POV - Steve Rogers (ii)

When he woke, Steve felt completely drained; not in much in the way of pain-and itching along his stomach wound, just a deep and incessant throb in his neck, bruises across his torso-but weak as a newborn kitten. Something smelled good though, and he sniffed the air.

Gradually his vision cleared. He was lying on a soft bed, and surrounded by stone walls and ceiling. There was a couple of low fires going, the scent of burning pine filling his nostrils while the heat kept him warm. Not far away a head bobbed in though a cracked-open door, then left as quickly as it appeared. Someone checking on him.

A few moments later a familiar face entered his room, a bowl in one hand and a large cup in the other. Whatever was in the bowl smelled great, and for the first time he noticed how hungry he was. A thought punctuated by a painful rumble.

"What do you have?" he said, or moaned. "Jesus, I'm dry."

Dacey rested the bowl by his side, its warmth felt through the fur blanket and greatly welcomed. She wore a wool tunic, dyed green with some blue accents at the collar and around the waist. When she heard his voice, she smiled brightly and quickly brought the cup of water to his lips. A long, wordless sigh of relief escaped his lips as the cold river water went down his throat.

After a few small sips, he asked, "How long was I out?"

"Ten days." His wife said. "You refused to awaken, even after your wound healed."

"I don't even remember getting a wound."

He could hear familiar sounds in the distance; the metallic tink-tink of the armory, the soft neighing of horses, even the soft caw of a nearby raven.

Dacey grinned, "I brought you some soup. Maester Luwin said you needed to eat, but to start with something easy on the stomach."

Steve nodded, too tired to speak much. She brought out a spoon and put an arm under his shoulders to lift him so he could sip. The contact remarkably pleasant, in an distant way. The soup was delicious, mostly clear, with tiny minced pieces of meat and onion mixed in. He could feel the warmth of it spreading though his middle, and his eyelids started to grow heavy.

He fell asleep with his head on his wife's shoulder.

The next time he awoke he was more clearheaded; a day after that he was still feeling shaky but strong enough to rise and eat solid food. The next day he was able to walk and bathe. On the fifth day he felt much like himself again, save for a haunting stiffness.

Maester Luwin had been hard at work while Steve was down, and the grey little man had wanted to speak with him as soon as he felt up to it. Today Steve took the flight of stairs to the Maester's quarters as a personal challenge and ran up the steps, arriving a bit tired but otherwise energized at finally being off his back. He knocked and heard a voice offer him entrance. Inside was the Maester seated at his workbench near the end of the room; atop it was a large book. Not far from him was a pair of chairs with Dacey and Jon waiting.

"Good to see you among the living." Luwin said, turning from his book with a warm smile stretched across his face.

"Good to be up." Steve said, frankly. "Not quite good as new, but I'm getting there."

His stomach wound still itched, but the meant it was healing. For the rest was just stiff and bruised, but he'd been there before; pushed down some alley and beaten, but with nothing torn and no damage to his joints. Some exercise was all that was really needed.

Dacey and Jon smiled at him, and Steve looked back grey man who nodded very slightly. He glanced at Jon, and then after greeting him he said, "I heard about your brother and the others. I will join the search for them later today."

Jon grinned mirthlessly, "Thanks, but I don't think that will be necessary. I have a feeling Bran is heading for the Wall, he mentioned how he was being…drawn there." He broke into a broad smile, "I have faith he will be okay. King Eddard should be there soon."

Luwin coughed discreetly, and after everyone looked at him he took on the mask of a serious frown. He looked at Steve and said, "I know you don't remember much about the attack on your person, but after listening to both Jon and Lady Mormont, I…"

Dacey interrupted, "Lady Rogers. We are married." She stated it matter of fact.

"Apologies, Lady Rogers," The old man corrected, without skipping a beat. "I was reminded of something I studied when I forged my chain."

Maester Luwin looked back down at his book and continued speaking in a tone that reminded Steve of one of his favorite teachers in High School, "Shadowbinder, a practitioner of magic who binds living shadows to do their will. As creating shadows is hard, taxing work on the person whose life force is being used to create them, a Shadowbinder will use only as much blood or seed as needed. In rare occurrences, a living persons entire life-force is sacrificed to make a more powerful living shadow, or Shade. The strength of the shadow is linked to the strength of the living host, a shadow being only as strong as the host, while a Shade can be as much as ten times stronger or faster than the original."

After a long moment of silence, Steve asked the obvious, "So is that what attacked me? A Shade?"

Luwin carefully closed the ancient-looking book as he said, "Based on what was observed, yes." He hesitated for a moment, and then added, "We found the body of a young warrior near the weirwood shortly after the attack on you. His body looked, drained. We didn't know what to make of this, but based on what I've read, it seems he may have been the host. Unfortunately, it is impossible to know who the Shadowbinder is."

Jon smirked, "Knowing that the attack failed to fill him, this assassin may think better of trying again."

"Or it will embolden them to try harder, sending more of those things at my husband." Dacey answered, her voice rising slightly with anger.

Luwin raised and lowered his arms in a placating manner, "It is safe to assume to whomever this would-be killer is, they are no longer here. Otherwise they would have tried again. Also, from my reading only one Shadow can be bound at any one time. Attempting to bind more could turn the shadows against their would-be user." The old Maester looked down, worry written across his face. "I never actually believed any of this magic was possible before, such things having left the world with the last dragons, but now I'm not so sure."

Thoughtfully, Jon added, "I saw many things beyond the Wall. Giants and Wargs were amazing, but I never again wish to see the dead rise up against the living. Knowing our King is at the Wall to let the thousands of wildlings cross is almost a relief. Fewer dead to rise."

The room was quiet for a long time. Only the crackling of a small fire spoke to the passage of time as each person here thought long and hard about what they should do next.