DACEY

She had quite forgotten the size of Grey Wind until now; the enormous animal walking next to Robb's horse, Robb's hand dropping the bridle every now and again to touch the flat of Grey Wind's head. The wolf remained close to its master during the first days after their reunion, making sure he was all right; the fierce, oftimes cruel, light in his eyes absent for once. Robb warged a lot less, Dacey noticed as well, leaving the scouting literally to his direwolf – especially after a few days, when the wound in his neck had closed and no more blood came out, the scent of which visibly bothered Grey Wind and kept him around.

They were finally about to reach Flint's Finger; needing only two or three more days, with Grey Wind easing their path considerably. They had stumbled on a fresh corpse in the undergrowth one morning, a soldier in Lannister attire with his intestines pulled out, an arm ripped off, his blood in stark contrast with the snow. When the direwolf joined them again after that his muzzle was still pink, and Robb scratched his fur roughly. "Good boy," she heard him mutter, and as she caught a glimmer of his expression it both scared and exhilarated her.

It was steadily getting colder, not something that favoured their still relatively recent wounds, but a welcome change after the much warmer climate at Riverrun and even at the Twins. They were northerners; they preferred the cold even if winter was coming in full force now. Their travels would be hampered by many feet of snow if they had to find passage at Deepwood Motte instead of the Finger, but all three of them rather tried to withstand the cold than to escape the heat.

Robb was a strange mixture of emotions these days, Dacey thought as she observed him from her vantage point on her horse right behind him. Being reunited with his beloved Grey Wind had brought colour back to his entire being, it seemed, and the two connected on levels she was certain she didn't fully understand (leaving her to wonder if Robb did, for that matter), but the warmth that had started emanating from Robb's eyes once more was invigorating. It was exactly this warmth that had moved the Stark banners to travel south with him, to go to war. It was the warmth that had inspired the mighty Greatjon to proclaim this young, inexperienced boy, this surprisingly clever tactician and equally fearless warrior, King in the North, and follow him to the end of things. It was this warmth, Dacey knew as the flush of inappropriateness crept up her cheeks, that she had steadily been falling in love with.

She had spent a lot of time at the Wilford and even more on their journey through the Neck convincing herself she shouldn't be foolish, that she had almost ten years on him, and – most importantly – that Robb Stark was married to someone else. Many years ago, when he was barely in his teens and inexperienced and shy around her, she realised he would grow up to be one of the most desirable lords in the North – and not only because he was to succeed his father with all the standing and power that entailed. She looked back on that time with unexpected fondness but also realised that it were those few encounters at Winterfell with a young Robb Stark that had laid the foundations for her current chaotic emotions.

She gripped the bridle a little tighter and glanced around worriedly – things had been going far too smoothly during the last few days and her instincts left her feeling uneasy. Focusing on being his guard again felt good and gave her a chance to escape her own brain, because even though Robb seemed to have found new strength now that Grey Wind was at his side once more, the Frey soldier that had tried to kill him had also given him the news of Queen Jeyne's demise and she could tell it was weighing heavily on him. She wanted to ask if he had already known, or at least suspected his wife's death, but she couldn't force the words past her lips, too afraid she would stir up something that neither one of them could control. They were this close to Flint's Finger, and their journey had been hazardous and exhausting, and the last thing she wanted to do was jeopardise the progress they finally seemed to be making.

Smalljon had brought it up, however, the second night after Grey Wind's return, when they sat huddled around the fire, the snow falling almost uninterruptedly now, and Robb had stared at the licking flames. "I am supposed to be dead," he shrugged eventually. "There was no way they were going to let her live. I think I always knew that." He looked up at Smalljon. "The day I married her I knew I dragged her into something tragic; something too big for either one of us to master." He swallowed hard. "I didn't want to let myself think on it too much for fear of losing heart, but there were times when I wondered if I was ever going to get out of the war alive – if my family was ever going to get out alive – if I hadn't bitten off more than I could chew. I wanted to avenge my father, I still do, but looking back I wonder if I wasn't signing people's death warrants with that decision."

"You had good reason to go south," Jon argued, "and you tried your damnedest."

"And you came so far," Dacey added with a determined smile, happy to hear him say he still wanted revenge, "the amounts of treachery they set you up for only illustrates how far back into a corner you had driven the Lannisters; how desperate they were to stop you; that they could do nothing but resort to foul play."

"Well," Robb cut in, "they're still all dead, including Jeyne, and it makes me wish she had never met me, that another man with better intentions would have made her happy." The bleak reality of Robb's words had them all staring at the fire again, each to their own thoughts, and Dacey had wondered long after he'd uttered his last word if Robb had actually loved his wife.

"Flint's Finger," Smalljon announced just then, not turning around. He had been riding ahead of Robb while she made up the rear and as they came to a clearing in the dense forest they had been crossing for the past days with the hill only slightly sloping down, it gave them a clear view of the Keep and the small town built around and up against it. All three of them halted their horses to look down at the distant settlement and Smalljon whistled softly through his teeth. "It's on a cliff," he remarked, his voice betraying his disappointment. "There's no harbour."

"That's what they want you to believe," Robb repeated, smiling vaguely, "but ships sail from here, don't be fooled." Jon didn't react, taking Robb's information at face value, but Dacey threw Robb a sideways glance, realising again how much he knew when it came to maps and Houses and allegiances. She wondered if those had been Ned Stark's lessons that Robb had enjoyed the most. "We'll find passage," Robb continued quietly. "There's a passage down those cliffs, and whether it's a smuggler or a fisherman, we'll find a captain willing to take us to Bear Island." He smiled at Grey Wind, grasping the direwolf's neck fur and tugging it affectionately. "Won't we, Grey Wind?"

"House Flint rode south with you, didn't they?" Dacey asked and Robb seemed to snap out of his thoughts. "They're Stark banners, right?"

Robb nodded, his face falling slightly, undoubtedly remembering the Twins as all the Stark banners' Houses lost family in the massacre. "They've always been loyal to the core," he said after a few seconds, "but we're not going to make ourselves known if we don't have to. It only takes one rebel to betray our cause and I'm done with traps and turncloaks." Smalljon grunted his agreement and started down the hill, the others following him back into the thick forest, Grey Wind loping away from Robb to take the lead.

JEYNE

That morning it had started snowing so severely that it had quickly become impossible to continue their journey west. Jeyne sat huddled in Robb's old furs, the hood of her own cloak pulled tight around her face, leaving only a small gap to watch the snow fly past the curtains of her litter and wait for the men to finish putting up a makeshift shelter. She was so cold she could no longer feel her nose or the ends of her fingers, fuelling her fear of frostbite and disease, and even the baby was no longer kicking around inside of her like it was wont to do whenever the cart halted and the cadence of the wheels on the road stopped lulling the unborn child to sleep. She had folded her gloved hands over the swell of her stomach, offering it as much warmth as she could, aware of the futility of the action but unconsciously returning to it again and again.

According to Sam, they were close to one of the abandoned strongholds that lined the Wall but the blizzard that was raging around them made it virtually impossible to scout the area and find out. Ser Brynden had decided to put up a shelter around the cart that they had manoeuvred away from the open road and against some rocks, hoping it would keep them from snowing in, praying the oxen and the horses would survive.

Cursing, the Blackfish climbed into the cart with her, no longer apologising whenever he was rude around her as she'd made it abundantly clear she didn't mind. Most of the times she had a few choice curse words threatening to fall off her own tongue, so she was not about to make it a point with the man who had so far been able to protect her against all possible odds. The only one who remained even-tempered, no matter what the circumstances, was Sam and she smiled up at him as he moved to sit next to the Blackfish.

"Sentinel Stand is only a little to the North, I'm certain," he announced, wringing his hands together for warmth without taking his gloves off. "If we could find it, it'd be the perfect shelter; the ground floor rooms are supposed to be still intact, which means there may well be a hearth." He stared at the canvas flaps that were their only protection against the snow that was falling in frightening amounts by now, the roar of the storm almost deafening. "This is the best we can do for the time being," Sam continued, mostly addressing the old man to his left, "but we can't stay rooted here for too long without a fire; we'll quickly freeze to –"

"I understand," Ser Brynden spoke abruptly, not wishing for the well-meaning boy by his side to finish his sentence, causing Jeyne to smile inwardly. It was odd, but she had accepted the chance of not surviving her ordeal some time ago. She had been a witness to the harshness of the North, and the way it was ruthless and menacing and chose its victims almost at random. Ever since she had stopped being afraid to die she had calmed down and forced herself to judge her situation as realistically as possible. Contrary to what she expected it gave her strength and courage, and she knew that the baby inside of her needed a fearless mother now instead of a sobbing, self-pitying one who would probably give up before the week was out.

"Can we scout the area if the weather lets up just a little?" she asked and the two men looked up at her in surprise. She blushed slightly, aware of the fact this could well be the first time she ever contributed to their plans, and, to masque her embarrasment, she raised her eyebrows in expectation of their answer.

"We could try in a few hours," the Blackfish suggested, barely lifting the canvas flap that was not in the wind, "but for now it would be death to go out there." He dropped the material, tying it in place again, and Jeyne nodded her agreement.

"I think the baby senses something is amiss," she started again after a few minutes. "It hasn't been kicking like it usually does ever since this blizzard started." Sam looked up, cocking his head as he narrowed his eyes. "Keep track of when it starts moving again," was all he said, and, unlike the very real threats of the raging storm on the other side of the canvas, the worry in Sam's voice did scare her. She could handle everything the gods threw at her, she thought, patting her tummy softly as if to stir the babe into action, even her own demise now that Robb was gone, but the baby had to survive. It was all the North had left and she would not give up until she saw it delivered, safe and alive on Bear Island.

"I wonder what it'll look like," she spoke in an attempt to steer her thoughts away from the fear. "It'll have Robb's colouring, I'm certain."

"Whichever parent this baby favours," Ser Brynden said gruffly, even though his eyes were warm and full of concern, "it will be a pretty sight. Your Grace and the King made a fine couple," he added and Sam nodded fervently, and although Jeyne was fairly certain he had never in his life laid eyes on Robb, the sentiment made her smile.

Next thing she knew she was slowly waking up, her numb body and battered mind crawling up to consciousness as she realised how everything around her had gone eerily quiet. Ser Brynden was not in the litter anymore, yet Sam was fast asleep on the opposite bench, uncomfortable and small though it was, and he made for an endearing picture with his mouth slightly agape and his black cloak pulled up all the way to his chin. She tried to move, but her entire body had gone stiff and cramped and it took a while for her to be able to stick her head out of the canvas, hoping to spot the old knight, certain he was outside standing guard. The blizzard had disappeared and in its stead there was an incredibly thick layer of snow around the wayn, the Blackfish's empty footsteps going inches deep, the oxen mewling softly under the overhanging slab of rock. She couldn't see the knight nor their two horses and the fact that she couldn't hear anything gave her the chills, thinking for a very brief second he must have abandoned them, but then his voice broke the silence as he rounded the mass of giant boulders they'd been hiding behind.

"Your Grace," he said gruffly and dipped his chin at her. "We shall move north and find that ruined castle. Wake Sam."

His curtness worried her rather than that she felt it to be offensive and she couldn't help but give him a questioning look. "What is wrong?" she asked, already reaching out a hand to touch Sam's shoulder, never taking her eyes off her guard. "Something is wrong, right?"

Inside the wayn, Sam jerked awake at her touch and quickly and rather clumsily moved to step into the snow, muttering a soft 'Your Grace' as he passed her.

"Listen," Ser Brynden spoke softly and Sam stopped dead in his tracks, ending the crunching sound of snow under feet and tried to distinguish whatever it was the Blackfish wanted them to hear. Even the horses didn't whinny, Jeyne realised; the quiet that surrounded them was almost the silence of the dead.

"I…" she started, scared all of a sudden, "I don't hear anything. What am I supposed to –"

"Nothing," the old knight broke in. "The wolves have stopped howling. Which is exactly what worries me."

Something had quieted the wolves, and there was really nothing that could silence those animals. Robb had told her often enough that it was the wolves that dominated the North, that they were ever-present, that it was their sound that had always soothed him to sleep whenever he lay awake while still a boy at Winterfell. "What is going on?" she whispered but then Sam uncharacteristically pushed her into the wayn without much preamble, his eyes telling her to be quiet, the Blackfish behind him trying to fit the oxen to the cart as quickly as his old, cold hands allowed.

"Stay inside," Sam whispered. "And be quiet."

ROBB

It had been hard to fight the temptation of going straight to the Keep of House Flint and announce who they were – who he was – as it would have meant a good night's sleep and a decent meal, not to mention being in loyal and friendly surroundings for once, but they were too close to their goal to risk any of it and so Robb had led his guards past the Keep and the small village, in search of the path he was once told would lead down the cliffs. The streets of the village were abandoned, the snow and the cold too intense for people to be about, which was probably for the best, as they didn't want to be seen anyway. He had guided them through a small strip of woodland, explaining he knew the path could be found by keeping west of the the rock the locals called 'the Finger', something his father had told him when they had sat looking at maps of the remote and barren west coast of the North. "It seems impenetrable," Ned Stark had told him, "which is exactly what House Flint and House Glover and all the people who live there want outsiders to believe. It gives them peace and an opportunity to manage their affairs the way they like best. But there's more to that coastline than meets the eye."

Robb remembered how he would hang on to every last word his father spoke on such occasions, how he didn't have to make a huge effort to store all the information of those lessons away for future reference, whereas with his sums he really had to struggle to keep his attention. He smiled as he realised it was only the fact Jon was always so good at them that he kept trying, never wanting to be outdone by his brother. He wondered if he would ever see Jon again; if he was all right at the Wall. If war and winter and the constant threat of Wildings hadn't already taken his life.

"Here," he hissed, pointing at an inconspicuous gap in the undergrowth, Grey Wind disappearing through it immediately. Smalljon pushed an overhanging branch away and indeed, a path revealed itself, allowing them to ride single-file. "I don't think we'll be able to keep the horses," Dacey said quietly as they made their way down the still gently sloping path, her eyes on the icy water of Blazewater Bay that loomed in and out of their view. Thinking of the ship that would take them to Bear Island, Robb silently agreed with her, the horses would not travel with them across the sea. Horses didn't like open water, and the trader or fisherman (or smuggler for all Robb cared) that would sail them around the Stony Shore toward Dacey's home wouldn't like to take the animals on board either.

"They've served us well enough," he said looking at Dacey over his shoulder, but then Grey Wind came loping back to him and nudged his leg out of the stirrup. "What is it?" Robb muttered, pulling the reins, halting their slow descent. He dismounted as Grey Wind kept bumping his enormous muzzle against Robb's shin, following the wolf to the next bend in the path. "Stop," Robb called out to the others, stepping back abruptly as he rounded the sharp curve. "The path is gone," he added, walking back to Smalljon and Dacey who had dismounted as well. "It would have been one giant slide to that small strip of pebbled beach down below if we'd kept riding." He scratched the flat of Grey Wind's head in a silent thank you, and realised they would have to abandon the horses now.

The path was almost too small to turn the horses, but in order to unpack the animals and transfer what little belongings they had to their own shoulders they needed space to move and it meant retracing their steps to the road.

They made quick work of dividing the few provisions they had left by folding them into the horse blankets and lengths of canvas, creating makeshift packs that they could sling across their backs. They all buckled the spare blades their horses had carried to their belts, weighing them down considerably, and Robb caught himself watching as Dacey shifted the broad strap of her heavy mace to her back in order to make room for a second sword. A brief image of the cords of muscle that must certainly grace her arms and shoulders flashed before Robb's eyes, wondering what a woman of such strength would look like underneath all the layers of leather and fur. It took him at least a few seconds to check himself, and – embarrassed – he quickly pushed the notion from his mind.

Smalljon was the first to fasten his enormous cloak again, hoisting up his pack – by far the heaviest of the three – before picking up his battle axe, his choice piece of weaponry that really only left his hand when he was on horseback. Like his father, Smalljon was a towering mass of a man, broad-shouldered and powerful with hands twice the size of Robb's own, while Robb knew he had never been considered small himself. The axe sat in Jon's hand as if it weighed next to nothing and Robb stood in quiet awe of both his guards, hating the pain he felt while he buckled his two long-swords to his belt, making room for the second one by shifting his dagger to his back.

The trek down the hill, avoiding the sucking mud of the landslide and the gaps it had left in the path seemed to take hours. Robb's lungs felt like they were on fire; he knew the effort had almost been too much for him, but still he soldiered on, wondering if Dacey and Jon felt any of their wounds the way he did. Before he could pluck up the courage to ask he followed Grey Wind to round the cliff they had just descended from and a small-but-effective, man-made harbour came into view; completely obscured from the top of the cliffs. Robb turned around and looked up, trying to gauge the distance from the sea to the Keep and calculated there were probably only one or two places in the entire stronghold from where the artificial harbour could possibly be spotted. Even when coming from the sea one still had to know about it, as Blazewater stretched out well beyond the rest of the huge cliff that Flint's Keep had been built on and gave the spot its name. The harbour was empty, but Robb found renewed strength in the knowledge that his father had been right and he easily remembered more of his words. He scanned the pathway that ran all along the harbour wall, noticed how it was stacked with tackle and crab traps and littered with driftwood and waste.

"We wait till dawn," he said determinedly, turning around to face the others. "The fishermen will return once the sun's down, and there might even be a stray smuggler who will signal his arrival. Rest assured we will wait for him." He twisted his fingers in the fur of Grey Wind's neck and the wolf let out a low growl, indicating how helpful he would be once the time was there.

They waited for the day to pass, taking the opportunity to get some rest, as they felt relatively safe in the seclusion of the cliff-walled harbour, and check and repack their provisions. Grey Wind kept circling them in a wide loop, watching for anything suspicious, his huge body almost lithe on his powerful legs. Robb struggled to fight sleep, the fire they'd started just inside the mouth of one of the caves warming him to a degree he hadn't experienced much lately and it made him drowsy. He tried to think of Jeyne, tried to imagine what her end would have been like, if she had been in much pain, but the images he conjured up all tied back to his own horrors. Every time he thought of Jeyne's final moments he spiralled back to visions of her body being pierced with arrows or her throat slit, a deep-red pool of blood expanding around her face, without knowing for certain her end had been gruesome like that. He thought of their quieter times together, thought of their first night behind Riverrun's huge, safe walls. He wanted to go back to those intimate moments they'd shared because, no matter how guilty it made him feel, he seemed to have forgotten what everyday life with Jeyne had been like. He tried and tried but couldn't recall the sound of her voice or what her kisses had tasted like or how her skin had felt under his fingers. The fact that he kept replacing those images with similar thoughts of Dacey Mormont was something he knew should worry him more than it did, but when sleep had almost claimed him, he stopped fighting it altogether, causing him to drop off with the image of his hands on Dacey's breasts and his mouth crushed against hers.

"Your Grace."

It was Smalljon who shook his shoulder and Robb woke with a start. The sun was almost gone, and, like the others, he immediately noticed the ship that was coming toward them. "Robb," Jon whispered, much more familiar this time, and Robb looked around – saw people approaching from both sides of the beach. "You were right," Jon grinned, touching his axe. "It's dawn and here they are." Robb quickly scanned the area, looking for Grey Wind, but the wolf had gone off the moment he'd sat down and was nowhere to be seen. Dacey walked up behind them, her hand twitching around her sword hilt nervously, her eyes flicking left and right.

"Him," Robb gestured to a man walking down the gangplank of his ship, ordering two deckhands around with a few loud barks. Robb motioned for Smalljon to follow him, and from the corner of his eyes he could see Dacey scowl at being left behind but Robb couldn't risk the distraction. Moreover, with Grey Wind temporarily absent, he needed her to guard their meagre belongings.

It had started snowing again and both Robb and Jon pulled their great cloaks tighter, also effectively hiding their impressive weaponry from view.

"You're the captain of this ship?" Robb asked grimly, and for a glimmer of a moment he had to think of Bran who always teased him about his Lord's voice, the voice he knew he was slowly finding again. He blinked, pushing the memory of his little brother, murdered by what he thought was his best friend, as far from his conscience as he could. He nearly missed the man's affirmative but regrouped just in time. "We need passage."

"I don't accommodate for passengers."

"I can see that," Robb countered, throwing a carefully blank stare past the man's shoulder and onto the deck of the weathered ship. "But we still need passage."

"Where to?"

"North," Robb said, anxious to keep as much information to himself. When he felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle, he knew Grey Wind was near.

"Out of the question," the man shook his head. "There are Ironborn everywhere raiding the coastline constantly, not to mention it's fucking freezing there. I'm a fisherman, not an icebreaker." He started to walk away but Smalljon loosely gripped his wrist, pointing him in place with a stare that would have done the Greatjon proud. "It's still out of the question," the captain persisted, looking at Smalljon's hand on his. "Not for all the coin in the seven kingdoms."

Smalljon let go of the man's arm, but instead allowed his cloak to slide apart enough to reveal his sword and his battle-axe. Robb mirrored the movement and slowly rested his palm on the pommel of his broadsword. "Do we strike you as men who need coin?" he asked quietly. The captain said nothing, just stared at Robb's face. Robb, in turn, hoped his face was still battle-scarred enough for him to pass as any random soldier, yet he knew their outfits and their posture must betray more than that.

"Are you sellswords?" the captain asked after a few seconds. "Will you kill me if I refuse?"

"You will not refuse," Robb answered as he lifted his hand only to lower it again on Grey Wind's back. In the dark, the animal had padded noiselessly onto the harbour wall where the three men stood negotiating, and Robb was satisfied to see the flicker of fear in the man's eyes.

"I-if that's a direwolf," the man almost stuttered through the first words, "then you must be –"

"How about you do not finish that sentence," Smalljon interrupted, "and in return for your safekeeping you take us North?"

"With safekeeping he means your ability to draw breath," Dacey added as she came to stand behind Robb, causing the hair in his neck to prickle again – but for different reasons this time. Under his palm, Grey Wind growled for good measure and Robb twisted his fingers into the coarse fur.

SAM

Old as he was, the Blackfish was a hardened warrior who instantly took the lead, sword drawn, making for the narrow strip of fir trees in the distance. He was everything he himself wasn't, Sam thought, or at least the knight did a much better job at hiding his fear. The wolves were still eerily quiet and Sam had seen more than enough of them on this journey to know that some of them were never more than a mile away, watching for signs of weakness, waiting for a chance to attack. That they hadn't yet continued to baffle Sam every single day, causing him to think the Lord Commander's direwolf Ghost held some strange sort of spell over his smaller cousins from a distance, but then he rolled his eyes at himself before the notion could really take root in his mind. At night, they kept small fires, which most likely scared the wolves, and they only carried dried provisions – the scarce meat they ate always shot and prepared on the spot. Or maybe, Sam's overactive imagination concocted, the wolves somehow knew the female in their company was carrying a pup and they kept their distance because expectant mothers were known to be verocious. Again, he shook his head at himself when the thought came and went and he realised that if he wasn't careful, the cold and the hunger and the exhaustion might slowly drive him out of his mind.

The oxen walked fractionally faster, it seemed, or perhaps he was just imagining things, and the horses were anxious – he could feel the tension as he pulled the bridle. Behind him, Jeyne sat quietly in her litter, probably scared to death as he remembered his words to her that were laced with his own horror. Blizzards and extreme cold and then complete and utter silence usually only meant one thing – and it just couldn't be possible.

"Sam," Ser Brynden hissed and Sam urged his horse on as the knight dropped back a little until he came to a stop. Sam patted the oxen that came to a standstill as well and the puffy white clouds of their exhales for a second obscured the Blackfish from his view. "Whatever it is that we fear," Ser Brynden whispered, pointing ahead, "I think it is in those woods. I thought they were behind us on the road, but now that we're nearing that forest, I'm not certain anymore." He swallowed hard, Sam could tell, before training his eyes on his young companion. "You know the region better than I do. How far to this ruined castle, do you think?"

Sam shook his head. "I have never been to Sentinel Stand," he answered truthfully. "It's just books and maps I draw my knowledge from and–" The Blackfish interrupted him, still whispering, "books and maps are fine. They may be all we have. Tell me, guess for all I care; do we need to go through those woods over there?"

The knight pointed at the dense, stretched cluster of trees about half a mile ahead of them, and Sam knew they had to pass. The castle was north of the road, all castles were, and north was through the woods. Suddenly, Sam didn't want to pass either and he scanned the area around them.

"The blizzard and the freeze and the wolves being silent," he muttered, teeth chattering but not with cold, "they all indicate something that's impossible south of the Wall."

The Blackfish gave Sam a long, hard stare.

"My great-nephew told me he couldn't believe the sight of direwolves south of the Wall the day he and his siblings found their wolves," he said slowly and Sam remembered Jon telling him about that fateful day; the way he had convinced Lord Stark for the children to keep the pups, how they had cared for them and given them names and how the beasts had become mates for life. "Nothing is impossible these days," Ser Brynden continued, undoubtedly referring to the grave treachery committed by Walder Frey, killing many of his family and army – people he cared for and loved. "So tell me what you think."

"The signs suggest wights," Sam spoke softly, scared almost the creatures might hear him. "Or even White Walkers. But that's impossible. They can't have scaled the Wall. It's impossible to scale the Wall." He took a deep gulp of air; heart hammering in his chest. Thinking these horrid things was one thing – uttering them aloud was something completely different. "And Jon would not allow any of them through the tunnel at Castle Black – I'm certain he knows how to fight them. It's impossible."

"Nothing is impossible," the Blackfish repeated. "The world has gone mad lately; all this war and death and treachery. The gods – old and new – must be wroth."

"If nothing's impossible," Sam continued, scanning the snowy fields around him once again, "then maybe we shouldn't go north to find the shelter of Sentinel Stand at all. Maybe we should keep to the road and try to reach the coast as fast as we can – despite the foul weather. If wights or Walkers are south of the Wall, we should not go anywhere near it. We'd be walking straight at them."

"Exactly," Ser Brynden said slowly, wheeling his horse about, still eyeing the forest with weary eyes, expecting something to come bursting out of it at any moment. "We'll return to the road." He grumbled something inaudible and pulled at the oxen to turn them around.

Sam stared at the forest as well, his heart still pounding with force, aware that something was very wrong. If the Others were there they would see them turn; they would follow them and ultimately catch them and it almost petrified him. He had seen a wight only once and it was possibly the scariest experience in his life. He also knew that the weather wouldn't get better, it would get worse. If they pushed on they might make it to the coast in three more days; if they waited, it would take them longer, exposing them to worse weather and whatever it was that threateed them now. They all felt it; it was wrong and it was terrifying.

Sam glanced at the distant trees one more time. He felt looked at, scrutinised, and he imagined the wights' blue eyes lurking at him from among the trees.

DACEY

The captain of the fishing boat, Melder his name was, had not spoken to the three of them ever since Robb had twisted his arm into taking them north. With Smalljon in tow to keep him from running away or talking too much, the man had taken care of the necessary provisions needed in order to sail again so soon, and upon his return from the town near the Keep, he had ordered his small crew to prepare the boat. They had grumbled, Smalljon had told her later, but Melder had only given them one significant look and they went about their business without any further complaints. The second Robb walked the gangplank with Grey Wind the four-strong crew had instantly understood their captain's look, and Dacey could tell they kept their distance – or as much distance as was possible on the relatively small boat.

"We can't use our names, or Grey Wind's, or he may really know who you are," Smalljon had said before Robb told him to try and get some rest. Jon was exhausted, they all knew, his wound still occasionally bleeding, the cold keeping it in check but not helping him to get stronger. Dacey knew he'd swing his axe on sheer willpower, but it was time for them to end their journey and find some true rest and safety. She longed for Bear Island with an ache she had never experienced before, wishing to see her mother so she could wrap her up in her arms as if to wring out all the misery Maege must have experienced while thinking her eldest daughter had died at the Twins by the Young Wolf's side. She wanted to see her sisters, wanted to walk the island and feel at home again – as it had been years – and she wanted to show Robb there was a chance at life once more.

"I do not intend to tell him the truth," Robb argued quietly, "but yes, we should be careful. Also, we may have to chain up this vessel and its crew once we reach Bear Island. I don't trust anyone to keep our secret." Dacey had nodded at that, thinking how much wiser – and more cynical – Robb had become; muttering her approval. "At least until we strike out once more, reclaim the North," she added, but it had not sparked the look in Robb's eyes she had hoped for. Instead, he had urged Smalljon again, pointing him to a spot near the tall mast, assuring him Grey Wind would do all the guarding that night.

"I'll go and tell the captain where we're going," Robb sighed, and it was the slight hunch in his shoulders that told Dacey how tired he was himself. He wouldn't rest, though; she knew it would be pointless to suggest it. Grey Wind was restless on the endless, pitch-black waves and so was Robb. They would stand at the railing, keeping sight of the horizon or of land whenever possible, until they reached their destination and Dacey would make sure her King could do that with as much grace as possible.

When he returned there was a tiny smile playing on his lips. "He didn't like it one bit," he explained, placing his gloved hands on the railing again, staring out across the darkness of Blazewater Bay. Grey Wind loped around anxiously and Dacey noticed how Robb lowered one hand, waiting for the wolf to duck his head underneath it, scratching the fur in a bid of reassurance. "He thinks it's too far North, too cold, too dangerous." Dacey gave him a sideways glance, waiting for him to continue. "I told him it is imperative we reach the island, to return the beast to its owner." She broke out in a smile, thinking Melder might even believe it, which would diffuse attention somewhat.

"If we get there, at least we'll be safe," Robb sighed, replacing his hand on the hardwood railing when Grey Wind lay down, his massive head rested on his paws, "You will see Maege again and Smalljon can recover enough to eventually return to Last Hearth." She waited for him to continue, giving him an expectant glance that she knew Robb picked up on but decided to ignore. "I know I'm alive," he muttered after a few long minutes of silence. "But I still feel dead."

"Look around you," Dacey said then, realising how with every surge of the ship she was getting closer to home, something that gave her hope and joy that she couldn not help but share. "Look up; see those stars? They're beautiful. The gods made them beautiful and we are still here, alive to see them." He tipped his head up despite himself, causing her to widen her smile and he narrowed his eyes as he tried to distinguish the tiny, glittery dots over his head. "Those are the stars of the North, Robb," she whispered, using his name despite herself, turning his way and touching his arm. "They only look that way right here. We're heading home."

It was entirely the wrong thing to say and she only realised it the moment the words had already left her mouth. He snapped his head around and Dacey saw the hurt in his eyes because of course he wasn't going home. His home, and most of the people that used to live in it, were gone – dead or lost forever. She could kick herself; wincing at the sharp pain she felt when she saw the combination of anger and emptiness return to his eyes and before she could stop herself – before Robb could do anything – she kissed him full on the mouth, their bodies crushed together, his hands grabbing fistfuls of her hair, pulling the messy braid entirely loose.

They were equal in height, causing them to fight for dominance first, but then it was the strangled sound that fell from Robb's lips and not the strength of his arms around her that almost caused her knees to buckle and it all canted – softened – intensified - and suddenly it was gentle and warm and safe and she allowed him in; his tongue a tentative, soft slide into her mouth, the rush of arousal washing over her as they pushed closer together, deepening the kiss.

Somewhere in a distant part of her brain it vaguely registered that she had more or less expected him to return the kiss; the moment and the circumstances making it the only safe outlet for all their hardship and misery, but she had not expected him to be so adamant about it, so hungry for it, and only then did she wonder if she should pull back.

Scolding herself for thinking too much, the decision was taken from her as Robb wrenched his face away from hers, breathing hard, turning away. She moved with him, though, resting her palm against his bearded cheek, the feel of it rough and hot, telegraphing the blush she could not see in the darkness. "It is all right," she whispered, stepping closer, wanting to make him feel safe, realising again he was still only seventeen years old and his marriage hadn't even lasted a year – a year of battling and war and scarce moments together to try for that coveted heir.

"Gods, Jeyne," he choked out and, to her surprise, it didn't even bother Dacey; of course he was thinking of her.

"Robb…" she started, a careful whisper again, but he moved away from her hand, clasping her wrist, holding it tight as he stared across the water. "Winterfell, my little brothers, my sisters, my father and mother – it's all gone. They're all gone." She could tell he was fighting not to cry, and she thought how it would be the first time since his recovery at the Wilford – when all his defences were down and the tears had come so easily.

"It's all right," she repeated, wishing she had better things to say, watching his face crumble before he tried to regroup and harden himself right there in front of her eyes, something he managed only partially. "I'm here," she muttered, her wrist still in the vice-like grip of his sword hand. "I'm with you."

He shook his head stubbornly at first, but she kept staring at his face, remained close to him, repeating her words on a soft breath until he looked up at her; looked into her eyes.