Disclaimer: GRRM owns all.

Chapter 11

Jon

To have seen his brother risen from the dead was a sight for sore eyes, and Jon could not have been happier. "You seem…better," he said with a smile. "Younger, mayhaps?"

James crossed his arms and scoffed. "I have no care for youth, Jon, just tell me how I can get my sons back."

Jon had no answer for him. "I cannot say how, James."

He crossed his arms again. "How or won't? There is a difference, Jon."

Jon could only sigh; he had been through this one too many times with his older brother, or cousin-brother, if you will. Many times through their lives they had been stubborn, mainly James, to be sure, and it always dulled his mind. Even the chirping of the spring birds from the courtyard below could not assuage this meaningless feeling of hope he carried in his chest. Not for himself, but for his daughter, and Jon had to live for her—only her, for the time being. She had to return home.

James sat up straighter in the bed, his torso exposed to the chilly spring air of Winterfell. His health had been regained for the most part, although the maester said he had to rest. But James was James, and cared not for rest when there was much to be done. So much to be done in his eyes.

"I cannot stay in this bed much longer," James said. He stared at Jon with pleading eyes. "Tell me, when can I be rid of this chamber?"

"When Willem deems it so, James."

His brother scoffed again. "Willem is growing old and cautious, Jon; I have been through this affliction many times before since the Wintertown."

"And many times you will again should you not rest." Jon shook his head and his hair bounced. "Just rest, James, and then…" He looked about the room to make sure no one was listening. In Winterfell one could not be so sure. Especially with Sansa's birds. "And then we will take care of our problem."

"The sooner the better." James sighed. "Many times I have suffered, but none so greatly as this. I feel so helpless, Jon."

Jon nodded. "I know, as do I, but what can we do, James?"

"Something," he said with an iron glare. "Something, Jon. We must do something about this."

"And we will. We cannot be rash about this. Remember the East?"

"How can I forget?" James's expression turned into one of stone. "I feel just as helpless as then, if not more so. Rhaegar is lost to me, as well, and that I cannot forgive. My only two sons, Jon, lost to me for some time. How can I live with this as a father? I'd do anything for my sons."

"As any father would." Suddenly he thought of Robb living in the South with Casella and Edmund. It had been many years since he'd seen him, and since everything that happened between him and Jeyne, Robb was shunned by the Starks. Jon and Sansa still loved him, though, and most of Winterfell forgave him for Casella, but she was never welcomed back, so Robb could not return. Jon had to admire his son's loyalty.

"It makes no matter." James sat up again, propped by his arms. "I will leave this bed and search for my sons."

"How, James?" Jon felt a sudden surge of frustration by his youthful brashness. "Have you learned nothing by our previous endeavors? Whenever we rush these things, nothing ends well? Need I remind you of—"

"—I need no lesson in my history," James interrupted with contempt, "nor a reminder of my past. What I need is my sons returned home with Jeyne safely in his arms." With a looked filled with warning, James said, "I will go with or without you, Jon, and you know I will. That's why I ask for you to come with me, so I do not go at this alone."

Jon could only sigh, and how heavy it was. His head sunk between his shoulders, pulled by a weight, and Jon just let it rest there. What am I to do? He asked himself. When pulled between those I love? He thought of Marissa and Brandon, of Sansa, as well. How would they react when one morning he is gone from their bed without as much as a goodbye? Jon knew that he could not tell them of this, that he could only write a letter for Sansa to say goodbye. She would not let him leave after this, after they had lost Jeyne for the second time. But Jon was a father first and a husband second, so he told himself when Robb was born, and had a duty to fulfill for his daughter. Sansa will understand, he told himself. She must understand I do this for Jeyne, our Jeyne. It seemed his decision was made for him. James would leave without him or not, and Jon could not let him go alone. Two heads are better than one…

"We must be smart about this." Jon stood up slowly from his chair and stretched his arms. "You know I will join you, James." A smile crept up on his brothers face, but Jon smoldered it before he could talk. "But we must be smart and quiet." He looked about the walls. "You know of what I speak. Let me ready the plans and I will—"

"—Two days time." James was filled with purpose. "No longer, no less. You know of what I speak."

Jon nodded. "Aye, two days time." He knew better than to argue with him. "It should not take long. We won't—"

"Yes, we won't." James nodded and motioned to the door. "We'll speak in two days' time, Jon. At the night, it should be."

Jon knew what he meant. "At night it is, then. I shall take my leave."

His feet moved swiftly under him and Jon felt a resurgence of hope again. Purpose and hope, he felt, the feeling of being alive, too. It was something missing since Jeyne left and thoughts kept him going, but now it was something in motion which could not be stopped. That same something which had driven him forward during much of life was here again. Resurrected, if you will. That is how he felt.

Jon turned the handle of the door and opened it, hoping to mayhaps find someone at the stables to speak to. Mayhaps it is best not to, he thought, but did not have much time to think further. Instead he found Sansa standing outside of the door dressed in light blue, and the look on her face was enough to say she had been listening. It reminded him of Jeyne's look whenever she was caught in the act of something she was not supposed to be doing.

"How long have you been listening?" Jon wasted no time in saying. And why should he waste it? He'd been married to Sansa long enough to realize her nature. "What did you hear?"

"Nothing," she lied, and it was plain to see. Although Sansa admired herself on the ability to lie with perfection, Jon knew when she was. She'd stand up taller, straighter, raise her head to appear bigger, and stare him in the eyes so he'd feel intimidated. At first Jon was, but now he'd grown wise enough to realize there was no point in falling for it.

"I know you're lying," he said, and knew she hated being found out. "I can tell you were listening in on us."

"I was not." She stood up straighter. "And how dare you call me a liar?!"

Jon just let it go. "Very well. If you weren't listening than there's nothing more to talk about it. I think I'll spare before supper. I'll see you then?" He gave her a quick peck on the cheek and walked away.

It wasn't long before she caught up with him. "Very well, I was listening," she whispered. Jon wasn't surprised she admitted it. It was in her best interest to know, he supposed, and that mattered to Sansa. "Let me just say…although it's a painful thought, I agree."

That did surprise him; it was enough to stop his feet beneath him. "You agree?!"

"I do," she nodded. "How can I not?" She sighed. "Normally, of course, I'd disagree, but…" He could see the pain on his face, this wife of his. Jon's heart went out to her. "…Jeyne isn't too far from us. I heard she lives with that old sage in the woods, not far from here. Jaime said Ned refused to move south so in the North he will stay—keep those of our kin in King's Landing safe. It's not like going East, and…" Now she spoke in a whisper. "Would not take much time. I'd help, of course, Jon. I'll find you the supplies and horses. You need not worry. Leave it to me."

He didn't know what to say or feel. Jon felt utterly surprised and taken aback. Sansa should have been putting up a fight, calling him a dullard or the like, but now…he supposed a mother was always desperate to help her child. "Thank you," he said. Jon gave her a warm kiss on the lips. "Thank you, Sansa."

"We've both been hurting, Jon," she whispered. In her eyes the tears had begun to well up. "Just bring our Jeyne back to us. I'll talk with Brandon and Marissa—leave as soon as you can, and do not wait very long. You know James he is stubborn and prideful, and will leave with or without you. The longer we wait, the more she is lost to us and the more lost I feel."

Tears fell now and carried the weight of a waterfall. Jon held her tenderly, kissing the top of her head and making promises of returning Jeyne to them.

Jon wished to keep her promise and felt helpless as a father. He could not protect her from life, as every parent wished to. The suffering of the world could not be shielded forever.

The day was not spent performing idle tasks. Jon filled himself with purpose and sought what he needed. Quietly, he did, although he left the rest to Sansa. Jaime would never suspect her of leaving the castle, only him, so Jon had to subtly go about his normal tasks with some other ones mixed in. He visited the smithy to sharpen his sword and spent his time sparing with the Castellan; he shot bows and arrows at targets, read books and did as he liked. Jon even studied the map of the forest and inquired about the sage with his hermitage. "In the heart of the forest, is where you'll find it," said Willem in his turret after Jon had stopped by to visit. "Where the grove becomes thickest; it is there you'll begin to find the huts spread out protected by trees."

Jon knew where to look but felt himself lost at such a challenge, such a task to undertake.

He had been in this position before, had this same feeling of hope and despair. The moon found itself staring at Jon, the stars glistening beside it, and he allowed himself to wonder. Sansa slept softly in the bed, the hearth crackling and the fire bright. Jon sat on the side of his bed, staring at the moonlight, wondering what else would come. Sansa's hair was tangled from the sleep, her moans and groans filled the chamber whilst she tossed onto her side. Jon smiled to himself and stroked her thick hair, the same hair she had given Jeyne. He thought about this being the last time he may see her but knew it to be untrue, for he promised to bring back Jeyne, Ned, and Rhaegar so the Starks could be whole again.

With one last breath he soaked her image in, with only last look he committed her to his memory as he did every time he left the castle. Moonlight sent bars of shadow onto her, it's light ever so serene. "Goodbye, my love," he whispered into her hair and gave it one last kiss. Part of him wished she'd wake from her slumber to whisper it back, but instead she just gave a groan and kept sleeping.

The halls were empty and Winterfell was asleep. Jon moved swiftly and quietly through the halls dressed in black; it felt odd to be dressed in this color again. Memories of the Night's Watch were hard to suppress, and at times Jon reveled in the simplicity of those times, but to trade them for now would be a foolish endeavor.

James was awake when he arrived; sitting at his bed side dressed in black, as well. "Ready to move?" he whispered upon Jon's arrival. If one had not known he were sick, they wouldn't have thought it now.

"You've returned from the dead," said Jon.

"Duty will bring any man back," replied James. "Especially when it concerns one's son."

Jon and he shook hands. "One last time?"

James laughed. "Let it be the last."

"Let us move, then."

Jon opened the door to find no one outside. "Did you tell Dany?" he asked.

"All I could," said James, "although she was very upset."

Jon gave a chuckle. "Our women, huh?"

"Daenerys fears for my health," he said, "but I told her it was for Ned. She understands, and…" He laughed. "She knows me, Jon, and knows I will leave whether she's angry or sad."

"Some would call you selfish."

"I know." James sounded sad. "Sometimes I feel it, and I know I don't deserve this wife of mine."

"Will you ever stop saying that?" Jon asked him, letting the shadows of the hallways lead his way.

"Could that I would," was his reply. "Mayhaps I could find some peace."

Peace is illusory to all of us, Jon thought. A word that he found no use for since the moons wake. He walked down through the halls at a steady pace, keeping his eyes and ears open for unwelcome figures of the night: guards, servants, family members, and spies. He was more afraid of the last one, truth be told. Who knew what sort of spies were held within these walls besides his wife's. Mayhaps enemies of Winterfell such as these Faceless Men from the East or those red priests and priestess'. It was not sure to Jon who he should be more afraid of. Although priests they were, the command of power they controlled was enough to make a king quake. There was no tool or weapon more deadly than religion, and when wielded to a purpose nothing could stand in its way.

"We're getting close now," said James, walking slowly behind Jon. He had to make sure James was able to keep up seeing as he was just bed ridden a fortnight ago. They moved swiftly down the stairs like two thieves in the night.

Jon was hoping to see Jeyne again; his daughter and eldest one at that. He could imagine her living in the forest eating raw rabbit or elder berries. It was not a life he could imagine for her, let alone the one he knew watching grow into a woman. As a father he had to save her from this existence.

The Great Hall was silent and resting.

Like a great giant it was sleeping and empty, hollow and without life during the night. Moonlight sent shadows all over, and for Jon it was such a great sight. The tapestries were almost colorless, although the one of House Stark seemed black and white.

"No time for watching," said James. "We must keep moving, Jon."

And so they did. Swiftly the kept moving through the Great Hall and out into the courtyard. "The gods are with us this night," he could hear James say. It was such a surprising thing to hear form a man who only trusted himself in the direst of times.

Boots dragged and kicked the dirt, breathes heaved into the spring night. The stables were empty and a boy stood there already carrying two packed horses by the reigns. "This is to buy your silence," said Jon and slammed two gold coins into his hands. The young lad eyed them like some great treasure, gave an acknowledging nod, and left. Jon mounted his horse without thinking after helping James to leave the castle.

The horse shoes clanked over the drawbridge and Jon could not help but look back. You're leaving your wife and children, his conscience said, to go into the forest. You could stay behind to protect them, to become something else, but instead you chose to leave again in a fool's hope. Does this not feel familiar, Brother Jon?

His mind flooded with images of Sansa, Marissa, and Brandon laughing around a fire as a family. Jon thought of himself moments before his departure standing before the doorway staring at Sansa in her slumber. He thought of going over and kissing her, looking at her face in the moonlight once more to help keep warm at night. But Jon knew if he had done so, he would've convinced himself to also see Marissa and Brandon, and that would have been his undoing.

Winterfell was behind him and the forest ahead. Crisp spring air tingled his nostrils and filled his lungs, and made his skin crawl a bit. The moonlight shone through the woven branches of the forest, which caused a shiver to go down his spine. The darkness mixed with the light; the sheer understanding of not knowing what is out there. Again he thought of his daughter, and how the forest in most stories he had ever heard contained the uknown and unexplorable: demons, monsters, and evil spirits resided here. For some reason a lump entered his throat.

Jon swallowed to let it go. He would need a tough mind for the road ahead.

Thoughts filled his mind of unwanted circumstances.

Stars greeted him this night like an old friend; they were no strangers to him. He had thought the starry sky would hide away behind the clouds like some shy, blushing maid, but instead they were open and inviting. Jon liked to stare at them from time-to-time without asking questions. He was different from James in that regard. His brother-cousin would look and ponder, think about how things could have been changed or altered if he had chosen another path, but Jon in his old age had learned there was no point in that. A futile exercise, in his opinion. But like some folk, James would not change—he could never change.

The wood crackled and crackled, the smoke crawled towards the sky. Jon held a stick in one hand to poke the fire and just stared at the flames along with the stars. Silence hung thick in the night sky and thoughts of Jeyne were ever in his mind—but they were just there. He tried not to think about her and her fate, tried not to, and he for the most part did. But the mind was a tricky thing and would always tempt him, and would always succeed.

James let out a small cough and Jon could hear his teeth rattle. "Are you all right?" Jon asked him.

"I'm fine," James barked through ground teeth. He was wrapped in a woolen blank, looking very small underneath the furs. This spring night was not so cold, so the fires should have kept them warm, but it seemed to Jon his brother-cousin was not completely over his illness. Fear and worry had begun to grip him.

"We can turn back, James," suggested Jon. "I'd rather turn back and find them alone then to risk all three of you."

"We'll do no such thing." James didn't even bother to look at him; Jon could swear he saw the glistening of sweat shining upon James's forehead. "I-I will not turn back." Again his teeth clattered like horse's feet.

Jon did not feel so confident anymore.

The illusions which spurred him seemed to suddenly fall away looking at James through the crackling flames. They danced and danced before his brother-cousin; danced and danced as if they were giving him some sort of warning. Jon ignored them.

Morning dew woke to greet him in the morning. Light shone through the forest canopy and the sounds of the forest were enough to fill a choir. Jon did not waste any time and prepared his horse to search for Jeyne. He kicked dirt over the smoldering flames and washed his eating utensils in the creek; Jon had broken his fast already but James was still asleep covered in woolen blankets by the fire side. He had decided to let him rest so as to have energy for today's journey.

"James," Jon said as he shook him awake. "We must get going while it's still dawn."

His brother-cousin awoke with a sigh and a grog. "What hour is it?"

"Time to move." James did not look so well. His skin was pale, his eyes somewhat sunken and there seemed to be no energy left in him, but Jon knew there would be resolve.

"Yes, yes," James came to his senses. "We must get moving." He let out a cough which evolved into a fit of them. Jon helped pat his back while James let them out and he spit out some mucus as a result.

"Is it not best to return, James?" Jon said almost in a whisper. "I can always return on my own."

"NO!" James shouted with whatever strength he could muster; the look he gave Jon was one of a determined man who knew what he wanted. Jon had seen that look many times in his life and he knew there was no turning back now. James had decided his fate, and Jon feared it would kill him. "We must not waste time," James went on between coughs. "Jaime will no doubt have sent a searching party after us by now." He let out a few more. "The more time we spent talking is more we give them to find us. Now help me up to gather my damn things and let us get moving."

They wasted no more time.

James did not seem to have an appetite which did not seem to bother him. Jon followed him on horseback behind to watch him, whilst James sat on his own before him wrapped in woolen blankets. His sheathed sword slipped the horses side with each walk and the sounds of the forest kept them company. Jon wished to think but felt no urge for it, for the nerves he felt were for James and Jeyne both. Instead he kept himself wondered and occupied with the forest; what was to come was even harder for him. Would they be accepted by this new order of monks? Jon did not know. He had seen this great sage once in Wintefell before and had heard him speak while sitting upon the ramparts overlooking the courtyard. The sage sat on some wooden chair, refusing to accept the warm comfort of the Great Hall, and surrounded by his monks gave a sermon. For the most part Jon had to disagree about denying thought or living in the moment. Life had taught him his mind was all he had, and trusting himself was so important—more so than anything else, really. Sansa, however, saw it differently. She was wiser than him, he thought.

They had found a clearing after midday where small folk were walking along the road. Jon had asked them where to find the monks whilst James sat silently on his horse dazing around without a care. To Jon it seemed he was not even here.

"Thank you," Jon said after they had told him where to go. Wearing and looking the part of lord had given him ease in life, an ease he was always accustomed to after his true parentage was revealed to him. "Did you hear that, James?" he inquired after the small folk moved on. "We must keep moving North."

James only gave an acknowledging nod and they kept moving through fields and forests until suddenly vast plumes of smoke appeared in the distance. Before him James rode wrapped in his woolen blankets and a light fog covered the road before them. Jon made sure to stay near his brother-cousin who at times would oft disappear within the fog. "Stay close, James!" Jon shouted.

He was gone before Jon could utter another word; lost to the fog as if it had consumed him. Jon tried to look around but instead found hooded monsters walking slowly through the mist—not monster, truly, they were people, but still scary nonetheless. Torn between his brother and Jeyne, Jon Targaryen Stark felt truly tested.

The monk did not get startled by his sudden presence or his sword. It was a woman, Jon realized, with her hood raised; she walked with a group of two men who seemed to not care for him, either. Her hair was slumped in a braid, much like Jeyne's, but her hair was brown instead of red.

"Good day," Jon greeted hastily; he decided to give a bow. He did not know how to greet a monk. "Are you followers of the sage?"

"We follow no one but ourselves," one of the men replied. "We must forge our own path."

"I have no time for games!" Jon barked. They did not seem startled, but he came to his senses. "Apologies," he said, "I have need to know where the sage's hermitage is."

"Follow us and we shall guide you," the woman offered. "All are welcome to stay whether they dawn the robes or no."

"Thank you, thank you!" Jon offered one hundred times over; he remembered his brother. With haste he swiftly parted from the group to look for his brother-cousin, but not so far as to lose them. He may not get this opportunity again.

"Where is it you go?" one of the monks shouted for him.

"To find my brother," Jon barked at the fog.

A cloud of mist swirled his mind and heart, and Jon did not know where to look. The forest was quiet at this time of the day, so not many sounds were ringing in his ears, yet the urge to find James drowned them all out. He went in the direction of his horse. James could not have gone—

His horse was walking his circles swatting flies from his mane. James lay on the ground beside him.

"James!" Jon shouted before he could hear it. Without a moments notice he was kneeling beside his brother-cousin who laid there uttering gibberish with eyes rolling about his head. "James?!" Jon shouted—shaking him to reply. "Can you hear me?"

James made no reply save to shiver and mutter some words. His skin was pale and sweat ran down his skin to glisten in the fog light. The brown robe was strewn about his torso and the hood coiled around his neck like snake. Jon moved to pick him up off the ground and found the robe drenched with sweat and morning dew. He could not lift him.

Soon the monks arrived like a visage through the fog. There seemed no cause for concern save for the worried look in one of the man's eyes. He was younger than the other two, Jon could see, and may haps not as wise. "What is wrong with him?" the woman asked. She knelt onto the grass to examine James. "How long has he been this way?"

"For many days now," Jon replied. He got a good look at the woman through her hood. Although older and with raven hair, she did not look too homely nor comely. Jon supposed vanity was not something a monk could indulge in.

"We must get him back to the hermitage," she said quickly. Without hesitation she came up from the ground to bark orders but Jon did not hear him. What he found were the two men kneeling down to get James atop his horse.

"No, no!" Jon protested. "What are you doing?"

"Taking him back to the hermitage," the woman explained. "There we have the herbs and knowledge to try and nurse him back to health."

Jon could not believe her words. "Herbs and supplies?! He needs to see a Maester! Not some woods witch or monk who will give him dream wine and call it a healing potion! Or some herb tea and say it'll cure him if I utter some words!"

The insults rolled over her like water off a ducks back. "We offer no such things, but we can heal him if you let us. All people of different backgrounds come to live among us, and Maesters are not strangers to us."

"You have a Maester with you?"

"Yes," she nodded, "who treats the entire hermitage. You cannot return to Winterfell now."

Jon felt nerves. He looked to James slumped onto the horse by the two male monks. "He must return to Winterfell," he insisted to the woman. "Maester Willem is there and—"

"Winterfell is days away," she calmly interrupted. "He will die before you return."

Jon did not want to hear it. "The Lord of Winterfell will no doubt have sent a search party after us; if you aide and shelter him, he will not be pleased…"

"Do you see a search party?" the woman asked, pointing to their surroundings. "Or the Lord of Winterfell himself? I do not. I see us and our hermitage not a league from here whereas Winterfell is days away. You make the choice, set, but I suggest you do now if you'd like him to survive this fever."

Jon sighed and look to his surroundings to make the only choice he could. Forgive me, Dany.

The horses mane flicked after he mounted it, and James coiled around his arms about Jon's waist moaning into the upper part of his back. "Take me to the hermitage," Jon ordered of the monks.

"As you wish," she replied. The woman grabbed the horses reigns and walked him towards the hermitage. And to Ned and Jeyne, were his last thoughts as he heard James groaning.