A Feast For Dragons

Jon

Jon ran for what felt like hours, and the sky above him beginning to lighten as the dawn came and the sun crawled its way across the darkened sky, told Jon that he had been running for hours. Jon had to lean against a tree trunk to catch his breath, being unable to run anymore. He felt too tired, his muscles pulsing in agony, begging for him to stop; his lungs still attempting to catch up, his heart threatening to rip through his chest.

He knew he couldn't rest though. If he did the Bolton's would catch him and they'd kill him-or take him back to the Bolton bastard and the Gods only knew what that man would do to him. Every now and then he could have sworn he could hear the hounds howling and barking far off, but he must have put a good couple miles between Winterfell and him, which would give him a couple hours head start at least.

But that wasn't the only thing that he was concerned about now. He could hear voices not too far off. He pushed off the bark of the tree and started making his way towards the voices. He was careful, keeping to the trees and shadows. He could see a camp site, and two men. One was rather small, clad in red jerkin and black trousers. He seemed to be the squire, tending to the fire as the other man-a blonde clad in black armour-was cleaning a sword.

Jon curled his hands slowly, observing them. They didn't wear the flayed man on their breast, but that didn't mean they weren't Bolton's bannermen.

"What are we going to do? We can't just storm Winterfell. We're only two people." The Squire said as he lifted his head to look at the knight. "And only one of us could truly wield a sword."

"I don't know yet, but we can't just leave her. She's in danger, Pod. I made a vow to her mother." The knight-which Jon just realised wasn't a man at all-said. "She lit the candle, and we'll find a way to rescue her."

Jon frowned deeply. They had to be talking about Sansa-there was no other person they could be speaking about. But why would a female knight want to rescue his sister? He had no weapon on him, so he couldn't confront them openly; then again he had little choice on the matter at hand. He started making his way out of the shrubs that had concealed him. The woman heard him and was quick to draw her sword, standing and pointing it at him. It was a wicked blade, the hilt made of hold and jewels and the blade itself was made of Valyrian steel if Jon wasn't mistaken.

"Halt! Who are you and what do you want?" She said as she got in front of her squire, one hand on the boy's chest and the other holding her blade in a tight grip. Jon stood there for a moment, his eyes trained on the sword as he carefully walked around her. He didn't get a chance to speak.

"My Lady..." The Squire said. "That's Jon Snow. Lord Eddard Stark's bastard."

The woman froze for a moment before turning to look at Jon once more. She slowly lowered her sword, but not enough to remove it's threat. "Is that true?"

"Aye." Jon said, standing before her now, a couple feet between the sword and his chest. "That's me."

The woman finally lowered her sword and sheathed it once more. "My name is Brienne of Tarth, and this is my squire Podrick." She said, rolling her shoulders a bit. "Might I ask what you're doing here? I thought you were a black brother."

"I was." Jon answered, still not moving from his spot.

"So you deserted?"

"No. I never deserted. It's... rather complicated." Jon admitted. "Who are you and what is your interest in my sister?"

"I was a sworn sword of your late mother, Lady Stark-"

"Lady Catelyn was not my mother." Jon cut in, and though a part of him felt a tang of guilt of speaking so harshly towards a dead woman, the other part wished to correct this Brienne.