"Stop fighting, you great ugly aurochs of a woman! Here's your blasted Morganna, though she's no lady, just another bastard like the Bull here,"

Ross looked up sharply from tacking her horse as she heard the sounds of a commotion approaching their camp, the dulcet tones of Lem Lemoncloak snarling in frustration.

"Fuck off, Lem," Gendry - who Ross was certain was yet another child of Robert Baratheon - grumbled.

Morganna had been sat round the remnants of last night's fire repairing a tear in her cloak, and looked up at the sound of her name. Ross stood some distance away, preparing her horse for the day's journey, and couldn't help but smile as she saw Brienne of Tarth being wrestled into the clearing by several members of the Brotherhood.

Brienne only had eyes for Morganna and didn't notice her, sagging in relief to see the girl alive and apparently well.

"Lady Morganna," She stopped fighting, much to the relief of the bruised and sweating men escorting her; Notch was nursing a bloody nose, Harwin a black eye. "I was going round the village asking if anyone had seen you, and these men told me they had you here - I though you were being held hostage," She flushed slightly, seeing the damage she had caused to the men. "Sorry, sers,"

"None of us lot are sers," Harwin snorted. "We have a lord, though, and a lady,"

He gestured at Ross, and it was only then that Brienne noticed her. Big blue eyes grew impossibly wide and her mouth hung open slightly in shock. Many of the Brotherhood began to laugh.

"Hello Brienne,"

"My lady!" She exclaimed, seeming oblivious to the laughter around her. "But you're - "

"Dead?" She was already weary of people she knew looking at her like they'd seen a ghost. "Apparently not. Bolton's men couldn't find a pulse if it was spraying them in the face from a severed artery,"

Once Brienne had gotten over her astonishment, and giddy relief, she swore up and down to stick with them whatever they chose to do next. Ross was glad of Brienne's company now she was here, particularly when she spoke of how she had faced a dozen men alone trying to protect Morganna. That was until they were around the fire that night and the young woman inquired after Ross' unborn child.

"Gone," Was all she could say.

She had passed the baby about a week after Thoros and Beric found her in the woods, labour pains coming over her when they were within an hour's ride of an inn. She knew then that the child was dead, if the blood between her legs when she awoke from death hadn't been indicator enough.

The innkeep's wife had assisted her, and none of the Brotherhood had said a word on the matter after she emerged downstairs again hours later with a face of stone and a small bloody bundle to bury. The men seemed to have come to the unspoken conclusion that this was women's business, not their place to speak of, which she was grateful for.

Ross always knew it was extremely unlikely that her unborn child had survived - considering that she had died, no matter for how brief a time - but she mourned the loss regardless. Labour was still a painful and bloody affair; not so much as birthing a full-grown baby, but a pregnancy of four or five months was sizeable enough. Knowing the child would not be alive at the end made it so much worse.

Thoros had speculated later that her pregnancy might have been the reason for her returning from the dead so remarkably unchanged. Perhaps the child was not yet dead when they had performed the ritual, and its life had gone into her. Ross had had very little to say to the knowledge that she may have leeched the life from her unborn baby.

A son, the innkeep's wife had told her. Ross refused to name him, burying the tiny body in the ground under a tree in the Riverlands, and trying to bury her grief with it too. There were greater things to worry about than a baby who never drew breath, or so she told herself.

Her grief for Ned, for Brandon, Lyanna, Father, even her mother, had never left her, or lessened at all, but she learned to deal with the pain. These deaths were a dull ache now, still just as painful but familiar, not the stabbing wounds they had been initially. She had never let herself grieve this child properly, simply built up a wall to prevent her feeling at all. Surrounded by the company she was in, Ross had got used to people not mentioning it, and Brienne's words had shown that these walls weren't so strong after all. The kind, well-meant words from this gentle, naive child - or perhaps not so naive or childish anymore - cut deep.

"I'm so sorry, my lady," The young woman looked genuinely regretful. "I'll run Lord Bolton through for what he did to you," There was determination in her voice, righteous justice and resolve.

Ross stared into the fire so she didn't have to look at those guileless blue eyes. She could've given an acerbic reply to that, or ignored it completely. "Thank you, Brienne," She said instead, trying not to cry.

They remained in the Riverlands until word came that the Northern host was leaving Harrenhal to return home, then began their own journey the same way, out of the way of any scouts, but near enough. Ross knew that she needed to let it be known that she was alive at some point. It was awful knowing that her family and Jaime thought her dead. But having been stabbed in the heart the last time she confronted Roose Bolton, she wanted to do this properly.

For that, she needed Ren.

As well as Tom of Sevenstreams - who was sent into the camp to pose as a musician and spy on the goings on there - they sent Dennett, one of the most plain, ordinary-looking members of the Brotherhood who would easily pass as a foot soldier. He carried a message for her son, signed by Beric Dondarrion, claiming that they were outlaws who had his sister Morganna and to come to them alone that night.

Her son was wary, of course. He would've been foolish not to have been, given how his mother and cousin had been murdered. Whilst Ren did attend alone, he had Grey Wind, Nymeria and Crow prowling at his back as his horse stepped into the clearing, sword glinting in the moonlight. To his left, Dennett melted away into the woods, heading back to the Brotherhood's camp a short ride away.

Ren's expression didn't change when he saw his mother, stood beside Morganna with her arm on her shoulder, though he did stop the horse dead in its tracks. The wolves stopped too, and Grey Wind let out one long howl.

Her son dismounted, not taking his eyes off her for a moment.

"How?" Was all he asked, not doubting it was her for a moment.

Ross realised that she didn't know how much he actually knew of what had happened, whether he had worked out that the body they paraded through Harrenhal was a dead whore and not her.

"I wasn't as dead as they thought I was when they dumped me in the woods," She said, relieved that his reaction wasn't so dramatic as everyone else's. "I'm travelling with the Brotherhood Without Banners, which includes a Red Priest. He healed me,"

"The Bolton men," Her son was grinning now, taking her explanation at face value, or perhaps not caring enough to delve deeper seeing as she was here now. "A dozen hanged next to the road. I suppose that's your work,"

Ross smiled. "Of course,"

Ren was never one for lots of affection, and neither was she, but Morganna rushed forward to hug her brother, pulling Ross along by the wrist to join their embrace.

"I always knew he killed you," Her son muttered into her hair. "It could never have been an accident. I just didn't know how. Morganna was drugged up by that awful maester, she couldn't answer any questions," He looked at his sister. "I almost ran Bolton through when he said he'd sent you to marry his bastard..." He drew back. "Jaime didn't look well, last time I saw him. I had to stop him rushing to the side of whoever's corpse they paraded into Harrenhal,"

Ross grimaced, though a part of her was shamefully glad that he cared enough to grieve.

"I won't stay dead forever," She said. "From what I understand they're trying to marry Edrick to Sansa,"

"And Bolton's Lord Paramount until Edrick's sixteen, yes," Ren's face showed exactly what he thought of that. "Though if you reappeared and told of what he did to you and Robb, the lords would kill him for sure,"

"Perhaps," She said. "Though from what I hear, my name has recently been dragged through the mud. I don't want to risk accusing him when I don't know where I stand, and don't want anyone interfering. Which is why we need you,"

"I'm a step ahead of you," He smiled then. "I've already begun to test out which of the lords could potentially be persuaded to rise against Bolton. Subtly, of course. But more importantly, because of this I've been writing to Lord Manderly - he saw through whatever I was suggesting, as his letter yesterday said that he knows the whereabouts of Rickon Stark,"

"Rickon's alive?" Morganna exclaimed.

Ross was just as shocked; whilst she had thought Starks were dropping like flies - herself included - apparently they were just disappearing off the face of the earth.

"Where is he, then?" She asked. "He's the rightful Lord of Winterfell,"

"Manderly didn't say," Ren frowned slightly. "He wants me to go to White Harbour myself to find out. We'll have to go about this carefully,"

"If Bolton hears even the slightest hint Rickon is alive, he'll be dead in a week," Ross agreed. "You and Wyman Manderly too,"

"Not to mention it'll put him on his guard," He said. "Like I said before, you can march right into that camp now to reveal you're alive and what Bolton did, but there's nothing stopping him fleeing back to the Dreadfort. A siege is the last thing we want, particularly when his bastard holds Edrick, Aileen and Lady Catelyn in Winterfell,"

Ross hummed in agreement. "This is all providing that Lord Wyman is being honest with us," She said. "I know and like the man, and from what I've seen he's loyal to the Starks, but I'm sure you understand my concern,"

"That thought did cross my mind," Ren grimaced. "Look, if I remain with the Boltons and Arya, to keep her safe, I'll carry on working on some of the lords. You travel to White Harbour and see if Manderly's telling the truth. Sansa should be arriving there soon from the Vale, too - I'll as Lord Wyman to keep her there as long as possible,"

"If we have Rickon, that'll make things a lot easier," She said. "If not, Sansa truly is Lady of Winterfell and I'm glad it's Edrick marrying her as he'll hardly have any interest in ruling himself. After that we just need to kill off Bolton and his bastard,"

Grey Wind chose that moment to let out a plaintive noise.

"Oh yes," Her son grinned then, glancing at the wolf. "You know I spoke of dreams where I wore Crow's skin, and times in battle where I wasn't sure if I was man or wolf? All the Starks have that connection. When Robb's body died, his mind went into Grey Wind. He understands everything,"

Ross could only stare, first at Ren and then the great beast he claimed was his cousin, unable to find any words for that. Part of her just couldn't believe it. Perhaps this was what everyone felt upon seeing her alive again. She wondered if they too felt the sense of crippling guilt and failure that she did now.

"Robb? Truly?" Morganna asked, heartbreakingly hopeful.

The direwolf nodded and Ross took in a sharp intake of breath. Her daughter let out a shriek of joy and ran to throw her arms around Grey Wind, but she herself hung back.

"Robb, I - I'm sorry. I watched you die, I let you - " Her words caught in her throat as Grey Wind - Robb - let out another whine, shaking his head.

"Does that mean you think there's nothing to forgive?" Ren asked knowingly.

The wolf nodded. Ross believed they both thought that, though didn't believe it was the truth.

"We'll have to come up with a better way of talking to you than yes or no questions," Morganna said. "If you want to stay with us, that is?"

"That's for the best," Ren said, even as his cousin nodded. "He's been trying to take a bite out of every man wearing a pink cloak,"

"Then he'll be in good company here," The girl smiled viciously.

*

"Skagos?" Ross asked flatly, staring at the fat old lord across the table. She had a great deal of respect for Wyman Manderly, but this was... unexpected.

"Yes, my lady," The man nodded. "Wex here was squire to Theon Greyjoy when he held Winterfell," He gestured to the sullen-looking boy sat beside him. "He's mute, so it took us a while to teach him to read and write, but when he could, he told us many things. He hid from the Boltons during the sacking of the castle and swears he saw Bran and Rickon leave alive, the direwolves too. He followed Rickon and the wildling woman escorting him, long enough to know their final destination - Skagos,"

The news could've been worse, but not by much.

"This woman took a four-year-old lord's son to an island inhabited by savages and cannibals who sacrifice humans to heart trees and still practice the right of first night?" She closed her eyes briefly. "What makes you trust this boy so much? This could all be one big joke. He was with the Turncloak, who took Winterfell in the first place,"

"I have sent men to Skagos myself in the past weeks," Manderly said. "They returned empty handed and terrified, having been driven off the island by such savages, though bearing reports of a wild, auburn-haired boy of six, who rides a monstrous black direwolf and is hosted by the Crowls but comes and goes as he pleases. For whatever reason, the Crowls insist that they will not give him up to anyone but a Stark,"

That was how Ross ended up in a small ship with Brienne of Tarth, Grey Wind and a dozen of so of Lord Manderly's best sailors, traversing the Bite, the Shivering Sea and then finally the Bay of Seals. She had never particularly liked the sea, and never more so than now. The waves seemed likely to swallow the small boat whole, and the wind out here scared her far more than the winds that howled around Winterfell during the depths of winter.

They landed on a rocky beach, one of the only stretches of shore that wasn't a sheer cliff. Even so, they had still had to wend their way through a field of sharp, jagged rocks that threatened to tear the hull from their ship, then take a smaller landing boat onto the island itself so as not to run aground. Being one of the only beaches on the island, there were a good number of fishing boats there, and a small village on the cliff. And, of course, the Skagosi.

Their stares were half-curious, half-hostile, and followed their boat as they rowed to shore; they were not used to outsiders. Admittedly, the sight of Grey Wind in the small boat was ridiculous, but Ross was not walking onto an island of reputed cannibals without a direwolf at her side. Not that Robb was going to let himself be left on the ship.

As predicted, they were surrounded the moment they made it to the beach, the Skagosi eyeing Grey Wind and their weapons warily. Most of the Manderly men were looking at them with equal suspicion.

"What is your business here?" One of them asked in what Ross recognised as a dialect of the Old Tongue, which more closely resembled the Common Tongue they used in the rest of Westeros.

"As if the mainlanders will understand you," Another scoffed.

"Rosennis Stark of Winterfell," Ross replied in the same language, which she knew the rudiments of, and all of the Skagosi looked surprised. "I am here to see The Crowl,"

After that, they were much more accommodating.

A young girl, Seren, was assigned to show them to the castle of Deepdown, leading up the cliff path that seemed more suited to goats than people. Despite Seren's slight build, she scrambled up those paths with ease, and seemed tough, more than able to use the axe she carried on her back

"The Old Tongue is not the only language on Skagos," She told Ross. "Many here use the Common Tongue day to day, though we all understand the Old Tongue. Some places, that's all they speak,"

"Look," Brienne nudged her as they reached the top of the cliffs. "Unicorns,"

Ross looked over to see a herd of the strangest creatures she had ever seen grazing on the tough grass that grew there. They were brown and shaggy, like a cross between a mountain goat and a sturdy northern pony, with a large horn protruding from the middle of their foreheads.

"They look rather more regal on the banners of House Brax," Ross remarked. These creatures looked more dangerous, albeit less purple. "Is it true you ride them?"

"Not into war," Seren grinned. "Too slow. But they're good for going up mountains. We'll be taking some to Deepdown,"

Not for the first time, Ross wondered what to expect from the castle. They had been told that it was half a day's ride away, in the mountains that rose up sharply from this small stretch of flat land. The village here was made of stone - she wasn't sure why that was surprising, there was more stone here than there were trees and the island itself was literally named 'Stone' in the Old Tongue - so surely Deepdown was as well, instead of a wooden hill fort.

"You're lucky you landed on this side of the island," Seren was quite talkative. "The Stanes to the east wouldn't be hostile but it wouldn't be as warm a welcome as us," Cold, suspicious stares and a single escort was all the welcome they had received, but Ross could not complain; they hadn't been eaten yet. "And as for the Magnars... They hold the least land of the island but are by far the proudest. They would not take kindly to any mainlander arriving here, let alone a Stark,"

"Are they where all the stories come from?" Brienne asked. "You know - eating people and sacrificing them to strange trees with carved faces,"

"Heart trees," Ross corrected, more coldly than she would've done normally so that Brienne got the hint not to accidentally insult the religion of these people.

"The only times I've heard of people eating other people," Seren said slowly. "Which is not common, mind, is in the depths of winter. When someone has slipped away and their family is cold and hungry. Would you have your children starve to show meaningless respect to someone dead and gone? I know if I died and my little son was hungry I wouldn't be angry for him surviving any way he could,"

Ross had underestimated her age. At Brienne's horrified expression, she stepped in.

"In the North, when their families are starving, old men will take themselves quietly off into the snow to die so as to give the others a greater share of food," She said. "Eating corpses is not such a great leap from that. Northern winters are barbaric, and men must do barbaric things," She turned to Seren. "Though I admit, I am curious. Do you sacrifice to weirwoods?"

"Animals," The girl admitted. "Mostly. I can't speak for what goes on up north,"

"What about the right of first night?"

For the first time, Seren grimaced. "It depends on the lord, Rosennis Stark,"

One thing she had noticed on Skagos was that titles such as lord and lady and ser were not respected. The use of one's surname was title enough, apparently, hence The Crowl and Rosennis Stark. Whilst the people here were wilder and tougher than the rest of Westeros, she was coming to realise they were not savages. At least here. Like Seren, Ross could not speak for the Magnars of the northern shore of Skagos. These people reminded her of what she had seen of the Northern mountain tribes; not quite wildling, but a world away from the courtly pleasantries of the south. They must let the rumours of savagery spread so they were left alone.

As Seren had promised, they entered the mountains on unicorns. Ross was used to horses, and tested the unicorn to see if she could ride it the same way, but found it as stubborn as the mules they had taken up to the Eyrie. The unicorns were much more wilful too, but with a little practice - and an amused smile on her face - Ross managed to get it to come to, its head bent elegantly like a palfrey's might under a good rider.

"How've you managed to make it look so pretty?" Seren laughed.

"Willpower," Ross grinned at the absurdity of it. Once all this was over - if she was still here - she might try and arrange some sort of trade deal with Lord Crowl; a dozen unicorns for good steel, perhaps.

Her first glimpse of Deepdown was disappointing. It was nothing more than a small fort built on a ridge halfway up the mountain. Then Ross looked closer and saw the many windows carved into the grey stone above and below it, and realised the castle proper was carved into the mountain. It's the Northern Casterly Rock. She smirked at the thought.

They approached the fort along the ridge, which was sparse and rocky, though looking down into the valley, Ross saw that it was covered in forest. The unmistakable red leaves of weirwood trees stood out amongst the green, an entire grove of them surrounding a clearing. She had never seen so many in one place. Had they been planted for the castle, or had the castle been built here because of them?

The red and black banners of House Crowl flew at the entrance to Deepdown, two huge wooden doors guarded by four sentries, as wild-looking as every other Skagosi they had seen. Ross vaguely remembered from her history lessons as a girl that a member of House Crowl had killed her however-many-greats grandfather... no, granduncle... when Skagos rebelled around ninety years ago. Best not think of that, before this meeting.

As they approached, two spears, an axe and a rusty sword were hefted their way.

"Who goes there?" One of the guards demanded.

"Rosennis Stark," She said. "The Crowl should be expecting us,"

They eyed each other, then her, then Grey Wind. One of the men leant over and muttered something in another's ear, before disappearing into the castle. Ten minutes later, he returned.

"The Crowl will see you," He said, leading them inside.

The floors, walls and ceilings were all carved stone, rough and bare; the only light came from the torches the guards carried. They were shown up a large staircase and into a surprisingly large hall, with windows high up near the ceiling, and a roaring fire. A heavily-bearded man no older than thirty sat at the end of the hall in a large, carved chair; unmistakably The Crowl. Beside him was a smaller chair, reserved for a very elderly woman. She looked small and withered in her seat, but her eyes were beady and bright. Around a dozen others stood around him, presumably his family.

"A direwolf," The Crowl eyed Grey Wind. "I suppose that proves it, then,"

"I was told you would only give Rickon over to a Stark," Ross inclined her head.

He nodded, watching her carefully. "I wondered when any of you would come. I wondered if any of you were left,"

"More than you'd think," She said. "My thanks for allowing us into your hall, my lord. I'm Rosennis Stark of Winterfell,"

Though the lord himself inclined his head graciously in acknowledgement, one of the younger women - a daughter or niece, perhaps - elbowed the girl beside her.

"She looks like a banshee," She giggled, speaking in the Old Tongue without bothering to lower her voice overmuch. "I'd have thought a Stark would be better fed,"

"A banshee would have combed their hair," The other snickered.

Ross' head snapped their way, and she replied in the same language. "I can scream like a banshee, if you like. I wonder if it would strike you both dead?"

Their faces fell comically. Robb could not understand the words spoken, but got the gist of the interaction, and growled. The rest of the family shifted nervously, a few hands going to weapons.

"Dara, Cinna," The Crowl snapped, displeased. "We treat guests better than that," Guest right here was even more sacred here than in the North, Seren had said. The man looked round at his family. "Everyone out. Except you, great-grandmother," He nodded at the crone sat beside him.

The family filed out of the room with some grumbling, though shot many curious looks at Ross and her companions, particular Grey Wind.

"Is it you who's the skinchanger?" The old woman asked Ross, voice rasping but sharp. "Or one of these others? Though they don't look very Stark," She narrowed her eyes, scanning each of their faces as though that could give it away. Perhaps it could.

"My nephew Robb was killed," Ross was surprised she had been able to tell. "The wolf was his,"

"And now it is him," The woman said knowingly. "So I am looking into the eyes of a dead man,"

"Robb Stark - The Stark in Winterfell?" The Crowl asked, curious.

"Yes," Ross nodded. "Of course with his death there is a new Stark. Everyone in the North believes it to be my niece Sansa, though I believe you may have seen another wolf such as this one?"

"As well as a boy believed dead?" The old woman grinned, showing a mouth half full with teeth, a surprising number given her age. "We might have,"

"If Rickon Stark is here," Ross saw no point dancing around the fact. "We would like him back. His place is at Winterfell, though we are most grateful for the sanctuary you have allowed him here,"

"I'll tell you of Rickon Stark," The old woman said. "If you'll hear me tell a story first,"

Ross glanced at Brienne and Robb. "Go ahead,"

The woman grinned again. "Ninety-one years ago, there lived a girl of four named Clera, whose father - The Crowl at the time - rebelled against House Stark, along with The Magnar and The Stane. The whole of Skagos against the King in the North,"

She had the kind of storytelling voice that everyone fell silent to listen to. Ross didn't correct her to say that the Starks had not been kings for three hundred years.

"The Stark beat them, of course, though he was killed in doing so. His younger brother took his place, a different kind of man, who didn't believe beating the Skagosi with fire and steel was enough - he proposed a marriage, between little Clera and his bastard son. She was her father's only child, see, and The Crowl had no plans for any more after his beloved died.

"The Stark bastard was a boy of eleven, and was sent from whichever castle he had lived in until then, forbidden from his father's home by his jealous wife. We have no such concepts of bastards here - instead he was mocked and bullied for being a mainlander, at first, even with the guard his father sent. But he grew up on the island, became a man with the ways of the Skagosi.

"Little Clera saw him as her best friend, the brother she never had, and had no concern marrying him when she turned fourteen. They remained the best of friends - he made her laugh, kept her safe and warm in the depths of winter, gave her lots of children, led her people fairly and well. Is that love? I suppose it is,"

Her sharp grin turned to more of a warm smile.

"Clera is me, of course, though many years ago, when I was much less shrivelled. My husband was Lonnel Snow, son of Lord Brandon Stark, and he was the best man I knew. So when a wildling woman comes to my door holding the hand of a little boy with the eyes of my dear Snow, a direwolf at his side and no mother... well, what could I do but let him share my hall and hearth? He looked like my youngest son - my hair was red once, believe it or not,"

A heavy silence.

"I can't thank you enough for keeping him safe," Ross said simply.

Clera Crowl laughed. "He's a wild one, little Rickon," She said. "As wolfish as that beast he rides. He comes and goes as he pleases. I wish you luck trying to get that one to be a lord," She paused. "In fact, I hear him now,"

Ross listened, amazed the ancient woman's hearing was better than her own. A few seconds later she heard the padding of clawed feet on stone. The door was opened by a tall woman with shaggy brown hair, though she only had eyes for the small boy walking beside the monstrous black direwolf like it was a child's pony, rather than a beast the size of a destrier.

Rickon's eyebrows rose at the sight of them and he stopped dead. And he didn't even know I was dead. Some day, the time would come when her family didn't look at her like they'd seen a ghost.

"Grey Wind!" He exclaimed, recognising the wolf immediately. "And... Auntie?"

His voice was more uncertain, and no wonder! The last time she had seen the boy he was only four, and that had been over two years ago. No doubt he remembered her as the strict aunt who had made him behave himself whilst his mother was away.

"Yes," She smiled. "Robb's here too, in Grey Wind,"

The direwolf took that cue to leap forward towards his little brother eagerly, though was careful when he lay down and reached out a huge paw to the boy.

"Robb!" Rickon flung his arms around Grey Wind, burying his face in his fur. It was telling that he didn't question for one second that his brother was a direwolf. "I missed you. You left, everyone left!" The wolf let out a whine. "Then the Ironmen came and Theon went bad, me and Bran and Osha had to hide in the crypts with Shaggy and Summer. Then others came, they killed Maester Luwin and burned Winterfell!"

"The others?" Ross asked sharply. "Wasn't it the Ironborn who burned Winterfell?"

"No," The boy looked up at her. "I saw them put Theon in chains,"

Hot fury washed over her, such as she hadn't felt since she was faced with the twelve men on the road. I should've known, that traitorous fucking...

"Boltons," She said, mouth a tight line, fighting to remember herself. "Rickon, how do you feel about going back to Winterfell and killing all the bad men who took it from us?"

Her nephew considered it with his head tilted. "Can I bring Shaggy?" He asked. "He's very good at killing things,"

"Of course," We'll be needing every direwolf we can get our hands on, to rip the entrails from Roose Bolton's stomach, so I can hang him from the walls by them.

"And Osha?" He glanced hopefully at the wildling woman, whose expression was guarded yet... resigned?

"Fine," Ross said. The woman had taken him to safety, after all, and likely knew him better than she did at this point.

Osha looked surprised at that, saying nothing, though Ross caught the smile that graced her lips.

"What about Clera?" Rickon looked to the old woman, who laughed.

"I'm a bit too old to be leaving Skagos for the first time," She said. "Though bless you for the thought, little Stark,"

"But I want you to come!" Rickon demanded, scowling.

"What did I say?" Clera shook her finger at him. "I want doesn't get, no matter how much you pull faces. And besides, the journey would kill me. No, I'll stay here in the warm and you can visit me in my old age,"

"Fine," Rickon looked dejected for a moment then brightened up again, turning to Ross. "Will everyone be there? Mother and Father? Old Nan? And Robb, Aileen - and - and everyone? Bran?"

Oh sweetling.

"Your mother will be there," Ross said. "I'm sure she misses you very much. Sansa and Arya will be there too, and your cousins, Ren, Morganna, Edrick and Aileen. Robb is here, as you can see," She gestured to Grey Wind again, and Rickon looked at the wolf with a wide toothy smile. "But Jon Snow is at the Wall, and as for Bran, we don't know where he is," Or if he's alive.

"He went with Hodor," Rickon said as though that solved everything. "And... the frog girl,"

Her heart leapt. "Meera and Jojen Reed?"

"Yes,"

"Do you know where they went?"

The boy furrowed his brow, then shook his head.

"That's alright," She said. "Once he hears that we have Winterfell back, I'm sure he'll come home,"

They shared a meal with the Crowls that night, his family on their best behaviour after the incident earlier. After, they were shown to surprisingly comfortable - if sparse and basic - guest chambers. Before Ross went to bed, however, Osha the wildling woman came by her room to speak to her.

"I knew about Clera before I brought Rickon here," She said bluntly. "My mother was from Skagos before my father stole her, I've lived here with her family for a time, years ago. I knew they weren't savages, knew the Crowls would take him in, but that wasn't the main reason I took him here. He's too young to be so closely bonded to that wolf, I could see it even at Winterfell. He was starting to lose himself, as grown men do when they spend too much time wearing another creature's skin. The best warg I know lives near this castle, and I've been making Rickon see him. He's better now, and knows not to get that close again. But he is only six, so I'll have to watch him," She hesitated. "I'm glad I can stay with him,"

"Even if it means acting a kneeler?" Ross raised an amused eyebrow, having heard that term a lot that day.

Osha did not smile. "I'd rather be a kneeler than face what's the other side of that wall. I've grown fond of the boy besides - any freefolk woman would scorn me for it. Our mothers don't get too attached, see. Too used to losing babes,"

Ross tried not to think too hard on that. "His mother might prove difficult," She said instead of pointlessly dwelling. "Catelyn's from far further south than Winterfell. She'll think you're a bad influence," She hesitated. "She'll think I'm a bad influence,"

"Really?" Osha looked amused. "Why's that?"

"Well if I ever see her again, I'll have murdered my husband," She said slowly. "And everyone now knows I've had two bastard children, with a man half the realm despises, who was also on the other side of the war to us,"

"You'd be respected beyond the Wall for killing any man that wronged you," The wildling woman took on a wicked grin. "Is the father of your children handsome? A great warrior?"

Ross had to laugh. "He's the best swordsman in Westeros. And the best looking man I've ever seen, though perhaps I'm biased. He smiles a bit like you are now. People don't like him because he killed a king," And because he fucked his sister, producing one of the most vile children ever to be born. If Ross hated him for anything, it would be for that.

"Kneelers," Osha shook her head. "Killing a king is something to admire. I'd share my furs with a man like you're describing in a heartbeat,"

"You wouldn't," Ross said. "He thought Winterfell's summer snows were bitter cold,"

"Perhaps not then," The woman said. "No need to worry, Lady Stark, I won't take him from you," She gave an exaggerated, mocking but surprisingly good curtsey.

"You do that better than I do," Ross observed. "Lady Catelyn will approve,"

"She'd better. I know enough from skinchangers I've met to stop her son being lost to that beast," Osha said flatly. "I'm sure you'll help her see that. You seem tougher than most southron women,"

The proud Northerner in Ross wanted to snap at that, but realised that compared to this woman who had lived every winter she had but out beyond the Wall she probably was just as soft and southron as Catelyn was to her.

"You ride with a spearwife, too,"

"Brienne?" She smiled. "She's more knight than spearwife. You'll get on well my friend Dacey, too, she and all her sisters carry a sword. And Rickon's sister Arya, for that matter,"

"And now me," The wildling said. "You've surrounded yourself with a right crowd of misfits,"

*

They set sail from Skagos at noon the next day, heading for White Harbour. From there, after she contacted Ren, they would follow the White Knife up through the heart of the North. Soon enough, they would be home.

The journey was not uneventful. Ross was glad for the presence of Grey Wind, who kept Shaggydog in line, and for Osha, who helped her with Rickon. The boy truly was wild, but the combination of Ross and Osha seemed to be enough to control him, but only just.

"That's the Lord of Winterfell up there," Ross sighed to Brienne.

They were watching Osha scramble up the rigging of the ship to catch the little boy, who had been told by everyone on board not to climb it.

"I'm sure he'll calm down as he gets older," The woman said weakly.

"I doubt it," Ross said. "He reminds me of my brother Brandon, and my son Edrick, yet manages to be worse than I remember either of them being at that age. And neither of them calmed down much,"

"Well he'll have you by his side," Brienne said. "And his mother and sisters. I'm sure you'll all teach him well,"

And if not, rule for him. Rickon seemed more likely to turn out as the kind of ruler Robert Baratheon was - that is, absent to do whatever he pleased - than a tyrant.

"I hope so. That's a problem for later on, at least. At the moment, all I want is to watch the light leave my husband's eyes,"

She had intended it as a joke, judging from the look on Brienne's face, Ross could still unnerve her. Osha, having climbed down the rigging with a scowling Rickon slung across her back like a little monkey, had heard too, and laughed.

"I'd be scared if I were him, Ross," The woman had started calling her that as though she was the first to think it up. It seemed foolish to object, seeing as her entire family called her that. "You scare me sometimes, and I don't scare easy,"

"Good,"

"You don't scare me!" Rickon proclaimed proudly as he was set down.

"More's the pity,"

*

Edited November 2024

I had fun writing this chapter. Skagos has always intrigued me, as we don't see it in the books at all (though likely will in the Winds of Winter as Davos has just been sent there to rescue Rickon), and it was a nice change of scenery. What did you think of the Crowls and their backstory? Also we finally learned what happened to Ross' unborn child, which hasn't been revealed in her earlier povs as she put up walls in her mind to block it out.

Thanks for reading and commenting!