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Throughout her entire life, Olenna Tyrell had always had certain notions about regions outside of the Reach, particularly when thinking of the North. The land was cold and the people were colder. Neither offered much value to the 'civilized' people that lived below the Neck, outside of being a good place to send the unwanted. But during her admittedly short time here in the North, she was finding that she was needing to reassess her assessment of the North and its people. The land was still bone chillingly cold, and it wasn't even a winter year yet. The people where still standoffish and very wary of any outsiders. But on the other hand, she had never seen a more joined, more hard-working group of people than the people of the North. They worked to better themselves, as did anyone else. But here in the North, they took the saying 'the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few' to an almost extreme degree. And the people of the North were also brutally honest. Something which she could greatly appreciate after having spent her entire life around sycophants and liars.
But while she could admit, though never aloud, that she had misjudged the people of the North, there was still one inescapable fact that was weighing heavily on her mind. And that was the fact that there was very little for her to do here in this blasted land! Especially now that her grandsons had left with the wolves, the Dornish whoreson, and the Lost Lion to speak with the wildlings north of the Wall. That wasn't to say that she had nothing to do, far from it in fact. She was constantly busy every day from the moment she woke to the moment she closed her eyes for the night. After all, it wasn't every day that she had the opportunity to carefully observe how a land had managed to go from a group of barbarian people to one of the most influential powers in the realm seemingly overnight.
Every day she spent her time wandering around Winterfell and even Winter Town, taking mental note of everything she could until she returned to her room so that she could write them down. Their alcohol production, their massive glass gardens which now spanned several acres worth of land. Their glass production, hells even their martial training which she admittedly had little interest in. Everything that made the North into the power it currently was she took careful note of in the hopes that once she returned home, she would be able to implement them into the Reach and give them the advantage once more.
But after days of doing this, she realized something was very wrong. She was able to come by the information far, far too easily. The glass smiths, while not outright giving away their secrets, did not bar her from watching how they made the glass. In fact, they even identified most of the components that were needed to make the glass as strong as it was. Same with the alcohol, though granted the creation of alcohol wasn't a great secret. The men sworn to House Stark also didn't make any effort to hide their training regimes from her eyes, though after watching them for a few days she was sure that if she tried to make their training standard in the Reach, then House Tyrell would find themselves without any guardsmen. But still, the fact that she was able to get what she wanted so easily greatly unsettled her. And it wasn't just her, the same was true for the Dornish whores and the Imp, both of whom she knew were snooping around just like her trying to learn what they could before taking it back to their homes with the hopes of replication.
'Why are they not being more secretive?' she wondered, and not for the first time as she went back over her notes again for the tenth time that day. 'The only thing I haven't been able to ascertain is just how exactly they make this miraculous medicine that can apparently cure even greyscale. The glass, their exotic food, and the medicine has made the North into a serious player in Westeros… Yet they are doing very little to safeguard that which has brought them such good fortune. Why?'
The only logical explanation she could come to regarding their openness was the fact that the North didn't need to keep these secrets to keep their power. Which meant that Stark and the Sorcerer had more secrets that made those which were already known obsolete. And that truly troubled her. She'd already heard her grandson's squire talking about some sort of horseless carriage. If they could make such a thing come to fruition, and she had already learned the hard way not to doubt the Sorcerer or the Starks, then they would have a whole new advantage to hold over the heads of everyone else. 'As if they don't already have just about every advantage one could ever hope for. The only thing House Stark and the North is currently lacking in is sheer numbers. But given the recent influx of people to the North, both from Essos and from south of the Neck, even that might no longer hold true in a decade or so.' Olenna huffed as she got up from her seat and made her way to the lone window in her room, which overlooked the main courtyard of Winterfell.
Immediately, her eyes were drawn to the far side of the yard, where the remaining Dornish women were gathered, their backs turned towards her, no doubt watching the sparring yard below and trying to pick out which man they wanted to bed. 'Not that Arianne needs to pick,' she thought, her eyes traveling briefly over the tumbled mass of black hair that she knew belonged to the Dornish Princess. Her granddaughter's prediction about the Dornish being after the legitimized bastard boy had unfortunately been proven true. And from the gossip floating around, the Princess had managed to ensnare the so-called 'White Wolf' in almost record time. The two were hardly apart from one another, as they often retreated into the Sorcerer's Tower to do gods only knew what, but given what Olenna knew of the girl's uncle, she had a fairly good idea about just how the Princess had managed to get her wolf so fast. Not that Olenna blamed the girl in the slightest. The girl had used her assets well and had ensured the loyalty of arguably the most powerful of the wolf pups. And as if that wasn't bad enough, Olenna could just make out the slim form of the youngest Stark girl standing alongside the Dornish with that ever-present wolf by her side. 'Greedy snakes,' Olenna huffed. 'They've already ensnared one wolf. And now they're trying for a second.'
While she loathed to admit it, the Dornish had done a far better job at securing the wolves than she had. While the Dornish had managed to get their hands on perhaps two wolves, Olenna had still yet to secure Sansa as Willas's future bride. 'Sansa.' Just thinking of the girl brought a mix of emotions to Olenna.
She knew the moment the girl healed Willas that there could be no other candidate for the next Lady Tyrell. With her power, the people of the Reach would flock to her, to House Tyrell, in the hopes of receiving her blessing and healing. It would've been a boon if the girl was a devote of the Seven. But, alas, while she was open to the Faith of the Seven she still held onto the old gods. Though not as tightly as the rest of her family. And on top of her magic, she would also bring with her the support of the North. Plus, the girl seemed naïve. And while such a trait was not ideal in the long term, her naiveite would allow Olenna to mold the girl into a perfect future Lady of the Reach.
But there was a problem. One that she had not seen until after the wolves had left.
She'd thought that with Ned Stark and the Sorcerer away from Winterfell, she would have the perfect opportunity to catch hold of the girl and ensure that she pressured her father into accepting the marriage contract. That first night, she'd maneuvered it so that she and Margaery would have tea with Sansa and Lady Nox. The latter of whom Olenna would've preferred not to have been present, but it did give her a chance to see just what about this former common girl had so captivate a man of the Sorcerer's caliber.
The evening had gone exactly as she'd hoped. Margaery and Sansa quickly formed a rapport as they gossiped like the girls they were and started sharing stories of their childhood. The Lady Nox had been more standoffish, but Olenna had not earned her reputation by backing down from a challenge. To her upmost surprise, Olenna quickly came to learn that the Lady Nox was more than just a pretty face and a bedwarmer. She had a mind, and she knew how to use it. No matter the bait that Olenna laid out for the Lady Nox during their talks, the woman managed to avoid falling into her traps as if she'd been trained how to play the game since birth. As the night progressed, the stories slowly shifted to tales of the Reach. Margaery took the lead here, telling tales of tourneys, other Houses, and the grandeur that was the Reach. Each of which Sansa seemed to cling too, asking question after question. All which Olenna and Margaery were quick to answer.
It wasn't until after the tea was completed and Olenna and her granddaughter were back in her room that Olenna realized her mistake. She'd been played. The girl and Lady Nox had followed their stories closely and asked questions that, while on the surface seemed innocent, were anything but. In one conversation, the two had managed to subtly learn of the different Houses of the Reach, who was aligned with whom, who had the most pull in the land and who were rising quickly through the ranks of the nobility in terms of standing. And while they'd managed to get all of that out of Olenna and Margaery, they had in turn given them nothing regarding the inner workings of Northern politics.
She'd been so surprised by the realization of what'd happened that she'd collapsed onto her bed. She'd been played. By a two-and-ten-year-old girl and a former common girl turned Lady through marriage! She would've been damn impressed if she wasn't so worried. If Sansa was already this skilled at the game at her age, how skilled would she be in four years when the marriage between her and Willas would take place? Olenna dearly loved all her grandchildren, but she wasn't blind to their faults. If Sansa was already truly as skilled as she thought, then by the time they wed her skills, not to mention her beauty, would be more than enough to wrap Willas around her finger and allow her to take complete control of the Reach for the North. And she would be powerless to do anything as she would either be dead, or in King's Landing helping Margaery take control of the crown. She needed to know if the girl's skill was genuine, or if that one instance had been a fluke.
Unfortunately, finding another opportunity was proving exceedingly difficult to obtain. The girl was, well she wouldn't say that Sansa was outright avoiding her, but she never seemed to have the time to sit and talk with her again. In a way, it was understandable. The girl was left in charge of Winterfell and the North, and even with the formidable Lady Nox aiding her, that was not an easy task to handle. And on top of dealing with the day to day running of the North, she also had to deal with the fact that there were members from three of the great noble families of Westeros within the walls of Winterfell. And even with all of that, the girl still managed to find time every day to train with her younger siblings in the way of the sword or their magic. Though how exactly they were practicing their magic without the oversight of the Sorcerer was a mystery to her. Perhaps Sansa was more advanced than she'd shown and was teaching the younger ones how to use their magic? It would make sense as the girl was the eldest. But that thought was also more than slightly unsettling as it meant that the power that the girl had showed them was just the beginning of it.
'But where I have failed, Margaery has succeeded,' Olenna thought, trying to console the fact that she had yet to truly get a firm hold of Sansa. Margaery had managed befriend Sansa in a relatively short period of time, and the two had even started to work together on a project Margaery had brought forward to try and improve the lives of the orphans here in the North. And much to her pleasure, her granddaughter's future handmaiden Mira Forrester had arrived in Winterfell just a day past along with another girl named Gwyn Whitehill, who was apparently going to marry Mira's brother here in Winterfell after Lord Stark returned. And ever since their arrival, the four girls, well five if Arianne decided to join them, had been near inseparable from each other.
'The girl is doing her part well,' Olenna thought with a smile. 'Building a good rapport now with arguably the hardest to please people in Westeros will go a long way once she has a crown on her head. But she's not pressing hard enough. I'll need to talk to her about pressing her ideas more and making sure that the people of this land know that it was her that brought about these changes and not just the Starks.'
As she was trying to figure out just how to further her granddaughter's name here in the North, she spotted something that caught her eye. A group of Stark men-at-arms were leading a few ill-kept men through the courtyard at a hurried pace. She was about to dismiss the sight, but something didn't let her. There was something about them that just demanded her attention. And it wasn't until they had disappeared into the great keep of Winterfell that she realized that the small folk had been carrying a chest of some sort, and the men-at-arms had not been walking as an escort, but rather they'd been arranged in such a fashion as to try and keep whatever it was they were carrying away from prying eyes.
'Well, well,' Olenna thought with a smirk as she found a new target for her inquiries. 'Sansa is currently with Margaery touring the glass gardens outside the walls of Winterfell… So, they are not going to her right now, but rather Nox's wife. Which means that whatever is in that chest is important to the Sorcerer. And if it's important to him, that means it's important to the North's continued advancement. Which means that I need to know just what is in that chest and if it is possible to steal away with at least a piece of whatever is inside.'
In all her admittedly short life, Nyra Nox had never once thought that the duties of the steward of Winterfell would be all that difficult or time consuming. But she was wrong. So very wrong. She worked from nearly sunup to sundown, helping to oversee the goings on of not just Winterfell, but Winter Town and the other small villages within the confines of the lands that belonged to the Starks. And if that wasn't hard enough, due to their position as Wardens of the North, the Starks, and by extension herself, were responsible for other disputes that stretched across the North. Thank the gods for delegation, or else Nyra was sure that she would never be able to catch even a wink of sleep. And as if her normal duties were not difficult enough, she now had to perform a delicate balancing act with the visiting nobles from not just one noble house, oh no, that would be way too simple. No, she had to manage guests from three Great Houses! To be sure, Sansa aided where she could, but the girl was still just that: a girl. 'Damn you, Alim…and you too, Lord Stark, for leaving me to deal with these people while you men go off and play negotiations with the wildlings.' Nyra cursed, placing her quill back in an ink pot and wringing her sore wrist out as she read over the document that she'd spent most of the morning working on.
'Mercifully, I haven't had to deal with any of our guests as of yet,' Nyra thought, setting the parchment aside and grabbing a new sheet. 'Though I suppose I am just being a little unfair to our guests. They truly haven't been a bother. They've been…helpful. And I wasn't expecting that. Though I shouldn't be all that surprised. Alim warned me that these people were experts in the game. And while their being helpful is useful, their actions were not out of the goodness of their hearts. They were trying to sway the Starks into allying with them. And proving themselves useful to the people is indeed the quickest way to prove their worth here in the North.'
Perhaps the most surprising of their guests was none other than the infamous 'Imp' of Casterly Rock, Lord Tyrion Lannister. His whoring and drinking were legendary, even here in the North which was saying something. And for the first few days the man stayed true to the tales, drinking whole bottles at a time, and spending more coin at the brothel then most men made in four years' time. But then something changed one day after Tyrion spoke with her husband. The Imp no longer frequented the brothel, and he had taken to aiding Lady Bethany in the teaching of the young folk of Winterfell. It was…confusing. At first, she thought that maybe the man had set his sights on either Bethany or her daughter. But after speaking with her, Bethany stated that was not the case. The man simply seemed to enjoy teaching the young students. Given Bethany's responsibilities, Nyra knew that the woman was certainly not going to complain about free extra help with the children.
Then there were the Tyrells, who were providing good coin and food to help shoulder the burden of their stay on Winterfell's coffers. While Nyra was extremely wary of Lady Olenna, especially now that she had had a chance to sit down and talk with the woman, she was fond of Margaery. The girl had a good head on her shoulders, easily befriending Sansa and Jayne, along with Myra Forrester and Gwyn Whitehill, both of whom had only just arrived in Winterfell a day prior with a small escort each. Along with her blossoming friendship with the northern girls, she had also offered a few suggestions that would in the long run benefit the smallfolk, particularly the children, around Winterfell and Winter Town. And it was a proposal that she intended to bring before Lord Stark personally once he returned from beyond the Wall.
The last of their guests were honestly the ones that were giving Nyra the most headaches, though not necessarily in a bad way. The Dornish were…interesting, to say the very least. The way they approached life was so different from the North. Yet, at the same time, there were underlying facets within how they lived that made them more Northern than anyone else in the Seven Kingdoms. But the one thing that was, well, unsettling about them was their flirtatious manner, which wasn't just limited to Prince Oberyn. The Princess had pretty much stuck by Jon's side and had been working on wrapping him around her finger ever since she arrived. The prince's daughters had also been flirting with more than a few of the men and women in Winterfell. Then there was Ellaria, the baseborn Lady who was Prince Oberyn's paramour. The woman was almost as flirtatious as her lover. While Nyra couldn't say that the idea of…maybe bedding her with Alim wasn't an unappealing thought… The idea that a Prince of Dorne and his paramour would have any interest in her was just… It was just something else. And if Alim were there with them…
"Mi'lady Nox," one of the guards standing watch outside her chambers called out, snapping her out of the rather heated daydream. "You have visitors. One of the surveyors Lord Stark sent out."
Immediately, Nyra banished whatever thoughts she had of sharing her bed. It was time for her to be the Lady Steward of Winterfell and Lord Nox's wife. "Send them in."
The guards immediately opened her door, allowing in a young man that Nyra instantly recognized from her youth. "Thomas," she smiled, rising from her desk and walking around towards the man while a few others brought in a chest and set it on the ground before quickly leaving the room.
"Mi'lady Nox," Thomas replied, his eyes downcast as if he was refusing to meet her eyes.
"Thomas, stop that," she said, forcing him to finally look up at her. "I'm still the same woman that you shyly asked to dance during the spring festivals back when we were still kids."
He was just as she remembered him from their youth, though he had certainly aged a bit. But he still had kind eyes and a shaggy mop of black hair that refused to cooperate no matter what you did to it. Except unlike back then when he was nervus about approaching her just because she was a girl, now he was clearly nervous for another reason entirely. "Umm, right, uh Lady Nox – I – I mean Nyra. Um, you, uh… You haven't told yer Lord husband bout me…have ya?"
Nyra nearly wanted to laugh aloud. No wonder he had never once tried to visit her in all these years, or even send her a written note. He feared her husband. "Oh, leave off it, Thomas," she said dismissively. "Alim is not the sort of man to get overly jealous of a man from my past. Believe me, he wouldn't care that we used to fancy one another back when we were children."
Unfortunately, Thomas didn't seem reassured by her words. "I – un, I'll take your word for it, Lady N – I mean, Nyra."
Sighing, Nyra shook her head. She knew that this was going to happen eventually, that the past she'd left behind would catch up to her and she would have to face the fact that things had changed. That she had changed. "Well, Thomas, I hear you were part of the surveying team that Lord Stark dispatched some time ago. I take it that you've found something of note seeing as how you've returned?"
Thomas nodded his head. "Aye, we did… But we just don't know what it is that we found."
Following him back to the chest, Nyra watched with bated breath as Thomas opened the chest and pulled out something wrapped in a grey cloth. She knew why Lord Stark and Alim had sent the surveyors out to those specific locations, and if they were able to find what her husband thought was there…then the North would truly be able to become a power unseen since the fall of Old Valyria. Holding up the wrapped item, Thomas slowly pulled back the cloth, revealing what looked like a chunk of pure silver the size of a grown man's head. But she knew that it wasn't that, based purely on the fact that Thomas was holding it in one hand with little effort.
Nyra knew, even without having to ask, that this was the metal that her husband was so anxious to find ever since he returned from the Greyjoy Rebellion with Red Rain to study. The metal that made the Valyrian Empire the ultimate power for centuries. "Valyrian steel…beskar," Nyra said softly, reaching out and taking the hunk of raw ore, surprising herself with just how light the metal felt in her hands.
"I don know about that, mi'lady," Thomas shrugged, his eyes never leaving the hunk of metal. "But…it's definitely somethin. We been working on the raw ore since the day after Lord Stark and Lord Nox left for da Wall. Master Mikken been helpin where he can but…but we ain't seen nothin like it before."
She nodded before turning towards the guards. "Go and inform Lady Sansa that I need to speak with her immediately. And then fetch Master Mikken and Gendry. I'll need to have words with both of them. And, for the love of the gods, do not cause a scene, no matter what you do. There are more than a few eyes in Winterfell that do not belong to the North. And while they may one day be tied to us, that day is not today."
The guards immediately saluted her and left the room, leaving her alone with Thomas and the hunk of silvery metal. But they were not left alone for long as within a relatively short period of time Sansa appeared, followed quickly by Master Mikken and the young boy Gendry, who looked more than slightly uncomfortable standing so close to Sansa.
"Lady Nox," Sansa greeted her cordially. By the old gods, this girl was going to turn into a force to be reckoned with once she came into her own. "I was told that you have something important to discuss with me?"
"Aye, I do," Nyra nodded, holding out the hunk of metal. "The surveyors your father sent out have returned. And they found veins of this metal at the locations provided to us by Lady Talisa from the Valyrian journals."
Sansa's eyes immediately widened as she stared down at the silvery lump with the same fascination as Nyra. "Master Mikken," the young Lady of Winterfell said, motioning for the two larger men to step closer. "What do you make of it?"
The Master smith of Winterfell shifted his weight from foot to foot, and odd sight considering the man towered head, shoulders, and chest over both Sansa and Nyra. "It's…It's unlike anything I've ever seen, mi'ladies." He shifted the metal about in his hands as he gave it an intense, calculating stare. "It looks like silver, but it is not. It's hard, harder than any other metal I've ever worked with before in me whole life. And not even the blast furnace can reach a heat to make it malleable. We left it in the furnace for half a day with the bellows working as hard as they could to produce as much heat as possible. It glowed just like any other metal, but the moment we took it away from the heat we managed only a single hammer strike before the metal cooled to the point where ya could almost touch it with bare skin. If we could get it hot enough form, or perhaps melt it down and pour it into a mold, I'm sure we could make the best weapons and armor in the world. But…we simply just can't get the fires hot enough and, to be blunt mi'ladies, I don't know of any flame in da world capable of melting it."
Frowning, Nyra returned to her examination of the metal now in Sansa's hands. As she did, she noticed that Gendry looked like he wanted to say something, but the lad was still clearly unused to his new position and didn't know how to speak up. Something she could understand, having gone through a similar transition after Alim began taking her under his wing. "Gendry," she called out to the young man, surprising him. "You have something to add?"
"Umm, aye, um, mi'lady," Gendry nodded, keeping his eyes downcast. "My former master in King's Landing, he…he used to work with Valyrian steel. Not often, and nothin more than daggers or knives, but he did reforge them."
"Tohbo Mott," Master Mikken said, naming Gendry's former master. "Aye, he is well known, even here in the North, for being one of the few men alive who can rework existing Valyrian steel."
"Aye, but he never forged it from raw steel, only ever reworked what was already forged…and he never let any of us apprentices watch him work while he did it," Gendry added, raising and lowering Nyra's hope that he might have an answer. "But…I – I think I might know how the Valyrians worked the raw metal."
"How?" Nyra pressed, excitement swelling within her at the prospect of having the secret before her husband returned home.
Rubbing the back of his neck, Gendry looked more and more uncomfortable with each passing moment as he found himself the center of attention. "Well…the dragon lords had something that could make fire hot enough to melt stone…dragons. What if they – What if they used the dragons to melt the raw ore, then mix it with somethin else so it could be forged into whatever they wanted?"
Nyra's hopes came crashing down as she realized the logic behind Gendry's words. It made sense, and it would also explain why no one else had been able to create new Valyrian steel since the fall of the Valyrian Empire. Not only did it require a very specific type of metal, but the process to smelt said metal required the usage of a dragon's fire to heat it enough so that it could be used in forging. "Well then, Gendry, it seems that you now have quite a task ahead of you."
"Me? Mi'lady?" the lad asked, pointing to himself and looking around as if he wasn't sure she was talking to him.
"Aye, unless either Lady Sansa or Master Mikken have suddenly decided to change their name to Gendry, which they haven't. So, yes, I'm referring to you, young man," Nyra said, fixing the lad with a gaze that had him frozen in place. "Ever since my husband took you away from King's Landing, you've been looking for a way to make your mark have you not? Well, here it is. You're going to figure out how to make a fire hot enough to match that of dragon's fire, without having an actual dragon. And you will then figure out how to forge this incredible metal into the best weapons and armaments this world has seen since the fall of the Valyrian Empire."
Gendry visibly shrunk as small beads of sweat started to form on his face despite the cool air of the North. "Um…Are…? I – I don't know, mi'lady, if –"
"My husband believes in you, Gendry," Nyra said, cutting the boy off. "Otherwise, he would not have bothered taking you away from King's Landing and placing you under his tutelage. I know he's already talked to you about how you've been unknowingly using the Force whenever you work in the forge. Well, now here's your chance to prove just how resourceful you can be. Figure this puzzle out, Gendry, and you will be known not only as just another acolyte of my husband's, but you will be known as the man who was able to solve the greatest riddle since the fall of the Valyrian Empire."
The young man's eyes shifted back and forth between herself and the lump of metal that was now being offered to him by Sansa. "I – I won't let ye down, mi'lady."
"Of course you won't," Nyra smiled, then shivered as she felt…something wash over her. 'Huh…? Must be a draft in here…but I swore I closed the shutters this morning… Just my imagination then?' "My husband brought you to the North for a reason, Gendry, and I do believe we just found out what that reason is."
Consciousness returned slowly, and painfully to Jon Stark of Winterfell as he tried to will his eyes to open, only to immediately shut them as even the slightest bit of light felt like he was getting speared through the eyes. 'By the old gods…what happened last night?' he groaned to himself, his body unwilling to even allow him to raise his head off whatever he was laying on.
He remembered the end of the battle and the cheers that'd followed as the few remaining wildlings that'd fought against them threw down their arms after the death of Alfyn Crowkiller. With the battle over, they began clearing the field, piling the dead wildlings into a large pile to be burned per Mance Rayder's request, while those that fought on their side were treated with proper funeral rights. While the field was being cleared, word was sent to the Sea Wolf of their victory. Shortly after that, Lord Willas had returned to the shore with the children and elderly Free Folk… And they brought along with them just about every cask of wine, ale, and northern liquor that was aboard the ship.
Things had…become a blur after that as Robb, who'd mostly recovered after blowing the horn, and Theon cornered him and convinced him to join them in some sort of drinking game that he honestly couldn't remember much of. And that was where the trouble truly began. It wasn't unusual for his father to allow them a drink, and even lately they were allowed to drink ale and wine that wasn't watered down, but he always kept them at only a cup or two at most and only at feasts. But last night their father didn't stop them. If anything, he encouraged them to drink their fill as he said something about it being another lesson for the boys. Though what lesson that could be Jon still didn't know.
Jon had no idea just how many drinks he'd had, but then the large Free Folk man, Tormund, had brought out several drinking horns filled with what he considered to be a 'true northern man's drink'. He'd given one horn to the three of them, and they only managed a single sip before spitting it out, much to the laughter of the Free Folk. Jon couldn't for the life of him remember what the drink was, but it was just as strong as the northern liquor…perhaps even more so. He'd been tempted to just set it aside, but then the red-haired Free Folk girl from the battle grabbed his horn and downed the entire thing in one go without even batting an eye. After she finished the horn, she shot him a grin and threw the horn back at him. It was a challenge. And in his state of mind, Jon wasn't about to deny it. So, he'd had the horn refilled and, despite the taste, downed it all. Then the two started going back and forth; drinking first the Free Folk drink, then ale, then northern liquor…and then he honestly couldn't remember much more as his memory went black. But he did know that despite not remembering exactly what happened, the two continued to drink more and more to the cheers of everyone around them.
Burrowing his head into the soft pillow he was laying on, Jon breathed deep. The pillow smelled…wild. Not like flowers or something like that. But more like…like the forest. It was a more than pleasant smell to awaken to. Especially when coupled with the soft warm object that he was wrapped around that was moving slightly beneath his arm—!
Eyes snapping open, Jon fought against the pain of the light as he took stock of just where he was. He was in a hut and laying on a bed under several furs. But neither was the source of Jon's warmth or the pleasant smell of the forest that was filling his nose. The source of that belonged to the mane of fiery red hair that was laying across his face. He nearly shook as he realized the warmth was coming from her flesh. Her warm flesh that was pressed firmly against his own. And…And there was no break in the warmth. He could feel every delicate and strong curve of her body pressed firmly against his own. And his hand, by the gods… His hand was resting upon her breast, his fingers acting of their own accord as he felt – "Hmm…That is a nice way to wake me."
Jon froze as her voice reached him. Turning his arms, Jon was greeted with the sight of Ygritte, completely devoid of clothes, just as he was. Both of them were… without clothes. And – And beneath his furs. And – And, dear gods, she – she was beautiful. Perfect. Wild and untamed. Strong, yet still delicate in all the right places. In this moment, the only thing he'd ever seen that was more perfect was the time in Sunspear when Arianne – oh gods! 'Arianne! She – She…Oh gods. What have I done?!'
"Well, Jon Stark?" Ygritte asked, grinning while one of her hands snaked between them and gripped his length, which was harder than he could ever remember. "Are ye finally gonna put this to use and finish what ye started? Or do ya need me to show ya where to put it?"
While pretty much everyone within the confines of Hardhome were nursing what were sure to be massive hangovers, Nox, Ned, Mance and Val were wide awake and meeting once more within the large hut that'd housed their first meeting the day prior. While the primary talks were occurring between Ned and Mance, Nox was present to act as an advisor and sort of intermediary as he did not have the centuries upon centuries of bad blood engrained into him. And Val was present because she was the one Mance had chosen to lead the Free Folk after they'd crossed the Wall. Their current talk was centered around the exact number of Free Folk Ned was willing to swear the oaths to the North and therefore head south immediately thereafter.
"Five thousand?!" Mance said, repeating the number Ned had just given him. "You promised safety beyond the Wall for any who are willing to swear allegiance to the North."
"And I hold to that, Mance," Ned countered. "However, we must also look at this logically. Settling the Free Folk into the North and getting them accustomed to our laws and expectations will take time. And the greater the number that cross the Wall at the onset, the greater the challenge will be. We start with five thousand. Then, once they have adjusted, more can cross and be guided by those who have already established themselves. Plus, as you have already stated, some of your clans may not even wish to cross until the last possible moment, the Thenns for example. Five thousand is more than enough to start. It is a not insignificant number for your people, yet it is small enough not to cause alarm amongst the people of the North."
The leader of the Free Folk turned and shared a look with Val. "I don't like it, but you make a good point. Several of them, in fact," Mance conceded. "And, in truth, I don't even know if we will be able to convince even that number to kneel. It will take us several days walking to reach where the majority of the Free Folk are camped, and I will send trusted runners out to begin spreading the word to see if we can garner some interest before we arrive. Where do you plan on sending my people, Stark?"
Ned remained stoic as he faced the two Free Folk leaders. "That still needs to be decided. For the interim, Lady Val and those who swear to the North will remain in Winter Town on the outskirts of Winterfell until I feel that Lady Val is ready to take up the mantle of a Lady of the Realm."
"I ain't no fancy southern lady, Lord wolf," Val countered with a little heat in her voice.
"You soon will be, Lady Val," Ned countered back almost immediately. "A Lady who will have more than just the Free Folk at whichever holdfast you take Ladyship of. You will have men and women whose families have called the North home for generations. And while I do not expect you to become a Lady of the South, nor would I want you to, there will still be certain expectations of you while you lead the people that call the land you hold home."
He could tell that, while she wasn't pleased with it, Val was accepting of her fate. "Fine," Val nearly growled. "But I warn ye Stark. Any fancy lordling of yours or their sons that think they can steal away into my bed just to take me lands and people will quickly find themselves without a cock."
There it was again, that strange turn of phrase that Nox had heard several times throughout the course of the battle and especially after. While any knowledge on the traditions of the wildings, or Free Folk, was scarce south of the Wall, he had a pretty good idea about what they meant by 'stealing'. Apparently, Ned was of a similar mindset as he was the first to bring it up.
"I heard that turn of phrase several times last night," Ned said, clearly just as curious as Nox was. "Unfortunately, my knowledge on the Free Folk is…limited, at best. I would appreciate being enlightened by this custom you speak of, though I have a feeling I might know what it entails."
Mance grew slightly uneasy, but still he nodded. "Aye, I suppose it's best to get any misunderstandings out of the way now rather than have them become a potential problem in the future. You see, amongst the Free Folk there is no such thing as a marriage between a man and a woman. Instead, how such couplings are decided is by—"
Before he could finish, they were interrupted by a frantic Jon Stark, who seemed to have only partially managed to pull on his coat whilst trying to finish the lacing up on his pants. The boy didn't even seem to notice where he was until he nearly ran into Ned, as his attention was kept firmly on the entrance he'd just used to barge in. "Father!" Jon nearly shouted, his voice cracking slightly as he let go of his pants, only to have them fall slightly, forcing him to quickly grab them with both hands and resume trying to tie them. "Lord Nox…your grace…my Lady….I—!"
Whatever explanation the boy had was lost as a clearly irate Free Folk woman with flaming red hair and a scowl on her face marched into the hut hot on Jon's heels. Her clothes were in a similar disarrayed fashion as Jon's, as if she too had hurried to dress. For her part, the Free Folk girl seemed to take the fact that she was still in the midst of getting dressed in perfect stride when compared to Jon. And as for the four adults in the hut, all of them simply stared back and forth between Jon and the Free Folk girl.
"Val, Rayder, Lord wolf…sorcerer," the young woman greeted each of them in turn as she finished smoothing down her furs.
"Ygritte," Mance greeted her back. "I take it there is a reason you are chasing young Stark here while both of you are trying to get dressed?"
'Ygritte…? The one who managed to inform us of the other wildlings impending attack yesterday,' Nox thought, placing the girl and giving her a once over. 'She's certainly wild, that is for sure. An embodiment of the Free Folk mentality and the place they call home. And…there is more to her than meets the eye. She's Force sensitive, but not like the Starks. Her powers have manifested differently, much in the same manner as Oberyn and Arianne. She can manipulate the Force to a degree, but it seems like it will be on a subconscious level. Yet, unlike Oberyn, she's still young. Perhaps there is a chance to fine tune her abilities? If so…Then perhaps she could become a melee warrior on par with any force sensitive battlemaster.'
"Not much to say, Rayder," Ygritte shrugged. "This one here stole me during the fight, plucked me right out from under a fucker that wanted to split me in half with his axe. I was just finishin what he started considerin he had far too much drink last night to do the deed properly."
"Stole you?" Jon questioned. "I – I mean I rescued you and we fought together. But…But what – what does that even mean to say that I 'stole you'?"
"I was just explaining this very thing to your father and the sorcerer, young Stark, so you might as well listen," Mance said, bringing the conversation back around to him. "The Free Folk do not have traditional marriage customs like south of the Wall. Instead, if a man or a woman takes an interest in another, they will attempt to steal them. Ideally from another tribe or from within their own. Usually a man will steal a woman, but it is not unusual for a woman to steal a man. The one who does the stealing demonstrates their strength and skill by managing to spirit their target away. And the one who is being stolen is expected to put up a fight to see if the one trying to steal them is worth their attention. I have heard well your ill-ease towards the topic of rape sorcerer, so I must stress that while this system does incur such an action on occasion, in most cases by the time it comes to consummating their union, both parties are in full agreement with the act."
Nox could already see where this was leading and, judging by the slight amusement he felt trickling off his friend, Ned knew it as well. 'This will prove most interesting once we return to Winterfell and a certain raven-haired young woman.'
"I see," Ned nodded, struggling to keep a straight face as he pointedly ignored Jon, who was clearly still trying to wrap his head around what was going on. "This tradition will either have to be stopped or changed once your people are in the North. Such an act will not be received kindly, nor understood, by the people of the North."
Mance merely nodded. "Aye, I expected that to be the case. I think for the first of our people to head south it would be best if we allow only those who have already stolen one another, and therefore are not tempted to steal sons or daughters from those who do not understand our ways."
"Wait," Jon cut in, holding up his hand. "Forgive me, father…your grace. But…But what does all of this have to do with Ygritte and I?"
Amusement flowed through the room as all eyes turned on Jon. "You're a smart lad, Jon," Nox said, just barely able to contain his mirth. "Haven't you figured it out yet?"
Jon's attention flickered back and forth between Ygritte and the others in the room. "Ummm…"
"You stole Ygritte during the battle," Mance said, a full-blown smile on his face. "And she has accepted that fact. Which means by the traditions of the Free Folk, she's your woman. Or, as you southerners call it, your wife."
Jon's reaction was just about what Nox expected of his young and inexperienced Apprentice. His eyes went wide, and his face drained of all color as his jaw dropped. And all that he could manage in response was a single, strangled "WHAT?!"