Falling Like || Jon Snow

36| 𝔱𝔞𝔩𝔩 𝔱𝔞𝔩𝔢𝔰

castle black, the wall

— THE HALL WAS EMPTY EXCEPT FOR JON AND THE CRACKLING HEARTH WHEN THE TWO GIRLS ENTERED. Glancing up, he smiled at the sight. Sansa looked far better now – much less like she was about to collapse – and perhaps a bit happier too. Her face was clean, her hair washed brushed and held up out of her face with two little twisting braids and she had a fresh cloak. It was black, no doubt one of Nymeria's, but it mattered little.

"I imagine you two have much to discuss." Nymeria said softly, placing a hand on Sansa's shoulder. "I'll have them prepare you something to eat."

"Thank you." Sansa spoke gratefully, only just now realising how hungry she was.

"Of course."

"Nym." She turned to Jon. "Thank you." Thank you for welcoming my sister. For protecting her, for helping her, for giving her a woman she can lean on. With a small smile, she offered a nod, then whisked away through the door that led to the kitchens. He turned his eyes towards Sansa. "You look much better."

She smiled. "Nymeria appears to be some kind of miracle worker." She declared.

He chuckled. "Aye, she is."

"You trust her."

"She's been one of my best friends from the start."

She raised a brow. "Only friends?" She teased.

"Sansa." He cracked a small smile at her quiet laughter. "Alright, I'll tell you all about what's happened here, including Nym, if you'd like, if you tell me how you got from leaving Winterfell for King's Landing to the Wall."

She sighed. "It's a long one."

"Aye." He agreed. "Seems we all have many tales to tell these days."

°

Sansa, Jon, Nymeria and their last remaining trusted friends were all sitting in the Hall together having breakfast when the messenger arrived. His timing was impeccable, because it seemed that Nymeria was about to lose her silently initiated competition with Edd to see who could refrain from laughing the longest as they watched Tormund attempt to use enormous facial and eyebrow gestures to flirt with Brienne of Tarth.

The door opened and one of the watchmen entered with a scroll in hand. He offered it to Nymeria. "A letter for you, Lord Commander."

"Thanks Daryk." She observed the seal with a raised brow as he left. "Mmm, the flayed man." her voice was laced with mock enthusiasm. "Wonder if the Boltons have finally decided they want a taste of my knives." She broke the seal, rolling it open. "Ah, it would seem Lord Bolton remains unaware of the change in leadership here. A letter addressed to the Lord Commander, but this first line makes it quite clear it's for you." She nodded at Jon.

He frowned. "How do you know?"

"Well, either it's for you, or I'm the traitor and bastard, Jon Snow, in which case I'm quite confused about several things." Edd snorted, and she passed the scroll over to Jon.

He sighed, then began reading aloud. "To the traitor and bastard, Jon Snow. you allowed thousands of wildlings past the Wall. you have betrayed your own kind. You have betrayed the North. Winterfell is mine, bastard. Come and see." Nymeria frowned. That didn't sound like the Roose Bolton she'd heard about. She exchanged glances with Sansa. The two had spoken of someone else though. This letter sounded more like his mad son... Ramsay. "Your brother Rickon is in my dungeon..." he trailed off at that, he and Sansa both tensing. "His direwolf's skin is on my floor. Come and see. I want my bride back. Send her to me bastard, and I will not trouble you or your wildling lovers. Keep her from me, and I will ride North and slaughter every wildling man, woman and babe living under your protection. You will watch as I skin them living. You-" he stopped short, and Nymeria's jaw tensed. That couldn't be good.

"Go on." Sansa urged quietly.

He shook his head. "It's just more of the same."

She snatched it from him then, continuing. "You will watch as my soldiers take turns raping your sister. You will watch as my dogs devour your wild little brother. Then I will spoon your eyes from their sockets and let my dogs do the rest. Come and see. Ramsay Bolton, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North." She let it slip from her fingers, rolling back in on itself.

"Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North." Jon repeated darkly.

"His father's dead. Ramsay killed him. And now he has Rickon."

"We don't know that."

"Yes we do."

"He's a mad dog." Nymeria observed, looking scarily calm. That little fucker was getting nowhere near Sansa so long as the Huntress drew breath. "Put him in a real situation and his ego and anger would get the better of him. We could take him."

Tormund frowned. "How many men does he have in his army?"

Sansa thought back, drawing on a particular memory. "I heard him say 5,000 once, when he was talking about Stannis' attack."

Jon turned to the wildling. "How many do you have?"

"That can march and fight? 2,000. The rest are children and old people."

"You're the son of the last true Warden of the North." Sansa insisted, speaking to Jon now. "Northern families are loyal, they will fight for you if you ask." She grabbed his hand when he didn't respond. "A monster has taken our home and our brother. We have to go back to Winterfell and save them both."

"She's right." Nymeria agreed quietly. "You'll never be safe in the North, nor anyone loyal to you as long as Ramsay holds that castle and can go on calling himself Warden of the North. And then where is there to go? North there are Boltons, South there are Lannisters. That leaves Dorne and Essos. Do you really want to spend the rest of your life running?"

Finally, he nodded. "Alright. Then we fight."

A/N:
Edd and Nymeria coping through humour will never not be funny to me.