[The Wall - Castle Black]

"R'hllor," Melisandre sang, her arms raised to the falling snow. "You are the light we see, the fire we feel, the warmth we crave. You are the sun that brightens our days and the stars that watch over us at night."

"All praise R'hllor, the Lord of Light," the wedding guests responded, their voices ragged, before a sharp, cold wind swept away their words.

Jon Snow pulled up his cloak's hood. Snowflakes floated down lightly, but the easterly wind blew fiercely, cold as the breath of an ice dragon from Old Nan's stories. Even Melisandre's fire flickered, huddling low in the ditch as she sang. Only Ghost remained unfazed by the chill.

Alys Karstark leaned toward Jon. "Snow during a wedding means a cold marriage. My lady mother always said that."

He looked at Queen Selyse. The day she married Stannis, a blizzard must have raged. Wrapped in her ermine cloak and surrounded by ladies, serving girls, and knights, the queen appeared delicate and diminished. A tight smile lingered on her thin lips, but her eyes sparkled with devotion. She despised the cold but yearned for fire. It was obvious. A word from Melisandre, and she would leap into flames as if they were a lover's embrace.

Not all of her queen's men shared her passion. Ser Brus seemed tipsy, Ser Malegorn had his hand resting on the lady next to him, Ser Narbert was yawning, and Ser Patrek of King's Mountain looked furious. Jon Snow began to grasp why Stannis had left them with her.

"The night is dark and filled with terrors," Melisandre sang. "Alone we are born and alone we die, but as we walk through this black vale we draw strength from one another, and from you, our lord." Her red silks danced with each gust of wind.

"Two come forth today to join their lives, so they may face this world's darkness together. Fill their hearts with fire, my lord, so they may walk your shining path hand in hand forever."

"Lord of Light, protect us," cried Queen Selyse. Other voices echoed her. Melisandre's followers—pale ladies, shivering serving girls, Ser Axell, Ser Narbert, and Ser Lambert, men-at-arms in iron mail, Thenns in bronze, and even a few of Jon's brothers—joined in.

"Lord of Light, bless your children."

Melisandre stood with her back to the Wall, next to a fire burning in a deep ditch. Facing her were the couple about to wed, with the queen and her daughter behind them. Princess Shireen, bundled in furs, peered out from her scarf. Ser Axell Florent and the queen's men surrounded the royal group. A few members of the Night's Watch gathered nearby, while others watched from rooftops and steps, some asleep, others absent to show their discontent, like Othell Yarwyck and Bowen Marsh. Septon Chayle briefly appeared, clutching a crystal, but retreated once prayers began.

Melisandre raised her hands, and the fire flared up like a dog jumping for food. Sparks mingled with falling snow as she offered thanks. "Oh, Lord of Light, we thank you," she sang. "We thank you for brave Stannis, our king. Guide him and protect him from evil men."

"Grant him strength," echoed Queen Selyse and her entourage.

Alys Karstark leaned against Jon Snow. "How much longer, Lord Snow? I'd like to be wed before the snow buries me."

"Soon, my lady," Jon replied.

The queen continued, "We thank you for the sun, the stars, and the warmth of our fires." Then Melisandre called for the couple to step forward.

Jon turned to Alys. "Are you ready?"

"Yes. Oh, yes."

"You're not scared?"

The girl smiled, reminding Jon of his little sister, and it nearly broke his heart. "Let him be scared of me." Snowflakes melted on her cheeks, while her hair, wrapped in lace, collected snow, forming a frosty crown. Her flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes marked her as "Winter's lady."

Jon squeezed her hand. The Magnar of Thenn stood by the fire, dressed for battle in fur, leather, and bronze scales, a sword at his hip. His thinning hair made him appear older, but as he watched his bride approach, Jon saw the boy within him. His eyes were wide, though it was unclear whether it was the fire, the priestess, or Alys that filled him with fear. Alys was more right than she realized.

"Who brings this woman to be wed?" asked Melisandre.

"I do," Jon replied. "Now comes Alys of House Karstark, a woman grown, of noble blood and birth." He squeezed her hand one last time and stepped back.

"Who comes forth to claim this woman?" Melisandre asked.

"Me." Sigorn slapped his chest. "Magnar of Thenn."

"Sigorn," Melisandre inquired, "will you share your fire with Alys and warm her when the night is dark and full of terrors?"

"I swear me." His breath formed a cloud in the cold air. Snow dusted his shoulders, and his ears were red. "By the red god's flames, I will warm her all her days."

"Alys, do you swear to share your fire with Sigorn and warm him when the night is dark and full of terrors?"

"Till his blood is boiling." Her cloak was black wool, lined with white fur and marked with the Karstark sunburst.

Melisandre's eyes shone brightly as she said, "Then come to me and be as one."

As she beckoned, flames roared upward, reaching for the falling snow. Alys Karstark took Sigorn's hand.

Side by side, they leapt over the ditch. "Two went into the flames." A gust of wind lifted the red woman's scarlet skirts, and she pressed them down again. "One emerges." Her coppery hair danced around her head. "What fire joins, none may put asunder."

The echo came from the queen's men, the Thenns, and a few black brothers. Jon Snow noted that only kings and uncles were absent. Cregan Karstark arrived a day later with four mounted men, a huntsman, and a pack of dogs, all sniffing after Lady Alys like she was prey. Jon met them on the kingsroad, half a league south of Mole's Town, before they reached Castle Black. He wanted to avoid claims of guest right or parley.

One of Karstark's men had shot at Ty and paid with his life. Now there were four left, plus Cregan. Luckily, Castle Black had ice cells to spare.

At the Wall, heraldry was different. The Thenns lacked traditional family arms. Jon instructed the stewards to create something fitting. They designed a bride's cloak for Lady Alys, featuring a bronze disk on white wool, surrounded by flames made of crimson silk. The echo of the Karstark sunburst was there, altered to suit House Thenn.

The Magnar nearly tore the maiden's cloak from Alys but was gentle when wrapping her in her bride's cloak. As he leaned in to kiss her cheek, their breaths mingled. The flames roared again, and the queen's men began to sing praises.

"Is it done?" Jon heard Satin whisper.

"Done and done," Mully replied. "And a good thing, too. They're wed, and I'm half-frozen."

He was bundled in his best blacks, the wool so new it hadn't faded yet, but the wind had turned his cheeks as red as his hair.

"Hobb's mulled some wine with cinnamon and cloves. That'll warm us some."

"What's cloves?" Owen the Oaf asked.

Snow began to fall more heavily, and the fire in the ditch flickered out. The crowd dispersed, kings' and queens' men, along with free folk, all eager to escape the cold.

"Will my lord be feasting with us?" Mully asked Jon Snow.

"Shortly." Jon knew Sigorn might take offense if he didn't show up. This marriage was his doing, after all. But first, he had other matters to handle.

Jon walked over to Queen Selyse, Ghost at his side. His boots crunched through the snow. Clearing paths between buildings was getting harder. More men were using the underground passages they called wormways.

"Such a beautiful rite," the queen remarked. "I felt our lord's fiery gaze upon us. I've begged Stannis to let us marry again—a true union blessed by the Lord of Light. If we were bound in fire, I could give His Grace more children."

To provide him more children, you'd first need to share his bed. Even at the Wall, it was known that Stannis Baratheon had ignored his wife for years. One could only guess how he felt about a second wedding amid his war.

Jon bowed. "If it pleases Your Grace, the feast awaits."

The queen eyed Ghost suspiciously before turning to Jon. "Of course. Lady Melisandre knows the way."

The red priestess interjected, "I must attend to my fires, Your Grace. Perhaps R'hllor will grant me a glimpse of His Grace. Maybe even a great victory."

Queen Selyse looked troubled. "Let us pray for a vision from our lord..."

"Satin, show Her Grace to her place," Jon instructed.

Ser Malegorn stepped forward. "I will escort Her Grace to the feast. We won't need your... steward."

The way he emphasized the last word hinted at something else he considered saying—boy? Pet? Whore?

Jon bowed again. "As you wish. I shall join you shortly."

Ser Malegorn offered his arm, and Queen Selyse took it stiffly, her other hand resting on her daughter's shoulder. The royal entourage followed them, marching to the sound of bells on the fool's hat.

"Under the sea, the mermen feast on starfish soup, and all the serving men are crabs," Patchface sang as they progressed. "I know, I know, oh, oh, oh."

Melisandre's expression darkened. "That creature is dangerous. I've seen him in my flames, often with skulls around him and blood on his lips."

It's surprising she hasn't had him burned. A single word to the queen could send Patchface to the flames.

"You see fools in your fire but no sign of Stannis?"

"When I search for him, all I see is snow."

Clydas sent a raven to Deepwood Motte to alert the king about Arnolf Karstark's betrayal, but Jon had no way of knowing if it reached him in time. The Braavosi banker was also seeking Stannis, guided by Jon's chosen men, but given the war and harsh weather, finding him seemed unlikely.

"Would you know if the king is dead?" Jon asked the red priestess.

"He is not dead. Stannis is the Lord's chosen, destined to lead the fight against the dark. I have seen it in the flames, read of it in ancient prophecy. When the red star bleeds and the darkness gathers, Azor Ahai shall be born again amidst smoke and salt to wake dragons out of stone. Dragonstone is the place of smoke and salt."

Jon had heard this before. "Stannis Baratheon was the Lord of Dragonstone, but he wasn't born there. He was born at Storm's End, like his brothers." He frowned. "And what of Mance? Is he lost as well? What do your fires show?"

"The same, I fear. Only snow."

Jon knew it was snowing heavily to the south. The kingsroad was reported impassable just two days' ride away. Melisandre was aware of this too. To the east, a fierce storm raged on the Bay of Seals. Their fleet, meant to rescue the free folk from Hardhome, was still stuck at Eastwatch-by-the-Sea due to the rough seas.

"You are seeing cinders dancing in the updraft."

"I see skulls. And you. I see your face every time I look into the flames. The danger I warned you about grows close now."

"Daggers in the dark. I know. You will forgive my doubts, my lady. A grey girl on a dying horse, fleeing from a marriage, that was what you said."

"I was not wrong."

"You were not right. Alys is not Arya."

"The vision was true. My reading was false. I am as mortal as you, Jon Snow. All mortals err."

"Even lord commanders."

Mance Rayder and his spearwives had not returned. Jon wondered if the red woman had a hidden agenda. Was she playing her own game?

"You would do well to keep your wolf beside you, my lord."

"Ghost is seldom far."

The direwolf perked up at the sound of his name. Jon scratched behind Ghost's ears.

"But now you must excuse me. Ghost, with me."

The ice cells were carved from the Wall's base, secured with heavy wooden doors. They varied in size—some allowed a man to pace, while others forced prisoners to sit or even lay cramped. Jon had assigned his chief captive the largest cell, complete with a pail, furs to stay warm, and a skin of wine.

It took the guards a while to open the cell, as ice had formed in the lock. The rusty hinges creaked when Wick Whittlestick pulled the door wide enough for Jon to enter. A faint smell of waste hit him, but it wasn't as strong as he feared. Even waste froze solid in the bitter cold. Jon's reflection flickered in the icy walls.

In one corner, a large pile of furs shifted.

"Karstark," Jon called.

The furs moved, some frozen together, glistening with frost. An arm appeared, followed by a face—brown hair matted with grey, fierce eyes, a nose, a mouth, and a beard, all caked in ice.

"Snow."

His breath fogged the cold air.

"You have no right to hold me. The laws of hospitality—"

"You are no guest of mine. You came to the Wall without my permission, armed, to take your niece against her will. Lady Alys was given bread and salt. She is a guest. You are a prisoner." Jon paused before adding, "Your niece is wed."

Cregan Karstark bared his teeth. "Alys was promised to me." Despite being over fifty, he had once been strong, but the cold had drained that strength, leaving him weak.

"My lord father—"

"Your father is a castellan, not a lord. Castellans can't make marriage deals."

"My father, Arnolf, is Lord of Karhold."

"A son comes before an uncle, according to the laws I know." Cregan struggled to stand, kicking the furs off his ankles.

"Harrion is dead." Or will be soon.

"If her brother is dead, Karhold belongs to Lady Alys. She's promised to Sigorn, Magnar of Thenn."

"A wildling. A filthy, murdering wildling." Cregan's fists clenched. His leather gloves were lined with fur, matching the stiff cloak draped over his shoulders. His black surcoat bore the white sunburst of his house.

"I see what you are, Snow. Half wolf, half wildling. You would deliver a highborn maid to a savage. Did you sample her first?" He laughed. "If you mean to kill me, do it. You'll be a kinslayer. Stark and Karstark share blood."

"My name is Snow."

"Bastard."

"Guilty. At least of that."

"Let this Magnar come to Karhold. We'll cut off his head and use it as a privy decoration."

"Sigorn leads two hundred Thenns," Jon pointed out. "Lady Alys thinks Karhold will welcome her. Two of your men have already pledged to her and confirmed your father's plans with Ramsay Snow. You have family at Karhold. A word from you could save them. Yield the castle. Lady Alys will pardon the women and allow the men to join the Night's Watch."

Cregan shook his head. Ice clung to his hair and clicked as he moved. "Never," he said. "Never, never, never."

Jon thought about making Cregan's head a wedding gift for Lady Alys and her Magnar, but he hesitated. The Night's Watch stayed out of the realm's conflicts. Beheading Cregan could lead to claims that he was killing northmen for wildlings. Letting him go might ruin everything Jon had built with Lady Alys and the Magnar.

He wondered how his father or uncle would handle this. But Eddard Stark was dead, and Benjen Stark was lost beyond the Wall.

You know nothing, Jon Snow.

"Never is a long time," Jon said. "You might change your mind tomorrow or in a year. King Stannis will come back to the Wall; when he does, he'll want you dead... unless you're in a black cloak. Taking the black clears your past. Even for someone like you. Now excuse me. I have a feast to attend."

The cold of the ice cells faded as Jon entered the crowded cellar. The heat hit him hard. The air was thick with smoke, roasting meat, and mulled wine. Axell Florent raised a toast as Jon took his place on the dais.

"To King Stannis and his wife, Queen Selyse, Light of the North!" Ser Axell shouted. "To R'hllor, the Lord of Light, may he defend us all! One land, one god, one king!"

"One land, one god, one king!" the queen's men shouted. Jon drank with the others, unsure if Alys Karstark would find happiness in her marriage. For now, this night was meant for celebration.

The stewards served the first dish: onion broth with bits of goat and carrot. It wasn't fancy, but it was hearty and satisfying. Owen the Oaf picked up his fiddle, joined by free folk with their pipes and drums. Jon thought their music sounded better now than when they played to signal Mance Rayder's attack on the Wall.

Alongside the broth came warm loaves of coarse brown bread. Salt and butter decorated the tables. This sight made Jon uneasy. Bowen Marsh had mentioned they had enough salt, but the butter would be gone soon.

Old Flint and The Norrey sat in high honor below the dais. They were too old to fight with Stannis but had sent their sons instead. Yet, they rushed to Castle Black for the wedding.

He doubted that two seasoned warriors would come down from their hills just for a wedding. Each had brought a band of fighters—Old Flint with five, The Norrey with twelve. They wore tattered skins and tough leathers, looking fierce. Some had long beards, others bore scars, and all honored the old northern gods, like those worshiped by the free folk beyond the Wall. Yet, here they were, toasting a marriage blessed by a strange red god from across the sea.

Better to drink than refuse. Neither Flint nor Norrey spilled their wine. This might mean they accepted the occasion—or perhaps they just didn't want to waste good southern wine. They likely hadn't tasted much of it up in their rocky hills.

Between courses, Ser Axell Florent led Queen Selyse onto the dance floor. The queen's knights paired with her ladies. Ser Brus danced with Princess Shireen first, then her mother. Ser Narbert took turns dancing with each of Selyse's companions. The queen's knights outnumbered the ladies three to one, so even serving girls joined in.

After a few songs, some black brothers remembered their courtly skills from before they were sent to the Wall. Ulmer of the Kingswood danced skillfully, probably sharing stories of his past adventures. Satin danced gracefully, twirling with the serving girls but avoiding highborn ladies. Jon found this prudent. He noticed Ser Patrek of King's Mountain eyeing the steward, sensing trouble brewing.

Laughter erupted when Owen the Oaf danced with Patchface the fool. Lady Alys smiled.

"Do you dance often, here at Castle Black?"

"Every time there's a wedding, my lady," Jon said.

"You could dance with me. It would be courteous. You danced with me when we were children."

"Anon?" Jon teased.

"As you know well." She tore off a piece of bread and tossed it at him.

"My lady should dance with her husband."

"My Magnar doesn't dance, I'm afraid. If you won't dance with me, at least pour me some mulled wine."

"As you command." He signaled for a flagon.

"So," Alys said as Jon poured, "I'm now a married woman. A wildling husband with his own wildling army."

"They call themselves free folk. Most of them. The Thenns are different. Very old."

Ygritte had told him that. You know nothing, Jon Snow.

"They come from a hidden vale at the north end of the Frostfangs, surrounded by high peaks. They've had more dealings with giants than with other men. It sets them apart."

"Different," she said, "but more like us."

"Aye, my lady. The Thenns have lords and laws. They know how to kneel. They mine tin and copper for bronze. They forge their own arms and armor instead of stealing it. A proud and brave people. Mance Rayder had to defeat the old Magnar three times before Styr would accept him as King-Beyond-the-Wall."

"And now they are here, on our side of the Wall. Driven from their mountains and into my bedchamber." She smiled wryly.

"It's my own fault. My lord father told me to charm your brother Robb, but I was only six and didn't know how."

"Aye, but now you're almost sixteen. We must hope you know how to charm your new husband."

"My lady, how are things at Karhold with your food stores?"

"Not well," Alys sighed. "My father took most of our men south. Only women and young boys are left to harvest. The old and crippled men stay behind. The crops are dying in the fields, ruined by autumn rains. Now that winter is here, it will be tough. Many old people and children will not survive."

Jon understood her pain. "My father's grandmother was a Flint from the mountains," he shared. "The First Flints, they call themselves. The other Flints are younger sons who left to find food and land. Life in those mountains is harsh. When food runs low, the young go to winter towns or serve at castles. The old men try to hunt, but many don't return come spring."

"It's the same at Karhold," Alys replied.

"When your supplies run low, think of us. Send your old men to the Wall. They won't die alone in the snow; they will have our words for warmth. If you have boys to spare, send them too."

"As you say." She touched his hand. "Karhold remembers."

The elk was being carved, and it smelled better than Jon expected. He sent some to Leathers at Hardin's Tower and roast vegetables for Wun Wun, then enjoyed a slice himself. Three-Finger Hobb had done well, easing Jon's worry. Hobb had complained two nights ago, saying he joined the Night's Watch to fight wildlings, not cook for them. "Besides, I never done no wedding feast, m'lord. Black brothers don't take wives. It's in the vows, I swear."

Jon was washing down his meal with mulled wine when Clydas appeared beside him.

"A bird," he said, handing Jon a parchment sealed with black wax. Jon recognized it as a message from Maester Harmune regarding Eastwatch. Cotter Pyke couldn't read or write, so the note captured his words exactly.

The message was clear: calm seas today, eleven ships headed for Hardhome at dawn. Three from Braavos, four from Lys, and four of their own. Two of the Lyseni ships were barely seaworthy. The reality? They might save fewer wildlings than they'd lose.

Jon noted the command details: twenty ravens aboard, Maester Harmune sending reports. Talon would lead, with Tattersalt second on Blackbird, and Ser Glendon in charge at Eastwatch.

"Dark wings, dark words?" Alys Karstark asked.

"No, my lady. This news was long awaited." But Jon felt uneasy. Glendon Hewett was a capable man, but he had ties to Alliser Thorne and Janos Slynt, which troubled Jon. He still remembered Hewett dragging him from his bed and kicking him. Not the choice I would have made.

He rolled the parchment and tucked it into his belt. The fish course was next, but while the pike was being prepared, Lady Alys brought the Magnar to the floor. Sigorn, clearly a novice at dancing, had enough mulled wine in him that it didn't matter.

"A northern maid and a wildling warrior, bound together by the Lord of Light," someone remarked.

Ser Axell Florent took Alys's seat. "Her Grace approves. I know her well. King Stannis will approve too."

Unless Roose Bolton has stuck his head on a spear.

"Not all agree, alas." Ser Axell's beard was a wild mess. Hair grew from his ears and nostrils.

"Ser Patrek thinks he'd have been a better match for Lady Alys. He lost his lands when he came north."

"There are many in this hall who have lost more than that," Jon replied. "And many have given their lives for the realm. Ser Patrek should count himself lucky."

Axell smiled. "The king might agree if he were here. But we must make provisions for His Grace's loyal knights. They've followed him at great cost. This marriage is a good first step. It gets me thinking about my own match."

Jon sighed. "You are persistent, Ser Axell. Who has caught your eye?"

"Do you blame me, my lord? If Rhaegar's daughter weren't so well-guarded, I'd try to win her over. A fine prize, indeed. I hear she's young and attractive. Good for having children."

Jon didn't know the woman, but he found it hard to believe she'd marry the uncle-in-law of the brother of her father's murderer. "Who would father these children? Ser Patrek? You?"

"Who better? We Florents have the blood of the old Gardener kings. Lady Melisandre could perform the rites, as she did for Lady Alys."

"All you lack is a bride." Jon knew Dorne would never willingly give their last princess to him, especially not after all they'd lost.

"Easily fixed." Axell's smile was forced. "I'll marry her and have my own sons."

Jon wondered if the man's niece knew about his plans... or Stannis.

Jon had reached his limit. "Ser Axell, if you are truly the Queen's Hand, I pity Her Grace." Florent's face turned red with anger. "So it is true. The bastard wants his father's seat." But the bastard had rejected that seat.

"I need a breath of fresh air," he said, turning away. "It stinks in here."

Suddenly, a horn sounded. Others heard it too. The music and laughter stopped. Dancers froze, listening intently. Even Ghost perked up his ears.

"Did you hear that?" Queen Selyse asked her knights.

"A warhorn, Your Grace," said Ser Narbert. The queen instinctively touched her throat.

"Are we under attack?"

"No, Your Grace," Ulmer of the Kingswood replied. "It's just the watchers on the Wall."

Jon Snow thought of the rangers returning. Then the horn blasted again, echoing in the cellar.

"Two blasts," said Mully.

All fell silent—Black brothers, northmen, free folk, Thenns, queen's men. Five heartbeats passed. Then ten. Then twenty. Finally, Owen the Oaf chuckled, easing Jon's tension.

"Two blasts," he declared. "Wildlings."

Tormund Giantsbane had finally arrived.