[Winterfell]
The cold wind blew through the halls of Winterfell, but it wasn't the chill that made everyone uneasy.
A rider came through the gates, his horse covered in sweat and mud. He was breathing hard, shouting before he even fully stopped.
"They've come! The Ironborn are here! They're attacking the northern shores!"
Dramatic much, but it was understandable seeing how their liege lord had given them orders to inform him of every and anything happening in the North.
Robb Stark was in the great hall when the news reached him. He stood up at once, his face hardening as the words sank in. The Ironborn—those sea-raiders from the isles—were despised by all of Westeros, and not just the North. They were the only ones who didn't follow the common laws of the kingdom and had staged multiple coup d'états.
Almost a decade ago they did something similar. The rebellion cost many lives and ended in their defeat, which ultimately led Theon to be a foster child here in Winterfell. Well, that fostering was just in name—in reality, he was a hostage, to stop Balon Greyjoy from performing another rebellion in the near future.
So the fact that this was happening now, while Theon was still in Winterfell, was baffling if anything. Not to mention, his father was away, war was all but imminent in the south over the throne, and beyond the Wall, things were stirring up.
"Where?" Robb asked sharply, stepping down from the dais.
"Along the coast near Saltcliffe and Flint's Finger," the rider said. "Villages burning. They're looting, killing… some say they've taken hostages."
Robb's hands clenched into fists. His jaw tightened. "Cowards striking when our strength is away."
He turned to the guards. "Send word to every bannerman near the coast. Tell them to rally their men. We ride at first light."
The hall was suddenly filled with noise—men rushing to deliver orders, servants whispering in fear. The calm of Winterfell broke like glass. Chaos spread as everyone scrambled to prepare for war.
Robb walked quickly down the hall, his cloak flowing behind him. Maester Luwin caught up to him.
"My lord, this may be more than just a raid. Them attacking now, I believe they might have some other ulterior motive behind their actions."
"Then we'll make them regret it," Robb replied without hesitation. He needed an outlet to drive all the frustration he had regarding what happened in King's Landing to Bran's missing.
The North would answer this attack. And the Ironborn would pay for every drop of Northern blood they spilled. They'll pay the Iron Price.
---
[Beyond The Wall]
After Craster was dead, Jon and Sam stood in silence, unsure of what to do next. The night was cold, but they barely noticed it. Their minds were filled with worry and confusion.
Jon and Craster's brawl woke everyone up, and after his death, none blamed Jon as he thought they might. He was ready to take the blame, for him he did nothing wrong. He saved a girl, and killing Craster wasn't his intention. He was going to knock him out. It wasn't him who killed Craster; it was rather his own daughter.
"Burn him, burn him." Suddenly, the girls started to shout. Even as ignorant as captivity had made them, they knew that here north of the Wall, burning the dead was wise. Letting them rot could have consequences.
Craster's daughters—his wives too—were now free, but they were frightened and lost. Many of them didn't want to stay in Craster's keep any longer. The place only brought them pain and horrible memories. They had suffered here for years, and now that the man who ruled them was gone, they wanted nothing to do with the place.
"What were you thinking?" Sam asked, looking at Jon with a strange look. He wasn't berating him. However, killing someone in his own house was foul. That man was a wildling, he didn't follow Westerosi customs nor offer them bread and salt. Sam was a Tarly, an influential highborn and respected the guest right like most do in the West.
He didn't accuse but just asked.
"Wasn't me." Jon knew what his fat friend was indicating. He simply shook his head to deny the blame. However, he didn't point at the real murderer. The girl was shaken as it is. Though he doubted many here would weep at their father and husband's death, if there are some, then it's better the girl remain an unknown in this ordeal.
But Jon and Sam couldn't just let them go on their own either. These were women, most of them young, and completely unprepared for the dangers beyond the Wall. Wild animals, White Walkers, even other Wildlings—they wouldn't survive alone.
"Can we take them back to Castle Black?" Sam asked quietly.
Jon shook his head. "We can't go back, Sam, let alone take them with us. We broke our vows. We stole supplies. We're already traitors and most likely to be shot dead before we even reach the Wall." Jon replied, to which Sam's face stiffened. He wasn't having second thoughts about following Jon, but perhaps not acting on impulse would have been better.
"Then what do we do?" Sam looked at him, desperate for an answer.
Jon didn't reply. He didn't know. He was here to find Bran, and that still mattered. But he couldn't just walk away and leave these women to their fate.
This Jon Snow wasn't the Lord Commander who led the Night's Watch, came back from death, and fought for the realm of the living. No, this Jon was still 18 and naive. He cared about honor and had a soft heart.
He was impulsive and rash sometimes. More than anything, he had never been in the decision-making position to come up with an answer.
"I don't know, Sam... I'm not sure." He muttered with an annoyed expression on his face. Let it be known that he learned anything from Ned Stark but not decision-making. For Jon, that man was a father, a teacher, and a role model. He wished to learn all his father wished to teach, become just like him.
However, that was also a problem. Ned Stark sucked at decision-making. The man's honor was as high as a mountain to see the ground reality. Jon was honorable, not as crazy as Ned Stark, but he was also inexperienced.
While Jon was racking his head around, he suddenly caught a girl coming towards him. She was the same girl Jon had saved a few minutes ago. Her face was still bruised, but her eyes were clearer now. She walked up to Jon and looked into his eyes.
"T-Thank you," she said softly. Slightly stuttering, this wasn't the kind of stutter coming from the earlier fright or the current chilly climate but rather nervousness.
Jon looked at her closely. She couldn't have been older than eighteen. "What's your name?" he asked.
"Gilly," she replied.
"You tried to run, that's why he caught you and did..." Jon trailed off.
"Why?" Jon, after a pause, asked, wanting to know why she wanted to run. Perhaps that could give him some idea how to help the girls.
There was a pause. Then she gently placed her hand on her stomach. "I'm with child," she said.
Both Jon and Sam stiffened. They knew the rumors and didn't even have to know them to figure out whose child this could be. Just how many men were here anyway?
"Craster's child. I was going to run away, even if it meant dying. I couldn't let him take my baby like he did the others."
Jon's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"
Gilly looked away, ashamed. "He gave them… the boys. Gave them to the Others. Said they would leave us alone if he did. But I couldn't let my baby suffer the same fate."
Jon and Sam stared at each other in shock. Jon, of course, had seen the undead and told Sam too.
"You mean you knew of the undead?" Jon asked, at least hoping this 'Others' were just another ridiculous name for those monstrosities.
Gilly ducked her head down, realizing she had spoken too much. But Jon and Sam finally got a lead, and they weren't leaving it now.
xxx
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