BLOODLINES ↠ JON SNOW

XXI. THE NORTHWIND'S GALE

XXI.   THE NORTHWIND'S GALE

SNOW GLISTENED ACROSS THE BARREN WOODLAND AROUND THEM, casting eerie specks of light across the transitioning landscape. Winter was bearing down upon them like a rabid dog, snapping at their heels. How Amodera had longed to see the sight of the North again, despite the threat of the Great War lingering on the horizon. She'd barely got the stench of Kings Landing out her nose as Winterfell grew ever closer. The place had become a home of sorts for her, or perhaps it was just Jon's company that made it feel so. Either way, she hoped there was enough time for them to organise themselves before the real war began.
News of the White Walkers destroying the wall had spread through the lands like a wildfire, but it had brought fear to none like it had to Amodera. It was her people who had manned Eastwatch; her people who were likely slaves in the Night King's army now. She prayed that Tormund had survived, at least -- that he could lead the survivors back to the safe arms of Winterfell before the Great War began.

The sound of hooves against the frozen ground filled her ears as Jon trotted to her side, gifting her a smile before gazing once again at the horizon. "What are you thinking about?" He questioned, the words light but laced with concern. He had obviously sensed the tension that had been radiating from her the closer they got to Winterfell.

Amodera filtered her breath through her lips, glancing across at the stony faces of the peasants that had gathered to welcome their king home. Their king -- except he had given up that title now. "What happens after this? After the war?" Amodera looked over her shoulder, her gaze landing upon the white furs that shrouded the Dragon Queen. "The Free Folk followed you, Jon. I followed you. I think the Targaryen is a good person, but we barely know her. What's to say she won't eliminate the threat in the North when this is over? When we become the threat in the North."

Jon clenched his jaw as her words struck him. It was a tense subject -- one he knew he could not escape . "I hoped you of all people would understand. You trusted a stranger in the hopes it would save your people."

"I did. And I paid the price." She paused, reaching across the lay her hand upon his. "I love you, Jon, but this has cost me my people. I don't want it to cost you the same."

Silence fell between them as they entered through the gates of Winterfell. Amodera knew he would not want to accept it, but she needed him to be careful. If they were to survive the Great War, they needed to believe there was something worthwhile after.
Jon suddenly tapped the side of his horse, hastily riding towards the crowd that awaited them. As Amodera followed his gaze, she saw a young boy in a wheelchair, sat beside Sansa. Bran, the Wildling woman presumed -- Jon's younger brother. The boy was embraced in Jon's arms, but no flicker of emotion stirred upon his face. There was something different about him; something that made Amodera's skin crawl.

"Look at you, you're a man!" Jon exclaimed, a pride laced within his voice.

"Almost."

The curt reply left Jon uneasy as he stepped back, turning to hug Sansa as Amodera climbed off her horse. The Stark girl met her gaze across his shoulder, a soft smile breaking across her lips as Amodera bowed her head in acknowledgement of her friend. Sansa was a fierce ally -- one Amodera had come to love as if she were her own sister. As her gaze flickered past the commander, Sansa's smile faltered. Without turning, Amodera knew who it was -- the Dragon Queen. She had known Sansa would be the hardest to convince of Daenerys allegiance; she was the most headstrong of the Starks, after all.

Jon stepped back, his gaze falling upon Daenerys as she strode towards them. "Queen Daenerys of House Targaryen." Jon began, gesturing towards the young queen before nodding towards Sansa, "My sister, Sansa Stark -- the Lady of Winterfell."