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‘Jon.’ Robb’s voice came again, this time almost pleading, ‘Can you hear me?’

Jon locked eyes with Ghost, and was unsurprised to find his companions red eyes flecked with Tully blue. Jon hardly dared to hope.

‘Robb…’ He couldn’t keep his voice from cracking. ‘...You’re alive.’

- Jon

‘Mostly,’ Robb’s voice agreed, his usual affable tone strained by the effort. ‘I’ve been trying to reach you for days, as soon as I was able to get this worked out. But until now there was something blocking me.’

It took a moment to parse that out but Jon got there quickly enough.

‘The Wall,’ he explained, ‘it is more than just a physical barrier.’

‘Right.’ Robb agreed. ‘I think you told me that before. I should have realised.’

Something in Jon’s chest clenched, at those words as it truly hit him that it was his brother speaking and he could not help but breathe the words:

‘Robb.’ his voice was hoarse with emotion, ‘I received word- It said you had died. What happened?’

‘You were right,’ Robb told him in a voice that was devoid of all feeling, ‘Your dreams were right. Frey and Bolton betrayed me. My wife, my mother, Grey Wind were all killed. I was dragged out by what was left of the bannermen. After that, well, I was in no state to do much of anything. It was safer that the realm believed me dead.’

Robb drilled this off like a battle report and Jon felt a stab of worry. His brother had always been the most joyful of them as children, now, even through Ghost, Jon felt like that spark had gone out and all that remained was a hollow gap where it had been. Then another thought struck him.

‘Where are you now?’

There weren’t many places in the world that could hide the fact they sheltered Robb Stark, but if he had gone North then perhaps…

‘I’m at Greywater Watch.’ Robb confirmed, though he had barely started the word when Jon cut over him.

‘Did you-,’ He stumbled over the words, ‘Is anyone there with you?’

‘Aye. Both Rickon and Sansa turned up out of the night.’ Robb told him. Though, and it was becoming more and more noticeable with each passing word, his voice still held no real tone. The elation that should have been there at having not one but two members of his family thought lost returned to him was missing entirely.

‘Robb,’ Jon couldn’t keep the anxiety from his voice. ‘Are you well?’

Jon looked into Ghost's blue tinted gaze and felt more than heard the deep sigh Robb gave before he started speaking.

‘I’m alive.’ He said, still not even beginning an explanation, ‘Missing a few parts. But I’m alive. That’s all that matters or so everyone keeps telling me. What about you?’

For the first time a slight hint of bitterness had crept into his brother’s tone, and Jon could not help the relief he felt at even that. He contemplated keeping from Robb the true extent of what he had been doing for the past years, not wishing to exacerbate whatever was wrong with him. But he knew that it would have to come out eventually, and better now than as a surprise later. It might even give Robb something constructive to think about.

‘Alive, and I’ve just brought a host of about forty thousand Wildlings south of the Wall.’

‘Right.’ Robb’s tone had returned to being expressionless and Jon waited for him to elaborate on that single word but after a moment it was clear that nothing else was forthcoming.

‘The dead are marching on the Wall.’ Jon continued, ‘The Others have returned. We need to gather all the men we can to drive them back.’

Still silence reigned and Jon wondered if perhaps Robb had buckled under the strain of the connection, in spite of the fact that there was no change in Ghost’s eyes.

‘Robb?’

‘I believe you.’ 

That was it. No questions, no queries, no surprise, just those three words.

‘What?’ Jon could feel his concern leaking into his voice.

‘I believe you.’ Robb said again. ‘You were right about the wedding, why would you lie now?’

Throughout their conversation Jon’s emotions had risen and fallen like the tides; starting at pure relief then bleeding into worry and now for the first time there was anger building.

‘I don’t need your belief,’ Jon snapped. ‘I need you to help me.’

‘From what little you’ve said it sounds as though you’re managing just fine. You’ve got forty thousand Wildlings to fight for you, what use would the scattered remains of my army be compared to that?’

‘The Boltons sit at Winterfell.’ Jon was truly shouting now. ‘Do you think they’ll look kindly on me? Will they help supply us? Will the other Northern lords?’

Jon allowed himself a breath before continuing in a lower voice. ‘I don’t need your army. I need all the armies on this continent if we’re to stand a chance. I need you to be the King in the fucking North to rally people behind us and rip the Bolton’s out of Winterfell root and stem.’

Once again silence filled the room, but this time, unlike the last, Ghost blinked and the blue receded from his gaze. Then as the last flecks faded away there came a whisper, as though it had been carried on the wind.

‘I am no king.’

- Robb

Robb jerked forward from his position, slumped against the headboard of his bed, pulling himself out of his brother's wolf with a sensation not unlike relaxing a clenched muscle. Blinking away the image of the ship's cabin from his eyes he went over what little Jon had revealed about events at the Wall and in the North. He knew that he should feel something after their conversation; relief that Jon was still alive, perhaps anger at the fact that he had allied with the Wildlings, or dread at Jon’s proclamation that the dead were marching on the Wall. But instead he felt nothing but numb. His whole being was filled with a deep hollowness, right down to the very soul, weakening his limbs and clouding his mind.

-

Robb knew that he had been in bad shape when his men had dragged his body north. In truth he had expected to die, yearned for it even. Everything he had worked for was gone. His army decimated. His family dead. Instead he had been dragged back to the waking world by the healers of Greywater Watch. 

The first few weeks had been nothing but a blur, a haze of barely remembered words and wounds being dressed, buried under the cruel bliss of milk of the poppy. When he had finally had the drug purged from his system Robb had woken to pain, and the loss of his left arm at the shoulder.

The healers had told him that there had been nothing to be done, one of the many wounds he had sustained had been left to fester for far too long before he came to them, and that had he been even a few hours later he would have certainly died. Whatever reaction they had expected to that declaration he hadn’t given it. Instead he hadn’t been able to do anything with the wreck of emotions that drowned him but burst into a ragged laughter, which continued for some time until each guffaw became rawer and rawer and he was sobbing with his face buried in his one remaining hand.

After that many people visited him, tried to talk about what he planned to do next, how the realm thought him dead and how they could use it. At first he was too weak to even begin to entertain solving his problems, but then as time passed and his strength returned crumb by crumb he found there was another reason to ignore such conversations. He had had ample time to think, and it was clear to him that with every action he had taken he had doomed the North to a worse fate. And so he began to turn all visitors away, ignoring the advice of those around him to get back into the yard or even to leave his room; in short he had become a recluse.

By the time a party arrived at Greywater Watch with not one but two of his missing siblings, Robb hadn’t left his room for months. Most days he remained abed, paralysed by the certainty that if he were to move to try and take any positive action, it would only lead others to their death. When the knock on his door came, he hadn’t even had the energy to shout them away, and instead just lay there ignoring it until the person on the other side left him be.

Instead the door had been pushed open, and Howland Reed had been standing there, flanked by two people he barely recognised. One thought dead, the other lost to the Lannisters. It was his surprise more than anything that had forced him to sit up, and run his remaining hand through his knotted, greasy locks.

He’d whispered their names, a spark of something igniting in him for the first time since the wedding. And then he had caught sight of their faces. Rickon looked at him with eyes filled with nothing but distrust, dressed in rags and pelts and looking ready to bolt at a moment’s notice. Sansa… Sansa had somehow been worse. He had caught the hope plastered across her pale features as she stepped into his room, and he had watched it drain away with each passing second as she took in his crippled, underweight and unwashed form.

He had greeted them and told them that he was grateful for their survival, and then spared them of his wretched presence by dismissing them both and telling them to leave him be. He hadn’t even been able to bear watching them go, and so was surprised when after a few moments Lord Reed spoke up.

‘You know,’ He had said, ‘They are not the only members of your family that still live. From what I’ve gathered Jon Snow was able to warn you about the Freys all the way from Castle Black. There are ways for you to do the same, and there have been troubling reports from the Wall.’

It had taken a while. More than a while, Howland had visited him every day in an attempt to persuade him to do something more than just sit in a room ignoring the world. And in the end Robb had acquiesced merely to put an end to his pestering. He had also been aware that the other man was trying to help him and after he had saved his siblings Robb could hardly find the grounds to refuse.

At first it had been frustrating work, trying to see into the souls of animals. But ever so slowly he started to improve. He improved at barely a crawl to start with, but then after his first taste of true success he had thrown himself into the work with one goal in mind; Speak to Jon. Robb had become consumed by his efforts, spending every waking hour pushing his limits further and further until finally he was able to reach for Ghost.

Then he had found himself blocked, and his thoughts had immediately spiralled. Dark visions had filled his mind whispering that in the time it had taken him to master the skill Jon had died. Each day he had woken up and made an attempt to reach Jon, only to find him unreachable, and at this he would slump back down under his furs in defeat and wallow in his fears until the next morning came. 

Then finally he had managed to break through and have a conversation with Jon.

-

Robb stared at the Wall across from him, trying to summon an ounce of something. He’d placed all his hopes that his conversation with Jon would fix everything, give him purpose again. But Jon had asked for the one thing in the world he could not give and now he was left with nothing but aching emptiness.

Robb felt as though he was mere moments from tears, but at the same time as if he had never been further away from spilling them. Part of him wanted to rail and roar at the world, but each time he thought about opening his mouth to scream his throat closed over and he was unable to even whisper. He reached to pull the furs up over his head in a vain effort to hide from it all, and was disappointed when his one hand failed to capture enough of them, leaving him only half covered.

Robb couldn’t even muster the energy to sigh, and instead slumped onto his back, wishing for nothing more than to sink into the sheets and disappear. 

- Ygritte

Ygritte walked into Jon’s room to find him perched on the edge of his bunk staring at his wolf with such intensity that she almost didn’t dare speak up, unwilling to break the tension that filled the small space. But after a few moments of this, during which neither man nor beast blinked, Ygritte had had enough. She knew Jon Snow well enough by now to know that leaving him alone in his thoughts, especially after bad news, was a recipe for disaster.

‘I know you said you weren’t interested in men or women,’ She joked, ‘But I didn’t expect you to be the sort to stare lovingly into the eyes of a wolf instead.’

If she were honest with herself it was a weak joke, but it had come to her in a fit of pique during her stay in the ice cells, and she had been determined not to miss her chance to use it. However in spite of the jest, Jon Snow didn’t look round. In fact he hadn’t even acknowledged her presence at all.

‘Oi.’ She called out to him, louder this time. Meanwhile, stepping forward to flick him in the ear. ‘Were you even listening to what I said.?’

He jumped at her touch, and shook himself before tearing his eyes away from Ghost to look up at her.

‘Sorry what?’ He asked, blinking confusedly at her, answering her question quite clearly in the process.

‘Never mind,’ She answered, ‘Just assume I said something clever. It’d be a waste to repeat myself now.’

‘Right.’ Jon agreed, still not entirely present, ‘Was there something you needed me for.’

‘Not particularly. We’re about an hour out from Eastwatch, but I’m really just here to check on you, given that you spent most of last day dead to the world. Should I be worried about the fact you didn’t notice me arriving in favour of staring at your wolf?’

Ygritte watched as Jon swallowed nervously at her question and felt her stomach sink slightly.

‘No,’ Jon hedged. Then seeing her disbelieving look, he continued. ‘Well at least not about me.’

Ygritte remained silent and fixed him with a glare. And Ghost padded up beside her and copied it, so that Jon Snow was facing not one but two sets of baleful eyes.

‘It’s my brother Robb,’ Jon relented, ‘There’s something wrong with him.’

Ygritte took a moment to breathe, before even trying to work through that non sequitur.

‘You’re brother,’ She said cautiously, ‘The one who you dragged away from a wedding with three arrows in him?’

Jon nodded.

‘And you think that there is something wrong with him because…’

‘He spoke to me through Ghost. I mean-’ He took a sharp breath ‘-I didn’t even know he was alive, until…’ He trailed off, not willing to finish the thought, ‘But he is and he found a way to copy what I did with Grey Wind to warn him and we talked.’

Ygritte decided to ignore the implications that Jon Snow’s whole family were probably all exceptionally powerful wargs if both he and his brother could manage a feat like that and instead focus on the problem at hand. She needed Jon Snow at his best, not only because he was their greatest chance of stopping the Night King, but also because she hated seeing him down.

‘And so during this brief conversation with him, in which you found out he was alive, you concluded that there was something so wrong that it was worth moping about.’

Jon gave half a laugh, but nodded, ‘It seems stupid when you say it like that. But Robb was… it was like he was barely there, everything that made him Robb was gone.’

‘Alright,’ Ygritte decided, ‘I’ll admit that does sound like a concern, but be honest with me now; Is there anything you can do to help him?’

He shook his head.

‘Then stop worrying about him. Your brother’s alive. That’s great news. But right now we need to figure out the best way to defeat the dead. Once we do that you can worry about your brother as much as you like, because if we fail, we’re not going to live long enough to care either way.’

Jon took a shaky breath and rose from the bunk.

‘Aye,’ He agreed, ‘You’re right. I’d just thought, or perhaps hoped, that he could help us.’

‘Maybe he can. Maybe he can’t.’ Ygritte told him brusquely, ‘Right now we’ll have to assume he can’t. So with that in mind what’s our move?’

Jon took a breath to steady himself and Ygritte could feel her eyes rolling at him before he could even speak. 

‘Next we need to take Winterfell from the Boltons.’

Ygritte sighed, feeling entirely justified in her eye roll, in spite of the slight wince of a look Jon gave her for it.

‘Winterfell is the heart of the North.’ Jon ploughed on, determined to explain his reasons, ‘If the Boltons hold it we will get no aid from the South whatsoever. And we need aid from the South.’

‘And this has nothing to do with the fact that it was your childhood home and the Boltons betrayed your brother.’

‘I won’t deny I hate them.’ Jon argued fiercely, ‘but if I thought we could trust them I wouldn’t hesitate to ask for their support.’

Ygritte felt the surprise flash across her features at this admission but Jon paid it no mind.

‘You saw the army of the dead, the Free Folk can’t face them alone. We need allies, and we need to find them before the Night King finds a way through the Wall.’

‘The Wall has stood for thousands of years,’ Ygritte replied, but even she could hear the lack of conviction in her voice.

The Wall may have stood for hundreds of generations, but it had never faced an assault like the one they were facing now. After what she had seen at Hardhome, she was in no doubt that the magic to bring down the Wall existed. And if it did, then the army of the dead would find a way to use it.

Jon’s frown mirrored her own, as it was clear the argument was won. And Ghost fixed his ruby gaze on her as well in a wolfish imitation of the expression.

‘Do you think Mance would help?’ Jon asked, breaking the tension.

Ygritte took a moment to ponder this.

‘He owes you a debt.’ She offered, ‘But Mance won’t like the idea of Free Folk dying for your Southern Wars.’

‘Aye. I’m aware.’

‘He’s not the only one you could convince though. There were plenty others at Hardhome who owe you their lives. If you ask, some will follow you.’

Jon remained silent and Ygritte felt compelled to add.

‘I, for one, will help you.’ She told him. ‘I’m not letting you die again.’

Her reward for this statement was a flash of a half smile from Jon, but unfortunately it was swiftly wiped away as his face returned to its almost ever present frown.

‘We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.’ He decided, ‘First we’re going to have to deal with the Crows I left at Castle Black. I doubt they're going to accept that I’ve fulfilled my vows after I used my position as Lord Commander to force them to agree to rescue you.’

- Davos

Davos hadn’t managed to speak to Jon at all during their Journey back to Castle Black. The man in question had been so busy organising groups of Wildlings; breaking up fights and trying to find them all places along the Wall to set up a permanent camp.

As it were, only a small group of around two hundred remained to make the final leg of their journey from Eastwatch to the Castle itself. Of the remaining forty-odd-thousand, about half had already found castles to inhabit or other sites to set up camp, and although the other half were planning to settle west of Castle Black, most had given it a wide berth. Jon himself seemed deep in conversation with the red headed Wildling girl, but from what Davos could see the conversation was more for both of their pleasure than a discussion of anything of great importance. Because of this he chose this moment to approach the Lord Commander, lengthening his stride to catch him, and clearing his throat to announce himself; the two of them had matters to discuss after all.

The easy smile that seemed so out of place on Jon’s almost perpetually sombre face, slid away into a more recognisable frown as Jon read the tension on his face.

‘The Free Folk are south of the Wall.’ Davos stated.

He was careful to keep any accusation from his tone. Jon had thousands upon thousands of worries to deal with and there was only so much time in the day. He didn’t doubt his word, Jon would turn his eyes to Winterfell. But with each passing hour Davos could feel the muscles in his back tightening as he imagined Shireen, alone but for the company of a monster. He needed something more, even if it was just when they would start to move.

Jon, for his part, caught on instantly to Davos’ meaning, his own frown deepening into a scowl at the thought.

‘They are.’ He agreed, ‘Ramsay Bolton has sat at Winterfell for too long. We’ll need a day at least at Castle Black, but after that We’ll be heading south.’

Davos nodded at that, relief pooling in his gut, even as he voiced his next concern.

‘What of the Free Folk.’ 

It seemed foolish to have let them go if they were planning to use them to take Winterfell.

‘They are needed at the Wall.’ Jon said carefully, as if expecting an argument, ‘I’ll ask Mance and the other clan leaders once they’ve spent a night at Castle Black. But I can’t promise what their answer will be.’

Davos took a moment to digest this, parsing out the detail that Jon was resolutely not saying. They both knew that the Free Folk wouldn’t want to go further south. Well, he expected some would, but not to fight and die at Winterfell. But if Jon gave the Night’s Watch a chance to antagonise them before asking, then the number who would be willing to leave the Wall would rise dramatically. At least he hoped that would be the case.

‘I can.’ The Woman -Ygritte, he thought- interrupted his thoughts, sharply enough that it took him a moment to place her statement, during which she continued, ‘Mance may not, but enough of us saw what you did at Hardhome. You could ask for the moon out of the sky and some of them would start building a tower to get you there.’

Davos blanched a little at the intensity of that statement. There had been stories aplenty about exactly what Jon had done, but after listening to a few and seeing the similarities to Melisandre’s magic Davos had been resolutely ignoring them as much as was possible.

In that time Ygritte had turned to his and asked him bluntly;

‘What are you so interested in it for, anyway?’ She jerked a gloved hand at Jon, ‘I get that this one grew up there, but I thought you were from even further south.’

‘I am,’ Davos agreed, ‘But someone very important to me is being held by the man who holds Winterfell.’

Ygritte looked him up and down, and Davos caught Jon watching her slightly warily as she did so, but he made no move to intervene.

‘You’re daughter?’ Ygritte guessed.

Davos felt his throat close at the words, but nodded and managed to get out, ‘In every way but blood.’

‘If she was stolen…?’ Ygritte asked shooting Jon a look, which Davos failed to decipher as she trailed off.

‘Not like that,’ Jon interjected, ‘She is only ten and one.’

‘Too young,’ Ygritte agreed, turning back to Davos, ‘Bring up that you want to save her and people will listen. Enough of them know the boats were yours.’

Davos felt like he had missed a great deal of the subtext of that particular exchange, but felt a stab of gratitude nonetheless, as he nodded his thanks at Ygritte. She gave him the barest of nods in return, before turning back to their path.

As they rounded a bend in the road Davos recognised the final stretch towards the castle, and though he knew that it was probably still too far away he strained his eyes eager to see confirmation that he was almost over another hurdle in the path of saving Shireen. 

He stopped. 

So did Jon and Ygritte, the three of them taking in the sight before them.

As he had suspected, they were still too far away to see the buildings. But that did not stop them seeing the thin plume of soot grey smoke that rose from where Castle Black stood. Behind it, dark against the almost pristine white of the ice, the Wall was stained as black as a brother’s cloak. A strip of ash that divulged the fact that the blaze below must have been set hours, maybe even days, earlier.

Davos glanced at Jon, and saw his jaw was clenched tight, and his eyes were dark with fury. It could have been an accidental fire, perhaps that was what most of their party would think, but at the moment Davos knew the both of them were thinking of the same thing. 

The letter in pink, calling for Jon’s head and promising retribution if it wasn’t delivered.