Chapter 1

Hi, everyone!

First off, thank you for all your support!

If you have previously read this story, I would like to inform you that the following chapters are the new edition of it. The new story will take place almost ten years after the meeting of the Wildlings and the Starks at the Wall and three years after where the last chapters left off.

Without further ado, please journey into Eira's and Robb's story once again!

Castle Black

Her blood was warmed by the fires surrounding her and the battle cries of her fellow warriors. She mirrors their echoes in a voice, one hardened and shaped by experience.

The girl who once walked this path, who marveled at the vision before her, would hardly recognize her. Her left fist tightened, her nails digging through her gloves into the scar marring her palm symbolizing a broken promise made to a boy only present in her dreams.

Gone were her naivety and innocence, what stood in their places were determination and desperation, a desperation that drove her to take a new oath, one vowing safety for her people.

All that stood in the way of a better life, a safer life, was the towering wall before them. Manmade and older than the trees, the sculpture had been visible for days through the foliage of the Haunted Forest.

Despite being nearly ten years since she laid eyes upon it, Eira had yet to discover anything like it. The vast whiteness was unrivaled, even by the snowy caps of the Frostfangs. The coldness of its ice was unlike any she'd felt, almost unnaturally cold like the hearts of the men sheltered on the other side, men who had deemed her people unworthy and wild, labelling them Wildlings.

She knew better.

She took in the men and women flanking her that formed a line as far as the eye could see, and behind them, another row, then another. Each more battle-ready than the last.

These were her people, people she had trained for this moment, and the pride she felt belonged to them as much as it did her.

Eira caught the gaze of her father over the heads of hundreds. The same pride shone in his eyes, eyes that glowed in the flames dancing around them. Frostreaver, the axe of their family, was strapped to his waist. While always within reach, Cadmar of the Frees hated to use it. Her father, while aged in battle and built for survival, preferred the peace offered in books.

Books were a treasure among their people. Few wildlings would ever see one, but they held no place here. Neither did peace.

She tore her eyes away, searching the sky. The harsh, icy air stung her skin through her fur covering. White was all she saw, so much that she wasn't sure if her eyes were traveling in circles.

They had to have made it.

She drowned out the bellows around her until they resembled the humming of her aunt, concentrating. Her pupils burned, and she squinted against wind, pushing the dark tresses from her vision.

Please be there.

Hope was leaving her, and with its departure, tears started to pool. Her sight became blurry. She allowed herself one more scan. She turned to signal the failure when she spotted something.

A brown owl amongst the white.

A grin stretched across Eira's face as she patted the snow leopard at her side. Nevada released a roar that overpowered the crowd. In response, the yells grew in volume until the crackling of the flame no longer registered.

She met Mance's eyes as the Night's Watch horn rang out for the third time. The beating of her slowed faltered as the King Beyond the Wall slowly raised his arm high above his head. Breath caught in her throat as it reached its peak.

This was what we had been waiting for.

His arm fell. Her lids closed, breathing in the thick, smoky air and the stench of her people, feeling the chill of the wind and heat of the fire.

This was it.

The ground shook beneath her feet, and her people grew silent. Stillness fell around them besides the sounds of footsteps that sent the earth quaking.

Ancient beings separated the tides of people. Wildlings allowed the woolly mammoth and giants to pass, watching and holding their breath. Even among Wildlings, giants were legends, but Eira had spent the last few months recruiting them.

"What are you waiting for?" She screamed, her voice fierce from years of leading. "It's our time. Show them what it means to be free."

Cheers flew past her as her men raced into battle, unafraid in the eyes of almost certain death. She spotted Cadmar once more, still and watching as she did. His eyes moved to her as if sensing her stare.

It was not pride in his expression now but sadness. Her fingers run over her neck, seeking the necklace she had sent over the Wall. She sent her father one last nod before glancing to her side.

Nevada waited there staring up at her with grey eyes.

"It's time, girl. Are you ready?" She stroked the coat of the cat. Nevada's reply washed over her, sending warmth deep into her frozen bones.

A roar faded into the crowd as her feet propelled her, losing herself amongst her people.

Through Eira's own eyes and the eyes of her animal, she witnessed her men fall. One after another. By arrow, by boulder, by scythe. Their numbers deteriorated until victory was inconceivable.

It was their lifeblood she tasted, in her mouth and Nevada's. It was their ichor that stained the ice at her feet and seeped between Nevada's claws.

It was her blood that trailed from her nose. Switching in and out of her body charged a price, one she would pay to ensure the safety of her people.

But it wasn't enough.

Hot, blinding pain blazed through her chest. Her hands groped, searching the area, but came back with old, dried filth. She scanned.

Nevada was peering at her from her right, yards away and unharmed. Her father was to her left, sporting a gash to his temple but continuing on.

One person remained, one she could not see, one deep within the ranks of the enemy.

A horn sounded, their horn. A horn signalling retreat.

No.

Eira shoved past fleeing Wildlings, pushing herself toward the Wall. Tripping on the limb of a deceased giant, she tumbled to her knees. She clawed at ice, now flat from trampling feet.

Someone dragged her to her height by the hood of her coat. "We must retreat."

"She's still in there." She shrugged them off, pushing away.

"Eira," her father called, catching her wrist. "Your people need you."

She turned to Cadmar. Her braid had come loose during the battle, and her hair stuck to the blood on her cheeks. "She needs me."

"Eira." That tone, the tone of a troubled man, was one she never wished to hear from her father. "There is nothing you can do. Be with the people who need you now."

"Do not speak of her as if you know she is dead," she snarled, ripping free of his grip. "There is no proof."

"You felt it, my leopard." His voice cut, straight to her chest. "I saw you."

Eira sought out the place still stung, falling back to her hands and knees. The ache was fading, drifting through her fingers. She reached out, trying to grasp onto the dimming light, begging the person at the end to hold on.

Years of attempting to warg into the human mind proved futile. Only small remnants shone through from the connection of growing up together. Enough for her cousin's death to steal the warmth from her body.

Only a hole was left. Cold and black, like an abyss.

Fur brushed against the skin of her cheek, caked blood crumpling to the snow. She clasped on, letting Nevada's soft purring erase some of the emptiness.

"We have to move to shelter." Following her father's words, the leopard pressed firmly, urging her to her feet.

She recalled their location, noting the arrows riddling the ground and corpses around her. Fleetingly, death occurred to her. The silence it could grant, the companionship so many ensured it offered.

Was it true? Did the lost await them there? Her mother? Her cousin?

A nudge at the back of her mind pulled her from those thoughts, and she raised her eyes to meet grey ones, as grey as storm clouds.

Eira drew herself to her feet, patting the creature always at her side and looking to Cadmar. Her thumb traced her scarred palm.

Rage boiled deep in her, starting in the marrow of her bones until it heated her skin. Wiping the moisture from her cheeks and blood from her nose, she allowed that warmth to fuel her forward.

Death was too final. She vowed their deaths would mean something.

The King Beyond the Wall grasped Eira's shoulder upon their entrance to camp, guiding her to the circle of their toughest warriors.

"Mance, give her a minute." Hearing Cadmar's sharp tone usually shocked her, but no emotion came.

"I'm fine, father." Her tone rivaled his. "As you said, they need me."

Mance squeezed, questioning with his wise eyes. She answered in a nod.

She had had her moment on the snow, bare for all to see.

It wouldn't happen again.

Her fingertips grazed Nevada's coat as they entered the circle of men, hunting for the strength she needed to straighten her spine.

Silence bore down on her, and she looked to Mance who urged her on with a shake of his head.

"Many men and women were lost tonight," she called out, schooling her features. She locked eyes with her people surrounding her as she spoke. "They knew what we faced. They knew the possibilities. They knew what they would be leaving behind."

No one dared break her gaze. The woman before them who just reached nineteen held the attention of men who were much older and women who had experienced much more. They held onto each word falling from her lips.

"And they knew what they were fighting for. What we still fight for." Grunts of agreement pierced the air, and Mance's nod of approved spurned her own. "Let their deaths not be in vain. Let their spirits guide us forward, into the lands of the men who claim their from the North. Let us show them what the North truly is."

Grunts escalated into cheers as she raised a fist high into the air, and Nevada released a roar that reached the otherside of the Wall.

The intentional crumpling of leaves denoted Cadmar's presence as Eira set fire to another pyre. She tucked her nose deeper into her furs, warding off the stench of burning flesh. The smell was a small cost compared to the men returning with blue eyes and bloodthirsty.

"Mance sent me for you. He says a Crow has asked for you."

What was a man of the Night's Watch doing in their camp? And why was he asking for her?

Nevada pierced the flap of the tent first. A growl left her throat, and Eira clutched the dagger at her hip as she pushed in.

The man in Night Watch's grabs faced away from her. His curly black hair shined in the lowlight of the lanterns, devoid of dirt or blood. His all black attire possessed more blemishes but much less than any of the Wildlings.

Neither he nor Mance had noticed her entrance, and the two brought their cups up in the air calling out the name her heart broke for, "Ygritte."

"Don't you dare say her name," she growled.

The man spun toward her, and she gasped, "Jon."

Time stood still. The scar on her palm burned. Memories threatened to assault her. Three children laughing. A boy with cerulean eyes and chestnut hair. The heat of drunken breath on her neck, the cry of her aunt, and the helplessness she'd left.

She managed to wrestle them from her mind, sealing them down deep.

"It's true." He scanned her appearance. She let his stare wash over her.

Let him see your strength. You're no longer that helpless girl.

He made to reach into his coat, and she was at his neck with steel. All shock and remembrance gone.

"You'd kill a man in his own tent while sipping his drink?" She looked his face over, pausing on features that were unfamiliar to her. "That's not the boy I remember."

Stubble faintly hid the worry lines etched into his visage. His jaw was more defined, but his eyes stopped her completely. Their depths held little emotion, as if the years had not been kind to him, as if his heart had been broken.

She imagined him noting similar changes in her own.

He continued his movements, slowly revealing a silver necklace from the folds of his coat.

Eira held her breath as a familiar design appeared on its locket.

"She wanted you to have it." His voice barely registered as her grip closed around the gold metal.

She slid her dagger into place and hastily swiped a tear that had escaped. With shaking hands, she slid the necklace over her head and into her furs. The comforting weight between her breasts filled her lungs with air and slowed her frayed nerves.

Her stare found Jon. No words came to her. The silence became thick, and as she finally opened her mouth to speak, a horn's blast sliced the atmosphere.

Screams carried from outside, and her dagger found his neck once again.

"You attacking us?" She seethed, baring her teeth.

He shook his head. "We don't have the numbers."

She glared at him, hunting for a lie but finding none. Pushing away from him and rushing out of the heat from the tent, she caught sight of the panic.

Stomping of horse hooves and clashing of metals rose from all directions, followed by shrieks of terror and pain. Their numbers fell as the pyres' fires from the earlier battle still burned.

An arrow nicked Eira's cheek, enough to draw blood and spur her into action. She launched into action, catching a rider's hood and slinging him to the road. Nevada's teeth tore his throat before her dagger was wet.

A dead Wildling littered the ground, a forgotten bow and arrows strapped to him. She breathed a prayer to the Gods and closed his eyes as she pried the equipment from his body.

Fastening the quiver, she hunted for her father. Familiar and unfamiliar faces rushed past her, running from the horsed men and yelling for their own loved ones. She nocked arrow after arrow as each found the flesh of their unknown attackers, but she caught no glimpse of Cadmar.

"Eira! Eira!" Her name echoed, its origin indecipherable among the frenzy but sparking hope in her belly. "Eira!"

She spun, searching for ever warm and loving eyes. Nevada appeared in her periphery, preying on the men her aim missed, but Cadmar was nowhere in sight.

"Stand down!" Never had she heard such a tone from Mance Rayder, the King Beyond the Wall. His voice must have been equally shocking to others because their actions halted. "I said my people have bled enough and I meant it."

Two men on horseback approached her king, both well into their ages but young enough to put up a fight.

"You're the King Beyond the Wall?" The dark haired one asked from atop his midnight coated horse. His voice was hard and full of arrogance, but his thin outerwear proved him to be outside of his element.

At Mance's nod, the other man spoke, "This is Stannis Baratheon, the one true king of the seven kingdoms."

Silence filled the forest as the withered man's words hung, not a breath was inhaled or exhaled.

"It is customary to kneel when surrendering to a king," The man called Stannis stated, his shoulders back and posture tight.

Mance did not waiver. "We do not kneel."

"I'll have thousands of your men in chains by nightfall, I'll have nowhere to put them and nothing to feed them. I'm not here to slaughter beat dogs. Their fate depends on their king." Threats seeped from the false king's mouth, and disgust oozed from Eira's pores.

She made to approach the men. Stannis's empty stare bore into her, chilling her blood.

A palm landed on her shoulder, breaking Stannis's hold on her. Expecting the comforting gaze of her father, she turned.

Jon's black eyes met hers, conveying a warning that stilled her movements.

"All the same we do not kneel," Mance called out, strong and unbent as a true Wildling King should be.

"Take these men away," Stannis ordered, his men obeying their King's orders.

She spotted Nevada.

Run.

The leopard's hesitancy shot through her mind.

She sent the command again but more urgent, and she watched as a piece of her disappeared into the trees.

We will meet again.

Eira willed the tears away as she and Mance watched their people be captured and sripped of their belongings. Husbands and wives, brothers and sisters, families were separated.

Guilt pierced her heart and left her in agony. She had swore to protect them until her last breath. Now, they scattered the ground, left for the undead, and she was bound, unarmed and defenseless.

A soldier dressed in fine armor tied Mance's wrists, sending him forward with a shove.

A shout lodged in her throat as her King looked to her, pleading for her complacency. Anger boiled within her, but his stare brought it to a simmer.

Eira hunted for Cadmar one more but turned up empty. He was alive. She could feel it. Nevada would find him. The thought filled her with hope.

They would find each other.

Jon's voice drew her attention. He caught her eye as the words fell from his lips. "I was this man's prisoner once. He could've tortured me, he could've killed me, but he spared my life. I think my father would've taken him prisoner, listened to what he had to say."

"And her? What do you think Ned would have done with her?" Stannis's cold eyes examined her, running along the length of her body, pausing her bloodied furs and rusted blades.

"She saved my brother once," he travels off.

Memories flood her, attacking the holds she placed on them. Crystal blue eyes appeared in her vision as a voice from a decade ago overtook her thoughts.

With my blood, I vow to see you again and remember you always.

His final words part the waves of the past. "I owe her a life's debt."