DISASTROUS ( Jon Snow )

30

every moon is brutal, every sun bitter.

__________

The cold was bitter, but Jon kept Amaris warm. As each day passed and no battles were fought, they remained out in the open, at the mercy of the fickle weather. Both Jon and Amaris knew the conditions were not fitting for a pregnancy, so despite her wishes to help direct the cause of fight, Amaris kept herself in her tent by the fire as much as possible. She could not risk an illness.

However, there were times when she needed to go outdoors.

"We need to meet with the wildlings," Jon explained, leading her throughout the tents. "You're far better with diplomacy than I am. I need you for this."

"Jon," Amaris sighed, chuckling quietly, "these wildlings feel no loyalty to me. They are... your subjects, for lack of a better term."

"My subjects?" Jon laughed.

Amaris rolled her eyes and stopped walking, her hand latched around Jon's arm. She cupped his cheek with one hand and smiled.

"You're to be my king," she said softly. "Solve your wildling problem."

They, along with Sansa and Davos, met with the different wildling leaders. One of them, Dim Dalba, looked thoroughly unimpressed with both Jon and Amaris.

"We said we'd fight with you, King Crow, when the time comes, and we meant it," Dim Dalba said. "But this isn't what we agreed to. These aren't White Walkers. This isn't an army of the dead. This isn't our fight."

Davos and Amaris shared a look, both bored with the meeting and unhappy with the disloyalty being displayed by the wildling man.

"If it weren't for him, none of us would be here," Tormund spoke. "All of you would be meat in the Night King's army. And I'd be a pile of charred bones, just like Mance."

"Remember Mance's camp?" Dalba asked, nodding his head at Tormund in a fashion of mockery. "It stretched all the way to the horizon. And look at us now. Look what's left of us. And if we lose this, we're gone. Dozens of tribes, hundreds of generations. Be like we were never there at all. We'll be the last of the free folk."

Amaris looked at Jon, her eyes shouting at him to speak. He nodded slightly and turned to Dalba.

"That's what'll happen to you if we lose," Jon said. "The Boltons, the Karstarks, the Umbers, they know you're here. They know that more than half of you are women and children. After they finish with me they'll come for you. You're right. This isn't your fight. You shouldn't have to come to Winterfell with me. I shouldn't be asking you. It's not the deal we made."

Amaris furrowed her eyebrows, unsure of where Jon was intending to take his speech. It sounded like he was validating their desire to not fight, but she knew he was smarter than that and that he had some kind of plan. She had to trust him and his ability to play the Great Game.

"I need you with me if we're going to beat them, and we need to beat them if you're going to survive."

There was silence and Amaris held back her smile. She could see Dalba thinking over Jon's words.

"The crows killed him because he spoke for the free folk, when no other southerners would," Tormund added. "He died for us. If we are not willing to do the same for him, we're cowards. And if that's what we are, we deserve to be the last of the free folk."

As Tormund stopped speaking, allowing his words to settle upon the wildlings, Wun-Wun stood. Instinctively, Amaris drew in a sharp breath and clamped her hand around Jon's wrist.

However, no deadly blow came.

Wun-Wun stopped in front of Jon and said, "Snow."

Jon let out an audible sigh of relief and Amaris dropped his wrist. She wrung her hands together and then placed them on her stomach. More than ever before, she was terrified of losing Jon.