The Provenance || Jon Snow | Game of Thrones

3.09

"Kill him!" Tormund shouts, and the wildlings swarm upon them again, Ygritte intent upon shooting either Orell or Tormund, though Jon's choice has been made.  He shoves her to the ground then, meeting swords with Orell and a few other wildlings that are not busy with the rabid direwolf.  Red flashes in the corner of Ygritte's eye before she toppled by Tormund whose heavy form and strong hands attempt to restrain her, her piercing shriek sounding up and into the window of the windmill.

Suddenly, Summer joins the frey and proves himself to be as capable as Shaggydog, their teeth marks in a number of corpses strewn about the area.  Ducking around the other fights and wolves, Jon barely avoids the swings of an angry Orell, though his training takes over, and provides him with the parries, blows, and finally a stab outward that goes through Orell's chest easily.  He brings the wildling close, Jon snarling, "You were right the whole time."

    Wishing the man pain, Jon twists the sword into Orell's gut, the man's eyes fluttering with pain before rolling back into his warg.  Before Jon can even so much as go looking for the eagle though, it's bearing down onto his face, pecking towards his eyes and scratching his forehead to cheek. Only acquiring one injury, Jon throws the bird from him, stands to his shaky feet, and guts it along his sword.

Enemies all but eliminated, Jon looks about before running into the mud to pull himself onto the old man's horse, kicking it in the ribs.  The horse rushes off quickly with Jon on its back, Tormund and Ygritte staring after him, and failing to notice Summer disappear into the windmill and Shaggydog run off in the opposite direction as Jon.

Gabrielle Baelish gasps awake, heart hammering and her lungs arching off the wall as they attempt to get air, eyes rapidly taking into the yellow wall across from her and remembering her time and place, back sore as it's pressed into Sansa's door behind her.  She does not know what to make of the dream other than to call it a vision, trying hard to understand as her body and heart slows.  Breathe, in and out....breathe.  And in her attempts, she does not intend to fall asleep, nor does she know when it occurs.  But apparently, there are greater events happening on this night as she falls into a restless unconsciousness, breath heavy even in deep slumber.

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    "Everything Jojen told me is true.  You saw what I did to Hodor.  I have to find the Three-Eyed Raven," Bran begs of Osha in the limited light of the candles, her blue eyes adamant on his own as she gazes at him, grabbing his hand.

"Listen to me, little lord--"

"Don't worry, I'm not asking you to come with me.  It won't be safe for Rickon," Bran interrupts her, and despite the rather inconvenient situation, he finds himself excited to learn of his powers that seemed so dormant until his fall from the tower.

Rickon's brown eyes widen in innocent confusion and conviction, "Me?  I'm coming with you."

"No," Bran refuses to acquiesce to Rickon's plea, "You and Osha and Shaggydog head for the Last Hearth.  The Umbers are our bannermen.  They'll protect you."

But Rickon is a child with Bran's old feelings of grandeur, not having experienced enough to know of the dangers children face, "I'm coming with you.  I'm your brother.  I have to protect you."

"Right now, I have to protect you," Bran responds with a sad smile at this brother he will certainly miss.  The brown eyes of Rickon well-up with tears then, attempting to understand Bran's wisdom for what it is, "Robb's at war and I'm going beyond the Wall.  If something happens to us, you're the heir to Winterfell."

That, Rickon can understand despite the rather horrific situation of their home at the moment, so he just nods in agreement with Bran and embraces him slowly.  The farewells are sad for both boys, but Bran is certain this is what Rickon must do.