Brynda's labor had started late afternoon but it wasn't until the early morning hours that the little boy was born.

She had screamed. She had despaired. She had cursed the child's absent father for doing this to her.

But it all flew away when Brynda held her son in her arms. All the pain, exhaustion, and anger were gone. Replaced with elation and pride.

The little boy screamed at the top of his lungs and his full head of hair stood up in all directions. He looked a lot like Devan.

As Brynda held him close to her chest the screaming stopped, instead the child seemed to look around the room. Perhaps wondering what kind of world he had been born into. Innocent blue eyes observing a world he yet knew nothing about.

Beside her, Marya Seaworth smiled as she gazed upon her first grandchild.

"Didn't you hope it would be a girl?" Brynda asked her.

"I did," her mother-in-law replied while cooing at the child. "But this one is awfully cute, so he'll do."

***

Davos Seaworth found his son Stannis curled up under a table in the library. His arms were wrapped around his legs and he appeared to be shaking. He looked like the young boy he still was, not a husband or a father.

"How did you find me?" he asked his father.

"Bastian told me where you usually hide," his father replied. It was apparently no secret that Stannis and Bastian were close. Hopefully, his father didn't know how close though.

"Is Brynda alright?" Stannis asked in a worried tone.

"She is," Davos answered. "And so is your son."

Stannis exhaled and bent his head down towards his knees. Tears ran down his cheeks, he couldn't help it. He was so relieved.

"Thank you," he said through the sobs. "Bless the gods."

He cared for Brynda a lot. Not in the way a husband usually did, but rather as an older sister.

His father put his arm over Stannis' shoulder. He let his son cry and stroked his hair lightly without saying anything. Just like he had done when Stannis was a child. Many were the times when Stannis had got enough of Dev's roughhousing and teasing and gone to hide out in the boathouses. But his father had always found him.

"It's not... my child, father," Stannis said like he was revealing a huge secret.

"I know that, son," Davos said with a chuckle. "Both me and your mother know exactly whose child that is. But he's not here. You are. And you did the right thing and chose to care for that child and his mother. You will be his father as far as he knows. So let's go see your son."

Stannis nodded and wiped his tears with the sleeve of his shirt. "I wish Dev was here," he said. Because of course, he missed his brother, no matter how fed up with him he had been while growing up.

"So do I", Davos said with a sigh. "Everyone does. I'm sure Dev does more than anyone."

***

The child was so small. Stannis had never seen such a small person before. Not much bigger than a loaf of bread. But yet fully formed, with tiny fingers and a button nose so cute he just wanted to squeeze it.

He carefully sat down next to Brynda on the bed and peered at the wrapped-up little bundle in her arms. "Are you alright?" he asked her with concern in his voice.

She nodded and smiled at him. "Your mother said it was an easy birth," she said. "I'm not sure I would call it that, because it hurt like nothing I've ever felt before, but it was all worth it for this little boy."

Stannis reached out his finger and touched the boy's soft cheek. It was weird to know that his brother had created this little human. That Dev somehow lived in that little boy. He wondered if the child would grow up and be as annoying as his brother.

"Do you want to hold him?" Brynda asked.

Before Stannis could reply she had put the swaddled little creature in his arms and made sure that he supported the baby's head properly.

It was overwhelming to feel the weight of a new life in his arms. He could sense the responsibility it entailed. Since Dev wasn't here he would have to be a father for this child. Even though he still needed his own father. At sixteen years old Stannis would have to make sure this little boy was cared for and loved.

"We'll name him after your brother," Brynda said to her young husband.

"Devan?" he asked.

"No. Where I'm from children are named after the dead. And Devan isn't dead. I refuse to believe he is. This is his son, but he should not be named after his father. Because his father will be back."

Stannis nodded. He didn't want to believe Devan was dead either. But his other brother was.

"His name should be Mathos," Stannis said as he looked at the little boy in his arms. "Because he won't be back."

"But in this way, we bring him back. We make sure he's never forgotten," Brynda said. "Mathos was your brother and he was Devan's brother. You both loved him dearly. He should be remembered."

Stannis felt his eyes watering again at the thought of this brother. Of both his brothers. The one who was lost forever and the one who was lost indefinitely. Stannis had adored Mathos, he had worshipped him in the way only a younger brother can. And while Devan rarely had time or patience to play with him, but always time to tease him, Mathos always did. Mathos had always been there. Until one day he was gone.

He looked down upon the child in his wife's arms. So small, so pure, so innocent. It wasn't his child. It was his brother's child. And he would be named after his other brother. It felt right.

***

Devan wasn't dead. He was as alive as ever. As alive as anyone could be. And determined to one day make it back to his family.

The moment his son was born he stood by a frozen river. They had stayed by Jojen for a few days, to see if he would say anything else. But the boy just appeared to be asleep. Forever stuck in a green dream. So they had made their way to the wildling village down the river to arrange transportation back. But now they were stuck.

Devan cautiously tested his foot on the ice. They needed the river to freeze over to be able to make their way back to Castle Black quickly. When they passed this river on the way to the cave it had been deep-frozen and they had simply walked on the ice. But since then the weather had become warmer. Spring was coming, even in the North.

"I think it will hold," he said to Tormund next to him.

Tormund looked at him skeptically and went out and put his whole weight on the ice. Devan could hear how the ice popped and cracked under the big man. Soon it gave in and Tormund sunk through to his ankles.

Satisfied to have proved Devan wrong Tormund stepped up on the shoreline again. "You're hardly an expert on ice, sea bird," he said while brushing away ice and slush from his water-resistant moccasins.

"We'll have to wait a few weeks at least," Tormund said. "If it even will freeze over again. It's warmer everywhere."

"We can't wait that long," Devan said impatiently. "Is there no other way to get back to Castle Black?"

"We would have to go up the river quite a bit. There's a bridge up by Dead Man's Pass."

"Well, that name sounds awfully inviting..."

"It's not that scary. There's no monster or anything, it's named after the many men who have met their death falling from the narrow bridge."

"That certainly sounds scary enough for me!"

Devan turned around and walked back towards the wildling village. Which was more a camp than a village, with round tents created from hides and mammoth bones built around a square where a large pyre burned. White wolf-like dogs and wooly pigs roamed the streets. Ghost had found a pack of dogs to make his own, even though he towered high over all of them he seemed to see them as his brethren.

By the pyre, Jon Snow sat and looked vacantly into the flames. He hadn't spoken much since they left the weirwood tree. Even less than usual.

Devan grabbed two mugs of mead on his way to the fire. He wasn't really a drinker but it was all the only beverage there was in this village.

As Devan approached Jon's gaze moved slightly though, but he didn't look at Devan. Instead, his eyes went to someone exiting one of the huts. A girl with red hair and wild eyes.

"Who is she?" Devan asked as he sat down next to Jon and handed him one of the mugs. Perhaps some mead would make him more talkative.

"I don't know," Jon said. "But I know who she looks like."

"Who? Someone you knew?"

"Someone who was more alive than anyone. But it didn't matter. Because she still died."

Devan patted Jon's shoulder awkwardly. "What was her name?" he asked.

"It doesn't matter."

"It does matter because by speaking someone's name we remember them."

Jon's gaze was once again focused on the flames. Perhaps he saw her there. "Ygritte," he mumbled.

Devan raised his mug with mead to and clonked it into Jon's mug. "Let's drink to her," he said. "To Ygritte."

He put the mug to his lips and emptied it. Jon did the same. The world around them started spinning slightly. Wildings brewed strong mead.

Once again Jon looked away from the flames, he appeared to be scanning the village for the red-headed girl.

"Go talk to her," Devan said. "She's not Ygritte, but you might like her."

Jon shook his head. "There's no use trying to relive the past," he muttered. "She's gone. They're all gone. Everyone."

"I'm here," Devan said. "Tormund is here. That girl is here. Your life isn't over Jon. Life is long. That's what my father told me before they sent me up North. I know you think you've already played your part, Jon, and that all that is left is waiting out your remaining years in a dark castle. But it's not. At least it doesn't have to be."

"I'm tired," Jon said. "I know I might be young still, but it doesn't feel like it. It feels like I lived a thousand lives, and lost a thousand loves."

He looked into the fire again. Perhaps he saw them there, everyone who he had lost.

"Then live a thousand more lives and lose a thousand more loves," Devan exclaimed. "You can rest when you're dead. And this world it could be any moment. That's what I learned from my brother's death. One moment you're there and one you're not. But until then it's not over. So fucking live, Jon. Go after that cute redheaded girl!"

Jon smiled at Devan. An exhausted and slightly exasperated smile, but still a smile.

"You're quite convincing for being such an annoying brat," he said.

"So what will happen once we get back to Castle Black?" Devan asked too the opportunity to ask, fueled by the mead. "Will we go back south?"

"I will let you know once we get there, Seaworth," Jon said in an irritated tone. "I'm the Commander and I decide. And I need to think."

Devan nodded and decided to not press Jon more. Even though he wanted to. Because to him, it was so obvious what they needed to do. They needed to go home. They needed to march to the capital. They needed to take down the king.

And he needed to see his child and Brynda.

As Devan and Jon both sat brooding and looking into the fire, one thinking of the child he might never get to meet and one thinking of the girl he lost, Tormund walked up to them, chewing on a newly grilled mammoth leg. He held one in his other hand as well and handed it to Devan.

"Do you have children, Tormund?" Devan asked as the wildling sat down on the log next to him

"I do," the wildling replied. "Not sure how many though. I've laid with many women, at least one giantess, and a few bears."

It took a few moments for Devan to reply, the statement made even him speechless. "Bears?" he stuttered.

"Bears, or hairy women. Who knows? Really not that much difference," Tormund replied with a shrug. "There's this island down south where the bears roam. I went there, drank a lot of mead, and a bear seduced me. I heard she had cubs later."

Devan just looked at Tormund, mouth agape. There was no reply to that. And honestly, he didn't want to know more.

"So where are your children?" he asked instead.

"Here and there," Tormund said and shrugged. But suddenly his expression grew more serious and he looked into the flames. "The youngest girl died. I never knew her. But I saw her die. She killed a giant in her last breath. Her last name wasn't Giantsbane, but it should have been. She was just a child, but a braver warrior than any man I've known. I was proud to be her father, even if she never knew me as such."

"I'm sorry," Devan said and put his hand on Tormund's shoulder. Apparently, he was consoling everyone tonight. "I know I'm about to have a child as well. It might even already be born.. But I don't even know if it's a boy or a girl. I don't know if it looks like me. And I might never know. I might never know my child either."

Tormund rustled Devan's hair. "You will know your son or daughter, little seabird," he said. "I never really tried to be a father, but I know you will. You will try everything. And one day you will meet your child."

Devan nodded and tried to readjust his hair. He glanced over towards Jon. But Jon wasn't there.

His eyes darted around the camp to find his friend. The flames from the fire tinted everything red, and the mead made his head dizzy. But he thought he saw a man dressed in black who followed a wild-eyed redheaded girl into a tent.

Author's note: Anyone figured out who Tormund's daughter was? (This is conforming a fan theory I've seen out there, to which many puzzle pieces seem to fit). There will be more information regarding this in the next chapter...