The yard beneath the Wall had become a sea of free folk banners, ragged furs, wary eyes, and smoking breath beneath the cold grey sky. One by one the wildling chiefs bent the knee or swore their oaths to Jon Snow in exchange for passage south. Some did it grudgingly. Others spat before speaking the words.

Then Morna White Mask stepped forward through the snow.

Bone charms clicked softly against her furs as she approached, weirwood mask pale as death beneath the Wall’s shadow. Even black brothers shifted uneasily watching her. Torches hissed in the wind while her antlered silhouette stopped before the Lord Commander.

For a long moment she simply stared at Jon through the mask’s dark hollow eyes.

Then slowly, strangely gentle for such a fearsome figure, Morna lifted the mask just enough to bare her mouth and part of her face before pressing a cold kiss against his gloved hand.

"I will be your man," she murmured softly. Then the corner of her mouth curved faintly beneath the weirwood mask. "Or your woman, whichever you prefer."