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Chapter Text

BEFORE

The night came with terror.

Screams of agony rang throughout the castle walls as every man, woman, and child were slaughtered in cold blood. Fire licked up the walls and fallen men laid eternally unconscious. There was no light in the darkness of the castle, no joy as there was at the beginning of the evening. Only the looming resignation of dwindling life.

The fog was slowly being lifted as the night reached its peak, the charred grass dewy with ash and rain. Her tattered nightgown swayed through the back garden, her cheeks wet with splattered blood and tears. The light fabric wrapped around her head hid her unruly hair and face in a shadow. She couldn't risk being seen, especially not when her task was unfulfilled.

Jogging through the maze she had designed specifically herself, she rounded a corner, where she was met with an awaiting figure. She stopped at the entrance, clutching the bundle in her arms with every ounce of strength she could muster. She eyed the man.

"Ned?" Her voice was raspy, as though she had been screaming only moments ago.

He stepped into the light cast from the moon, his young expression grim as his shoulders dropped. He remained tense, however. "Elisa, don't do this." It came out as a plea.

She gave him a dreadful, beautiful smile. "Take good care of her, I'm counting on you and Cat." Elisa stepped forward to hand over the wide-eyed bundle, taking one last look at her daughter before letting Ned hold onto her. Emotion laced her voice as she slipped her hand in the pocket of her gown.

Ned glanced down at the child, ignoring the crackling of the flames and the shouting from the distant villagers who would soon be dead by morning. He brought a finger up to trace the side of the child's face, taking note of the glossy brown eyes she had; just like her mother's. "What is her name?" He asked. The child gurgled back at him. "Elisa?"

Lifting his head to her, he gaped at the scene before his feet. Elisa laid on the ground, her hand falling from the dagger plunged into her stomach. Pain inflicted across her face as she stared up at the stars.

"Elisa, no, no you can't leave her alone," Ned fell to his knees, crawling with the child to his chest by a secured arm. He reached for her bloodied hand.

She smiled to Ned, her eyes distant as blood soaked through her clothes. "She will never be alone, not when she has people like you willing to protect her." Her hand shook as she blinked down to her daughter, a tear sliding down the side of her face and into the red pool beneath her body. "Wren. Her name is Wren Elisabeth."

He gripped her hand tighter, even as he felt her pulse grow fainter and fainter. "I will not fail you, Elisa, neither Thomas. I promise."

She gave him one last, gracious smile, her hand growing limp and cold as she attempted to squeeze his hand for the last time. "I know, Ned, I know."

Her dream-state eyes remained open to the sky, and Ned, who had taken it upon himself to protect the last of the living heir to an ancient bloodline, stared down at the small child in his arms, his chest full of despair and his heart consumed with hope. He ran his thumb over her forehead, where a tiny cut had been made along the edge of her hairline. Smoke filled the air as he brought himself to his feet, not being able to bring himself to look at the burning kingdom a second time that night.

He found his horse waiting for him, and with Wren snug against him, he headed North toward Winterfell.

PRESENT DAY

Silence weighed between them as the brisk morning settled within place on the distant horizon. The sun was burning its usual white and the sky itself was a pale blue, reminding her of the fine silks Lady Sansa owned. She enjoyed mornings, unlike the person standing next to her, who happened to be slumped against the brick wall with their eyes half shut. She couldn't understand, even after all these years, how he still got up with her almost every morning to watch the sun rise.

She nudged his shoulder with her own. "I didn't know I was so boring," she teased him with a pout.

He stood up straighter and opened his eyes so that he could look at her properly. "I'm sorry, Wren, I don't know what's gotten into me lately." He apologized.

She laughed, shaking her head. "It's fine, Jon. You don't need to explain anything to me."

He gazed out into the distance before looking to Wren once more, his eyes intense with the truth. "I haven't been sleeping well," he continued before she cut in, "and it isn't my bed or my eating habits or all of those other theories you believe in, I just, can't."

Wren brought her bottom lip into her mouth, sighing at her best friend as she stared at him, thinking. "Maybe you should stop waking up so early, you've clearly been out later these past few weeks from the bags under your eyes and it was bound to happen sooner or later."

His shoulders dropped at her proposition. "Wren, I can't stop our tradition."

Even she could tell with his denial, that he truly wanted to get those few, precious hours of sleep in the morning. And she couldn't blame him, he worked harder than anybody she knew. She placed her hand on his shoulder and gave him a stern look. "I'm cutting you off, and I'm cutting myself off, too. We both should grow up a little bit, especially now since I won't always have your parents protecting me every second."

Jon looked like he wanted to say more, but refrained himself. "Don't worry, Wren, I won't let anybody harm you. They don't have a reason to."

Wren nodded, looking down at her feet which were covered in thick socks and boots. She hated wearing dresses, not only because of how free they made her feel, but because she wasn't a Lady, she was more of a misfit who had the resemblance of a woman. "Thank you, Jon. For everything."

He didn't move from her, staring at her for a second too long. She wanted to know what was going through his mind at that very moment, but she didn't have the chance to ask, because Bran was walking up to them with a bow in his hand.

Wren smiled at him and Jon had stepped back from the step he didn't realize he'd taken. "Ready for your lesson today, Bran?" Wren asked in an excited tone.

He nodded and went down the stairwell that led to the center of the armory. It was where they held all the weapons and practiced fighting.

At a young age, Wren had taken to liking the bow and arrow, and even the sword when Ned let her wield it. She found the workout stress relieving, mostly on the nights she had bad dreams or couldn't sleep. That was where she started talking to Jon, who saw her one evening after needing a bit of fresh air. They became instant friends, both sharing an interest in fighting and their social status.

Jon was a bastard and Wren was an orphan, both taken in by Ned. Catelyn Stark, Ned's wife, didn't mind Wren being at the castle, but it was clear that she was irritated with Jon every time they were in the same room together, even if she kept her mouth shut.

Wren left with Jon to go help Bran. Her heart slightly aching still from the conversation with Jon. She hated the fact that they wouldn't be able to spend as much time together anymore, but she also realized that they were older now and only friends. Jon probably didn't want to be seen hanging around with her anymore. She wasn't bothered by it, she was just saddened that the one person she hung around was going to be spending more time outside the castle.

She despised the one rule Ned had given her when she had gotten old enough to understand what was right and wrong. She couldn't leave Winterfell. She couldn't comprehend why; maybe he was just looking out for her, but either way, it irked her beyond belief. She just wished there was some way she could get past the walls that have confined her for the majority of her life.

Bran let out an irritated huff of air while Wren found her place next to Robb, who greeted her with a curt nod. She was acquaintances with him, but Wren had never truly found the things she would hear about him around the castle appealing. He was told to be a ladies man, someone who flirted with every girl he saw, but she never had that problem for some reason. He always steered clear of her as if she was poison.

Jon patted Bran on the shoulder, "go on, Father's watching." Wren looked up to see that indeed Ned and Catelyn were watching their son. "And your mother," she heard Jon mutter to Bran.

He stepped back to join Wren and Robb, letting Bran do the rest of the work. Bran looked over to her, in which she gave him a reassuring smile. He set the arrow into the bow and shakily pulled back the string. With his trajectory, she knew he wasn't going to make the target. Laughter filled the armory as Wren glared at the two who were chuckling from either side of her. Jon quickly lost his grin and Robb cleared his throat.

"And which one of you was a marksman at ten?" Ned shouted from above them. "Keep practicing, Bran. Go on."

"Don't think too much, Bran," Jon encouraged.

"Relax your bow arm." Robb said from beside her.

Bran pulled another arrow back, steadying his gaze to the taunting target. Wren watched as the arrow flew to the center of the target nearly perfect, yet she knew it wasn't Bran who shot the arrow. They all turn to see Arya holding a bow with a proud smile stretched across her face. Instantly, Bran took off running after her, discarding his bow in the mud.

Jon and Robb shouted at him as he chased quick, little Arya, and Wren found her gaze up to the balcony where Ned and Catelyn stood, conversing lowly with Rodrick Cassel and Theon Greyjoy. Theon's stormy eyes met her hard ones for a brief second before bringing his attention back to Ned. Wren's face was set grim.

* * *

"What will you name him?" She asked as the small wolf licked her cheek repeatedly. Smiling, she scratched him between the ears, earning herself another lick to the face.

Jon watched the two of them fondly as he walked to the groomer's, looking back he said, "I like the name Ghost, it suits him."

Wren nodded in agreement. "Ghost it is then." When they reached the door, Wren kept hold of Ghost, who nuzzled his head in Wren's chest playfully. "Have fun in there, I'll see you after the banquet?"

Jon rolled his eyes, "if you call shaving 'fun', then yes. Could you keep Ghost in your room until the banquet is over? I don't want him running rampant around the Lannister's."

Wren smiled with a nod just as the door was yanked open to reveal Robb, who was shirtless and looked like he had just taken a bath. He squinted accusingly between a blushing Jon and a confused Wren for a moment, only to smile and tug on Jon's arm. "Let's go, they're going to be here soon."

The door shut in Wren's face as she was left with Ghost fast asleep in her arms and newfound thoughts swimming amidst her head. The Lannister's were coming to Winterfell, which could only mean one thing; the King wanted something of Ned.

Chapter Text

Laughter came from tight-lipped smiles, with wine staining the drunken's flesh and music filling the area of boisterous people. Outside, the sound of a sword plundering into a fencing dummy could be heard, it's stuffing flying into the air as each hit was full of anger. The cold wind of the night bit at the skin of his freshly shaven face. He thought back to the moment when the blade swept across his cheeks.

He closed the door behind him as he left Wren standing in the hallway, that understanding, soft smile on her face. Robb returned to his seat in the barber chair, letting the man shave his face. Theon was there as well, his skin clear of hair. Jon greeted Theon with a nod; he was never close with Theon. Jon didn't have many friends. Whenever he needed to talk, he would always go to Wren, or he would keep it to himself. There were things not even Wren knew.

Jon started to take his shirt off, in case he got any shaving cream on his clothes. "Why's your mother so dead-set on us getting pretty for the king?" He questioned Robb.

Theon answered before Robb could. "It's for the queen, I bet. I hear she's sleek as a mink."

Jon rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. Robb smiled, "I hear the prince is a right royal prick." The barber was almost done with him, meaning it was almost Jon's turn, much to his disappointment.

"Think of all those southern girls he gets to stab with his right royal prick." Theon could only wish, Jon mused in his head. The only thing Theon ever thought about was sex.

Robb stood up and slapped Jon on the back, "Go on, Tommy, shave him good. He's never met a girl he likes better than his own hair." Jon sat in the chair and Robb winked at his half-brother. "Besides Wren, of course."

Jon was about to stand up and knock some sense into Robb, but the barber held Jon down, the razor-blade curving over his skin. He glared at a grinning Robb.

Theon chuckled, "never thought about that one," he looked at Jon with a twinkle in his eyes, "how is she in bed, you reckon?"

A scowl fell over Jon's lips as his dark eyes burned holes into the two older boys. "She's not like that, and I don't like her in that way," Jon tried to explain, but it was a weak attempt.

Robb looked at his half-brother with his ice-cold, northern eyes. "You know what I think, Theon?" He pondered aloud. Jon's hands curled into fists. Theon's mouth twisted into a devious grin. "I think Jon is lying."

Jon could feel pressure building up in his chest as he held his breath, afraid that if he exhaled fire would come out. "I am not," he spoke through his teeth. "Wren is . . ." He faltered after he couldn't think of anything. What was Wren to him? A friend? A crush? No, Jon doesn't get those types of feelings. Especially for the girl he grew up with. She was just a friend.

Robb smiled victoriously, "I think little Jon here has an infatuation with darling Wren."

He didn't. He couldn't. This was Wren, the girl he played knights and dragons with. This was the girl he went to when it seemed nobody wanted him around. She was his secret keeper, his confidante. He hit the dummy harder, swung the sword with more power. He didn't like Wren, not in that way, at least.

His mind fell to the early morning, before the Lannisters and the King had arrived, before the sun had even risen. The highest bridge in Winterfell was their spot, their place to watch the world wake up and stretch its arms across the frozen terrain of the North.

The sun that morning was brighter than the others. It shined with a soft yellow glow that touched even the darkest of shadows. The light hit her face, turning her skin into a satin aura of freckles. She was smiling at the landscape and the sun that was just beginning to rise from its slumber. His eyes were half awake, but the exhaustion that hazed his mind evaporated as he turned to look at her.

If he had one word to describe Wren, he would use: illuminating. There was no denying the brightness she added to every room she walked into. Even her smile, to Jon, was as sparkling as freshly fallen snow. Wren was beautiful, especially with her crooked nose and curvy waist.

Jon remembered that morning as he was staring at her, she had caught him in the act. "What?" She smiled at him, her head tilted to the side as she wondered what went on in his head. To Wren, he was always so mysterious, yet she knew what he was thinking most of the time.

Jon pushed down his head until his hair covered his reddening cheeks and ears, peeking up at the freckles that made a treasure map across her face. "It's just so beautiful, is all."

Wren breathed out as she turned to look at the horizon. "It is," Wren agreed. "What is your favorite part about it? Besides getting up, of course," she joked.

Jon hadn't meant for it to slip out, though he couldn't look away from her even if he wanted to. "Everything."

"Is he dead yet?" The voice startled Jon.

Turning around, Jon beamed at the sight of the man. "Uncle Benjen!" Jon let his sword fall as he went to hug the man dressed in all black, grateful that it wasn't Lady Catelyn, who had instructed that no one of royalty wanted to see him.

"You got bigger," Benjen pulled away from Jon, "I rode all day. Didn't want to leave you alone with the Lannisters. Why aren't you at the feast?"

"Lady Stark thought it might insult the royal family to seat a bastard in their midst." Jon said in a bitterly mocking tone.

"Well," Benjen smiled warmly through the snow that was falling, "you're always welcome on the wall. No bastard was ever refused a seat there."

Jon's eyes lit up at the mention of the Wall. "So take me with you when you go back."

"Jon. . . ." Benjen sighed, his breath crystallizing into the air.

"Father will let me if you ask him, I know he will." Jon knew his father would let him go, it meant one less mouth to feed and a burden off his shoulders.

"The Wall isn't going anywhere," Benjen tried to negotiate.

"I'm ready to swear your oath," Jon pleaded. He was ready to leave Winterfell.

"You don't understand what you'd be giving up. We have no families. None of us will ever father sons." Benjen listed off the laws he swore to never break.

Jon's immediate thoughts went to Wren and her warm, brown eyes. "I don't care about that." His voice came out cold and hard, like the wind, while inside his heart was starting to crack.

Benjen eyed Jon warily. "You might, if you knew what it meant. . . . I'd better get inside. Rescue your father from his guests. We'll talk later."

Jon let his uncle leave him. He started to finally feel the cold getting to him, the anger in his blood simmering down. He was about to leave for Wren's room, where Ghost was held, when a slurring voice stopped him.

"Your uncle's in the Night's Watch." In the dark, Tyrion Lannister was hiding in the shadows against an archway.

Jon peered at him, his eyebrows knit in question. "What're you doing back there?"

"Preparing for a night with your family." Jon moved where he could see Tyrion, and he saw a flash of glass in the moon's light. It was filled with an amber colored liquid. "I've always wanted to see the Wall." He added with an unfulfilled sigh.

"You're Tyrion Lannister. The queen's brother?" Jon asked for clarification. He was a smaller sized man, something a regular man would call an "imp" or "dwarf".

"My greatest accomplishment. You – You're Ned Stark's bastard, aren't you?" Tyrion pointed out.

Jon felt his anger get the best of him and walk away, looking at anything besides the tiny, drunk man.

Tyrion raised an eyebrow, "Did I offend you? Sorry. You are the bastard, though."

"Lord Eddard Stark is my father." Jon admitted rancorously, turning around to face the man.

"And Lady Stark is not your mother. Making you a bastard. Let me give you some advice, bastard. Never forget what you are. The rest of the world will not. Wear it like armor. Then it can never be used to hurt you."

Jon felt his heart swell, for some reason, at his words. But still, he felt himself grow angrier for reasons even he did not know. Maybe it was because trying to slice a practice dummy in half wasn't the best way to sort out your problems. "What the hell do you know about being a bastard?" He huffed out.

Tyrion's eyes glazed over with a thought; a memory possibly. "All dwarves are bastards in their fathers' eyes."

Jon watched as Tyrion left. With the same fiery anger running through his veins, Jon walked away from the dummy, instead of picking up his sword.

After entertaining Ghost for a few hours, Wren decided to slip into her night gown and finish off on the book she had been reading. She was on the last page when a knock came at her door. Ghost, who was curled up at Wren's side, lifted his head and growled.

Wren couldn't help but smile at the pup. She gave him a reassuring scratch behind the ears and went to open the door. Her assumptions were right as she saw Jon standing there, but his heaving chest and weary expression changed her light attitude.

Yet, before she could ask him what was wrong, he had shut the door behind him and pushed her up against a wall, his own actions surprising him. He had Wren trapped against a door, one hand on her waist and the other on the door's surface beside her head. Her wide, brown eyes stared up at him in shock. Undeniably, her heart pounded in her chest.

"Jon," she whispered thickly. Their close bodies were putting the fire that crackled in her fireplace to shame.

Jon wasn't sure what to do with himself or the girl he had trapped between his arms and the door. He only wanted to be close to her as he walked down the hallway to her room. He thought about everything that happened from the sun rising to Tyrion Lannister's drunken advice. All he wanted was to see the girl with the freckles and heartwarming, brown eyes.

And now that he had her – Jon felt himself leaning forward, his forehead falling against her's in defeat. He breathed in her delicate scent as if she were a flower. "Just. . . ." He started to say.

Wren wasn't sure what was happening. She didn't know what had bothered Jon or why he was acting so . . . intimate, but those thoughts were only background noise as she felt his hand shaking against her waist. Sliding her hands up his own waist and to his shoulders, she cupped the side of his chilled, bare skin.

He was freezing and she was the warmth he yearned for, but every time he got close they burnt out.

Wren smiled as she never let their eyes waver from each other's. "I like you better with your beard," she echoed quietly.

Jon laughed, smiling down at the girl he knew he could never get away from. No matter what the world said to him or about her, he would always fall into her embrace as the moon replaced the sun. He found the night his favorite time to watch the sky, not because of the numerous amounts of stars or the quietness that would drift throughout all of Winterfell – because no matter how much he hated watching the sun rise and no matter how much she secretly feared the dark, they would end up in each other's arms.

Chapter Text

Even as a little girl, Wren loved the outdoors. No matter whether it was ice, snow, rain or the sun, she didn't let that stop her from venturing outside. There was a yearning in her to feel the sun against her skin and the bitter airs of the north chap her lips and freeze the tip of her nose. She was born to breathe the fresh winter winds and feel snow melt in her bare hands. To Wren, there was nothing like it.

Yet, Ned Stark didn't allow her to go beyond the walls of Winterfell. Sheltered, isolated in an icy prison, Wren had felt trapped for so long.

Until Jon had come to her that night, his temper finally simmering down as she wrapped him in a blanket and made him sit by the fireplace to warm up. His hair fell around his face in melted curls of darkness, the snow in his hair now on the floor dripping in tiny puddles.

Wren left to get food from the kitchens. She knew people from there, friends of hers. When locked in a castle your entire life, you're bound to make a few friends.

She went straight in, where the servants were throwing out half-eaten dishes and packaging away what food was left from the feast. She saw a bottle of wine and snatched it up, hiding it under her cloak in case she got caught by any guards.

"Stealing again, are we?" The voice made Wren jump enough to almost let the wine bottle slip from her grasp.

Turning around, she saw her friend Eve grinning at her. The girl was about as tall as Wren, but her black locks of hair and vibrant, emerald eyes set the two apart. Wren smiled, "Jon skipped dinner, as did I."

Eve nodded understandingly. Wren had mentioned to her once or twice their predicament with their namesakes, especially Jon's. "Lady Catelyn again?" Eve whispered to Wren as she started making a basket of leftover food for the two.

Wren kept her head low as servants passed, hiding in the shadows to make sure she wasn't too well seen. "I'd assume so," she sighed.

Eve covered the basket with a cloth and handed it to Wren. "Tell him I said hello, will ya?" Eve asked in a friendly tone.

Wren said her thanks to Eve and nodded, wishing her friend a goodnight as she walked back to her bedroom. As she passed down a hallway, she heard commotion. It was dark, but light enough to see that there were two people standing there, amidst the shadows. The light from the candles on the walls flickered to expose a head of reddish brown curls, and a girl, who dressed as a servant, with strands of golden blonde hair. She looked worried as talked to the man, the man who when turning toward the light, revealed that it was Robb.

Wren almost gasped, she almost blew her cover, but then she saw them move to his chambers, and Wren started on her way again. She couldn't believe what she saw. Or could she? She had heard the rumors. Robb Stark was used to having a few women under his wing, but when having a conversation, he seemed completely normal. Perhaps Wren had him all wrong, but that didn't deter her judgement on what she had seen. You only take a lady back to your quarters if you're willing to . . . bed them.

Jon is in your quarters, a voice sniggered in her head. She rolled her eyes at her inner self. Jon is a mere friend, nothing more and nothing less. He deserved someone better.

Opening up her bedroom door, she poked her head in to see that Jon was stroking Ghost's head. The pup had crawled from the bed to Jon's lap, keeping him company as Wren left to retrieve dinner.

Jon smiled at Wren as she closed the door behind her quietly. She knew Ghost could smell the food in the basket, but that didn't mean she was going to give it up easily. Pulling the wine from underneath her cloak, she lifted up the cloth to see that Eve had equipped her with two cups.

Jon stroked Ghost's spine, calmly watching Wren. She noted that he seemed more serene and less intense than he had been earlier. She could still feel the door pressing into her back . . . his hands shaking against her waist, harsh breath against her skin, his forehead pressed against her own, lips a hairs breadth away from touching . . . .

"Wren," Jon said louder this time, reaching out to grab her arm. Her eyes snapped to his, drifting out of something that felt like a dream. "You seemed to be lost for a moment," he observed her carefully.

Wren swallowed her nerves as she took out plates and handed Jon a glass of wine. "I think I'm just a little hungry is all." That was it, she needed food. She needed reassurance.

Jon eyed her suspiciously, but didn't say a word. His mouth wasn't used to such fine wine. He was used to drinking the bitter ale they served at the lower ends of the tables. This was a wine a queen would drink.

Ghost lifted his head and started inching toward the basket full of food, his snout almost inside before Wren was scolding him. Shrinking back, Ghost whined at the lack of food in his stomach. Wren watched the wolf pup with tender eyes. Reaching into the basket, Wren produced a leg of chicken and tossed it a little ways away from Jon and herself so they could eat in peace. Ghost trampled over Jon's feet as he went to devour the leg.

Jon started to make his own dish. "My father's brother and my uncle, Benjen, has come here from the Wall."

Wren raised an eyebrow, "why is that, do you know?"

Jon shook his head, "no, but I think it has something to do with the man my father beheaded last morning." Jon watched Wren pull the cup away from her mouth, the blood red alcohol staining her lips a cherry color. The liquid dribbled down past her lips and down the corner of her mouth, but it couldn't go any farther as Jon stuck his thumb out and wiped it away.

Wren held her breath. She felt lightheaded, and it wasn't just because of her lack of oxygen. She blinked, and the world turned. "The man your father, beheaded," she said with slight disdain, "was mumbling to himself, you say?"

"Yes," Jon cleared his voice as he wiped the wine on his pants, the warm liquid searing his skin like acid. "I heard him saying something about Walkers."

"Walkers?" Wren questioned. "You don't think he meant to say what I think."

"I do," he told her with honesty. He saw the fear in the dead man's eyes. They were glazed over as if he had seen something no man should ever have the displeasure of seeing. The things that man talked about were supposedly extinct, and yet there he was, muttering about them like a madman. Until his father sliced his head off, of course.

Wren's eyes dropped to her plate of food. "What does this mean?" She murmured.

"My Uncle Benjen is going to ask my father permission for me to go to the Wall," Jon spit out. He could feel it itching at his bones. He hated keeping things from her, but as the words left his mouth, he knew he hated the pained expression on her face even more. He should've kept his mouth shut.

"What?" Wren's voice felt completely empty, and though, Jon could feel how much pain was there. "You can't just leave Jon, you can't – you can't leave me," her eyes held his.

He hated himself for this, for abandoning her, but he had to. He couldn't stay in Winterfell anymore. "Wren, going to the Wall is what I want, it's what's best for everybody." He tried to explain.

Wren stared at him with her brown eyes, starting fires where Jon thought barren. He knew what she was thinking; he knew that face. She opened her mouth and he was already shaking his head in disagreement. "If you think it's best," her words harsh, "then I will have to go with you."

Jon lowered his fork that was dangling in his hand. "You can't," he expressed.

She raised a defiant eyebrow, "why?" She asked, "because I am a woman?" Her shoulders were pushed back and her spine straighter and her eyes fierce like a forest fire. "Let me tell you one thing, Jon Snow. You are my best friend and after everything we've been through, you find it in yourself to leave me at the most inopportune moment. If you believe that leaving me will benefit you, then by all means, walk away, but know that I will always be a few steps behind you – no matter how far you decide to walk."

His eyes were like the harsh depths of a bottomless ocean; unforgivingly mysterious. And she wanted to drown in them.

Jon didn't know he had moved to stand and she had followed until they were close enough to hear each other's breaths. His heart was hammering in his chest, knocking nails into the broken flesh with each strike of words. "For all things pleasant, Wren, don't do anything stupid." He pleaded.

Wren, unfortunately for Jon, was very stubborn.

Ignoring him, she started to shuffle through the chest that sat at the bottom of her bed until she revealed a pair of scissors. Jon took a step forward, "Wren, what do you think you're doing?"

She grinned wickedly as she took a chunk of her hair and stuffed it between the two metal legs of the scissors. "I always have looked like a boy, haven't I?" Before Jon could do anything or say anything to stop her, she was already pushing down and cutting a chunk of her hair – the first of many to fall.

Once her long, honey brown hair was laying on the floor, she smiled proudly to a horrified Jon. He pried the scissors from her grasp. "What have you done?" He muttered in disbelief.

Wren reached up to feel the uneven chopped hair. Her hair had never been this short before. She knew she must have looked crazed, but in her wild heart, she felt calm and prepared for what was to come. "I know this wasn't exactly sane, but Jon," she felt her tongue grow weak and her eyes redden. Jon deeply frowned. "If you leave me here, stuck in this place, where I may as well pick out a place to burn; I will wither away. Literally and from your memory, in time." She felt herself tremble as she blinked down, watching in fascination as a tear fell from her eyes and mixed in with the hair on the floor.

Hands grasped at her face, lifting her up. Warmth met the bitter cold, clashing like two swords. Peering down at the mess of a girl, he felt the last nail jam into his heart of iron. "Okay," he whispered in fear.

Wren's eyes swelled with tears. "Okay? You'll let me go with you?"

Jon sighed in defeat, yet he still regretted his approval. "Yes, but please, don't do anymore drastic changes."

Wren hummed, "there's one more thing I need you to do for me."

"What is it?" Jon asked in an unsure voice.

"My face is too recognizable. You're going to have to damage something," she said determinedly. Jon let go of her face as he stepped back to look at her, to see if she was drunk or sleep walking. "You're going to have to punch me in the face."

"Wren, no," Jon shook his head, "I won't. I can't punch a lady."

Wren rolled her eyes. "Come on, Jon. We're going to the Wall, of all places. You think there's going to be rainbows and daisies? How will the Night's Watch respond when you can't even punch someone in the face?"

Jon growled something under his breath, turning around and walking a few paces before whipping around to face her with what appeared to be agitation and surrender written on his face. "Where?" He was regretting everything that had happened in the past ten minutes, and possibly every decision after that.

Wren grinned. "Break my nose."