The river whirled and roared beneath them. Droplets of water flew in the air and formed a cold mist. Sharp cliffs lined both sides of the waterway, slippery and slick from a treacherous invincible layer of ice. A rickety rope bridge hung precariously over the stream.

"I guess they put up a new bridge," Tormund yelled, to drown out the sound from the loud waters. "Hopefully this one is better than the old one..."

"The old one was worse?" Devan yelled back. He wondered how that was even possible as this bridge looked like it could collapse at any moment. It certainly didn't seem strong enough to transport five people across.

Many men had died crossing Dead Man's Pass and Devan feared he would soon be one of them.

He bent down and petted one of the sleddogs who nudged against his leg. They had traveled by dog sled for weeks now and Devan had become fond of all the canine creatures who transported them. It was hard not to when they curled up next to him by the fire at night.

"How are we going to get you over, Moss?" he said to the dog by his legs. "It's not like you can walk on the ropes..."

The dog had long white-grey fur, similar in color to the moss the mammoths ate. That's probably where it had got its name from. All the dogs had nature-inspired names: Frost, Pine, Birch, and several more than Devan couldn't remember. But Devan had developed a particular liking to Moss during the past few weeks. Moss was boisterous, loud, and keen on engaging in childish games. Just like Devan. He and the dog had spent many evenings throwing sticks and wrestling playfully on the frozen tundra.

"We'll leave him and the other dogs here," Tormund said. "We can't get the sleds over anyway. There's a wildling camp up ahead where they will take care of them."

Before Devan could protest Tormund had walked away from him. "You don't want to get left here, do you?" Devan whispered to the dog next to him. Moss howled in response and all the dogs around them started to howl as well, even Ghost chimed in. The sound of the howling almost drowned out the roaring of the river.

"Stop riling the dogs up, seabird," Tormund yelled at him. "Come here and help us prepare for the traverse over the river instead."

With Moss in tow Devan walked over to where Tormund stood. A couple of wildlings had arrived from the village to take care of the dogs and the sleds. Tormund, Lyra, and Jorelle were busy repacking their items from the sleds into fur bags with straps that they would carry on their backs for the rest of the journey. Castle Black was only a few days on foot after they crossed the river.

Jon stood and looked suspiciously at the whirling waters below them. The fall would be quite far down from the cliffs where they stood, and then the waters would sweep them away. Only a few twisted ropes kept them from that fate.

"Do you trust that bridge?" Devan asked.

Jon sighed. "Tormund tells me it's safe," he said. "And I usually trust Tormund. But he did forget to tell me has children..."

Jon tried to look over at Lyra discreetly. Devan had noticed him sneaking out of their tent every night. Jon and Devan shared a tent on their travels and so did Lyra and Jorelle. Where Tormund slept, or if he slept, was unclear. Devan suspected the wildling just laid down in the snow and made himself comfortable. Tormund never seemed to freeze, rather he was exhilarated by the cold.

The dogs usually slept in a giant pile outside by the fire, all curled up around Ghost. But when Jon left their tent Devan always took the opportunity to sneak Moss into the tent instead and had him lay down in Jon's spot. Which led to all Jon's clothes being covered in dog fur. Devan had seen Jon look at the grey hairs all over his black clothes with an exasperated look, but he never said anything. Most mornings Jorelle appeared in Devan's tent soon after Jon left, claiming that she couldn't sleep as her sister was snoring. With the dog lying between them they told tales about deep waters, high mountains, and snowy fields. Some stories were true, some were not. Jorelle was amazingly enough even more talkative than Devan.

It wasn't exactly a secret where Jon was. But as long as they were around Tormund, Jon never showed any affection towards Lyra. Tormund probably wouldn't care, and Lyra certainly didn't, but Jon seemed to.

"Are you boys ready?" Jorelle asked behind them. There was a big smile on her lips and her tangled braids bobbed in excitement as she moved. She seemed to look forward to the trek across the river. Before Devan could respond, she had put a rope around his waist. Soon Jon was wrapped up as well.

"This way if someone falls we can just pull them back up," she said like it would be the easiest thing in the world.

"Do you think we will fall?" Devan asked in a worried tone.

"Probably not;" Jorelle answered, as chipper as ever. "But you can swim, can't you, Seabird?"

Devan was not thrilled that the nickname Tormund had given him had stuck. "Of course I can," he muttered. "I grew up by the seashore. But I don't think swimming helps in those streams."

"You just have to swim really fast," Jorelle replied cheerily.

"I can't swim," Jon grumbled next to Devan.

"Don't worry, snow boy," Lyra chimed in with a big freckled smile as she walked up to Jon and patted his hair. "I'll jump in after you if you fall."

Jon just shook his hair and avoided looking at his bed companion.

Neither Jon nor Devan felt more confident about the journey across the river after talking to the Mormont girls, but there was no turning back now. They needed to get across that river.

Tormund walked first as they started their journey. It wasn't very far across. About the distance an agile man could jump, but Devan definitely wasn't going to try to jump it.

Behind Tormund, Jon was tethered, and then Devan. As the two weaklings of the group, who weren't used to traversing icy rivers, it had been decided that they would walk in the middle. After them, Jorelle and Lyra followed.

Devan could hear Moss whimper behind them as they walked towards the bridge. He wanted to bring the dog with him, but there was no way to transport the huge wolf-like animal to the other side. Ghost walked up beside the whimpering Moss and nudge him with his nose for consolation.

"How will Ghost get across?" Devan asked Jon in front of him. Surely Jon wasn't leaving his direwolf behind.

"He'll jump across as soon as I'm there," Jon said. "I've seen him jump much further than that."

The sleddogs might be huge, Moss reached about up to Devan's waist with his nose, but Ghost was considerably larger. He could be mistaken for a pony in the dark.

The rope bridge shook already when Devan put his foot on it. The weight from Tormund and Jon had made it move. The bridge consisted of a narrow path with boards on it and two parallel ropes higher up to hold on to.

Devan couldn't help looking down towards the deadly waters. Dark waters with white foaming edges. He wondered what it would feel like to drown in the whirling river. Would it feel the same as when his brother drowned in Blackwater Bay? Icy cold blackness and gasps for air, then nothing. He held on harder to the ropes. He wasn't Mathos, he wouldn't die. Not here. Not now. Not before he met his child.

The bridge turned precariously as the group made their way over the waters. Devan's stomach turned as well when the boards under him swung. Just thin fibers and wood between him and the cold dark waters.

But the bridge held. A few steps later Devan collapsed on the other side. He dragged Jon with him onto the ground, as they were still tethered to each other. Tormund, he had already unhooked himself from the rope that bound them together, looked on with an amused look. His daughters had also quickly freed themselves from the rope.

"Come here, boy," Jon called out to Ghost who was still left on the other side.

The direwolf braced itself for a moment, crouching down on its back feet to gather power to jump. Then in one graceful move, the animal sailed over the raging river and landed right beside Jon on the other side. The wolf bent down and gave his owner an affectionate lick across his face. Jon wiped his face with his sleeve to get the drool off.

Devan looked over the river to see Moss standing where Ghost had just been. To his horror, the sleddog crouched down in the same position that Ghost had done.

"No!" Devan called out. "It's too far, boy! You won't make it!"

It was too late. Moss had already left the ground. The dog flew in an arch over the river and landed with his front paws right on the edge. But not far enough to pull himself up.

Devan threw himself towards the dog, once again pulling Jon with him, someone really should have untethered them by now, and he caught the dog by the neck right before it fell. But the weight of the big dog was too much for him to pull it up.

"Jon!" he yelled. "Help!"

Jon was quick to act. He leaned down from the cliff in a precarious position to grab the dog's tail. Moss whimpered but together Jon and Devan were able to pull the dog up to safety.

Moss gave Jon an insulted look while licking his tail when he finally stood on the cliff. Then the dog turned to Devan and assaulted him with licks and nudges.

Tormund walked up to them as they all still laid on the ground. He had been surveying the path up ahead with his daughters. "Are you two ready to go yet?" he sighed.

His gaze fell on the dog that was still furiously licking Devan. "Where did the dog come from?" he asked.

"He jumped," Devan replied between the licks.

Tormund raised an eyebrow. "Sled dogs can't jump that far," he said. "But those dogs are fiercely loyal. We wildlings always say that if one chooses you, which doesn't happen very often, it will follow you anywhere. I guess that one chose you, seabird. So you better take care of it."

The wildling turned around and walked towards the path again, seemingly tired of waiting any longer for the weaklings.

"Let's get going, Seaworth" Jon, who now freed himself from the ropes, said. "You can play with your dog later."

Jon got up and started walking down the path, with Ghost in tow. Devan got up as well. "Come one, boy," he said to Moss who eagerly panted beside him, and side by side they began the journey towards Castle Black.

***

After a few days, they finally saw the wall in the distance. Dark and sharp it loomed over the white landscape like a storm. It stretched all the way to the sky and the top of it couldn't even be seen as it was obscured by clouds and fog.

Behind it laid Castle Black. What would happen once they got there Devan didn't know. Jon wouldn't tell him. But he hoped they wouldn't stay there for long.

A few days to rest his legs would be good though. Walking through the snow was exhausting. Tormund and his daughters mastered walking on top of it, light and agile as snow rabbits. But Jon and Devan always trailed behind as they sunk down to their knees in the white cold masses. The only thing encouraging them to go on was Ghost and Moss nudging them when they fell. And they both fell a lot.

It was nighttime when they finally arrived at the gate. Which could only be told by the slightly dimmer light, since the sun didn't set anymore in the north. After hearing Jon's voice, the guards let them in the gate and soon they walked into the courtyard.

The castle looked like before. Nothing ever seemed to change there. Dark stones, grey skies, and gloomy moods.

The maester of the castle walked up to Jon as soon as they entered. "This came for you," he told Jon and handed him a letter. "It's from your sister Sansa."

"I don't want any news from outside," Jon said in a brusk tone. "I've told you that before."

"You should read this anyway," the maester said.

Jon grabbed the letter and opened it. As he traced the words on it his facial expression changed.

"A dragon," he said in disbelief. "A dragon has attacked Storm's End."

"Storm's End..." Devan said, feeling his legs buckle under him. "My family is there. Brynda. Our child. My brothers and my parents. Gendry and Meera. Does it say anything about what happened to the people there?"

Jon shook his head. "I'm sorry, Seaworth," he said. "I don't know."

Devan fell into a pile on the floor. The grim possibilities hitting him full force. Perhaps they were all gone. Moss appeared at his side immediately and tried to cheer him up with licks and nudges.

"Her dragon," Jon mumbled. "It has to be her dragon. It's happening again. I can't let it..."

"But who is controlling the dragon now?" Tormund said. "It wouldn't attack like that unless someone controlled it."

"Bran," Jon said with a sigh. "The king. I think he's controlling it from the inside. He can do things like that. "

"He's not Bran," Devan said in an exasperated voice from where he was crouched on the floor. He had said that so many times already, but Jon never believed him. He didn't believe what Jojen had told them.

"No, he's not," Jon said, finally. "He's not my brother. My brother is gone. Because my brother wouldn't do such a thing. Jojen was right. The king is not Bran."

"So what will you do?" Devan asked, hoping to finally get the answer he wanted.

"If I am who I've been told I am..." Jon started, a bit hesitant. "Perhaps the dragon will listen to me. Perhaps I can stop him. Perhaps I can prevent it from happening again. So we need to go there. We need to go to the capital."

Once he said those last words he didn't sound hesitant anymore, he sounded full of conviction. He sounded like Ned Stark. A man who had always chosen the most honorable and righteous path, even if that path was also the most treacherous and arduous.

Author's Note: Only 2  more chapters left... and this is the last you'll see of the gang behind the wall in this book.