but not old enough to be what most had in mind when they thought of a peacemaker. But then again, neither was he.

The room did a familiar shake and rocked as it brought them down to the ground floor. Leksa didn't speak with him again, not until he prompted her to.

"Do you think the hedas will agree to let their armies fight with us?" Jon asked.

Leksa stared at the door. "I don't know. But I assure you, crow, that I will do all I can."

She pushed open the door and stepped out of the room, holding open the door for Jon to exit after her. Jon nodded stiffly towards her. He wasn't used to having doors held open for him by women. He wasn't used to being around women at all, but from what he remembered of the women in Winterfell, none of them ever held doors open for him.

They left the tower through a different door to the one Jon had entered through. It led out onto a balcony that overlooked the training yard below. Jon looked around for what the commander had brought him out to see, but he couldn't find anything of note, only children fighting each other. Two boys were fighting each other like grown men in battle, vicious and desperate for blood.

"Why did you bring me here?" Jon asked the commander, just as the fight between the two boys escalated. One of the boys had sliced the others arm open, and the injured boy had blood gushing from his wound, but that didn't stop either of them. He looked to Leksa, his eyes wide. "You should stop them. They're going to kill each other."

But the commander appeared unfazed, as though the thought of a young boy dying needlessly meant nothing to her. "That is our way," she told him. "If a warrior is not prepared to kill, then they should not be a commander. This is how we weed out the weak."

Jon was reminded of Old Nan's tales of the Skagosi people, that they were barbarians who ate the skins of the men they killed in battle. He could well believe it, from what he had seen, from how the commander reacted to the killing of a young boy.

The boy was stumbling, throwing his sword around aimlessly, only managing to cut his opponent's skin twice. One arm laid limp by his side, and the other arm was tired and moved sluggishly. His opponent kicked the boy's leg roughly and knocked him onto the ground before sliding the tip of his sword into his neck.

The Commander of the Night's Watch swallowed as blood spluttered out of the boy's mouth and dripped down onto his neck. Eventually, the boy's head lolled to the side, and he was definitely dead.

Leksa impassively looked down upon the scene in front of her, her green eyes cold. She turned behind her to one of the warriors and nodded at him, and the warrior marched onto the training yard to drag the dead boy's body away. Jon swallowed again, hoping to force down the lump in his throat.

"Why did you bring me here?" Jon repeated the same words he had said only a few moments ago, but this time with a little more force.

She shared a short look with him. Jon was confused, his brows knitting together. The commander looked back towards the training yard and raised her voice to a shout, "Rickon kom Fronoshaq!"

Rickon... Jon couldn't believe his ears. Rickon was supposed to be dead! He looked around the training yard until he finally spotted a young man who resembled the boy Jon remembered, who was fighting a young girl with a pair of swords. Leksa continued to shout something in the Old Tongue, but Jon barely heard her, too focused on his brother who was running up to them.

He was dressed in the leather the commander and her warriors wore, but unlike Leksa and her warriors, Rickon's face was free of paint. As Rickon ran up the steps as fast as his legs could carry him, Jon stepped forwards, disbelief etched on his face.

Rickon was alive. Did that mean Bran was too?

Jon waited for Rickon to jump into his elder brother's arms as soon as he had climbed the steps, but Rickon didn't. He stopped a few feet away from Jon, and looked towards the commander, biting his lower lip nervously. Was Rickon looking to her for permission?

Was this the commander's way of threatening him? What did she want? Had she hurt his brother? He certainly seemed to obey her, but was that because of respect... or fear? Jon looked over his shoulder to the commander, waiting for her response. Would she deny them the reunion they so desired?

A long, torturous second later, Leksa gave her ascent with a small nod. It took Rickon less than a second to sprint towards Jon and jump into his arms, legs circling around Jon's waist. Rickon was much heavier than he remembered, but Jon could still lift him up in his arms.

He held Rickon tightly, afraid of ever letting him go in case Jon might lose the last family member he had left again. He closed his eyes in a brief moment of bliss, momentarily forgetting that he was in dangerous territory, that the Walkers Beyond-the-Wall even existed. For a few moments, all that mattered was that he had found Rickon, that Rickon was alive, that Rickon was okay.

His eyes flickered open eventually, and he saw a small smile on Leksa's face, one that vanished as soon as he saw it. Realising that the commander's intentions might not be pure when it came to Rickon, Jon snapped back to reality and placed his brother on the ground, a tender smile still gracing his lips.

"Have you been well?" he asked his little brother. He lowered his voice to a whisper so that the commander couldn't hear him. "Has she treated you kindly?"

Rickon nodded, still smiling madly. "I have. The Dagheda is teaching me how to be a warrior. I'll be a warrior in a few years now, Jon. Just like you and Robb and Father!" Rickon's expression sobered then, his eyes locked on Jon's boots. "We're still a family, aren't we? Even if they're dead?"

"Of course we are, Rickon," Jon said firmly, and ruffled Rickon's curls. "We'll always be family."

"Will you stay here?" Rickon asked hopefully, suddenly perking up.

Jon gave Rickon a regretful look, one that soured Rickon's mood considerably. "I can't. The Wall needs defending, Rickon. There are... monsters, Beyond-the-Wall, that I need to fight."

"Will the Dagheda help you fight them?" his little brother questioned. He had always been curious. Rickon looked to the Dagheda with the same hope in his eyes that he had given Jon.

Jon looked over his shoulder again at the commander, whose expression was still impassive. "She might. She has to ask the other commanders first," Jon told Rickon, who nodded.

"The Dagheda's nice," Rickon stated quietly. Though Jon didn't mean to, he raised an eyebrow, to which Rickon responded with a small, childish chuckle. "Really. She might seem... scary, but she'll help you if she can."

"I'll glad to hear it." If his brother thought so highly of the commander, then maybe Leksa wasn't as untrustworthy and cruel as he thought her to be? Jon rested a hand on the back of his brother's neck. "Hey, how about you back to training so I can watch you fight, hm?"

His little brother nodded eagerly. "I'd like that!" he declared. His cheerful expression was replaced with a more dour, respectful one when he stepped away from Jon and in front of the Dagheda. "Moin cosa gon haun, Dagheda?"

The commander gave him a nod. "Hon cosa gaun haun, Rickon."

With that, Rickon gave Jon one last huge smile before dashing away from the commander and Jon. The two of them stood at the edge of the balcony as they watched Rickon return to his fight with the young girl. They fought well, the both of them, but Rickon was always one step ahead of his opponent.

"Was that a threat?" Jon voiced his concern to the commander in a calm voice, though he felt his voice shake a little.

"No," Leksa said firmly. "That was a gesture of good will. You may speak with your brother as much as you like, as long as you don't interfere with his training. And if you take him anywhere without my permission, there will be consequences. Do you understand, crow?"

Anger blazed within him. Rickon was his brother, yet this stranger believed that she could tell him when and where he could see his brother? His fists clenched by his sides and his nostrils flared, and Jon was fully aware that his eyes were probably betraying the rage burning within him. But he couldn't do or say anything to damage the potential alliance with the Skagosi. Jon nodded stiffly.

There was silence for a few minutes as they watched Rickon disarm his opponent, knock her to the ground and then press his sword to her neck. Jon's heart raced. Could his little brother truly stick a sword through an innocent girl's neck? If that was how the other children behaved, why should Rickon be immune to the commander's teachings?

His grip on the balcony's wall tightened, his palms becoming sweaty. But, surprising even Jon, Rickon pulled his sword away and offered the girl a hand, which the young warrior accepted gratefully. Jon let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. Rickon wouldn't become a killer today, and he was thankful for that. His youngest brother was much too young.

Jon moved his eyes to the commander, whose face had its usual impassive expression, but her eyes blazed with anger and... worry, perhaps. Her hands had balled into fists as she watched Rickon escort the girl to the healer to have her wounds tended to.

"We will not harm him," Leksa spoke finally, still watching Rickon like a hawk. "You have my word on that. I know that our reputation precedes us, but we do not harm children in Skagos."

"No," Jon replied, sarcasm seeping into his voice. "You just order them to fight one another to the death."

Leksa turned towards him, her eyes narrowed and fierce. Jon wasn't sure if it was the rage in her eyes or the black paint that surrounded them, but he was suddenly afraid.

"All of those children are given a choice," Leksa told him. "They all knew of the fate that could befall them when they agreed to become my ward. Your brother too. If your brother dies, it will be regrettable, but he will die a warrior's death. I will protect him from anything but that."

Once again, Jon felt uneasy about this alliance, but forced his opinions to turn to ash in his mouth. This was their only option. This was their only chance at defeating the White Walkers.

Author's Note: Whatcha think? I hope yall enjoyed it! Leave a review or PM me – I love hearing what you think!