The morning broke through the window with a heady freshness. The young Stark man's embrace was as strong as his muscles, which felt like hard bundles of steel running beneath his skin. Ryella could see it, and with the tips of her fingers she felt out the scars, the edges of bruises and cut scars. The memory of the night's pleasure and pain almost lulled her soul to sleep, and covered her consciousness with a numbing black dust, though she had been awake for a long time. She and her lover went to the fresh water springs and bathed naked in the water of the stream that rose from the great rocks. Perhaps the night-nuptial was conceived, for the God of the Seven is said by the Septons to send forth souls unexpectedly, that they may be clothed in the woven sheaths of flesh. But if there is no child now, it matters not, for she is a woman now. The wedding that sanctifies it will soon be. Their souls were united long before their bodies were born in the earthly world. Jon Snow was happy when they rode out to the river. How great it was to be with him at night, and now to walk through the familiar trees and out to the banks of the little river that flows behind the high stone and iron castle wall.
- "Will you take me with you?" she asked when they reached the tall trees rising behind the castle walls. - "You will take me with you, won't you?
- 'Let's rest here,' said Jon Snow, and he was silent for a while.
They both halted their horses by the tall, white-trunked crow-trees. Jon Snow thought it best not to enter behind the dark mounds of earth where Robb Stark's bodyguards roamed the walls, the paths left wide between tents and houses. Here, in the fragrant sanctuary of the trees, he felt invincible, unlike when his wife's betrothed, Ramsay, might still be whispering in Ryella's father's ear, trying to make their marriage impossible.
- 'I will soon build a hall of command in Rickard's castle,' said Jon Snow, as he dismounted. - The winters will be cold, but there is wood in the forest enough to feed our fire with its warmth.
Ryella admired Jon Snow's muscular back and the way his long hair swayed in the wind as she searched for a suitable place to shoe her horse. She now stroked her eyes over his handsome features. These eyes were dark, but they saw more than her own. At this moment, Ryella would have been ready to go with the Stark bastard anywhere Jon Snow wanted to go. She would want to take this fire burning in the two of their souls, even to the dark endless mountains of Castle Black or the kingdom beyond the Wall. To the snow-covered, cold and distant world from which Jon Snow had returned, and of which he had told her so much. Or she could go with him, all the way to the frozen wastes of the North, where the sun never rises all winter and the black sky pulses with the dancing shadows of the Night King's shape-shifting, undead servants. The bones of horses are scraped from under the snow in winter, and wildlings in terrifying masks roar, shaking bloody spears in their ancient forests. At least that's how she'd heard of these northern peoples in her nanny's tales. Whose existence Jon Snow himself confirmed, and told how he had fought and defeated them.
- When? When can I truly be your lawful wife?
The man stood watching Ryella, then sat on a fallen, rotting tree trunk and stretched out his strong legs.
- 'Once my brother is High King of all the Starks, and the septons summon the shining gods of the afterlife before our eyes. Then. But not before.
Jon Snow said this "no before" in a way befitting a warlord, without contradiction. Ryella was a little startled, but she knew there was nothing she could do but accept her fate. A pang of guilt crept over her, wondering if she hadn't inevitably offended him. Then she shook the self-destructive thoughts from her mind. Jon Snow was proud, proud above all things. She knew instinctively that she could not insult herself, and through herself, her husband's dignity, by speaking unworthily. In spite of, or perhaps because of, her mother, her Frey lineage was no less vile than that of the Stark's of the North! Partly a Stark herself, partly a descendant of Lord Walder Frey. Would her ancestor, Cregan Stark, who speared the head of the king of wildlings and whom she looks up to as a role model, have fled if his wife, or anyone else, had not answered what he wanted to know?
- Why not, Jon Snow? "Why not?" she asked with a clear ringing determination, though she could feel her heart beating faster as she thought of a few more unanswerable questions.
And if Robb Stark doesn't become the High King of all Starks? What if Rodrik isn't? Her feminine instinct unerringly sensed that Stark's young soul was burning and gnawing with the same questions. What would become of them, of their love, if the realm fell into turmoil and kings and princes were set against each other? What will happen then? Ryella gave herself the answer. What would it be? What will happen is what must happen. She would do what she must then and there, as befits a queen! Jon Snow looked up, hearing a rustling under the tall trees. At this, Ryella snapped her head up: a fluffy black wolf was running behind one of the dark bushes, holding some food in its mouth. Ryella did not hide her delight, a smile sparkling in her eyes.
- We must wait, Ryella, patiently, for things to settle down. Robert was undoubtedly killed on that hunt. And if it should turn out that the Lannisters were somehow involved...
- Then what?
- War.
- Are you sure?
- That's for Robb to decide, not Rickard.
With a sudden movement, she jumped off her horse, stepped up to him, and put her arm around his waist. Jon Snow accepted her advances, rested her head on his breast and stroked her long hair. It was a moment like a piece of the fabric of the afterlife. The soft breeze from the low, wooded hills enveloped them like the caressing hand of a nurse.
- If war does indeed break out, and Lord Rickard sides with my father, I want to be by your side in the fight.
- 'You will be by my side,' Jon Snow said, and in response he squeezed Ryella's arm so tightly that she felt a slight ache. - I will come for you, even if I have to burn your father's palace and put all his warriors to the sword. Rickard has enough allies to bring Robb Stark and his comrades and his armies to their knees if the dark gods of Winterfell choose war. If Robb turns against him, or if he is found to be the murderer, he will sweep him from the face of the earth. I've seen my cousin lead war before, he is truly invincible! Before every mission, he prepares a battle plan. In his bag, with details that only he knows, he reveals only when absolutely necessary, then only to those he affects, and only as much as the turn of the operation requires. We can be sure that he has worked out the most perfect way of doing this.
All Ryella heard from Ramsay and everyone else was that Robb was stronger.
- The first time I saw you, Jon Snow, and you didn't say a word to me, I sensed the spirit of the wolf in you. You didn't come to my father's castle to take a wife.
- No.
- Yet it was so.
- It is so. Your father wanted me to choose between the women of House Karstark or House Greystark. He had already made a bargain with one of the chieftains when I saw you.
- And I traveled to Dreadfort with my father to be shown to a snow bastard of the Bolton clan. But my father was secretly hoping that one of Walder Frey's sons had his eye on me!
- The gods wanted it differently," Jon Snow noted. - I'm here first!
- And you have incurred the wrath of many clans.
A determined smile flashed across Jon Snow's face.
- I do not care. I am Eddard's son and Rickard's grandson. I am Stark, born of the Wolf. I make law and order when necessary. My father, as the blood of Barthogan, the firstborn of Rickard Stark, should have been a great king!
- I'm worthy of you, Jon Snow, I'm worthy of Stark blood - Ryella took a deep breath and pulled herself out. - I come from the ancient line of King Cregan Stark.
- The pure blood in our veins spoke to the blood, we belong together. Tywin's heels can never claim the Iron Throne. Their blood is not pure, nor their power. Without armies, the houses will not follow. They are too weak for power, which, if they were coveted, Robb or Rickard would sweep them all away like a windstorm sweeping leaves. Except perhaps one of them.
- Who?
- His name is Jaime Lannister. He led the attack in the Red Mountains, just over the southern border.
- Will he be on the small council?
- I don't know.
- Why not?
- Tywin's son, not Robert's. He might have the power to take the Iron Throne, but the clans would never recognise him because of Lannister's birth.
- And then?" urged Ryella. - And what happens after Rickard gets the better of Robb Stark?
- I will come for you and make you my lawful wife.
- And what will you do then? You said that Rickard considers you his true heir, not his sons or your older brother, Casta. Why is that?
Jon Snow pondered the answer as his eyes stared into the endless sky. Slowly he formed the words, but as he spoke, they burned with a fire as intense as the lightning burning through a showering cloud.
- According to our birth father, a shadow fell on us at birth. The shadow of Winterfell. Me and Casta. He saw the wolf. Our uncle Benjen saw his shadow too, when Master Luwin, the keeper of Barthogan's tomb, examined the marks. The white wolf fell upon both of us, but with the power of his spirit, the fire of his soul, the true fire that the shadow that fell upon both of us carried, he blessed only me.