Daenerys was surprised to hear a knock at her door. During the few weeks she had been in the capital, the only people she had spoken to were the Grand Maester, a book-loving man named Samwell, and her two knights. Other than that, she did not have much interaction with others inside the castle. Daenerys felt like she was being given a wide berth by others on purpose, and it drove the young woman mad. There were a couple of reasons why others would ignore the Targaryen girl, all of which Daenerys found unreasonable and cruel. She did not expect them to bow to her and declare her queen, but she would appreciate some respect and kindness.
"Come," she called, giving Ser Barristan a look.
The door opened to reveal a stunted figure that Daenerys recognized instantly. She had met many strange men during her short lifetime, but none were as short as the lord of Casterly Rock.
"My Lord Hand," Daenerys said politely. "What do I owe the pleasure?"
"I wanted to welcome you to the city, my lady," Tyrion said respectfully, closing the door behind him. "I'm sorry that I have not done so sooner."
Daenerys waved his apology aside. "Quite alright. At least you are making an attempt."
"How are you doing, if you don't mind me asking?" Tyrion asked carefully, walking forward until he was in front of the desk. He nodded respectfully to Ser Barristan who stood close to the table where Daenerys sat.
"Besides being ignored by everyone, not terrible," Daenerys answered drily. "And you?"
"Can't complain," Tyrion answered with a slight grin. "Course, some wine and a few books are all it takes to make me a happy man."
"So I hear," Daenerys replied. "I hear that you've played a hand in improving the city."
Tyrion nodded. "I have."
"Did you find many faults in the city of my ancestors?" Daenerys asked.
Tyrion shrugged. "Nothing's perfect, my lady."
Daenerys nodded slowly. She didn't mean for her question to come off so hostile, but she couldn't help herself.
"Where are my manners!" she said, scolding herself. She gestured to the chair across from her. "Please, sit, my lord."
Tyrion hopped up into the chair across from Daenerys, doing so with practiced ease. It seemed like the man did nothing to make others aware of his deformity, Daenerys noticed. Getting up on a chair caused the man no more concern than a regular-sized person sitting down in one.
"I heard a rumor that your brother was in the capital," Daenerys said, pouring herself and Tyrion glasses of wine. "I thought he was under the same….limitations as I?"
Tyrion accepted the wine with a smile before leaning back in his chair, cradling his glass in his stubby hands.
"I asked the king if it was alright if my brother could visit," Tyrion answered. "I thought it would be good for my nephew to train with the Blackfish and, I admit, I wanted to personally check on Jaime."
"Is something wrong with him?" Daenerys asked curiously.
"Thankfully, no," Tyrion said. "He's been incredibly humbled and has become something of a pessimist, but he's fine."
Daenerys raised an eyebrow. "You must have feared that there was something wrong with your brother if you asked the king's permission to have him travel here."
Tyrion shook his head. "I had some doubts, but those have been alleviated."
"I see," Daenerys said.
The two fell into a sort of awkward silence. Thus far, Daenerys had led the conversation. Now she wanted to see if the Hand had an agenda he wanted to address. Growing up the way she did, Daenerys always assumed that everyone had an agenda when speaking to her. No one ever spoke to her just to 'see how she was'.
"I hope life on Dragonstone has not been too dull," Tyrion said finally. "Never visited there myself, but I have read quite a bit about it."
Daenerys shook her head, twirling the purple liquid inside her glass. "It has its perks," she answered wearily. "Much more trade than I expected."
Tyrion smiled slightly. "That was the king's doing, I believe."
Daenerys looked at Tyrion. "Pardon?"
Tyrion made a vague gesture with one hand. "Before your house reclaimed ownership of the castle, Stannis Baratheon used it as a naval base for the Royal Fleet," he explained. "Because that has since been moved to Driftmark, the king has ensured that ample trade passes by the island in hopes that the people and yourself are well off."
Daenerys was surprised. She knew that Robb had given her a second chance to live, but she had thought that the chance was simply her keeping her life and her family's ancestral home. Hearing that he was intentionally helping her made Daenerys feel odd. The man who took her throne was helping her unconditionally. Strangely, it didn't sound like a political play.
It sounded exactly like something Robb Stark would do.
"Well," Daenerys said after a moment. "I will have to thank the king for his generosity when he returns. You wouldn't happen to know when that will be?"
Tyrion shook his head. "Unfortunately not. Though there are many here who are hoping that it's soon. I believe you know of the situation in the north."
"I do," Daenerys said. "Has there been any change with that?"
"Lord Stark and Lord Jon are still working on resolving the issue at the Wall," Tyrion answered with a sigh. "Other than that, nothing."
"Is there nothing the crown can do?" Daenerys asked. It didn't make sense. With such a threat looming, she felt like the king and queen should be preparing the realm for war. Not sitting back on their hands, waiting for death to descend on them.
"There are many things the crown could do, but none that would help at this time," Tyrion said, looking at Ser Barristan. "Ser Barristan, wouldn't you agree that information is nearly as important as having more troops than your enemy, if not more so?"
Ser Barristan glanced at Daenerys before nodding. "It's what made your late father a very good tactical commander. He always seemed to be one step ahead of his opponent."
Tyrion turned back towards Daenerys. "I understand that you would like more action, my lady, but I am confident that the king and queen have the situation well in hand."
"I hope so," Daenerys said, crossing her hands over her lap. "The fate of Westeros depends on it."
Tyrion set his glass down and gave Daenerys a wry grin. "My lady, the fact that they are taking this seriously speaks volumes. I know Joffrey and Robert wouldn't have. Certainly your…." he stopped himself just before he mentioned another name.
"My father wouldn't have either," Daenerys said, finishing Tyrion's thought. "He would have thought it was a ruse by others to take his throne."
Tyrion's smile grew a little. "Probably."
"I've accepted my father's flaws, my lord," Daenerys said easily. "They are family, but they are also human."
"A wise strategy, my lady," Tyrion praised. "One that I deploy myself."
"Is that so?" Daenerys asked.
Tyrion nodded. "I once told a friend of mine that all dwarfs are bastards in the eyes of their father. A statement my father and I lived up to famously. As for my sister? Well, a whore and a septon would have had a better relationship."
"Did you ever hope that it would change?" Daenerys asked curiously.
Tyrion screwed his face into a thoughtful look. His stubby fingers tapped against the chalice as he took a few moments to consider her question.
"Perhaps when I was younger, but after a while, I stopped," Tyrion admitted. "I accepted that their hatred would never change because my appearance never would. I realized that if the world had a problem with me, then I would laugh in its face and go back to my books and my wine."
A knock at the door brought the conversation to a stop, much to Daenerys's annoyance. She looked over at the door.
"Come!"
The door opened to reveal a guard who looked every inch a northman, from his steel helm to his plaited leather armor to his thick beard. He nodded apologetically to the two nobles.
"My Lord Hand, the queen has instructed me to tell you that the king has been found."
Tyrion grabbed his glass and raised it towards the man. "That is excellent. Has she asked me to see her?"
The guard shook his head. "No, my lord. She only wished for you to be informed."
"Thank you," Tyrion said as the guard disappeared. He looked at Daenerys. "It seems you will get to thank the king sooner than you thought."
Robb Stark
High Heart used to be a massive hill with the stumps of old weirwoods that had been destroyed in the days of the Andal Invasion. The locals usually avoided the place, believing that it was haunted by the spirits of Children of the Forest and First Men angry at the destruction of their sacred place. Since Robb created the King's Company, the hill had become an unofficial headquarters for the company. It was a defensible position that was close enough to the center of Westeros so that the company could help in places like the Reach, the Westerlands, and the Vale along with the Riverlands.
The company had made the area their own. Orderly rows of tents encircled the hill, protected by roughly-made watchtowers and a deep trench full of sharpened stakes and pitch. It sounded just like a war camp. The ringing of the smithy's hammer against steel accompanied by the chatter of men at rest and the occasional bark of a sergeant. The sigil of the King's Company, a bronze crown on a field of white, flew over the top of the hill, just above the circle of tents that belonged to Thoros and his closest captains.
"A pack of wolves." Thoros chuckled.
The leader of the company rode side by side with the king, followed by Robb's three kingsguard as well as Jaime and Tommen Lannister. The Green Man rode behind them as the group lead the long column of mounted warriors who had accompanied Ser Balon. The Stormlander knight and his company of men had found the king and his companions the day after the High Sparrow's demise, much to Robb's and Ser Balon's relief. Thoros had ridden out to meet him as soon as his group had come into view. A messenger had been sent to the hill a day ago letting the priest know of the king's presence in the Riverlands.
Thoros hadn't changed much. He was still tall and overweight, garbed in red robes, and always seemed to have a wineskin nearby. He was a favorite of Robert Baratheon's, and Robb could understand why. Not only could the man hold his drink well, but he was also an entertaining man to be around in general. It also helped that he was a spectacle to behold on the tourney grounds when he wielded his flaming sword.
"Led by a direwolf." Ser Robar added.
"Ahh, the irony," Thoros laughed.
Robb smiled. "Gruesome irony."
"Well, with him well and truly settled, it looks like the Faith Militant is finished," Thoros said. "Until the next septon gets the wrong idea."
"Unfortunately," Robb grunted as the group reached the top of the hill. "Hopefully, that won't be for a very long time."
The men of the company called greetings to the king as he passed. They weren't a uniformed group like the Gold Cloaks or the city watch of Lannisport, but many wore white tabards with the bronze crown, signifying their allegiance to the king. The group was composed of sellswords looking for money, knights searching for glory, and men looking for adventure. The group was extremely important to Robb as they were the only standing force that Robb could call upon.
Robb was hoping to expand the group until it was ten thousand strong, where he could place chapters in all parts of Westeros, but that dream was decades away from becoming possible and Robb was still considering the risk of it. Thousands of armed and trained soldiers loyal to the king, placed in separate locations all across Westeros, could cause chaos if the crown was to fall into the wrong hands.
The king met Ser Rolland and Lord Tarly at the top of the hill. Both looked weary from days in the saddle, but they didn't hide their relief when they saw the king safe and sound. Both were still in their armor and it was evident that they had reached the hill not long before Robb. Down below, their men mingled with the men of the company.
"Lord Tarly. Ser Rolland." Robb said, dismounting. "I must thank you for your help."
"But it was Ser Balon who found you, my lord." Ser Rolland said.
"Aye, but you helped stamp out the last of the damn militants." Robb countered. "I just wish I could have seen the signs earlier."
"What's done is done, your grace." Lord Tarly said, folding his hands behind his back. As always, he stood like he had a spear strapped to his back. Except instead of a spear, it was his massive sword Heartsbane.
"Indeed." Robb nodded. "Let's retire to Thoros's command tent and speak there," he ordered. "Jaime, you come as well."
The former knight raised an eyebrow, but nodded and said something to his nephew before following the group composed of Thoros, Ser Rolland, Ser Balon, Ser Robar, Brienne, and Lord Tarly. Robb glanced at the Green Man, but the mysterious man shook his head and walked off.
Inside, Thoros was pouring his new guests wine. The tent was not as large or as ornate as Robb's was during the war, but it was large enough for the priest to have his private quarters screened off from the main room where he could meet with his captains.
"Your grace, what happened at the Isle of Faces?" Lord Tarly asked, starting the conversation.
"I'm not sure what all you may know, but I went there to get advice on a matter," Robb answered. "The High Sparrow decided that the action was more of my paganism than he could stomach and gathered a force to attack me. I can only assume that this point that he's been building his power in secret."
"Reed's spies have confirmed it," Tarly nodded. "The High Sparrow began rebuilding the Faith Militant before he ever took power in the Sept of Baelor. He spread his poison as a wandering septon."
"Your grace, it was also said that you defended the isle," Ser Rolland grunted. "How?"
"The Green Men are guardians of the isle," Robb explained. "We took a defensive stance within a confined fishing village and were able to throw back the fanatics. A small band of villagers helped as skirmishers."
"I thought the Green Men were priests?" Thoros said.
"A common assumption," Robb nodded, "but when that group was formed, it was as guardians, not priests."
"Where are they now?" Tarly asked, crossing his arms.
"They have their mission," Robb answered. "One that will help Westeros."
It was clear that no one other than Robb, Brienne, and Robar understood what that mission was. Tarly was skeptical, but understandably so. The Faith of the Seven has always grabbed at power, but it was because of how close they were to the crown. Followers of the Old Gods mainly resided in the North and did not have the same ambitions as their southern counterparts.
"So what now?" Jaime asked, addressing the question to the whole table. "The Faith Militant might be put down, but we cannot assume that its influence is broken."
Robb looked at him. He had not seen the Kingslayer since their meeting after the Battle of King's Landing. He looked….different. It wasn't just the beard, but the way he held himself. Much of his arrogance was gone, replaced with some sort of tired wisdom. It was clear that losing his knighthood and all he had gone through during the war had changed the man. Robb hoped for the better.
"Good question," Robb said. One part of him wanted to head north and help his brother and father, but that would bring up more questions than Robb wanted to answer. He knew that Jon would summon him if things became dire. As of now, Robb knew that he needed to be with his family, putting on the face that everything was alright.
"We'll ride back to King's Landing. Lord Tarly, has Master Reed said if any of the lords of the realm supported the High Sparrow?"
The lord of Lannisport shook his head. "He's said nothing about it."
"Surely no lord would rise against you." Ser Balon said. "You're beloved throughout the realm."
Robb gave the knight a thin smile. "Thank you, Ser Balon, but I'm sure that there are some lords who would like to see me off the throne."
"If they do, then they did not take the Faith Militant uprising as the opportunity to do so," Brienne said.
"Are we calling it an uprising?" Jaime asked. "From what I understand, there was what? Five hundred of them?"
"Insurrection is a better term," Robb agreed, "but it's been squashed and that's all that matters."
"Limitations must be placed on them." Lord Tarly said firmly. "This cannot be allowed to happen again."
"And it won't," Robb said, "but I cannot condemn a whole religion based on the actions of a madman. A fair punishment will be placed upon them, I promise. Now, that will be all."
The group of warriors nodded and began to file out.
"Jaime, stay behind," Robb ordered.
The former knight did as he was told, waiting patiently by the entrance to the tent until everyone was gone. The only person who hadn't fully left was Brienne, who had taken a position just outside.
"Have I done something wrong, your grace?" Jaime asked.
Robb shook his head. "No. I wanted to say thank you for helping my men."
Jaime shrugged. "It was Ser Balon who asked for myself and Tommen. I saw no reason to refuse. It was a good experience for Tommen."
Robb gazed at Jaime, slightly surprised by his answer. He had asked the question to see if the man had truly changed, and his words had proven that. He said nothing about himself, only of helping others.
"How is the boy doing?" Robb asked, taking a drink of his wine.
"He's good," Jaime said easily. "Years and experience will help."
"Is he a natural?" Robb asked, knowing all too well that the boy's real father had been a warrior protege.
Jaime shook his head. "No, there are very few of those in the world. I hope that he becomes a warrior like Ser Brynden or even your commander Brienne. A warrior of renown, but he will never reach the heights of a Ser Barristan or Ser Arthur Dayne."
"Will he be a good lord?" Robb asked curiously.
"Absolutely," Jaime said without hesitation. "He has my grandfather's soft heart, but with Tyrion's help, he will have the cunning that Tytos never had."
"That is good to hear," Robb said. "Perhaps, time willing, Myrcella can visit him from Dorne."
"I believe he would truly enjoy that," Jaime said before adding. "May I ask something?"
Robb raised an eyebrow. "Yes?"
"Why are you doing this Stark?" Jaime asked, dropping Robb's royal status for just a moment. "Why are you being kind to me? To the Targaryen girl? We were your enemies. You had every right and every opportunity to kill us."
Robb crossed his arms, a thoughtful look on his face. "Because what good did holding grudges help Robert Baratheon or your father? There's a line that needs to be walked between punishment and forgiveness."
Jaime nodded. "I see. So putting me under house arrest was your version of forgiveness."
"Would you rather I take your head?" Robb questioned. Jaime had no answer, so Robb continued.
"You're a complicated man, Jaime, but I think, in your heart, you can be a good man. So far, it doesn't seem like I was wrong."
"You took my knighthood," Jaime said softly.
"You broke the vows you took when you received it," Robb replied firmly. "It looks to me like I did you a favor, Jaime."
Once again, Jaime had nothing to say. After a moment, he simply nodded to Robb and left the tent. Robb sighed and drained the rest of his cup before putting it back on the table.
"Please prove me right, Jaime," he murmured to himself. "Both you and Daenerys."
Catelyn Stark
The lady of Winterfell frowned as she looked out from across the battlements. Coming up the road was a small party bearing the banners of House Glover. She could make out Galbart Glover in front, his burly form and red hair easily set him apart from the others. As far as Catelyn knew, neither she nor Ned had sent for the man. He would have sent a raven ahead if he needed to visit Winterfell. Whatever the reason was, Cat would have to speak to him to find the answer.
"Mother?" Arya asked curiously. "What's wrong?"
"Do you recognize who that is?"
Arya looked down the road before answering easily. "House Glover."
"Lord Galbart has not been summoned by myself or your father." Cat explained.
"Then why is he here?" Arya asked.
"A question I would like answered myself," Cat said. "Come, Arya. Let's greet our guests."
It took only a few minutes for the Glover party to reach the gates where Cat had Ser Mychel and the new steward Keren meet the lord of Deepwood Motte. Cat and Arya had placed themselves inside the greet keep, waiting for their guests to be shown in.
The doors were opened wide as the northern lord marched inside. He wore studded leather under his red tabard, the clenched iron fist of his house displayed proudly. Like most northmen, he sported a beard and had honor radiating from his very being. Cat remembered the man from his many visits to the castle and from her time at Robb's side during the war. House Glover has always been a loyal and dependable ally to House Stark, and Galbart has proven to be no different.
He knelt before Cat as soon as he was near.
"My lady," he said politely.
"Please, stand, Lord Glover," Cat said in a warm and inviting tone. "Your presence was unexpected."
The man frowned. "Unexpected?"
Cat nodded. "We would have had a better reception prepared if we had known."
The northern lord's frown deepened. He dug into his glove and pulled out a little note, handing it to Cat.
"I received that and left the same day. Other northern houses will have received the same."
Cat looked at the man before looking down at the message. The black wax meant that it came from Castle Black.
Lords of the North
First Ranger Benjen plans to ride south with proof of an enemy north of the wall.
Please ride to Winterfell in haste so that he may show you all as audience.
Your presence is there is of the utmost importance.
Maester Aemon
Castle Black
Cat read the message twice before folding it in her hands and placing them on her lap. She had a suspicion of what 'proof' her goodbrother had.
"Thank you for coming on such short notice," Cat said, forcing a smile on her face. "As always, Winterfell is happy to house such noble friends."
Galbart smiled and bowed deeply. "House Glover stands ready to defend the North, my lady." he glanced around the hall before looking back at Cat as if realizing something.
"Where is Lord Stark?"
"I am afraid that my lord husband is not here at the moment," Cat answered. "He has been summoned to Castle Black. He and Jon have been working with the Night's Watch, evaluating this threat."
Galbart nodded slowly. "I see. I was hoping to receive more information about what the threat is so that I could send word to my brother Robart."
"Hopefully Benjen will arrive soon," Cat said. "Then you and the others shall receive all the information he knows."
"Do you happen to know of what threat Lord Stark and his son are investigating?" Galbart asked curiously.
Cat shook her head. "I'm afraid I don't, my lord," she said, ignoring the look Arya gave her as she lied. "I'm sure you understand why I would leave such work to my husband. Much of my focus has been on rebuilding our home."
"Of course," Galbart said. "Winterfell looks to be on the mend and I am sure others will be as happy as I to see it returned to its former glory."
"Thank you for your kind words, my lord," Cat said kindly. "If you would like, I can have Keren show you to your room."
"I would like that very much, my lady," Galbart said with a tired smile. "It has been a hard ride." he looked at Arya. "I have also brought my nephew Gawen with me."
"I will have Arya show him around the castle," Cat said immediately, sending a quick look at her daughter. "Perhaps he could also train with Rickon and Ser Mychel."
Galbart's smile brightened. "An excellent idea, my lady."
Cat returned the smile before looking at her daughter. Arya's face showed acceptance, but as her mother, she could read the girl's eyes. She was not happy that she was being forced to show some boy around and Catelyn knew that she would hear a lot of complaining in the days to come.
Jon Stark
"You're brooding again," Ygritte said, shaking Jon of his thoughts.
The lord of Long Lake had been gazing out over the black ocean as the small fleet slowly made its way south. The waves were filled with bits of ice and the captains were taking extra care to not run into any. There was no telling when a small piece of ice was just the tip of an iceberg. Cotter had told him stories of ships being ripped from prow to stern by stupid captains who weren't paying attention.
Jon wasn't thinking of anything important. He had simply been wondering how Robb would be able to rally the southern lords. When he was last in King's Landing, he knew that the High Septon was giving his brother a lot of trouble and would no doubt be a nuisance if Robb tried to convince his bannermen of the Long Night. It troubled Jon because he knew how persuasive religion could be to the foolish and stubborn.
"Do you need something?" Jon asked, looking over his shoulder at the red-haired archer.
"Mother Mole spoke about your parents," Ygritte said, stepping up beside him. "What was she talking about?"
Jon smiled wryly. "That's a long story."
Ygritte dramatically looked around at the sleeping free folk who littered the deck. There were a few of Cotter's men awake, but they were only needed to tend to the sail. Other than them and the captain, there wasn't a soul on board awake.
"Tell me," Ygritta said finally.
Jon chuckled. "I wasn't raised by my father, I was raised by my uncle," he explained. "However, I grew up believing that my uncle was my real father."
Ygritte frowned. "That's stupid."
"My real father was my uncle's enemy long ago," Jon said quietly. "He stole my uncle's sister, my mother, and started a big war."
The spearwife scoffed. "That's how men claim wives."
Jon grinned. "Not south of the Wall," he chuckled, amused by Ygritte's simplistic view of the matter. "My uncle's sister was already promised to another man anyways. What my father did was wrong."
"Did your mother fight your father?"
Jon shook his head. "No, I think she wanted to go. From the little I know about her, it makes sense. She was wild and free and wanted to make her destiny." he said, glancing over at the red-head. "Like you."
Ygritte seemed a little taken aback by Jon's honest and heartfelt statement. Her cheeks reddened slightly and she looked away, breaking her gaze from Jon's. It took her a short moment to collect herself and ask her next question, pushing the story forward.
"Your father stole your mother, but she wanted to go," she said finally. "Doesn't sound that bad."
"No one knew that," Jon sighed. "They went off in secret, and everyone assume that my mother was taken. Her older brother, another one of my uncle's, went to my father's father, the king, for answers. That's where things went from bad to worse."
"Why?"
"My grandfather was a mad man," Jon said bluntly. "A lunatic who was obsessed with fire. He imprisoned my uncle and called for my other grandfather. One was hung in his armor and roasted alive while the other was choked to death."
Ygritte grimaced. Jon guessed that she had lived a hard life, anyone who was raised north of the Wall did, but there were some deaths that were universally terrible. Being burned alive was one such death. Dying in combat or succumbing to sickness was one thing, but a slow, painful death by fire was something else entirely.
"I'm sorry," she said quietly.
"It's alright," Jon said in the same tone. "What's done is done. My grandfather on my father's side called the heads of my other uncle, the one who raised me, and his best friend, the man who was promised to my mother. The two of them rallied their men and rebelled against the king for his actions and my father's as well."
"Where was your father when this happened?" Ygritte asked, sounding invested in the story. "Why didn't he stop this? He's the bloody prince, ain't he?"
"He had gone into hiding," Jon answered. "When he realized what had happened, it was too late. Four Houses had risen in rebellion. My Uncle, his friend, and their two allies. Unfortunately, my mother heard of the deaths as well and wanted to leave. That's when my father forced himself on her."
Ygritte gripped the railing. "He what!"
"He was supposed to be the savior of the realm, the man who would help Westeros thrive after it had suffered under the madness of his father, but he had proven to be just as mad," Jon said sadly. "He was obsessed with prophecy, and he had gone too far not to complete his task. He had used my mother, played on her desire to be free, and it killed her in the end."
"What of your father? What happened to him?"
"He had his chest caved in by the man who was promised to my mother," Jon replied. "My mad grandfather was stabbed in the back and his family lost their crowns and their throne."
Ygritte nodded. "Why then were you raised not knowing who your father was?"
"My uncle was afraid that his friend would kill me just because of who my father was," Jon said. "Now I know the truth and very few others know it as well. I'd like to keep it that way."
Ygritte saw the seriousness in his eyes and nodded quickly. "I won't say anything," she promised.
"Thank you," Jon said. "I still refer to my uncle as my father. He might not be my actual father, but he raised me and protected me like he was, and that's all I care about."
Jon looked up at the moon, realizing how long the two of them had spent talking. He quickly bowed his head and looked at the spearwife, who caught his gaze. Some sort of understanding passed between them before both looked away. An awkwardness settled between them and Jon immediately broke it.
"Goodnight, Ygritte," Jon said softly, moving past her and making his way towards the cabins underneath the steering platform. Behind him, in a soft voice, he heard:
"You know nothing, Jon Stark."