Impossible Things
Lyarra clustered Jon and her siblings as far from the entrance as they could get, beneath the enormous statue of a long-dead king. By her feet she kept a large basket covered with a blue blanket.
“What's in there?” Jon asked.
“Puppies.”
“Puppies?” Jon echoed. His father hadn't given his Robb any puppies.
“Puppies.”
Lyarra lied with the same tone of voice as Robb, but Jon wasn't going to ask her about it again. They needed to work together if they all wanted to survive, and they'd have no shot at that if they started fighting with each other.
That much was proven when the sound of footsteps scored through the crypt. Lyarra gestured for them to hide behind the statues. Jon chose one and huddled in place alongside Edwyle, who refused to let Jon out of his sight. Smart boy.
The footsteps of the Baratheon men stayed on the staircase, the light of their lanterns barely a pinprick at the other end of the tunnel. Their voices echoed from the stone, though their words were muffled by the distance.
One man did come some way down their passage, and Jon watched his approaching torch with some nervousness. He didn't want to die here, away from his own family and home.
Edwyle was tense beside him.
“This is a waste of time. They're not down here,” grunted another man, coming after the first.
The pair turned away and retreated.
Jon still didn't dare move until he heard the entrance to the crypts slam closed.
“Do you think it's safe to go out again?” asked Edwyle.
“Shh,” Jon hissed. There could still be men down there with them.
The two of them stayed there, sheltered in the dark, for a long time before Jon dared to venture out. It was only then that Lyarra dared to come creeping out, leading Berena beside her. Minisa had tucked herself away further down the passage, along with the puppies.
“What now?” whispered Lyarra.
Jon glanced in the direction of the entrance. This was the best place to stay hidden: they could navigate better than the Baratheon men, and now it had been searched they might not come down again at all.
“Now we wait for nightfall. Then we get out into the godswood.”
The North Gate was close, but it would be guarded. They'd never get through it. Better to aim for the godswood. Those walls there could be climbed, Jon and Robb had done it when they were small.
Jon had taken one of the swords in better condition from a stone king. Lyarra had never said she was doing so, but after taking his own, Jon had seen steel glinting at her hip in the darkness. Edwyle already bore castle steel, though he too took a sword for himself.
Two of them that could fight, along with one that might be capable of putting up a fight, against what could be more than a hundred Baratheon men.
Jon didn’t like their odds.
There was no day or night down there in the dark. Jon crouched by the entrance and tried to peer through any gaps in the bottom or side. He couldn’t see anything.
At last, he dug his fingers into the stone and pulled at it.
“What are you doing?” hissed Lyarra from her hiding place below.
“Having a look.”
It was going to be the only way of doing this.
Jon opened the door a crack and squinted out. Night had fallen, but he could see by the light of the moon and pick out a few details. He couldn’t see any men, though that didn’t mean they weren’t out there.
Jon turned and beckoned for Joni’s siblings. “It’s dark. I’m going to have a better look.”
“What if they see you?” asked Minisa. With a little more light, he could see her face was pale, though the rest of her features were still hidden by the shadow.
“Then I’ll lead them away,” Jon replied.
That was what he’d tried to do for Robert. What he’d failed at doing. He’d do better this time.
Jon opened the door just enough for him to slip out and get a look around. He could hear voices from the main courtyard, but there was no one in this one…
Yes. There was. Two lone guards, one lolling against the wall, the other already slumped at the base of it. Both held mugs in their hands. Drunk.
Jon held up two fingers to Lyarra.
Her face fell. “Then we can’t..?”
“We can,” he replied.
Jon had never killed a man before, but he’d watched his father do it, and he’d killed animals. Ser Rodrik had taught him the mechanics in the sparring yard.
He took the old sword from his belt and hoped the blade was still sharp as he crossed the courtyard.
Neither guard stirred. The one on the ground was asleep, snoring. The one standing was awake, but paying little attention.
Jon steeled himself and poked the tip of the sword through the standing man’s throat.
He had enough time to try and turn, his eyes wide, blood spurting from the wound. Jon wrenched the blade free and sliced it across the second man’s neck. He never even woke. Jon wiped the sword clean on his trews and hurried to fetch Lyarra. “Quickly now!”
Lyarra hissed for her siblings and hurried them out. She was bringing the basket with the unseen puppies, keeping it clutched to her chest.
“Leave that!” Jon hissed.
“I can’t!” she replied, and fled for the godswood.
Jon took up the back, herding Minisa ahead of him. Berena scuttled close to Lyarra, still trying to clutch her skirts, and Edwyle remained in the middle, his knife in hand, looking nervously around them.
They might have made the North Gate, but it would surely be locked and Jon doubted they’d have been left the keys. Instead they followed their plan and hurried to the godswood, quickly darting into the trees. Like the crypts, this was a Stark place. A Northern place.
Lyarra stopped by the Heart Tree and pressed her hand to the carved face, whispering a prayer. Jon paused behind her and repeated the gesture. “I know not why you sent me here, but let us escape alive.”
The godswood was vast enough for it to take them some time to reach the wall. Lyarra sagged under the weight of carrying the basket.
“Why don’t you let the pups out to run with us? The basket would be lighter then,” suggested Jon.
“They might bark,” she whispered.
“They might not,” Jon countered, but still she refused. She did, however, allow him to help with carrying it. Whatever was inside was certainly alive, but felt lighter than pups, unless there was only one.
Minisa and Berena reached the wall first, and grinned as the others reached them. Under the moonlight, Jon could see now that they had the Tully auburn hair and blue eyes that his own youngest brothers had inherited from their mother. It wasn’t a surprise. So much else seemed similar. It felt like the only difference was that he and his siblings were the wrong sex.
Jon selected the biggest, largest weirwood closest to the wall, and then turned to Edwyle. “You go first. Climb up to those low sturdy branches, and then I’ll help Berena up behind you.”
“Why me?” he asked.
“Because Lyarra and I need to help the younger ones up, and there needs to be someone ahead of them first to guide them. You have climbed trees before?”
Edwyle reddened. “Of course I have!” He scrambled up the tree quite easily. Much easier than Jon would have found it. He must do that more often.
Berena was reluctant to leave Lyarra, but Jon managed to lift her up behind Edwyle, and her brother took her arms, pulling her up to him.
Minisa was next, and held her head high. “I can do it myself!”
“She can,” Lyarra agreed.
Jon frowned. “If you’re certain.”
She was. The girl climbed just as Bran could, confidently finding handholds and the narrowest of branches to put her feet on. She looked more like an oversized bird than a girl, her auburn hair swinging behind her. If Jon had known she was as good as his brother at climbing, he would have sent her first. But never mind.
Lyarra was next, and then Jon took the basket to pass up to her. She was reluctant to allow it, and he was tempted to simply leave the thing at the foot of the tree. It was only slowing them down. But from here Lyarra would only climb back down and fetch it.
Instead, Jon passed it up to her. She lifted it up to Minisa above, who pulled it higher in the tree.
Jon was the last to go up, scrambling up the branches behind the group. With every move he made, he feared guards might suddenly come running. What the Starks of this world had done to anger the king, Jon would have to ask and know. It was the only difference between their side of the mirror and his, and even if it destroyed their family, it might save his.
Edwyle was the first to the top, climbing over to the inner wall. Minisa helped Berena across to him, and then waited for Lyarra so that she could cross and be passed the basket. Jon was again, the last to get over, looking at the godswood far beneath him.
The moat between the two walls was eight foot wide, but it could be crossed with the help of the biggest trees in the godswood. They overhung the moat, stretching almost all the way to the outer wall.
From there, all they had to do was climb down.
“We can’t cross,” Lyarra whispered.
Jon grinned. “You can, because you have.”
He and Robb had done it before, sometimes when they wanted to sneak out, once just because they were angry at their father and decided they wanted to run away from the castle to make their own fortune. It was a tricky feat, but doable.
“We can do this,” Jon said.
Minisa nodded. “I’ve done it. I’ll show you.” And before Jon could stop her, she climbed onto the thickest branch, scrambled out across it, and then waited as her weight lowered her down onto the outer wall. She grinned up at them. “Can you throw me the droggies?”
“I’ll bring them,” Edwyle said, taking the basket from Lyarra.
He must have done this before too; like Minisa he looked far too confident. He passed her the basket before hopping from the branch to the outer wall himself.
“What do we do about Berena?” Lyarra asked.
Jon sighed, and then scooped the youngest Stark up. “I’ll carry her. You go first; I’ll follow.”
Lyarra narrowed her eyes. “You’ve got Berena; you go first.”
She didn’t trust him not to turn and betray her.
Jon sighed, but did as he was asked.
The branch groaned more under his heavier weight, especially combined with the extra of Berena. As he neared the end, it made a terrible crack, and he feared it might break altogether, dropping him and Berena into the moat and stranding Lyarra.
But then the branch steadied itself, and Jon quickly passed Berena across to Edwyle before climbing over himself.
“Come on, Lyarra!” cheered her siblings.
Lyarra looked pale, her face framed by her auburn hair under the moonlight. “What if I can’t do it?”
“Your siblings need you!” Jon whispered.
At last Lyarra moved, daring out across the branch. She was the slowest and shakiest of them all, and looked like she wanted to cry. As soon as she grew near enough, Jon reached out and grabbed her hand, steadying her to climb over and join them.
“You did it!” Minisa beamed.
“I did it…” she mumbled.
“Let’s not stay here,” Jon said. The outer wall was designed for men to patrol, with its wide pathway and archer’s slots. King Robert would surely have men on guard out here. Jon peered over the edge. “Come on.”
It was a long drop, but Bran had climbed the inner and outer walls. Jon could do it too.
He had to.
Minisa made it look easy, taking the basket with her as she descended and soon reaching the ground. From there, she looked up and urged them on until Lyarra hissed for her to get into the trees.
Edwyle was the next to reach the ground, and soon joined Minisa in the trees. Jon carried Berena down, and her weight made him unsteady. Each movement he made only made him sway further. It was a relief to get his feet on the ground.
Lyarra was the last to come down, and stopped to dig her fingers into the grass.
Jon took her arm. “Come on.”
They rounded the wall of the castle to get to the Wintertown and slipped into the streets. They’d not be safe here, but it was better than within the walls of Winterfell.
“Do we go to the inn?” asked Lyarra.
“The King’s men might look there,”
“Then where?”
“Empty house,” Jon said. There were plenty in the Wintertown at this time of year. They could find an empty house for the night and hopefully get a change of clothes in the morning so they looked less like Lord Stark’s children.
Then he could think of a better plan.
“What are you doing?”
Jon jumped and drew his sword. Edwyle did the same, jumping in front of his sisters.
“Are you lot daft?” hissed the red-haired woman, her eyes wide. “What are you doing out here? They’ll see you!”
“They… The Baratheon men?” asked Lyarra.
“Yes; of course the Baratheon men! Who else might you fear after they came to depose your family?”
Jon recognized her, vaguely. She was a whore; she worked at the brothel in the Wintertown. Theon had found use of her services many times.
“You’re… from the brothel,” he said.
Lyarra blanched.
“Aye; I work there. What do you value more, lass, your life, or your prudish ways?”
“I’m not a girl,” was all Jon could say in response to that.
The whore peered at him. “Hm. So you are. I thought you was Lord Stark’s bastard.”
“Something like that.”
“Will you help us hide?” asked Lyarra.
Jon winced at the bluntness.
The whore sighed. “Aye, I will. Come on, quickly. Before anyone sees you out here.”
She led them back to the brothel and brought them in through a back door, leading them up to attic rooms. It was a cramped space with no window, but Jon doubted many would come here in search of Lord Stark’s children.
“We’ll see about getting you a change of clothes in the morning.” She frowned at Lyarra. “Something about your hair, too. Stands out too much.”
“What’s your name?” Jon asked. Her couldn't remember it, and it could be different here.
“Ros,” she replied.
That sounded familiar. The same then.
“Thank you for your help, Ros.”
They settled the younger ones on the musty furs of the attic, and then Jon sat with Lyarra, their backs against the door. The basket was tucked in the corner behind Edwyle.
“So.” Jon looked at Lyarra and raised his eyebrows. “What's really in that basket?”